#did we actually consume the same series

[urahara-lovepage]

bleach media literacy is actually just a measure of how you read urahara as a character

[alpaca-clouds]

Why the media CEOs will always learn the wrong lessons

Yesterday a friend and I talked about how the entire (AAA) game industrie looked at BG3 being as popular as it is and going: "Oh, we need to produce 100+ hour games, I guess! Those sell!" Which... obviously is not why it is popular. The game is not popular because it has 100+ hours of gameplay, but because it has engaging characters, that are well-acted and that work as good hooks for the players. Like, let's face it: The reason why I so far have sunken 160 hours into this game is, because I wanna spend time with these characters - and because I wanna give them their happy endings.

But the same has happened too, just a bit earlier this year, right? When Barbie broke the 1 billion and every Hollywood CEO went: "Oh, so the people want movies based on toy franchises! Got it!" To which the internet at large replied: "... How is that the lesson you learned from this?"

Well, let me explain to you, why this is the lesson they learn: It is because the CEOs and the boards of directors at large are not artists or even engaged with the medium they produce. They mostly are economists. And their dry little hearts do not understand stuff more complex than numbers and spread sheets.

That sounds evil, I know, but... It is sadly the truth. When they look at a successful movie/series/game/book/comic, they look at it as a product, not a piece of art or narrative. It is just a product that has very clear metrics.

To them Barbie is not a movie with interesting stylistic choices that stand out from the majority of high budget action blockbusters. It is a toy movie with mildly feminist themes.

Or Oppenheimer is not a movie to them with a strong visual language and good acting direction. No, it is a historical blockbuster.

And this is true for basically every form of media. I mean, books are actually a fairly good example. In my life I do remember the big book fads that happened. When Harry Potter was a success, there was at least a dozen other "magical school" book series being released. When Twilight was a big success there was suddenly an endless number of "teen girl falls in love with bad boy, who is [magical creature]" YA. When the Hunger Games was a success, there were hundreds of "YA dystopia" books. Meanwhile in adult reading, we had the big "next Game of Throne" fad.

Of course, the irony is, that within each of those fads there might have been one or two somewhat successful series - but never even one that came even close to whatever started the fad.

Or with movies, we have seen it, too. When Avengers broke the 1 billion (which up to this point only few movies did) the studios went: "Ooooooh, so we need shared universe film series" - and then all went to try and fail to create their own cinematic universe.

Because the people, who call the shots, are just immensely desinterested in the thing they are selling. They do not really care about the content. All they care about is having a supposedly easy avenue of selling it. Just as they do not care about the consumer. All they care about is that the consumer buys it. Why he buys it... Well, they do not care. They could not care less, in fact.

So, yeah, get ready for a 20 overproduced games with a bloated 100+ hours of empty gameplay, but without the engaging characters. And for like at least 15 more moves based on some toy franchise, that nobody actually cares about.

And then get ready for all the CEOs to do the surprised Pikachu face, when all of that ends up not financially successful.

Really, I read some interviews yesterday from some AAA-studio CEOs and their blatant shock and missing understanding on why BG3 works for so many people.

Because, yeah... capitalism does not appreciate art. Capitalism does not understand art. It only understands spread sheets.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol.  Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night. 

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that. 

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break. 

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?” 

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around. 

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five. 

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much. 

“Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding. 

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd. 

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal. 

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time. 

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia? 

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend–

Ping! 

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts – and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart. 

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address? 

Ah, just like clockwork. 

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals – for more than you’d care to admit – to boot up. 

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give – pay – for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress. 

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion. 

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain. 

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?” 

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man – what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character. 

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man itself– or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some. 

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic – the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life. 

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well. 

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin. 

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness. 

 What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.” 

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue. 

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means. 

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!” 

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game,  you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different. 

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.” 

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night. 

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face. 

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker— then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.” 

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%....... 

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez— Huh?” 

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary. 

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever. 

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock. 

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?” 

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face. 

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter. 

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S 

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.  

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” 

Helplessly, you open your inventory next. 

Your jaw drops. 

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This– this can’t be real.” 

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this– this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada. 

Holy shit. 

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes. 

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?” 

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative. 

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks. 

..

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose. 

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut. 

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk. 

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC. 

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning – or until your battery dies, whichever comes first – you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.” 

