#almost didn't include the final scene in this part but :)) i thought it deserved to make the final cut

[evilfrogcereal29]

Pizza guy!Nikto - Chapter 1

(ok... This is going to be like, maybe one of the most weirdly specific fanfics you've ever read. For context: I work at a pizza place IRL. Thats it. Thats the only context. I was at work and. Thought about Nikto working there too. That's all you need to know. Enjoy :]!!!

This is going to be a Nikto x GN!customer!reader, but reader is NOT introduced in this chapter.

Cw/tws: mentions of violence- including towards an animal! I think thats all? Enjoy :)!!

NOTE: all text in red & italics are Nikto's voices

Nikto was bored.

Retirement was miserable, and Nikto found himself restless day in, and day out. Unable to find peace while wasting away at home. Sure, he had lot's of retirement money, but he had this urge to work, to kill. He would give anything to be on a plane to another mission right about now, but he was too 'broken'. That's what they basically told him. Too mentally unwell to keep working. A hazard to his own team.

Heh.

What the fuck do they know? They don't know what goes on in his head. So what he broke that recruit's arm? They touched him when he warned them of the consequences. Or who cares that he hit one of his higher-up's service dogs with the buggy? It should've been servicing it's owner, not under the damn vehicle! He's not a danger, the other voices are!

Speaking of voices, they aren't reacting well either, metaphorically biting away at Nikto's psyche each day he did fucking nothing. He felt useless, and they reminded him of that. You idiot, you deserve your suffering for being the way you are. Broken. Broken little solider.

He still gets calls from his mates in the service, especially Krueger, who always makes sure to call as often as possible to keep the man updated on missions, even if they didn't concern him anymore. He suggested that Nikto pick up a part-time job, not for the money, but the work. God (and Krueger) only knows what Nikto's mind gets upto when left to its own devices.

Nikto scoffed at first, he didn't like the idea of working at some measley fast food job, he was above that. He crawled through the fucking trenches and ripped out the throats of women and men, and would be reduced to... What? Cleaning a fucking stove? Heating up processed foods for weak civilians? No. He wouldn't. The voices mocked him, this is what we've been reduced to? Patheic.

And then the rot set in.

Krueger had been very insistant on a visit the second he had time away from work, flying out to see Nikto even as the man ignored his texts and calls. He wasn't dead, Krueger knew that, but he also wasn't in a good place. He couldn't let his companion live like this pathetic slob. Cause that's exactly what he was becoming.

Water and alcohol bottles littered the floor, stacks on stacks of old, half eaten take-out. Junk that should’ve been tossed long ago created walled barriers throughout the house. It was a scene out of horders, and the smell was awful. Christ. Krueger was no clean freak, but this? He'd rather sleep next to corpses than this cesspool of rotting filfth, and in the middle of it all, sat his balaclava-ed, smelly friend on the sofa. Krueger grimmaced, taking careful steps. He nearly stepped on poor Sputnik, who had become content with spending her days lazying about, peeing in places without Nikto's knowledge, and eating off his leftover scraps of food, growing just as lethargic as her owner.

"Nikto... Scheiße..” he would almost be outraged at the man’s carelessness if he didn’t understand how the other functioned, without a job, without a purpose, Nikto was truly a nobody. He lifted the man’s head with a gentleness, an action only someone like Krueger could get away with, looking into those glazed-over icy blues.

“This is… this is bad Nikto..” he mutters, eyes filled with..love? Concern? Something Nikto wasn’t used to often. Nikto finally shows evidence of life as his eyes flicker up in wordless understanding. Krueger continues,

"I can't stand to see you like this. You can't stand being like this. I'm going to help you."

Krueger lifts his friend up, albiet with mild arguing and growling from the disguntled bear of a man that Nikto is. He sets Nikto's cheap laptop on his lap and types in job sites, which already has Nikto tense.

"Krueger- чёрт побери! you're acting like my fucking mother-"

"good, about time someone comes in and wipes your ass, if not yourself." Krueger grumbles, scrolling through the job offers, "what's your SNILS...?"

After a painstaking back and forth, and Krueger prying for all of Nikto's personal info, he sent in a few applications on his friend's behalf. Patting the other on the back as Nikto's thumbs rubbed at his temples, fighting back the urge to pulverize his only real friend. You really should, he's a nuisance...

"this is... Not ideal.." Nikto finally grumbles, finishing the last of some lukewarm whisky from the bottle.

"none of this is, meine freund, but this...Is worse." Noone has ever seen them like this, so...domestic. In reality, this was as hard for Krueger as it was for Nikto, The Alligence wasn't the same without the Russian, fighting wasn't the same. Krueger rested a hand on his shoulder.

"everything is going to change, can you try to change a little with it?"

Change? Krueger wanted him to change? Was that even possible? He'd been so set in his ways ever since the incident. But the look in Krueger eyes let Nikto know that there wasn't really a choice.

What are you kidding? You could change as far as you could throw a boulder! Never!

He sighed, deeply. His shoulders slumping miserably as he exhaled.

"fine. But If we don't like the job-"

"ja, ja, you don't have to stay. I get it. I can't make you." He interupted, waving his hand dismissively, "but don't just give up right away. Can you promise me that?"

Nikto hated making promises, he hated feeling like he owed anyone anything, he didn't take on debts or deals. Go ahead, make more promises you can't keep. We know the truth.

Yet here he was, being interviewed by an elderly couple, who pitied him for his past as a solider.

"me and Martha are going to see how you fair in the kitchen, and if that's turns out to be too overwhelming we can move you to a more simple job like delivery. Just bring the customers their pizzas." The eldery man said with an acknowledging smile.

He nodded to the man, Michael, reaching across the table to shake his hand, thanking him begrudgingly for this... 'Opportunity'. Thats damn well what it was, but Nikto didn't quite see it that way yet. As he left with a work shirt displaying the place's name and logo, he felt his heart drop. And a shrill, annoying voice invading his mind.

You are truely a fucking Развалюха. Good luck ever trying to live a normal life!

And now Nikto was worried.

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

Hai :3 I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, I wanted to introduce reader in this first part but it was getting long and I also just wanted to get something out. There will be more chapters for this, but they might be kind of slow to come out😭 work takes up a LOT of my time tbh, but also working inspires me cause...yk pizza place setting so- its a double edged sword. But if you enjoyed pls like and reblog it means sm♥️♥️ ty for reading!!

And to the person who sent me an ask in my inbox about the relationship dynamics between NiktoKrueger + criminal!reader, I see u and ur creative vision, I started writing something today in response ;) just gimme some time!!!

Also an @ list for some mooties who I think would like to see this :3

@simp4konig @lizzy019 @fishsinsareacknowledged @zoloftwithdrawalnausea sorry If I missed anyone, lmk if you'd like to be tagged (or not tagged) in future chapters!!

[bicheetopuff]

Tbh I am a multishipper but I think the only reason Hori didn't make Izu//Ocha canon was bc he likes 'open endings' kinda, and it worked in his favor by just letting things implied. He gave Izu//Ocha specific romantic-coded materials to go with anyway. He made Izuku call her his hero, acknowledge her as his savior and acknowledge her help throughout the story. That's pretty much romantic subtext in the story. And this happened in the penultimate moment. There is no scene like that between BKDK at the climax. If Hori really wanted to shut the ship down, why did he include such a scene anyway? Now people are criticizing it and are angry because it seems like Hori chickened out.

Out of context, I’d agree with you that the MC calling the main girl his hero would be considered a romantic sentiment in a shonen manga. However, I honestly don’t think that’s the case here.

I don’t think they were implied and I don’t think their relationship had an open ending either, because that would imply that they had something mutually romantic going on when they really didn’t. The only romantic implications, are the fact that other characters poke fun at Ochako and just assume she likes Deku because they’re close friends. She has a crush projected onto her that she never really admits to outside of referring to it in past tense. Everything else about their relationship, feels like it could’ve been interchangeable with him and Iida, and it still would’ve had the same effect.

I actually believe that narrowing down Izuku’s admission of Ochako being his hero to romantic subtext makes the scene less impactful, almost like he’s only saying that to her because he wants her to like him, instead of saying it because he genuinely believes it and feels like she deserves to know.

Ochako was in an emotional state where she was mourning the loss of Himiko and questioned her heroism because she couldn’t save her, when the girl who was supposed to be the villain, was the one to save her life. Izuku reassuring her that she’s still a hero—still his hero—is something he would’ve done for anyone and I’m genuinely happy he was the one to do it for Ochako.

It’s implied that he considers a lot of people to be his hero. All Might, Katsuki, Iida, Todoroki, are all people who have continuously helped him through out the story too. And he has his internal thoughts praising all of them and thanks all of them as well. He doesn’t have to voice it because those characters weren’t in a situation where they needed to hear those words from him. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think it, and I think it’s silly to assume that he doesn’t. It’s in character for Izuku to not say such things unless he feels like it’s necessary.

Horikoshi didn’t have to shut the ship down, because the ship was never implied to be mutual. He included such a scene, because Ochako needed someone to understand her, and Izuku was the only one who would’ve. They both sought out to save their villains and neither of them succeeded, so yes they’re the only ones who understand each other in that light even if their motives and the way they felt about their villains were different.

It’d be different if they had made this decision together and were trying to save their villains for the sake of each other, but they had both made their decisions individually before even speaking to each other about it. So they’re not relating because they actively tried to, they’re able to relate cuz they both had the same goal by coincidence. The way I see it, I think it’s meant to show that once Ochako stopped actively trying to be like Deku, is when she realized she was already like him in a way, even though she knew being exactly like him wouldn’t be good for her.

Also bkdk didn’t have a scene like that in the climax? In the climax of what? The story as a whole? The war? The epilogue?

Chapter 1? Deku vs Kacchan? Their final exam? Deku vs Kacchan part 2? The beginning of the Paranormal Liberation War Front arc? Katsuki’s apology? Katsuki’s confession in the hospital room after the war?

Ochako and Deku’s conversation was probably the first time they talked about each other to each other and explained what the other meant to them (even if it was mostly Izuku doing the talking). That kind of conversation had happened with not only bkdk countless times (yes it still counts even if it’s in the form of them screaming their feelings at each other), but also with Iida and Todoroki to a certain extent too. Not mention, literally every villain minus AFO.

To me, while their conversation is important and I appreciated it a lot and thought it was really sweet, it didn’t really feel different or more special than other conversations Izuku had with his other friends before that.

I think the reason Horikoshi didn’t make izcha canon, is because he genuinely never planned to…

[swan2swan]

So, spoiler thoughts:

So, a good season. Pretty decent, but I'm a little worried that they blew everything by making Season 1 so good.

Definitely had some of the best scenes in the franchise, but the way Season 1 ramped up felt like it was a little...shallow of a splash on Season 2. 8/10 season, maybe a 7/10.

Arguably my least favorite season of the cartoon, and that includes Season 4 of Camp Cretaceous....okay, no, I think this was much better.

I felt like the Brooklynn Alone episode didn't quite match the power of the Ben Alone episode, and that was the first issue. But that also feels like an episode where they had to cut some stuff down with Brooklynn--in fact, there's almost half an episode missing, it felt like. Woulda loved to see her adjusting to public life with her limb difference, and the DLN. Woulda made thee moment where Soyona gently comments on her limb difference all the better.

Speaking of Soyona, I'm glad thy kept her just as much of a menace. I was worried at a few points, but in the end, it was clear that she had complete control the whole time. Probably knows that Brooklynn is spying on her, too....but she's letting it happen.

The episodes with the gang also didn't hit hard enough. It really felt like they waffled around too much with the whole "Kenji Wants to Kill Himself" plotline for too long, and then missed the window. That's indisputably my biggest issue with the seasons: I hate when shows forfeit the essentials of their episodic format and just keep kicking the ball down the road. Kenji risks his life. Yaz gasps. Kenji risks his life. Yaz gasps. Kenji risks his life. Yaz gasps. It's a disservice to BOTH when you don't get to the point and do it five times over.

Then there was Zayna--a delightful character, more than welcome, but I felt that we deserved more of an exploration of "Hey, we're taking on someone who was the same age we were when we were Traumatized. Let's keep the same from happening to her, okay?" And then they could have focused on that a little more than one throwaway gag from Darius.

There also wasn't a lot of introspection on the group, and Darius's infatuation with Brooklynn and Kenji's falling-out with her also seemed a little diluted...meant to be products of odd happenstance and Bad Timing, a Malevolent Coincidence, rather than stagnation and an inevitable reaction. Such is the consequence of a backstory, though.

HOWEVER...the scene in Soyona's apartment was among the best in the franchise. Tense and powerful, wonderfully acted and perfectly paced, it was only matched by Brooklynn's return later. Soyona and Brooklynn played off each other in a way that made them the most engaging part of the season--both a praise and a criticism (the second-best part was possibly Sammy and Zayna, though, again...if they'd gotten into the "Keep Her From Experiencing What Happened To Us" part, it mighta been better.

The Leucistic Baryonyx was a fine addition, but I do wish they'd had the budget to bring in another new dinosaur. Maybe a Megaraptor of some sort. It worked, and the HORROR aspect was definitely there, but...eh. The part where Red figured out "Oh, clicking noises make you happy?" was PHENOMENAL THOUGH??? I FORGOT THAT RAPTORS WERE SMART? I WAS WONDERING HOW THEY WERE COMMUNICATING AND THEN I REALIZED THAT IT WAS JUST RED FIGURING THINGS OUT?????????? BECAUSE SHE'S SMART?????

But also, this felt very much like the Quarry Season. A lot of stuff is happening, there's a nice big group of people, but it's very enclosed. You can even see it in the concept art: the village in Episode 2's credits, the tarmac in Episode 10, this world shoulda been bustling, but they could only afford so much. Less an indictment of the show and more of the budget given to them. Suchomimus coulda been chasing villagers instead of schlorping water, and there coulda been some guards on the tarmac surrounding Brooklynn for that final meeting.

I was very delighted when she went with Soyona, though. And when her PTSD got her in the WORST moment.

Anyway. Hoping next season takes it to a new level. This one had the spunk of Season 1, but it didn't have the reach. But maybe a rewatch will help (it won't, most of my criticisms are Set In Stone, I'm just Correct).

[heretherebedork]

Curious to know your feels about the 1000 Years Old finale. You didn't post much about it. Maybe that's a commentary in and of itself LOL.

Part of the answer is that I struggle with watching things out of my usual schedule and had a very busy weekend so I'm just getting around to actually watching the finale episode after knowing all kinds of spoilers. I am actively writing this response as I watch the episode. So enjoy my live thoughts on your ask.

And, so far, my entire reaction is that they crammed way too much here in the end. They needed to spread this out more than they did and I get parts of it, I like having the soulmates reveal only at the very end...

But there's a lot of plot and seriousness that they just didn't touch on enough and that I think including in the rest of the show would have improved it greatly as well as helping with the pacing struggling most people had.

If more of the Janja plot had been genuinely spread through the show and more of these serious moments and the understanding of their agreement and relationship had started earlier I might care more about this. But I don't care about Janja at all! I just don't! I wasn't given reasons to care until the very end and that's not enough for me.

Also, having Yoh not fight for any of it really did disappoint me but the director of this show, as seen in multiple other shows they've done, seems to have a thing for one very passive character in the main relationship who will just Allow Things To Happen To Them without ever fighting back. And I never like that, frankly.

Yes, they dropped a few hints here and there but it just isn't enough to tie it all together in this show itself.

It's not a bad finale, it's not the worst, but the end of the show feels so rushed compared to the rest and us not getting all the fluffy times together only to be shown a single scene at the end of a long happy life instead of the time together that I want to see.

I like domesticity, not the end of domesticity.

I get why people liked this ending. I see how people who rewatch things, especially, will enjoy the recontextualization of the show.

But for me? It made everything feel rushed and the rest of the show feel almost empty and slightly worse in comparison. Either we needed more plot or less episodes for this to work.

(Every time I see Somchai I am sad we did not get Somchai and Shin. Every single time. Come on. You crammed this much into the final episode, you could have given me more of them somewhere else!)

Also, I love his random bodyguards, whoever they are. Love them.

Also, this year long time skip is stupid.

Seriously, I am deeply frustrated by Yoh literally finding out they're soulmates and then just... completely abandoning Pun and leaving entirely. It's not interesting to see him just give up and it makes him the most passive character ever. Which we also had in I Will Knock You and, frankly, in 2gether. That's just The Style.

JANJA LITERALLY TOLD YOH SHE WAS GIVING HIM PUN BECAUSE PUN WILL NEVER LOVE ANYONE ELSE. Whatever, at least the confession and whole thing is done and now they can be soulmates together.

9 minutes of happy ending is not enough. Absolutely not enough. Yes, it was cute. Yes, it was a happy ending. But it's just not enough and it leaves me wanting more and wishing that the show were paced differently.

(Still sad we couldn't get any more Somchai and Shin, we deserved more.)

Edit Okay, I didn't mention this originally but I actually hate that the soulmate/reincarnation line takes away the power of Yoh's gift to Pun being his first birthday present. It really bothers me because that moment was one of the my favorite moments and the finale just made it not matter at all and turned it into something much less important and takes away a lot of the importance away of Pun wearing the cross and it BOTHERS ME A LOT.

[aelius29]

Journey 's End

Pairings: Elf Wednesday X Hero Fem reader

Part 1/??

Part 2 -updated

Reminders: This will be A.U. A version from anime called Frieren: Beyond Journey's End.

So their personalities will be mix up and including their appearance.

Wednesday as Frieren

Y/n as Himmel

Enid as Heiter

Yoko as Eisen

Another reminder: Since it was A.U. their last name will be changed into this.

Wednesday Adamus - the mage elf

Y/n Celest - the hero

Enid Amilair - the priestess

Yoko Tana - the half dwarf warrior

A/n: This story will be based on few episodes of Frieren: Beyond Journey's End. And also since I was kinda bored and little bit stress from study. I just made it story my own. 😂✨

Wednesday Adamus - age of 1000+

Y/n Celest - age of 26

Enid Amilair - age of 25

Yoko Tana - age of 227

Wednesday Adamus P.O.V.

It seems our journey has finally come to an end after we defeated the Demon King. Right now, Y/n and I are walking in the street as she plans to buy me a reward for defeating the Demon King.

Given that it was just the two of us, we continued our exploration of the stalls and merchants along the street. The thoroughfare was alive with activity, and the savoury smells of roasted meats and sugary confections filled the air. Children darted past us, their carefree laughter and playful tag games creating an air of merriment, transforming the scene into something reminiscent of a lively festival. Enid and Yoko, meanwhile, were engaged in their own pursuits.

I glanced towards Y/n, noticing her scanning the stalls with a thoughtful expression.

Y/n, being the sociable person she is, seemed right in her element as she browsed the stalls and chatted with the traders.

Her smile widened as she stopped in front of a particularly colorful stall, her eyes fixed on a array of trinkets and jewelry.

"Hey, Wednesday," she said, glancing over at me. "Come take a look at this. See anything you like?"

I moved to join Y/n at the stall, examining the assortment of trinkets, jewelry and miscellaneous items on display. The baubles on the table glistened in the sunlight, their hues as vibrant and diverse as a spectrum of colors.

I didn't need anything material to be happy, but Y/n was clearly enjoying the process of browsing for a gift for me. So I indulgently scanned the items with a neutral expression.

"No," I answered simply, not seeing anything of interest.

Y/n chuckled, not surprised by my response. "I figured as much," she said, her tone resigned. "You never were one for material things."

Y/n redirected her focus to the stall, her eyes skimming over the array of luminous trinkets on display. She examined each item meticulously, picking them up and then setting them aside with a shake of her head.

She then moved to another stall, and I dutifully followed.

For whatever reason, her unwavering resolve to find a suitable present for me was oddly endearing.

I watched as she persistently sought out the perfect gift, her dedication almost comical. Although I harbored a general indifference towards materialistic possessions, I found myself silently amused

Having observed her dismiss several items, I couldn't help but offer a remark. "You are aware that you are not obligated to purchase anything for me, correct?" I inquired, my voice betraying a trace of amusement.

Y/n glanced over at me and responded with a playful grin.

"I know that," she said, mock offense in her tone. "But I 'want' to get you something. You deserve it after all we've been through."

She redirected her attention to the stall, her eyes once again sweeping over the merchandise on display. This time, her expression was more earnest, as if she was fixated on finding something worthy enough to be bestowed upon me.

A slight eye roll escaped me, accompanied by an repressed smile. Y/n’s steadfast determination could be both endearing and infuriating.

As she persisted in her quest, her expression growing more and more concentrated, I pondered what it might be that she was searching for. Something practical? Something sentimental? Or perhaps something entirely random. With her, it could be any number of things.

We proceeded to another stall as she continued her search, sighing in frustration. “Wednesday,” she said, “You can choose whatever you like.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden offer. "Are you sure?"

Y/n nodded, clearly tired of searching. "Yes, go on. Choose anything you like."

I took a moment to consider her offer. It was unusual for me to choose a gift, but if Y/n wanted to end this futile hunt, I wasn’t about to argue.

I turned my gaze towards the stalls, looking for something but I just pick it up randomly.

"That was quick, you should put more thought into it." She replied with a pout.

I couldn't help but smirk at her pout, knowing how much she wanted me to pick something ‘perfect’. “I don’t need more thought,” I replied dryly. “This is fine.”

I held up the ring for her to see. It was a simple silver ring, plain and unadorned. It didn’t have any jewels, but it has a flower called lotus, but it was sturdy and well-made.

Y/n studied the ring, her pout transforming into a look of surprised look in her face before she smile.

I raised an eyebrow at her reaction. "What?" I asked, my voice slightly defensive.

Y/n just chuckled and shook her head. "Nothing," she said, a gentle smile purse in her lips while she stare at the ring as holding it.

We started to walk, after y/n's pay the ring towards the old lady.

As we walked, I couldn't help but glance at Y/n, still confused by her reaction to the ring. It was an ordinary thing to me, nothing special. But her smile suggested there was something more to it.

"Why do you look so pleased?" I asked, my voice betraying a little curiosity.

"It's nothing," she replied softly, her gaze fixed on the ring as we continued to walk.

"Wednesday," she called this time, causing me to expect her to hand it back.

"Thank you," I replied, but then, as if in slow motion, she stepped forward and knelt before me, gently taking my hand in hers as we stood Infront of the clock tower.

With a soft smile, she then proceeded to slide the ring onto my ring finger.

I watched, stunned into silence, as she slipped the ring onto my finger.

For a moment, I simply stared at the ring, now a part of me. I wasn’t one for sentimental gestures, but this felt...different.

I looked down at Y/n, still kneeling before me, her smile unwavering.

"What are you doing?" I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n smiled up at me, her eyes glimmering. Her answer was simple, but it held a weight that echoed in my chest.

"This ring," she said, her voice soft but steady, "Is a symbol. A symbol of our journey together."

She took my hand in both of hers, her fingers gently tracing the band of the ring.

"It's a symbol," she continued, her gaze never breaking from mine, "of what we've been through and what we’ve achieved. But most of all, it's a symbol of my promise to you."

Her actions had left me befuddled and her words sent a flutter of unfamiliar emotions coursing through me.

"Do you promise?" I asked, my voice quivering slightly.

Y/n responded with a resolute nod, her smile swelling with sincerity.

"Yes," she confirmed, "A promise that no matter what trials the future holds, I will remain at your side."

"But our groups will disperse after we defeat the Demon King," I reminded her. "In fifty years, I will set out on a journey alone. Will you still be waiting for me here when I return?"

Y/n nodded, her expression serious. "I am aware," she murmured softly. "However, it simply means that we must savor the time we have together to the fullest."

She gently squeezed my hand, not releasing her grip just yet. "And when your journey is complete and you return, I will be right here, steadfastly waiting for you."

There was a twinge of unease in my heart as her words settled in my mind. Fifty years was a considerable span for humans, and the possibilities of what could transpire within that timeframe were vast. For me, however, 50 years was merely equivalent to a handful of months - a stark difference in our respective lifespans.

"What if...you change your mind?" I voiced the thought that had been lingering in the back of my mind since she knelt before me.

Y/n shook her head, her eyes filled with unwavering determination. "I won't," she replied, her voice firm.

She squeezed my hand more tightly. "I promise you, Wednesday," she said, her gaze burning into mine. "I will wait for you. No matter how long it takes. I will wait for you to come back to me."

I held her gaze, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

There was none.

I realized then that Y/n's commitment to me was as real and true as the ring on my finger. She wasn't just making a promise in the heat of the moment. She truly meant it.

I opened my mouth, my mind whirling to find a response, but no words came. Instead, I just continued to grip her hand, her declaration echoing in my heart.

Y/n seemed to understand my silence. She didn't push for an immediate response. She just held my gaze, her expression patient and understanding.

We stood there in the shadow of the clock tower, surrounded by the bustle of the city, yet somehow it felt like we were in our own private world.