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

[v-arbellanaris]

one of my favourite parts of dai, which i don't usually speak about, is when you get to halamshiral, and they announce the inquisitor. at least half my inquisitors recruit the mages as free allies of the inquisition, and yet at halamshiral, the inquisitor is credited as vanquisher of the rebel mages, crusher of the vile apostates of the mage underground. sera says 'he's so full of it! that's not how it went.' and it's vivienne who says 'remember to smile. this is all for show, my dear.'

this, amongst many moments, really encapsulates the heart of the story inquisition is trying to tell, and there's a hundred little moments that build towards this story. i have talked before on this blog about the original purpose of the inquisition, in-world, which was both to bring the mages back under chantry control and, if necessary, to recreate a loyal templar order. that is explicitly the context in which the herald is brought into as a character - that is the 'problem' they are to address, the same way the warden's narrative problem is posed as 'there is a blight that needs to be stopped' and hawke's problem is posed, interestingly in a dual-layer kind of way which is both 'i need to keep my family safe and secure' and 'how did we get to this [gestures at the aftermath of da2]?'. the narrative then goes ahead to fill in that story. and even in these stories, throughout, there are so many things building up to the narrative beats in inquisition. everything from the portrayal of the grey wardens as a heroic force in dao and how quickly the origins goes to show the wide depth of perspectives and feelings you can actually have around being conscripted and how the joining ritual - and jory's death - expose the true heart of the order's utilitarian approach, to loghain's status as the hero of river dane and his role in the rebellion and the man he actually is under that mythos, to the entire narrative of da2 being framed around this "champion" who the chantry is painting as a deliberate saboteur and conspirator (with the grey wardens) to bring the chantry and the circles down, to the ameridan reveal in jaws of hakkon, and the evanuris reveal in trespasser. there is so much story and deconstruction throughout the series of the 'chosen one' narratives - each story's protagonist has been a "chosen one" who was never really chosen, survived through chance, and shouldered responsibility for a wide variety of reasons. and their actions become legends and myths that consume any trace of who they really were. and this culminates in an extreme way in dai, because the role of the herald - which is who your pc is before they're the inquisitor - has religious significance, and in-world, andrastianism is the most dominant religion. and the religion is SO culturally pervasive, to the extent there are no governing bodies in the entirety of thedas are secular, and most are andrastian-aligned. even orzammar's belief in paragons and the stone is aligned to a religion, even if it's not andrastianism - atheism and secularism is something entirely unthinkable within a thedosian society. so of course the impact of the herald of andraste is different to the hero of ferelden or the champion of kirkwall.

but i think it's disingenous and outright insulting to insist that this was done well, or with finesse, or that the narrative tools used to convey these themes should somehow be overlooked in light of the mere presence of The Theme in the Narrative. i've spoken before on how often the writing in dai doesn't want you to think - it removes the options to argue, to present you with a statement that is The Objective Truth, as though if enough of your companions repeat the statement, it will become true. and i, myself, and plenty of people in the fandom - particularly people of colour - have been vocal about the implications around the framing of these Objective Truths, when you consider the real life analogues that these Truths are drawn from, by bioware's own admittance. that's not even touching the inherent problems with the narrative push of "imperialism is better than chaos". therefore, i cannot and do not understand responses to criticisms of dai that essentially come back around to "well, you have to understand that the dai pc is not written to be a leftist, they're written to be a centrist" - inquisition, especially, rewards conservatism specifically, as a first point. as a second point, why would having an option to have a pc with leftist or progressive views - not just progressive for thedas, but progressive according to modern values - take away from either the deconstruction of chosen one narratives or the idea of losing your identity that's pervasive throughout dragon age as a whole?

i have spoken to the blank-slate feeling to the inquisitor as a deliberate writing choice, one that people suggest is actually feeding into the themes of dai, but i argue that it's actually a deliberate writing choice so that new players come in without any opinions or experiences of the world at all, and thus become more primed to accept Objective Truths from the companions. thus, criticisms -- certainly mine are -- around the lack of options to argue with your companions stems not from wanting to be right, but from being allowed to have a different opinion. how does having a different opinion to what's publicly acceptable, or desirable, actually not enhance the themes of identity loss in dai?