The ring on my finger, Y/n's promise, her declaration of love... All of it combined was almost too much for me to process. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

Yet, as I stared into Y/n's eyes, I realized that I didn't want to experience it with anyone else.

"You have utterly surprised me," I finally managed to find my voice, my words escaping in a softer tone than I had intended.

Y/n merely smiled in return, a slightly crooked but still warm smile gracing her features. "That was my intention," she replied, "I derive pleasure from catching you off guard."

I found myself unable to suppress the small, involuntary smile that tugged at the corner of my lips. This woman was undoubtedly capable of being my undoing, and strangely enough, I found myself oddly drawn to that fact.

Next soon... Part 2

A/n: hope you guys did enjoy reading my story ✨

Bonus: lotus ring represent 'eternal love' 💕🥹 from Frieren: beyond journey's end.

[little-paperboat]

Through Shadows To The Edge Of Night (3)

Here we goooo! Final chapter of "Through Shadows" is out, one day earlier than planned! 🧡 I'm super excited, it was so much fun to write! It's over 6,600 words too!! Twice as long as my usual chapters, which I didn't expect initially, but during the editing process I chose to merge the ending dialogue with another one that I had written for a later chapter, as I found it made more sense.

I'm glad that Tav and Rolan are finally having more interaction... and a little misunderstanding I was craving to write since the beginning, including that *one* scene that I imagined all those months ago and made me want to write this fic 😏

I hope you'll like it! The next part of the series will finally bring us to Baldur's Gate and to Sorcerous Sundries, and well, who knows what will happen then 👀 I'm planning to release it on next Saturday. You can follow the tag "series:forbidden fire" here on tumblr to not miss it when it comes out 🌸

And of course, I'm so grateful for all the comments, kudos and support! The Holy Rolan Empire is truly a gem, you guys are wonderful and it's super heartwarming to be part of such a kind community with so many talented artists and writers 🥹 ❤️

Read on AO3 (3/3)

Read Part 1: Wild Winds Are Death To The Candle (2/2)

She took a step towards him.

“Rolan?”

This broke him out of his stupor, his eyebrows perking up, frowning, and finally coming closer. Had he always been this tall?  

“Tav,” he replied sternly. 

Her name rolled off his tongue with ease, and something surged within her; wishing that he’d say it more often, whisper it against her skin, his lips caressing the shell of her ears— Wait, what? No! She had done so much for him, against her better judgement even, and he had been nothing but rude and a pain in the ass. No: she wouldn’t be so easily swayed. The ball was in his court, and her expectations were high. She wouldn’t be distracted by nonsense. 

She crossed her arms, unimpressed, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“You brought them back,” he said finally, his eyes finding hers, a hint of hesitation colouring his deep voice. Once again, she found herself hypnotised by the golden flames dancing against the moonless sky of his eyes. “I thought my entire family was dead, and you… you brought us back together.” His voice was soft, almost emotional. She didn’t even know he could speak like this.

“Don’t mention it,” she croaked out. What was wrong with her? Gods, she needed to get a grip, now.  

“You have no cause to be humble. You did the impossible and you went out of your way to help us when most people would’ve left us to die - or worse.” 

Maybe she liked it better when he yelled at her, after all. At least it didn’t make her heart beat so fast. 

There was a pause, but before she could speak, he continued.

“I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway.” She fought back a smile, biting the inside of her cheeks to physically stop her lips from stretching. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. And, thank you.”

Was this real? Was this really happening? She tilted her head up at him and wished that she didn’t imagine his own gaze flickering to her lips. 

“Why are you being nice?” she asked in a hushed voice. 

“Because you were. I still don’t quite understand why you decided to help us - to help me, but you did.” He seemed to remember something, and handed her a small purse. “It’s only right that you get something in return.” 

A bag of gold sat in the palm of his hand, heavy and full. She paled, suddenly ill at ease. Was he giving her his savings? 

“Rolan, no. I can’t accept it.” It was absurd. Actually, it was offensive.  

His eyes darkened. 

“No? Is that not good enough for you?”

“On the contrary, it’s way too much. Really, I… I don’t need gold. I don’t, I swear.” 

She didn’t know how to explain to him that the sum he was handing her was probably less than her weekly allowance as a teen. 

Not that she was the kind of selfless person who refused to be paid for her services. Quite the opposite, actually: half her life so far had been dedicated to finding ways of getting and spending money, without any concern in the world for those who didn’t have any.  

But, well. Being catapulted in the middle of a refugee camp without any gold piece to spare had somewhat altered her perspective, and now she did feel bad about taking money from people in need when she knew her own coffers were still overflowing at home.

“I don’t need a reward,” she continued. “You keep it, for you, and Lia and Cal, for when—” 

“Take it, Tav.” He cut her, annoyance sharp in his voice. Clearly, he would obviously feel beyond insulted if she refused it, but at the same time, she really didn’t need it. Although, it could benefit the group, if only temporarily…

She chewed on her bottom lip, indecisive, before reluctantly taking the coin purse from him, swearing to herself that she’d find a way to give it back somehow. Her obedience seemed to please him, and he gave her a satisfied smirk that ignited a fire in her belly, a violent desire coursing through her veins. 

She wanted to know how his lips would feel against hers, how his body would react to her touch; to see pleasure etched over his handsome features and to hear him say all those nice things again, and then some. To see him happy, pleased; to make him lose his composure and show him how good it would feel to not be a stuck-up prick.  

She wanted to kiss him - she really did. 

And she wanted it now, even if he hated her. 

She had dealt with worse than that. 

“I didn’t tell Cal and Lia about what happened,” she said instead, inching just a bit closer, batting her eyelashes just so - giving him that one sultry look that always got her tangled in bedsheets under an hour. 

“I know,” he said with a strained smile. 

“You’re welcome,” she teased.   

He let out a breathy laugh.

“I thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.” 

A glint of mischief burned in his eyes and she felt herself smirk, the flames of desire burning brighter. Oh, she was greedy alright - all she needed was a sign that he wasn’t just being polite, something, anything to let her know that he was also curious about her, and she would show him exactly just how greedy she could be.

— Read the rest on AO3 :)

(c) divider by saradika

[thesinglesjukebox]

SOPHIE ELLIS-BEXTOR - "MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR" (2001) (2024)

23 years on and this groove's still got some life in it...

[7.11]

Thomas Inskeep: Sophie Ellis-Bextor should've been the next Kylie — and for a couple years, almost was. Her 2001 debut album Read My Lips spun off a trio of top 3 singles in the UK, including this one, which has over time become her true classic. Dua Lipa's entire career was birthed in this single, the dictionary definition of ebullient dance-pop. (It's fitting that Lipa's "Houdini" is currently the most-played song on UK radio as this single is re-ascendant.) SEB has never gone anywhere: she's still making music, touring (based on her 2022 Sophie Ellis-Bextor's Kitchen Disco (Live at the London Palladium), she still sounds great), and is now a DJ on BBC Radio 2. She just didn't become the massive pop star she deserved to be. Now, thanks to its placement in a climactic scene in Saltburn, her greatest single is getting its flowers, climbing back up to #2 in the UK (so far — my fingers are crossed it can make it that final notch higher). "Dancefloor" still sounds fresh, certainly fresher than the glut of '90s-sampling dance-pop dominating the UK charts. This single sparkles, SEB giving a knowing wink as she sings, especially on the line "gonna burn this goddamn house right down." She knows what she's doing here: making magic.   [10]

Edward Okulicz: I bought this on single back in 2002, which tells you something (other than that I am old): it was an irresistible bit of sparkly disco radio pop back in the day. Move it forward or backwards a few years and it might have been an indie rock song for someone else, a filter house record, or (gulp) a Ronan Keating record. Fortunately that never occurred, and it's a delight to see a classic gain new fans from age groups and territories that didn't get it on saturation rotation. Part of it's the solid song by Gregg Alexander, who at his best was a master craftsman of a much-maligned form. Another part of it's the much nimbler, slinky production compared to the rest of his soft-rock oeuvre. And a very, very large part of it is the Debbie-Harry-but-English pose of Ellis-Bextor, too cool to do anything but be filmed dancing from the waist up while she stomps her heel into your eardrums. "Murder" really has everything — a catchy chorus, the tinniest guitar solo ever, hooks that fall as much off the words as the melody — and so is perfect for every occasion, even a movie I am never, ever going to see.  [10]

Alfred Soto: Like the Pet Shop Boys' "Rent," waaayyyy too good for Saltburn — perhaps Emerald Fennell thought their incandescence would rub off on her as if it were glitter. Part of a vanished climate of French house-inspired crossover pop like Kylie Minogue's "Love at First Sight," Sophie Ellis-Bextor presages Katy B's regular-person anonymity: she surveys the strings and rhythm guitar licks like a party hostess keeping an eye on the band while sipping her prosecco. [8]

Alex Clifton: I haven't seen Saltburn and frankly have no interest in it, but this film has led to the Sophie Ellis-Bextor renaissance which is a net good for society. "Murder on the Dancefloor" is just brilliantly composed and produced; it feels as fresh today as it did twenty years ago. There are so many thrilling little moments from Ellis-Bextor's vocal delivery: the way her voice curves into "about your kiiiiiind," the little rasp in "there may be others," the little trill of "dancefloor" in the bridge. I feel so biased writing this review because I've literally been listening to this song since I was a kid, but I'm so jazzed about "Murder" finally receiving the love it deserves.  [10]

Ian Mathers: How can you not love pop music when it'll randomly do things like this, suddenly giving us a song to review from before the earliest days of the Jukebox, that is here purely because of its use in a movie that I have not seen but am informed was probably picked on the basis of Ellis-Bextor's plot arc in the music video. And if I'm not willing to go to bat for it quite as hard as I would for "Running Up That Hill," I did love "Murder on the Dancefloor" in 2001 and it still sounds great now. I don't find myself having any reaction more complicated than happiness at hearing it again and that particular joy of people liking something you like. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: If you told me this came out in 2021 and Emerald Fennell asked Sophie to use it in her movie set in 2001 because it was just that on point in depicting the time, I would agree. Then after taking out my phone, I'd be punched in the face and meekly give up my phone. Then, after watching you sprint into a nightclub, I'd immediately thank goodness you didn't ask for the passcode and run like hell for the closest subway. I am three stops from home before I remember this did not actually come out in 2021; there are other Sophie Ellis-Bextor songs and jailbreaking is a thing now. [10]

Leah Isobel: RIP Mark Fisher. You would've written a hell of a blog post about Saltburn. [7]

Mark Sinker: Necessary digression 1: heraldry as a science in Europe is roughly 900 years old, a bright and stylised easy-read guide, highly rule-bound and policed, to class and land and title — which is to say to material history (its jargon-field is still mostly words not otherwise used in the UK since the 14th century; even property law is less lousy with extinct Norman French terms). And like many very aged things, it has necessarily also passed through phases and fashions, as technologies of display arrive and depart. In fact the first inkling I had that I wasn’t going to get on with Saltburn was the typeface chosen for the title on-screen at the outset. It’s a font with a fairly specific ill-set ungainliness to it: it wants to have the weight of "pleasingly and weirdly old; not how we do things now," but it might just as well be some off-the-peg super-modern studio confection — or even (though I slightly doubt this) something custom-fashioned purely for the film. There’s no discernible care to the choice. Necessary digression 2: back in the late '70s when Peter Saville was busily and insouciantly borrowing from this or that actual-real document or design, of such-and-such era, part of the point was the severity of the decontextualisation — except there was a rigour to the carelessness. The item was being supplied with an iconicity (the very word) pulling you in towards whatever the item was that Factory Records was then placing on the market. The surface glamour of the original was to be funneled through in such a way that its weight amplified only the new relationship. In fact (in its stylised easy-read way) Saville’s work was ruthlessly the opposite of heraldry, so very good at managing the ambient melancholy that suffuses the wider Factory moment; all the blocks and counterspells necessary to conjure here beyond the end of creative time as the context for the music to have presence. Anyway, long story short (lol) Saltburn – which would love to believe it has accessed the aura, for example, of the cover of New Order’s Technique — is attempting to juggle the same double burden. It wants to conjure a play between the decontextualised pull of 24-hour-party-people hedonism and the real ineluctable unremovable weight of actual history and actual class and actual land and actual title. Except for its story to work it needs both dimensions (hedonism and weight; heraldry and careless scribble) to register, as Saville absolutely didn’t. No block, no counterspells, nothing to dampen the disturbances — so when poor old Sophie EB’s voice and poise are scalpeled out of their 20-year-old chart context and abruptly c/p-ed into whichever late-stage scene it is, well, here they are, as a clumsy synopsis (calculation, side-eye, dancing, death) the structure really shouldn’t require, in a role the song is the wrong mood (a faintly gauche trifle, a chirpy hustle) to deliver. The movie never works out where it gets its deep reveal from, or what shape its politics are (if politics is even a useful word here). Ill-set ungainliness all over again: the carelessness floods back into the borrowed adornment, and breaks it in pieces. I don’t even love this song that much but I hate how it gets what value it has so gracelessly driven out of it.  [2]

Jacob Satter: At the risk of killing the groove, this is a pretty boring choice for a manufactured revival track. Call me back when the kids discover "It's In Our Hands." [4]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I'm glad everyone's having fun here but the more I try to enjoy this — either on its own terms or as an icon of nostalgia — I get nothing. Unremarkable in any year. [4]

Lauren Gilbert: It was a [10] in 2001, it's still a [10] now. [10]

Katherine St. Asaph: The thing about it being 2024 is that in the intervening 20-plus years since "Murder on the Dancefloor" came out, approximately ninety million more disco-revival tracks came out. Some of them are by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, even. And so many of those tracks are smooth where this is stiff, magisterial where this is timid (and not in a winsome Katy B kind of way; Katy got better arrangements), charged where this is inert and just generally unmurderous. It's actually startling how inessential this sounds by comparison. [3]

Oliver Maier: Even as a youth, before my brain was burdened with indulgent critical vocabulary, I felt like this song just didn't work. I can't pin down whether "Murder" is knowingly a little chintzy (dare I say camp?) or if it's just cheap tat trying sincerely to sound boutique. Benefit of the doubt granted or not, Ellis-Bextor sounds like she's doing karaoke off the sofa. [4]

Michael Hong: When Ellis-Bextor pauses, it's easy, like a quick and graceful end to a conversation rather than the expectant response to her more spirited word choice. She's committed to this casualness, easily slipping away at the hint of a faux pas, which makes the occasional lingering word more charming. "About your kind," she sings, as if looking you up and down, wondering if she's got it wrong this time; the word "others" is trailed as if she's daring you to eliminate the competition. In that way, "you better not kill the groove," delivered with such nonchalance, becomes a fervid instruction. [7]

Will Adams: It's cute, Sophie is ever-charming, but there's real problem when you've got songs in your catalog with titles like "Bittersweet" and "Heartbreak Make Me a Dancer" that offer way more palpable drama than the one with the word "Murder." [5]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Every other line is threatening here. “Stay another song,” “Don’t think you’ll get away,” “You better not kill the groove.” Sophie Ellis-Bextor isn’t demanding fear, though. That’s what makes “Murder on the Dancefloor” so irresistible: she sounds like a friend, albeit one who’s deathly serious about having a good time. When you hear her, you believe it can be this good for you too. [8]

Taylor Alatorre: Wow. They were allowed to make these slick disco-pop reimaginings with actual guitar solos back then? We must retvrn. [8]

Tara Hillegeist: It feels like a time capsule from another era in pop music entirely, because it is. There was a time when Ellis-Bextor's stately, imperial, nigh-inhuman precision of a delivery felt like nothing so much as the edifice within which pop star royalty could be crowned, particularly in the world of UK pop; it's still hard, even now, to deny the simple pleasures of someone who knows what her job is and then executes it flawlessly. But it's been over two decades since this song originally bowed, and it must be said that it was the impact of songs like, yes, "Murder" itself that raised pop music's skill floor high enough that such icy professionalism now feels like the most tiresome part of it — Dua Lipa does this regularly, after all, and with equal anonymity. No, what saves it, and ensures the song remains nothing so much as a delightful diversion (conditions of its resurgence be damned, I say), are the sampled whoops that come in beneath the guitar solo; notwithstanding that such a slice of controlled disco can credit itself with having a guitar solo to begin with, but the canned hype is such a stupendously goofy touch. It humanizes the song instantly, stripping the archness of its artifice aside to reveal the awkward smile underneath. The moment passes, of course. But the smile lingers. [7]

Anna Katrina Lockwood: I've been waiting 20+ years for an opportunity to issue a dissertation on the songwriting genius of Gregg Alexander and by god am I ready. Though it's hard to imagine it in a different form, "Murder on the Dancefloor" was apparently a cast-off single for Alexander's New Radicals debut, replaced by the equally glorious "You Get What You Give" — like, imagine being such a talented songwriter that you can just cast off a song like this, knowing you've got an equally great one to replace it with! "Murder on the Dancefloor" is just perfection in Ellis-Bextor's hands, with a galaxy of terrific choices in its production to go along with the amazing melodic structure. I still can't help but burst out laughing at the initial vocal hit in the intro on occasion, a perfect, delicately harmonized coo of "Murder!," cutting through the disco instrumental setup occurring all around. It's as great a moment of pop songwriting as I'm aware of — setting the expectation of the song's vibe from the outset. Ellis-Bextor's lyrics are outstanding, cleverly arch but not too shiny, in the thick of it yet also gliding past suavely. The song is incredibly detailed, a carefully calibrated piece — it lopes by with a relaxed stride rather than a reckless dash, a well-tailored Savile Row suit as opposed to an H&M tunic, cut to the millimeter. Yet it's also very clearly of the disco, built for singing along, difficult to avoid dancing to when it comes on. It turns on its heel at moments' notice, with layers of melody playing off each other throughout. Matt Rowe's efforts in production also deserve notice — this song sounds great, so distinctive that it is still eminently listenable 23 years on. I honestly have not a single thing to criticize about "Murder on the Dancefloor," and it's been a long time that I've considered it to be one of the truly great pop songs of my lifetime. It feels like incredibly just desserts to see it garnering so much praise now.  [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[asexual-doctor]

Season 9

Day of the Daleks 🌕🌕🌗🌑🌑

I liked the possible future, under Dalek domination, and how coming back in time to change it actually makes the very thing they were trying to prevent happen. The Daleks are back, but I wished they’d had more of a confrontation with the Doctor, it all felt a bit rushed here. Also, I was very upset by the fact that Three refuses to kill one man to save millions (even though it wouldn’t have changed anything) because it’s wRoNg but half an hour before, he shot and killed several Ogrons and this was never addressed. I’m sorry, I love you Three, but just fuck you. All in all, this episode is ok but not really memorable either.

The Curse of Peladon 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌑

Sorry, I lost my fucking mind every time King Peladon’s thighs appeared, who in hell thought that this would make a king look respectable and not look like a fucking slut? Anyway. I liked this episode, especially the political aspect of it all, even though it was a tad predictable. I liked Jo here, she finally felt deeper, I hope this trend will continue from now on. The Ice Warriors are back and they’re nice, why not? But it kind of physically hurt me to hear them talk. And we have the Venusian lullaby, and if I still prefer Paul McGann’s version, this one (the original you might say) is also very very good.

The Sea Devils 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌗

Until the end, I was expecting to see the Brig and UNIT arrive on white horses to rescue the Doctor (and the Master). So I was a bit disappointed when they didn't. But apart from that, I loved this episode and that's not surprising as it has everything I love: a sea mystery, the sea devils, and the Master (Delgado, please). I love the Master even though his schemes are always the same, this idiot NEVER learns and I love his relationship with Three: the sword fight (was this scene completely necessary? No. Would it have been a great loss if it hadn't been included twice? Yes.), the touching and the collaborating at the end ("we can both die or both escape" you morons deserve to die for giving me so many emotions I can't handle too many emotions, I'm emotionally impaired). Anyway. I also really liked Jo here, the way she helps the Doctor to escape and that scene with them communicating through the window ... hum ... Ten and Donna ... hum.

The Mutants 🌕🌕🌕🌑🌑

This episode is weird. The writers, director, and producers were obviously on drugs when this was written/shot. And luckily, it's an old case of it's so bad that it's actually good. It's camp, it's gay (excuse you, you can't tell me it's not: rainbow mutants and gay couple with Stubbsy and Cotton), the mutants are very ugly and yet I can't help but love them, especially their relationship with Sondergaard (who is a hippie). And the plot is actually interesting and well-handled! And I'm falling hard for Three, I think he might be joining Eight and Twelve up the mountain of my adoration.

The Time Monster 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌗

Oh wow this is so gay, it was delightful. I watched this episode in one go (almost) and kept laughing my ass out. I mean, it has everything: Three being rude to the Brig, TOMTIT, the Master being a pacifist, the temporal sensor thingy, the Brig calling Yates "Mike" and checking out his injuries, baby Benton, two TARDISes inside one another, pigeon!Chronos and genderless!Chronos, "groovy", ... I love everything about this episode, I love Three, I love the Brig, I love the Master. The only negative thing was the parts in Atlantis that I found a tiny bit less interesting but really, a very very good episode all the way

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Congrats on the (well-deserved) 1k! Can't miss that opportunity to ask you stuff >w< 🧠 What's a random little headcanon from (You got me) in the palm of your hand that you didn't get to include, a scene you scrapped or a detail you changed? 

✍️ What was your writing process like for Hic sunt dracones?

💀 Would you rather drink tea or coffee?

Thank you so much for the kind words and for the questions! 🥰💖

🧠

Altogether, there was not a lot I scrapped but rather a lot I added. The original outline for this fic was four chapters rather than the six and an epilogue it ended up with, but then the sex scene spiraled out of control (like they tend to do), and then Steve wanted to visit Eddie in his rent before Nancy showed up, and then the platonic soulmates wanted to have a moment in Robin's bedroom and how could I say no to extra Stobin?😅

I'm still very happy with how the fic turned out bc I really like the pacing and I think the extra bits really add to the character dynamics. 🥰

✍️

Oh my God, here we go!

So, everyone is gonna laugh at me now, but when I first thought of that story, I thought it would be SHORT! ���

When I started writing, I had everything up to Eddie’s first shift and the fullmoon sex scene planned out, and I thought it would be a relatively quick write that I just needed to get out of my system.

By the time I finished chapter 1, I began to realize that this would … not be the case. 😅 The thing kept getting longer and longer and the backstory and world building kept getting more and more complex, and that poor guy was still stuck in dragon form. 😂

By the time I finally got to the big reveal, I had a solid idea of the ending I wanted (dramatic tower plummet, followed by happy end and throne sex), but the in-between was very, very foggy, and remained like that until I wrote the escape scene almost. (The outline for the entire middle part literally read “they hang out at the lair and fuck a lot” for the longest time. It gave me massive anxiety.) It literally all fell into place when I figured out the role I wanted Wayne to play, and from that moment on, it finally came together. (Except for chapter 13, aka the longest fight scene in existence, which felt like I was bodily wrestling it out of my brain and into the doc.)

The flower crown, btw? Not mentioned in the outline with a single word, I only thought of adding that about one chapter prior. 😅🌸

💀

I'm a coffee gal through and through. There's one brand of tea I'd kill for, though - mango and ginger flavored. I can drink that stuff like water.

I'm celebrating 1k followers - let's chat! 💖

[sakee21]

SEVENTEEN - F*ck My Life MV

Oh my gosh... I really had to make a (long) post about this song and the MV because the MV references the movie called "The Truman Show" which is a touching classic movie, the message and the lyrics of the song really hit so hard, and the whole production of the MV is top-notch and SVT's acting in here deserves to be appreciated, like it was really like a short film or something. It was really amazing in my opinion.

So first, for the Truman Show references that I can remember (cuz it was fun to look for them haha).

(SOME SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE AHEAD!)

Plot summary for those unfamiliar with it: the movie was about an ordinary man named Truman who has a stable job, a lovely wife and a loyal best friend. However, it seems that something was not right with his almost "perfect" life when he began to notice unusual things happening around him, such as a mysterious object falling from the sky

and rain pouring down on a certain spot only.

It turns out that the movie is set in the future and Truman is the star of a reality tv show that is being broadcast to the whole world.

His whole surroundings is just a giant tv set made with advanced technology, the people around him (including his family, friends, coworkers) are just actors hired to play certain roles, and since his birth he was living a fake life made by the show's creator/director.

However, this didn't mean that Truman's feelings, emotions, and experiences were fake because he once fell in love with an extra actor named Sylvia. But since she wasn't the intended love interest for Truman (and because she was trying to help him get out of his fake life), she was forcefully removed from the show.

The pin during Joshua's scene is a reference to the pin that Sylvia wore in the movie.

Becoming confused by what is real or fake and driven by his desire to find Sylvia (his true love), Truman began to go against the rules and goes missing. He decided to run away using a boat and crosses the ocean (which he is afraid of because of a trauma he had when he was young).

Of course the show's creator didn't want this to happen, so he made a storm happen to discourage Truman and change his mind.