yes, you cannot decide that your warden does not become a warden - but you live through the experience of becoming a warden, to show why it's necessary. you are allowed to have complicated opinions about being a warden, and act based on those opinions. yes, you cannot choose to not play as hawke, but you can choose exactly what kind of hawke you want to play - someone pro-templar, or pro-mage, or someone who starts out at one end and comes out of it the other end, someone who values family or money or status and prestige, someone who is funny or diplomatic or violent. you have a choice. and when the inquisitor doesn't have any background at all, there is no justification for why the inquisitor needs to be a centrist, or why they would be one. my circle mage pc could have been part of the rebellion. my cadash could have been someone kicked out of orzammar as a child or someone who lived in dust town before they got to the surface. the lack of backstory for the inquisitor, similar to the warden or hawke, actively weakens the story - how do you write a story about someone losing their personal identity to their growing myth/legend, when there's literally nothing that is ever establishing what they've lost? how do you write a story about someone losing their personal identity, or being subsumed by their role, when there's nothing to indicate their personhood? how much more jarring would it have been to have been proudly and loudly and unapologetically pro-mage and pro-rebellion the entire game, only to get to halamshiral and be called vanquisher of the rebel mages? all of your personal politics and values disappearing and smoothed over in such a visibly visceral way? how much more gutting would it have been to have these values, and speak to them, and argue for them articulately, and still never be able to change your companions' minds, instead of constantly being put in a position where your companions get the last word in on absolutely everything, right down to arguments about slavery with dorian? how much more intense would it have been to have had a wide array of options in dealing with main quests and situations, only to have it boiled down to one thing or one of two decisions, with all the complexities stripped from it? how can you say that being forced to be centrist as the pc is central to the story being told, and not something that actively hampers the themes dai is trying to draw on?

i especially don't know how people can insist to overlook how - as in the methods chosen here - bioware's writing team in dai pushes the deconstruction of the 'chosen one' narrative that is present throughout dragon age. inquisition choses to do this by doubling down and retconning and two-sidesing every single complexity under the sun - from suggesting mages oppressed themselves by rebelling/not every mage even wanted to be free of the circle (while offering limited voices otherwise, and making sure to clarify the voices calling for mage freedom are Evil and Bad), to blaming the dalish for being slaughtered by the exalted marches in the dales, right through to the decision to make ameridan a dalish elf and yes even the decisions made around the writing for the evanuris. and we have to be clear about it, that if the overarching themes of dragon age are deliberate, then this was also a deliberate writing choice, to further emphasise the idea that history is written by the victors, that stories warp and change over time, etc etc. the series' successes in storytelling have been around the subjectivity of absolutely everything; there is no objective truth in dragon age, there is something that happened, and then there is 50 different opinions about it. the codex entries are not objective truth, they're biased reportings from people with agendas and pre-existing beliefs and notions. you can live through the battle of ostagar, and there are still 50 different perspectives on it, and all of them valid from that person's standpoint. inquisition takes a hard swerve from this, to insist on Objective Truths, not because it was the best way to make their point - they've been making their point with subtler storytelling for years - but because it's lazy, racist, colonialist writing. and worse, still, is that this writing is then forced as Objective Truths to you, the player character, with no way to argue even when you have the knowledge, or your pc could reasonably be expected to have the knowledge to counter this information, or to even argue about the interpretation of the "Evidence" you find of these Objective Truths.

and i suppose, if it's not your stories and histories being co-opted, it's easy enough to say having those choices don't matter to the overarching theme. i suppose, if it's not your religions or cultures being borrowed and frankenstein'd into this fictional world and the religion and culture you do identify with are primarily portrayed as inherently correct and superior in a way you were never taught to question, it can seem like questioning those beliefs and opinions in your companions and in npcs is a waste of effort. it's not, but i can see how it might feel that way.

inquisition itself, as a game, does not simply deliver a theme - the narrative tools used to deliver that theme throughout the story are frankly abhorrent. on top of that, key decisions in the plot have little to no immediate, serious consequences (for example, siding with the mages or templars only really has narrative consequences for who you face at fall of haven and in the temple of mythal; there are almost no consequences for kicking the wardens out of orlais; etc etc). companion character quests revolving around whether or not to change and strive for better, or to stay with their old regressive patterns have absolutely no narrative consequences because the world re-sets to status quo. 2/3rds of your choice for divine essentially reinstate the old systems, and only one (vivienne) actually makes any systemic changes to those systems, and the game mechanic itself is incredibly slanted towards choosing the divine that brings everything back to "normal". all following mentions of the media neatly dodge the question of whether you have made any lasting change at all. all to push the narrative that change isn't really possible, because society will always go back to the status quo. and if you try to challenge that status quo, you will just make things worse, so it's better to just stay as it is. nothing matters, no change is permanent, and anything you try to do, people will warp for their own agenda anyway, because you are not you anymore, you are a caricature people will use to justify the way things are and insist it is how it must continue to be.