The final part of the movie showed Truman fighting against his fears; him hitting the edge of his world, the "sky" (which is actually just a backdrop wall) and realizing that he was indeed living in a fake world; his desire for freedom; and him ultimately making the choice to open the door to the outside world and go live his own life.

I think the overall message of the movie (and especially the ending) fits really well with the message that SVT's wants to convey in the song, which is to fight for your own life and find your true self, just like Truman. In SVT's own words:

From now on I'll fight for my life

For my own good, fight for my life

We'rе so used to feeling numb in this life

Now I just wanna find myself

Now for some additional thoughts:

Though the overall message of "F*ck My Life" can be applied to almost any person's life, I also can't help but have a bit of comparison to Truman and the world of k-pop idols. We are familiar that k-pop idols broadcast a part of their lives to us, the viewers. And like the audience of Truman's show, fans learn to laugh with them, cry with them, grow with them. They share a lot of things to us and we develop an attachment to our idols. Though this isn't necessarily a bad thing, we have to remember that k-pop idols are still real people living in the real world, and like Truman, they have their own desires and happiness that they want to find and achieve. So as fans, the least we can do is give them the privacy and respect they deserve and let them live the lives they want to live. We don't have the right to tell them what they should do or how they should act or who they should only interact with. If we do so, we are no different from the creator of Truman's show, who wants to cage him inside the fictional world that he created. The idol life is already a f*cked up world as it is, hopefully we shouldn't make it more difficult.

Aaaaaand that's the end of this essay lol (I honestly don't know how to end this well 😅english is not easy). Tho this felt all over the place and the ending got kinda preachy, but idk SVT's song and mv just made me think of these thoughts. I'm glad they released a song and MV like this. I was already SUPER amazed by "Super" but I think I really became more of their fan because of "F*ck My Life". Hopefully the message they want to convey can reach a lot of people, and hopefully SVT themselves can find their true happiness just like Truman.

[casspurrjoybell-22]

The Art of Sin - Chapter 18 - Part 1

•Bain López (Werewolf)

•Noir Laurent (Dark Elf & Sun Elf)

*Warning Adult Content*

My mind felt heavy yet my body was light, as if it wasn't even there.

I saw yet I couldn't at the same time.

Everything was white, a blinding white that would have made me close my eyes but I couldn't seem to move my body.

I couldn't even tell if I had one.

'Am I dead?'

The thought struck me, my mind racing to try and unravel the confusion that was my memories.

Slowly, I started to string together what was my life.

There wasn't any order though.

I couldn't remember the order.

Scenes both disturbing and wonderful played out in my attempt to remember.

I was disgusted by most of them, wanting nothing else then to turn away and bask in this white world.

I couldn't though.

In between the bad, I saw images that made me unbelievably happy.

I was surrounded by people who cared for me, who I cared for.

It was enough to make me keep going.

I began to piece together my existence starting from when I was a child to what I was sure happened recently.

Then the final piece fell into place.

My family held by men.

Their pleas for me to stop.

What did they want me to stop?

Oh. I remember.

Oberous, the vampire the other men followed, was using my body.

It was my plan but I didn't want it.

I hated what I was doing, what my family was forced to see.

It was disgusting.

Even as I took Oberous's life force, I felt shame.

I couldn't help but be happy as I curled up on the floor in agony, choking up blood, as if it were some sort of punishment.

A punishment I still felt I deserved, even in this weird place.

"You wish for punishment?" the voice echoed through the white space, slipping into my ear like a whisper.

I knew who it was immediately.

Oberous.

I didn't panic, knowing exactly what was happening.

"You cannot hurt me in my own mind. Even as we speak, your life force is being broken down and soon you'll be no more."

He chuckled, making me uneasy.

"Ah but you forget, I'll become a part of you. Since we'll be together for a long, long time, how about I tell you about myself?"

I was unable to stop the flood of images from appearing, similar to how I had pieced together my life.

This, however, was much more gruesome.

There was blood, so much of it.

Almost every scene was one of murder, of him ripping into someone for the simple joy of killing.

He didn't need to feed.

He didn't need anything.

I felt nauseated as they continued.

I didn't know how time flowed where I was but it felt like an eternity.

An eternity of blood.

Through it all, he laughed.

He laughed at the disgust that I felt.

He laughed at the expressions of his victims.

It stopped when Lord Nikoli came into view, however.

********

A man, beating him by only an inch in height but by a lot in brawn, stood before a younger Oberous.

The man stared at him and he trembled beneath his gaze, one he loved, one he hated.

Eyes so similar to his own yet completely opposite, held indifference.

"Why?" Oberous whispered, still not looking at the man.

"Why won't you love me, Nikoli?"

Lord Nikoli sighed, running a hand through his hair as the corners of his mouth pulled into a frown.

"It's not that I won't but can't. Love cannot be forced."

"BUT YOU'VE SLEPT WITH COUNTLESS OTHERS."

Lord Nikoli's eyes snapped to the now burning ones of Oberous.

There was no love, there never had been though Oberous had claimed there was.

He did not love Lord Nikoli though try as he might to convince everyone including himself.

He loved the power of having Lord Nikoli, one of the most powerful of their kind, as a lover.

He wanted the respect, the fear, that came with it and for that, Lord Nikoli denied him.

"Fine," there was a dark look in Oberous's eye.

"One day, one day I'll be as powerful as you. I'll find you just to show you that I didn't need you or your love and when I do, Oh you're going to regret it."

With that, he stormed off, leaving Lord Nikoli standing there with suspicion in his eyes, eyes that didn't miss anything.

Not even the slight trembling in Oberous' body or the single tear that made its way down his cheek.

********

Silence.

Neither of us spoke.

"Was that really the reason you came here? Why you did those things? Because Nikoli denied you?"

I felt rage, more than I'd felt in years.

The air around me seemed electrified, sizzling with my fury as what he did, what I did, came back to me.

The pain he caused, the pain my family felt, was because Lord Nikoli wouldn't take him as a lover.

"It's pathetic."

"DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT."

Everything went dark as his voice thundered out with such venom that it stunned me.

The white became an inky black.

My light body suddenly became heavy.

The air was muggy and weighed me down, slowly my thoughts.

It got worse as Oberous spoke.

"He was my everything. I did whatever I could to please him, to make him happy and do you think he cared? No. He ignored my love for him. He destroyed it and turned it into hatred. So I decided to destroy his love."

He chuckled darkly, revealing scene after scene.

In each one, he watched from a distance.

It took me a moment to realize that in every one, Lord Nikoli was the focus, Lord Nikoli and the others.

One scene, in particular, stopped me cold.

[otnesse]

Don't really give a darn about Ashman's lifestyle or not (I may have my own personal disagreements with the recollection of the whole AIDS thing, since if anything especially thanks to Fauci they tended to DOWNPLAY the gay community's connection to the virus and instead made it sound as though it's effectively a Resident Evil-level pathogen, that you could get it even if you drank a glass someone else drunk, even if you were straight, but that's a topic for another day). What I will state however is that I personally think those who thought they shouldn't have the Enchantress curse Adam as a child seem to really misunderstand her. This was the same lady who cursed several servants, including Chip (an explicit child, and one who definitely never deserved the curse no matter HOW you slice it, whether it be Adam ticking her off or even how Adam was raised.) and his siblings (who can't have been that much older than him), and also cursed at least one animal just because of a spurn ONE person did to her, not to mention cursed the entire surrounding forest to be a dreary place with what are likely to be demonic wolves prowling about. There was absolutely NOTHING fair about what she did, so why bother complaining about that bit? It still would have been unfair even if Adam was an adult instead of a child (even moreso considering Don Hahn's commentary indicated that the curse didn't JUST make him physically resemble a beast, it was also psychological to the extent of turning him more feral over time, with the added implication that the rest of the servants would flat out DIE by becoming literal inanimate objects had he failed to break the curse in time).

Personally, they really should have kept that bit in, and ALSO make the Enchantress the actual explicit bad guy instead of Gaston. Let's face it, what she did in the backstory was simply irredeemable and unjustifiable, and it really makes me sick that there's no confrontation against her at all (Gaston by comparison was small fry regarding his crimes). I mean, we could have gotten an almost Final Fantasy-esque climactic battle against her, even make her a direct foil to Belle as a sign of how SHE could have turned out had she not tried to attempt compassion to Adam. In fact, expanding on that, maybe make Belle part-Fae or whatever the Enchantress was supposed to be, have THAT form the crux of her background (including being a victim of persecution by the villagers out of fear of what she is), and even have as some character development her having a conflict on which part of her background she ought to embrace ultimately, in addition to dealing with the Beast.

Seriously, couldn't we have as the climax something akin to either the Bhunivelze confrontation or even the Ultimalius confrontation? With Belle in Lightning/Clive's position and the Enchantress in Bhunivelze/Ultimalius's position, maybe Adam in Hope Estheim's position (in fact, have Adam upon the curse being lifted also appearing as a child, the implication being that the Enchantress de-aged him and took control of his body). You know, like these scenes:

Heck, if anything, aside from it actually allowing for it to keep Belle's Fae background from the Villeneuve rendition, the more Final Fantasy-esque climax I think should have been used instead of the one we actually got would also in a way be a neat nod towards Belle's love of a particular genre type.

EDIT: Actually, even better, have Adam in Clive Rosfield's position, have that be an ongoing battle in a metaphysical plane of existence, while Belle deals with the Enchantress in the physical plane of existence a'la Lightning Farron. That would allow for BOTH parties to come out well in this, and even emphasize the true love bit as well.

Still thinking about Disney's Beauty and the Beast and the age of the Prince when he was transformed.

Out of all the creative team, it was Howard Ashman who really wanted the Prince to have been a child when it happened. He was allegedly very angry when the directors insisted the Prince be portrayed as a young adult instead, because the tragic childhood curse was essential to his vision of the Beast's character.

But one of the main arguments that people always make against the idea of the Prince having been a child is that it's unfair. That it would have been too cruel of the Enchantress to punish a young boy that way; that only if he was a man does it really feel just.

Yet maybe Howard Ashman had a reason for wanting that element of injustice in the spell.

Many writers have discussed the impact of Ashman's gayness and his AIDS diagnosis on Beauty and the Beast. I don't need to spell out the ways that the Beast's curse and resulting status as an outcast parallels the life of a gay man with AIDS in the early '90s. Other writers have eloquently done so already. And is AIDS fair? Is AIDS something that its victims deserve? Even if it is their "own fault" that they contract it, does that make them deserve to die of a slow, painful, debilitating illness, which also makes them even more hated and feared by society than they already were for their sexuality?

Of course the Beast doesn't have AIDS. He's under a spell, which is a punishment for having been cruel and unfeeling. Maybe, for the sake of the story being told, it is better for his punishment to feel fully just and deserved. But it also makes sense that Howard Ashman should have wanted an element of unfairness and tragedy to it.

There's a tension in the Beast's character, which I've written about before: on one level, he's portrayed as an unseemly brute who needs to be tamed and transformed, yet on another level, he's a suffering outcast who needs to be understood and accepted. These two different sides of his character make him complex and compelling, but they don't always sit comfortably together. I think this is an area where the tension between those two sides can especially be felt.

[getmemymicroscope]

The movie was, of course, amazing. The tribute(s) to Chadwick Boseman - the moment of silence at the 'Marvel' opening credits, the celebration of life as the movie begins, the moment of silence at the end, the flashback to some of his scenes - were all brilliantly done, brilliantly handled, and very, very emotional. This did that magnificently. And the turn-around, to take this movie and turn it from Chadwick Boseman-led Black Panther to what we got - well, that was fantastically done too.

The story, meanwhile, was also pretty great - sure, it's a superhero movie, but it's also about people (many people, in fact) dealing with loss. Dealing with it poorly, in some instances, but dealing nonetheless. Shuri, especially, deals with it very poorly - up until she doesn't - but I guess that is to be expected. There's been a lot of loss she's had to deal with, and in pretty quick succession at that. And, to that extent, the bringing back of Kilmonger in the way they did was very, very well handled as well and, once she figures it out, pretty damn impactful.

There's something to be said, in that regard, of her hiding the truth from the others, but then ... it's also a movie. And maybe she just doesn't fully trust them.

Interested in Ironheart, for sure.

What really stood out to me, almost from the start (because of the way the movie plays) is that when she first comes across the 'villains,' the lady describing them just describes them as "blue people." Which is, well, accurate, but more to the point - it would appear that this MCU world does not have the 'Avatar' movies in it. Because that description is not used by anyone, anywhere, at any point in the movie. Odd, since it's also a Disney franchise (and was also releasing a movie soon after), but then, I guess maybe Disney didn't want them to be associated with the 'bad guys.' But still, they have MIT and Anderson Cooper and Boston, you'd think they also have James Cameron.

More frustratingly I think, MCU-wise, is the 'twist' at the end with Namor, which pretty much ends with him being set up as possibly being a returning villain and only agreeing to a truce to hold it over people later (or, well, to exploit at future times). The MCU is getting way too big with all these 'take over the world' characters, and while I understand that that's what superheroes fight and what the MCU needs, it feels like they're just getting too big by expanding into the universe (Kang?, Guardians 3, the Eternals), the multiverse (wherever Strange is going next), the quantumverse (Kang, again), and underwater on Earth (Namor). And, of course, the many evil people already on the land parts of Earth. Like, if anything, you'd have thought that this entire episode, including that final fight scene, might've made him sorta turn good, or at least an ally with Wakanda, and not just 'friends with benefits.' But maybe it's just me - I just, by the end, was sorta done with them and with Shuri not realizing that she was, in fact, turning into yet another Kilmonger.

I'm not sure it tops No Way Home as best Phase 4 movie for me, simply because No Way Home had the return of so many familiar faces who deserved better from the Spider-man universe (not to mention, a sort of redemption for the Amazing version) and reconnecting with childhood (or around there) memories. But that's not to take away from this movie, which was absolutely amazing and really a complete marvel through and through.

[duskholland]

The Fame Game (Part Nine) - Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Breaking up is hard. But breaking up with your fake boyfriend, with whom you’ve fallen irrevocably and painfully in love with? It’s almost impossible.

Warnings ↠ Angst, Y/N’s being stubborn but can we blame her? Cursing and crying. All the good stuff. 

Word count ↠ 5.2k

A/N ↠ This part? Emotional rollercoaster and a half. We’re almost at the end of the story, though! :((( Only part ten and the epilogue to go, and I am not okay. Crazy crazy crazy. Anyway, buckle in and enjoy part nine :)

NINE: Expiration Date (Y)

It’s raining in London. Tracks of grey, miserable water stream down the dirty window, obscuring the view of the city beyond. Your fingers are cold as you hold a mug of stale tea, the liquid pale and long-past its best. You’d poured it an hour ago, intending to throw it back and pull yourself out of your stupor, but you’d failed.

Today is the end of your relationship with Tom - the expiration date, as your team likes to call it. In a move of obscene pathetic fallacy, the weather curled across London seems to emanate your innermost thoughts. It’s cloudy and grey, darkness settled across the sky. In the distance, the clouds grow blacker, and a part of you wonders if it’ll thunder later.

You feel a tear slip from one of your eyes, and the warm line traces down your cheek as you sniffle. With slow movements, you finally put down the mug, crossing your arms over your chest as you continue to stare out of the window, vacantly. You’re in your London flat, your belongings in boxes around you. With the conclusion of a final filming project comes the end of your lease, and when you leave London tonight on a plane, you leave behind your flat, your job, and your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend, who sometimes acts like your real boyfriend, but has made it all too clear that he is only, only, only your fake boyfriend.

A scowl springs out across your face, and your fingers curl into fists at your sides.

You thought you’d been hurt by Tom before. For years, you’ve felt anger towards him - resentment, irritation, burning frustration. You’ve cursed him out on countless occasions, publicly denounced him, and watched on as he’s returned every move you’ve made against him with equal ferocity. At almost every given opportunity, Tom has launched blow after blow at you, but you’d taken it. You had accepted that that was just your relationship - that sometimes two people don’t get along, and sometimes they thrive off irritating the other. His insults didn’t touch you - not really, not like this. They’d riled you up and they’d made you seethe, but they were just insults - just empty, irritating insults, which you’d returned with a smile on your face. But now…

For the first time, Tom Holland has actually broken your heart.

It’s painful when you think about him, as you cast your mind back to your last day together. You’d been so excited, so hopeful, when you’d turned up at his place in LA, and as he’d laid you down and you’d held one another, you’d felt the love you have for him grow. Each time he’d kissed you, you felt your love deepen. Each pass of his hands over your skin made your heart race, your mind shake. You’d been waiting on the right time to open your mouth, say the three golden words, and then propose giving your relationship a real shot, only for Tom to jump the gun and tell you that he, in fact, loved you.

To have Tom stand opposite you and tell you that he loves you - only to immediately follow it up with a retraction - has shattered you. You can’t stop thinking about the moment that you’d let yourself believe, for one brief, shocking second, that Tom reciprocated your love - that Tom had softened out, and grown to love you, too. His words had knocked you off-guard, but fuck, if they weren’t the sweetest three words you’d ever heard. You’d been fully prepared to drop everything and jump into his arms, only for him to add--

“No… Wait, no.”

You are upset. You are so fucking angry. You are a whirlwind of tears and clenched fists and stiff jaws. The more you contemplate it, the hollower you feel. You have never known heartbreak as pronounced as this.

You hate the power that you’ve given Tom. Hate that you’d walked straight into this, eyes open. You can’t even blame it on blind infatuation, because you’d been aware at every moment how dangerous your budding feelings were, just you’d chosen to ignore the warning signals, too distracted by Tom’s easy smile and his kisses. You hate that you let him break your heart, hate that he’s emerged from this unscathed when you feel the weakest you’ve ever been.

But above all, you hate that you don’t hate him. It would be so easy to slip back into old habits, to return to that blind, festering hatred that used to roar through your veins at the mere mention of his name. You can’t return to that, and every time you try to drum up some anger towards Tom, you’re instead reminded of how nice, and funny, and sweet he can be.

You release a shaky breath. It’s your expiration date, today. All that’s left of your relationship is a visit to Tom’s house to collect your things, and a few pap photographs of you leaving his place, in pieces. There’s no doubt in your mind that the paparazzi will find it convincing: you’ve been a mess for days, your tears will be real. You’re full of apprehension and rattled nerves about seeing him again, about walking back into his house knowing it’ll be the last time and having to act like he hasn’t reached into your chest and ripped out your heart.

You are an actor, to your core, but your role within this relationship has been your hardest performance to date - and you have the sinking suspicion that not even you can pull off the denouement.

The paparazzi are already outside Tom’s as you walk down his front path, raindrops bouncing off your jacket. The flashes from their cameras illuminate the garden, and your eyes hurt as the light glints off the collection of small garden gnomes Harrison and Tom keep in front of their house. You’re quick to drum your knuckles on the front door, tugging on the chords of your hood and trying to shy away from the yelling journalists.

After what feels an eternity, the door is opened. Tom stares out at you, eyes widening as he takes in the pouring rain.

“Shit, it’s wet today, isn’t it?” He mutters, quickly moving aside. You hurry into the house, sighing contentedly as the warmth envelops you. You kick off your shoes, but your fingers are frozen solid and you can’t quite tug the zip of your coat. “Do you need help?”

You glance up, seeing Tom eyeing your shivering fingers as you try and fail to release the slippery zip. “Yeah,” you mutter, quickly glancing away. It’s not your intention to stay long, but you’re not so inconsiderate that you’d traipse through Tom’s entire house in a dripping jacket.

You stay very still as Tom steps forward, one of his hands holding the bottom of your jacket as the other goes up to the zip. His tongue slips out between his teeth, and a deep crease appears between his eyebrows as he grasps the zip and carefully tugs it down. A smile splits over his face, and you sigh as the coat releases.

“There you go.” Tom doesn’t stop there, though. He goes so far as to help you wiggle out of the jacket, and even hangs it up on the peg for you. The same peg you’d used when you’d stayed with him a few months ago. Your peg. “So.” Tom rocks back on his feet, looking at you through narrowed eyes. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. “What?”

“Y/N.” Tom steps a little closer, his eyes wide with hurt. “My calls, too. I really needed to talk to you.”

“Sorry,” you fib. You’re not sorry, not even one bit. Every time you’d watched your phone go through to answerphone, you’d felt a little stronger. “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, you know. Stuff.”

Tom frowns at you. “Well, I needed to talk to you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You clear your throat, shaking out your arms as you try to lighten the air between you. You hadn’t meant to come into your last encounter with Tom with so much hostility on your shoulders, but being so close to him again makes your chest ache. “Sorry,” you mutter. “What did you want to talk about?”

Tom nods his head. “Well, it’s… It’s complicated.” Now he’s hesitant, with reluctance clinging to his features. You feel irritation stir inside as you watch him fluster. All you want to do is get this over and done with, so you can leave his house before you start crying again. You don’t want to drag this out.

“Well, can we talk about it as I pack my things?” You ask, your voice clipping a little at the edges.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Tom moves out of the way, letting you into the main body of the house. “What do they want us to do, again?”

You bite your lip as you see the photograph that hangs from the wall in the hallway. It’s new, and it shows you, Harrison and Tom, laying out together on one of their sofas. You remember the night well: Harry had taken the picture, teased Tom for the way he’d got you wrapped up in his arms and refused to let go for the duration of the scary film you were all watching. On your other side is Harrison, glaring at you and Tom, mock outrage on his face. It was a good night - near the end of your trip to London, back when things were better.

“Did they send you a box?” You say, voice vacant. You can’t stop looking at the photo, at the way Tom has his face buried in your neck. You look so happy. “They want me to put all my stuff in a box. Apparently, paps just need to see me leaving with all of my things, and then they’ll get the picture.”

“Pretty simple, then?” Tom drops down to his knees, beginning to rummage in the cupboard under the stairs until he procures a big red box. “This is the one they sent.” He passes it up to you. “Will that be big enough?”

“Yeah. I only have a few things here, I think.”

“Cool. Do you want to start upstairs?”

“Why not.”

You feel awkward as you slowly climb the staircase. The air between you is unsettled, and you can tell Tom’s hurt that you’re clearly less than enthused to be here. Part of you wants to soothe him, but the other part wants to run, run, run.

“Harrison not here?” You ask as you walk past his empty bedroom. You enter their spare room, which you’d been crashing in back when you’d stayed, and quickly start pulling out the odd book and bottle you’d left. Management had instructed you to leave a few things back when you’d left, and now you understand why.

“Nah, Liverpool,” Tom says. “It’s just me.” He sits on the edge of the bed, watching as you quickly pile everything into your box. “Look, Y/N, can we please talk?”

“I’m listening.”

“No, no.” Tom stands up, and you freeze as he reaches out for your arm. The second his warm fingers touch your skin, a lump comes to your throat. “I need to- we need to talk.” You stay completely still, closing your eyes as you feel him slide his hand up your arm. His palm rests on your shoulder, weighted and familiar, and the contact makes your heart pang.

“What do you want to talk about, Tom?” You ask, voice hoarse. You keep your eyes shut. The scent of his cologne is so familiar it brings back the tightness in your chest. You aren’t sure if you’re so upset because this is the last time you’ll be together, or if it has more to do with the fact that you can’t look at Tom without being reminded that he doesn’t love you.

“Come and sit down. I can make tea.”

You suck in a deep breath. “You know that I’m walking out of your house in ten minutes and probably never coming back again, yeah?” You mutter. “What’s so important that it deserves a cup of tea?”

Tom only chuckles, not seeming to mind the bitterness of your voice. “I’ll tell you. Over tea.” He squeezes your shoulder, and you finally open your eyes. Your vision swims with tears, but if he notices it, he doesn’t comment on it. “You can pack your stuff up here, and I’ll meet you in the living room. Okay?”

You nod. “Alright.”

You try to delay your conversation for as long as possible, which takes you on a short trip into Tom’s bedroom. In your defence, you don’t mean to snoop - you did, in fact, leave your favourite book on his desk - but you do also take the opportunity to have a little look around.

On Tom’s windowsill is a line of very dead plants, their leaves shrivelled and broken. You roll your eyes as you peer into the empty watering can, chuckling softly. Typical. On his desk is a pile of scripts, dog-eared and stained with the round marks of spilt tea, and crumpled clothes hang everywhere, shoved over various armrests and laying in heaps on the floor. Tom’s entire room is organised chaos.

What catches your eye, though, is the large shelf hammered into the wall. You’ve been in Tom’s room before, hell, you’d spent your last night in London in his bed, but you’d never taken the time to look up and examine this shelf. Settled in the middle of it, gathering dust, is Tom’s BAFTA. You sigh, and instinctively, you reach up and take it.

It’s heavy in your hands. You’ve felt it before, but you’d forgotten the weight of the blue glass trophy. When you’d last touched it, it’d been on the night of the show, and Tom had thrust it into your hands mockingly, making some flippant comment about it being a mark of his success. You’d immediately tossed it back at him, almost dropping it in the process, and shut him down with a snide remark.

Now, you run your thumbs over the award. The curves are smooth beneath your fingertips. You blink a few times, and two tears splash out onto the thing. As you rub them away, you take a deep, shuddering breath.

Pull yourself together, Y/N.

You swallow, and when you release a deep exhalation, you feel steadier. The award goes back to the shelf, and you pick up your box. Just ten more minutes. One conversation, one cup of tea, and ten more minutes. Then you can leave him behind.

How much can change in ten minutes, anyway?

There’s something melancholic about the way you find yourself sitting on Tom’s sofa, facing him again. You’re in the same position that you were in back when you’d customised your shoes together, before everything had gone to shit: you, leaning up against one armrest, Tom against the other, both of you with your legs outstretched and meeting in the middle. Tessa has staked her claim sitting on your feet, and as you sip nervously at your tea, you keep your eyes on her.

“So.” Tom’s fidgeting. If he’s not drumming his fingers over the ceramic of his mug, he’s picking at the strap of his watch. “I need to talk to you.”

You wince a smile. “Yeah, you keep saying that.” You take a sip of your tea. It’s still hot, and it burns the tip of your tongue, but part of you wants to down the whole thing just so you can leave. Being so close to him makes your chest sting.

Tom takes a deep breath. “I said something really stupid the last time we were together. I was… I was just going to leave it, but then I realised that doing that would be even more stupid,” he starts. Immediately, you feel yourself bristle. You can’t have this conversation again.

“We don’t need to talk about it, Tom,” you mutter. “What’s the point? I’m leaving soon.”

“Which is exactly why we need to talk about it, love.” Tom’s eyes are wide, a hint of desperation swirling in them. He sets his tea down on the coffee table and sits up straighter. “I didn’t mean it.”

You sigh, rubbing at your forehead as you feel another stab of pain in your chest. He’s really twisting the knife, now.

“I know,” you remind him. “You’ve already told me that you didn’t mean it.”

“No, no.” Tom shakes his head, running a hand through his curls. “No.” He’s visibly anxious, but you’re too perplexed to consider offering him any comfort. “I mean… I said I didn’t love you. Well, I said I loved you, and then I took it back.”

You release a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan, and it brings on a fresh set of tears. “Yes, I remember, Tom.”

“Well, I was wrong.”

Very slowly, you look up at him. You put down the tea and bring your knees to your chest, staring at him through hard eyes.

“What?” You say, voice dull.

“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken it back.” “Tom.” You’re exasperated and confused. “What are you trying to say?”

“I love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “What?”

“I love you.” Tom’s lips quirk into a soft, warm smile. “And- And I know you probably don’t feel the same way, and you probably don’t want to hear it, but I had to tell you before you leave. You have to know how I actually feel.” He sits forward, and his foot nudges your knee. “I love you. I’m sorry for being a dick, I just… I panicked, I guess.”

Your brain feels like it’s running slow, wading miles behind the rest of you. You’ve spent so many days coming to terms with the fact that Tom doesn’t love you that the evidence for the contrary isn’t sinking in.

“What- but you said that you didn’t love me?” You puzzle.

“I was wrong.”

You look at him. You look at him long and hard. Your eyes dissect the soft smile on Tom’s lips, the eagerness in his eyes, and the blush on his cheeks.

You don’t believe him.

“How can you get something like that wrong?” You ask him, frazzled. “Tom, I- I don’t know if I can trust anything that you say.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “So you want it to be true?”

“What? Shut up, this isn’t about me.” You have a lump in your throat. “Tom, this is- this is about you, not knowing how you feel.”

“But I do know how I feel. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you-”

“Stop.”

You can’t take it. With every repetition, it feels like Tom’s rubbing it in your face.

“Y/N?”

You stand up from the sofa, displacing Tessa who whimpers in response.

“You’re so cruel, Tom.”

Tom scrambles to his feet too, hopping as he regains his balance. He stands in front of you. “What? What do you mean?” His eyes are wide with hurt. “I’m being honest, Y/N. How is it cruel to love you?”

Tears form in your eyes.

“You don’t get to take it back. You… First, you said that you loved me. Do you… Do you know how happy that made me?” You screw your hands into fists, voice hoarse. “I thought, for a second, that you loved me. I really, really did. I thought that we could end this stupid thing and just be happy. But then, you turn around, and you take it back. You’re not allowed to take back a declaration of love, Tom. Do you know how- how crushing that was?”

“-But-”

“No, I’m talking.” The end of your nose tingles, and you reach up to brush the wetness from your cheeks. “You… You broke my heart, Tom. Because I-” You break off, and you meet his eyes. You speak directly to him. You finally bare your soul. “I love you, Tom. I fell in love with you, and so for you to turn around and take it back-” You break off, waving a hand through the air. “It broke my heart.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is raw, and you watch as Tom rubs at his eyes. “I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” You look at the floor, vision blurry. “How am I supposed to believe that you aren’t going to turn around in two minutes and take it back again?” You rub at your arms. “Why do you get all of the power?”

Tom steps closer, but you just move away. “Y/N, please. I don’t want to hurt you. I would never, ever want to hurt you. I was confused, but I know now more than ever how I feel about you.”

“But you have hurt me, Tom,” you say, finally looking back at him. “Our entire relationship has been us hurting each other. Why should it be any different now?”

Tom clasps his hands together, his cheeks red and ruddy. “We both know it’s different now.”

“Is it?” You release a dim laugh. “Because I feel, just now, exactly as horrible as I used to feel when we’d argue, Tom. All we’ve ever done is hurt.”

“That’s the past.” Tom’s voice is picking up now, growing in strength. When he looks at you, you see his jaw flexing. “I’m sorry for the ways I’ve acted, Y/N, but I can’t change it now. All I can tell you is that you’ll be making a bad decision if you walk out of the door.”

“I have to.” It’s too much to process - too much to think about when Tom’s looking at you so desperately. This morning you’d woken up expecting an awkward visit and then a plane ride far, far away from him. This revelation upends all of that.

“No, you don’t.” Finally, you let Tom take your hands. He runs his thumbs over the back of your palms and you whimper. “Stay. Stay here with me. Fuck PR, fuck the paps. We can be together. We can love each other.” He smiles again, softly. “Let me love you. Please.”

It’s very tempting. As Tom holds your hands tightly and stares into your eyes, you want so desperately to cave. You want to throw yourself into his arms and tell him that you love him, that yes, yes, of course you’ll stay with him. But you think back to all the tears that you’ve shed, and you look at his face, and you’re reminded of the night at the BAFTAs when he’d thrust his polished trophy into your face and bragged about it. You think about all of the times he’s made moves against you and tried to trip you up. You think about your last day together, and how easily he’d retracted his statement.

How can he stand here in front of you, and ask you to forget about all of that so easily?

“I can’t.”

You step away from Tom and instead grab your big red box. You walk quickly into the hallway, your eyes full of hot tears. He follows.

“Yes, you can.”

You sit on the stairs and start lacing up your shoes, staring at Tom angrily.

“I can’t.” Your fingers shake as you tie your laces. “I have a flight. I have a life in LA that I need to get back to. This was never part of the plan, Tom. You’re my fake boyfriend. You aren’t supposed to be my real boyfriend.”

“But you love me.” Tom’s blocking your way, his biceps bulging from his black t-shirt as he stands in front of you desperately. “You told me. You said that you love me, Y/N, and I’m telling you that I love you too.”

“Love isn’t always enough, Tom.” It hurts to look at him, to think about how easily and foolishly he’s handled your heart. “Let me go.”

“Love can be enough.” It’s his final attempt; you can see it in his eyes. “Don’t let us end like this, Y/N. Please.” He takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips. His mouth moves over your skin, dropping kisses to your cold skin.

You feel trapped. You know the car is waiting outside, and it’s all come on too fast, too soon.

“Tom,” you say. You pull your hand from his grasp. “Let me go.”

Tom steps aside. He finally slumps against the wall, pressing his head into his hands. “Is this what you really want?” His voice is raw, broken, and his eyes are red.

You tug your soaking jacket from the peg on the wall as you shrug haplessly. “You can’t drop these feelings on me ten minutes before I’m out the door and expect me to change my life for you.” You look at him. “It isn’t fair.”

“Fine.” Tom stands up straighter. “You should take off your hoodie, then. It’s mine. Wouldn’t be the best impression of the paparazzi to be seen wearing my clothes, would it?”

You drop your jacket to the floor and start shuffling out of the pink hoodie. It’s an oversized fit, and it comes off easily, but you chuckle bitterly. Tom’s taken everything from you - your heart, your sanity - even the very clothes from your back. What more could he possibly want to take?

“There.” You shove it into his hands and angrily pull on your coat. The sleeves are cold and damp against your skin, making you shiver. “Happy now?”

Tom looks down at the jumper. “No,” he says, voice soft. His eyes are round again, widening further as you reach for the front door. “Y/N, please.”

Your fingers linger on the doorknob, cold to touch. You hesitate. When you glance back at Tom, your resolve crumbles. As frustrated and bemused as you are, you love him. You love him, and he’s your best friend, and you’re leaving him.

“Tom,” you whimper. You step away from the door, dodging the box, and fold into his arms, crying with your face on his shoulder. Tom’s arms wrap around your back and he pulls you in tightly. “I’m sorry.” You aren’t sure what you’re apologising for - your departure, your broken heart, your tears staining his shirt. You just know you are so overcome with every emotion that it’s overflowing now, leaving your mouth in ugly sobs.

“Shh.” Tom rolls a hand over your back, patting in large circles. Your jacket crinkles at the action, and you think you can feel his chest shake. “It’s okay.”

You stay in his arms, your face buried in his neck until you stop crying. Even then, you feel clogged up and weakened. He’s so warm - his embrace strong, and comfortable. You feel protected, and when you step back, you feel your heart break again.

“I’m sorry, Tom.” You wipe at your eyes and pick up the red box. Tom’s face falls in response. “I just… I need time. I’m not- I’m not saying that we can never be together, I just… I can’t stay just now. It’s too fresh, I don’t...”

“It’s okay.” Tom steps forward. One of his hands goes to the doorknob, the other rests on your shoulder. He’s near to you - so near that you can see the flecks of pain in his eyes and the freckles on his face. His gaze flickers down to your lips. “I can wait.”

You lean in and kiss him, softly. His lips taste of salty peppermint.

“I… I’ll see you later.” You want to say it, want to tell him so desperately that you love him, but the words choke in the back of your throat.

Tom just smiles, the action not stretching to his eyes. He tilts his head towards the door. “Are you ready?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Tom looks at the box in your hands and reaches up. He tugs up the hood of your jacket and tucks your hair into it carefully. “Safe flight, darling.”

“Thank you.”

He opens the door and steps aside, and then you’re on your own.

London Heathrow Terminal 5 is very empty. You’re sitting alone in the back corner of the waiting room, hood drawn around your face, sunglasses resting heavily over your nose. You haven’t been able to stop shaking since you left Tom’s house. Feeling numb through bag drop, security, and duty-free, it’s a miracle you’ve made it to your gate on time.

You close your eyes, and you see him. You open your eyes, and you expect to see him. He’s everywhere.

Is this what you really want..?

It plays on loop, lilted in his voice. Is this what you really want? To be sat alone, crying in Heathrow airport, when Tom is waiting back at home, finally willing to take you into his arms?

You sniff as you wipe at your eyes, furiously trying to stem the flow of tears. It had all happened so quickly; it felt almost unfair.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

Tom <3: Have a safe flight. I’m sorry for being such a dick. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. I love you and I’ll wait for you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure it out. I love you. Xxxxxxxxxx

You put the phone down, sucking in a deep breath. Your eyes fall to your feet. You notice, for the first time, that you’re wearing your special personalised Converse.

With shaking hands, you pull off your sunglasses and stare at your feet. The ink has run a little, obscured by the pouring London rain, but you can still make out some of the shapes Tom had drawn over them, all those weeks ago. A love heart, a flower, a couple holding hands. The lump in your throat grows bigger.

Is this what you really want..?

“Now boarding, Flight BA0269, London Heathrow to LAX. We now invite our platinum club to board.”

You sigh. You stand up and pull your backpack over your shoulders. You look back at your feet.

The love heart is wobbly and uneven, and you remember the look of concentration on Tom’s face as he’d tried his best to doodle over your shoes. The room had been so warm, back then. Just the two of you, together, finding comfort in one another’s company. It’d been simple, and you can remember looking up at him and feeling warmth for him in your heart.

Is this what you really want..?

No.

Your relationship has felt like a series of rash decisions lately, and you aren’t about to make the final, irreversible choice of leaving London. You can’t leave - not now, with the path finally clear. You can’t leave Tom, who’s finally told you how he feels. He’s messy, and complicated, and being around him makes you feel like your heart is on fire, but you love him. You love him, and maybe he’s right - maybe love is enough.

You know that you have come too far to throw it all away without giving him a chance.

You’ve never been a fan of bold, romantic gestures, but as they call your gate again, you turn off your phone and you turn around. You turn around, and you run. You run back to him.

↠ next part

[megdoesstuff]

YEAAAA 2ND PART THOUGHTS 😭😭 I AM SO SORRY LMAO

IT'S THEM!!!! KNEW THEY'D COMEEEE THEY HAD TOOOOO THEY'RE BACK!!!!!!!

hell no. NONONOLLDOSOZO GWENDY NO

SHE CAN'T DIE KATZYQHZH

oof they went to save her and she went to save him HOPEFULLY,,,,, HOPEFULLY THEY'LL BE FINE 😞😞

OH. OH?? BITCH OF A QUEEN ATEE WITH THIS ONE AT LEAST

that's one fuck we didn't need that's gone, gonna sleep a little better at night 🥰

OHHHHHHH BUT GIRLLLLL

GIRL KILLING HER WAS NOT THE SOLUTION.......... AND NOW KILLING R AINT THE SOLUTION EITHERRR SHE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING 😭😭

FUCK YES

FINALLY, MF GOT WHAT HE DESERVED NOW GO AWAY

FALL OFF THE ROOF OR SMTH JUST LEAAAAAVE THEMM ALONEEEEE

hell no. NO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

WHY IS HE STILL ALIVEEEEE JUST DIE ALREADYYY GOD DAMNIT

HOBIE 😭😭 HE'S DESPERATE OMG IT'S BREAKING MY HEARTTTT JUST LET HIM BE

"No more sacrifices" THAT INCLUDES YOU DON'T DO IT DON'T NO HELL NO STOP

i died. mentally. during that scene. SOBBING I CAN'T EVEN- URHESGSGQH

JUST OMFGJSVZQGMSKAAAHAHQHAAA

IM GOING INSANE U CANT DO THISSSSSS

YES!!!!!!! SHE SWAMMMM SHE SWAM OH MY GOD SHE'S ALIVE!!! WHEN HE HE HOLDS HER AGAIN 😭😭 YOU CANNOT KEEP SEPERATING THEM AND LETTING THEL SEE EACHOTHER AGAIN IN A LOOP THEY THEY THEY

AHZJSVSHAHZ

awwhhhhhh 😭😭 THE LOVELIESSSSS

at least she got it for good. HOME IS HOBIE!!

im sorry but i thought of an egg, against her head at the end. she's just making an omelet for him at the end- SORRY

im lying i was giggling and kicking my feet THEY'RE HAPPY AND SAFE

the captain of his heart teehehehhijizjejz THE CAPTAIN OF HIS HEART AWW

!!!!!!! I CANT EVEN SAY ANYTHING I JUST

FORVERRRRR YES FOREVER YOU CAN'T SEPERATE THEM AGAIN IN BOOK TWO 😭😭 YOU CAN'T TORN MY HEART AGAIN LIKE THISSSS ESPECIALLY WITH THE KNIVES!!

i didn't even mention it but THE KNIVES METAPHOR, THE KNIVESSS 😭😭😭

LET'S GO HONEYMOON WOOO SHE'S GONNA MOVE CABINS

katy i can't say how much i loved this serie 😭😭 it was amazinggggg, THANK YOUU for writing it and you write SO WELL, definitely would buy and read one of your books if you ever wrote one!! so proud of you for writing this too omg LIKE 115K+ WORDS?? WHILE POSTING ALMOST EVERY WEEK A CHAPTER OR ONESHOT?? you're amazing, genuinely 😭👏 LY!!!💗

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

Navigation

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

“Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?” Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

[dailyakira]

rivals to lovers! ft. kazutora, mitsuya, & chifuyu

gn! reader

a/n: THIS IS SUPER OLD.. LIKE IT’S BEEN IN THE DRAFTS FOR FIVE MONTHS. SORRY TO THE FRIEND THAT I SAID I WOULD WRITE THIS FOR

warnings: just really fluffy, competitiveness, different aus?, kazutora's scenario is more love at first sight, writing to mitski is a warning, no trauma??, chifuyu's shower scene is a whole thirst trap

kazutora

the audience applauded as kazutora concluded his complex performance. his guitar laid in his hands, and he fiddled with the acoustic guitar strings as he left the stage.

when he walked down the stairs, he was met with two familiar faces. chifuyu's hair was almost too recognizable in the crowd, after all. baji gave his signature smile and high-fived kazutora.

"great performance, kazutora."

"thanks for coming, guys."

the next person appeared on the stage, with an electric guitar. as you started playing, a rambunctious melody was played. he looked behind him, to see the player.

he was enamored with the playing, even if it was noisier than he had expected. your fingers messily moved around the strings, trying desperately to finish the song.

you were ridiculously beautiful in his eyes. every part of your features was overexaggerated, like you were in some type of shoujo manga. baji tapped on his shoulder and guided him outside of the auditorium.

he took one last glance before he was finally dragged away by chifuyu.

after the show ended, kazutora waited in the lobby awkwardly. they were going to announce the winners soon. he had worked so hard for this, so he could only hope he'd win.

the other contestants were unbothered, including you. kazutora only wished that he could react like that, so he wouldn't be surprised by failure.

the judges walked into the crowded room, and introduced themselves. the winner was about to be announced, and kazutora's hands got shaky.

but his heart stopped when your name was announced. what did he do wrong? he tried his best, but it still wasn't enough. the feeling of despair overcame him.

"and for runner-up, we have kazutora hanemiya. that concludes our awarding ceremony!"

he wished this was all a dream. failure wasn't a growing experience for him at all. he felt worthless, like he didn't even deserve to be at least a runner-up.

kazutora felt like someone was always better than him.

he felt a arm grasp at his wrist. when he glanced upwards, he bumped his head with someone else. it was you, the guitarist from earlier.

kazutora felt green with envy. you had the courage to brag in his face? he'd prove that he was better than you in every single aspect -

"are you okay? you seem upset."

his brain paused for a minute.

"huh?"

he didn't expect his enemy to feign sympathy. he thought you'd be cocky after taking his top spot. the fact made him even more bitter than before.

"i know this must mean a lot to you since you won years in a row. personally, your acoustic guitar sounded way better than my awful playing." you stated with a laugh.

kazutora's eyes widened as he processed. he had gotten many similar compliments, but something was different this time.

the cherry red tones flushed his face, and he tried to use his hands to cover his appearance. your playing was intangible, he couldn't even describe the rush it gave him.

"i heard they're holding an after-party, would you like to go with me?"

◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸

mitsuya

he busied his hands with the needlework. mitsuya heard that he had a new competitor, and he couldn’t help but be anxious.

what if they were better than him? mitsuya worked endlessly to master his craft, but it could all just go to waste.

as he distracted himself with his thoughts, he pricked his finger. mitsuya instinctively put his finger in his mouth.

his glasses slid down his face, and he removed his finger with a sigh. he shouldn’t be worrying about this, he’s a professional after all.

a knock rang throughout his studio.

“come in!” mitsuya yelled.

his secretary entered the room, heels clacking along the wooden floor.

“sir, there’s someone here to see you.”

“let them in, i suppose.”

minutes after his secretary left, a new individual entered the room. mitsuya immediately recognized them though.

“hello, mitsuya.”

he scoffed at his competitor’s audacity. how could they just waltz into his studio like it was nothing?

“shouldn’t you be preparing for your fashion show in a few hours?” you tilted your head with a smirk

“don’t worry about my concerns.” he said sharply.

mitsuya clenched his fist under his desk. he needed to win, losing wasn’t a option when it came to his competitor.

“well, i just wanted to wish you the best, because you’re definitely going to have a damaged ego after this.” you laughed with a saccharine smile.

“i’d like to see you try.” at this point, mitsuya was seething through his teeth.

you decided to take your leave, and left him in a frustrating conflict. he concluded that he should just focus on himself, and ignore them.

in a millisecond, his fashion show was already happening. he nibbled on his pen in pure anxiousness. he saw the models come and go, but he completely blanked out.

until he heard the seat next to him squeak. mitsuya shot his head towards the seat and saw you smiling at him.

"your work is impressive, mitsuya. we should do a collaboration piece."

he scoffed at you and glared at you for a few seconds. he averted his eyes and started to pay attention to everything coming out.

you sighed in disappointment. you had looked up to mitsuya for years, and he absolutely hated you. his patterns were just so intricate, he was an inspiration.

"i'm sorry."

he expressed a confused face as he glanced back at you.

" i didn't want to take your position in the first place. i just desired to compete with you and possibly work together. i never intended for you to hate me."

after a bit of thinking, mitsuya stuck out his right hand towards you. with a cautious look in your eyes, you shook his hand.

"since we got off to a bad start, i'll introduce myself again."

"nice to meet you, my name is mitsuya takashi. i work as a fashion designer. "

a genuine smile appeared on his face as he spoke. he seemed to forgive easily, and you couldn't tear away your attention from his godly appearance.

after you introduced yourself and your occupation, you couldn't help but feel overjoyed. you removed your hand from him, and he repeated the motion.

"so, you were mentioning something about a collaboration?"

◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸

chifuyu

he removed the baking gloves from his worn hands. he was trying his hardest to perfect this dish, but everything was crumbling to pieces. chifuyu had to start over since his cake tasted off.

he took a fresh stick of butter and a few cups of sugar, then put them in the electric mixer. as the mixer was going at a fast pace, he started to add his eggs.

chifuyu lowered the speed of the mixer and added the melted chocolate to his honey-appearing concoction. it slowly added color and became a caramel-colored batter.

as he was getting started on his dry ingredients, his luck ran out. his granulated flour pounced on him, leaving him an absolute mess with no flour to use.

chifuyu shook his head, causing all of the flour to fall out of his ink hair. he sighed and picked up a towel to clean himself up. he decided to go to the store once he took a shower.

the sweltering water hit his skin, and he groaned out of pleasure. the blazing liquid went through his ragged hair. chifuyu ran his fingers through his hair while relaxing his back.

a hot shower was exactly what he needed after his eventful day. as he recalled back to earlier today, chifuyu used his usual shampoo and conditioner, which had the faint scent of roses.

he used his similar scented body wash soon after. chifuyu lathered over his biceps to his muscular chest. the soap dripped down his upper body through the middle of his chest. the soap proceeded to dribble into the discarded water as he shut his eyes in pure exhaustion.

he leaned his back onto the shower door and put the back of his hand on his forehead, whining in pleasure. the steam phased through chifuyu, clouding up the glass shower.

later on, as he exfoliated the dead skin from his legs, he felt at peace. maybe he'd be able to do his full skincare routine, and then possibly go to bed on time.

chifuyu left the bathroom with a cotton towel around his waist, while water droplets from his hair trailed all the way back to his room. he chose to put on a simple white shirt with sweatpants for his outfit.

chifuyu was finally ready, and he could continue his baking soon.

after five minutes of driving, he finally arrived at the supermarket. the bright neon lights of the store name blinded him. he grabbed a cart and set off to find his flour.

chifuyu kept picking up unnecessary things while trying to find the flour. he always tended to get distracted, but he needed a good amount of time to bake.

he walked aimlessly, not paying much attention to what was in front of him. suddenly, he felt something hit his chest before he fell down on the marble floor of the supermarket.

he rubbed his face out of frustration before opening his eyes, ready to yell at the person who threw something at him. his gaze averted upwards as his pupils became wider.

god, anyone but you.

chifuyu hated everything about you, like how good you were at baking, how your hair matched your face, and especially how beautiful your eyes looked.

it was obnoxious to say the least. he felt like he could never measure up to you because he was a hard worker, and you... you were just talented.

“hey chifuyu! did you perfect the cake yet? the competition is tomorrow and we’ll be on the spot!”

the excitement on your face really ticked him off. maybe it was his massive inferiority complex, but he absolutely despised you.

you checked the time on your phone before widening your eyes in shock.

“i’m late for my appointment, but i wanted you to have this.”

you handed him a written recipe. the paper had wrinkled because of its time in your pocket.

it was the cake recipe that he had been trying to attempt, except it was revised. it felt like everything he had been missing.

when he looked up, you had already left. he held the yellow paper up to his chest and felt his heart beat rapidly. a bright red blush splotched onto his face while he had a internal battle with himself.

he still hated you, right?