which is a stupid hill to die on, if you're going to defend the ways inquisition tells its story. even trick weekes themselves find it a trite and bleak storytelling mechanism. when even bioware itself is going "our next narrative will Not be that" - will even be the opposite of that, that it's bullshit not to try to change things at all - it's as good as an admission that the ball was dropped on that in the previous installment.

anyway, i just think it's actually incredibly disingenuous and insulting to address criticisms around narrative framing and the limitations of character responses and choices in inquisition as if its overlooking the story's themes, or somehow missing the point that has been staring us in the face since origins. we know the themes they intended to convey. that still doesn't mean inquisition satisfactorily delivered. which i frankly think even bioware themselves recognised and are actively trying to do better in for da4.

[anncanta]

‘The Rings of Power’ and what is adult cinema

I think I understand what the matter is. Why there is such a strange attitude towards The Rings of Power and constant reproaches from a number of viewers that the series is boring and that it lacks epicness and vivid characters.

This point of view (and it is the same point of view) has two reasons – age and an excess of content.

The thing is that modern viewers consume a huge amount of content. These are books, films, computer games, fan fiction, TV series. It is not that it is difficult to surprise such a viewer – it is actually possible to surprise them since they are quite naive – it is as if they have sensory fatigue. Or, rather, they have stopped perceiving shades and see only colors. And among the colors – only those that glow neon and fluoresce. What is below this threshold is not interesting to them, simply because their sensitivity is dulled, like (sorry for the comparison) for a user of psychoactive substances who needs to increase the dose to get the same sensations.

That's why the characters of The Rings of Power are dull for these viewers, the storylines are boring, and the whole story lacks epicness. And it doesn't matter that this story is not about epicness at all. It's about the price living beings pay for epicness. About what attempts to start a ‘great war’ or ‘correct big mistakes’ turn out to be. How good intentions and the desire to return to the ‘great past’ or start into a brilliant future end. What an attempt to cheat death leads to.

And here we come to the second reason. To adulthood. The series The Rings of Power is for adults. Not only because adult actors play in it. Young people play there too. But because it is written in an adult way, conceived in an adult way, and played in an adult way.

These heroes and this story do not have the problems of ‘who looked at whom in what way’, ‘who does not want to marry whom off to their beloved’, and ‘which armies clashed on this hill’. With all due respect to these problems. The Rings of Power is about something completely different.

In this film, one of the central scenes is the conversation between Galadriel and Elrond in Cirdan's workshop. The scene in which stubborn Elrond repeatedly brings Galadriel back to the question she doesn't really want to return to – has Sauron really left her consciousness? How did he get there? How far did he go?

And it's not about whether she's in love with Sauron or whether he has a chance to become her lover. I have the impression that the writers don't care about that at all. They care about Galadriel's relationship with Sauron inside. For them, evil is not a black blot that just wants to destroy the whole world (in this sense, the beginning of the second season and Sauron in his black form are also a parody of such decisions), but something that has crawled into your soul and become you. Where, at what point did it become you? How much has it become you? Can you resist it? These are very boring questions to answer – especially if you are uncomfortable with them.

The other pivotal scene is where Sauron tortures Celebrimbor. I know it's bland for viewers used to detailed violence and fan fiction. But it's monstrous. It's horrifying in its simplicity. You look at this beautiful creature who knows exactly where to shoot, so it hurts, but also so the victim stays alive. Then he comes over and moves one arrow slightly. You look at it and you want to scream.

And then Celebrimbor defeats him. Not because Celebrimbor is physically stronger, or a greater wizard, or has a deadlier sword. Because Celebrimbor speaks the truth. Because all these mind games are worthless when you look at them with clear eyes. So Celebrimbor looks. And makes Sauron look. That is stronger than any battle. As is the silence Sauron remains in, which he has tried so hard to drown out with the sounds of thunderous battle. That is why he weeps, and not because Celebrimbor has humiliated or insulted him.

The central part of the story is strange, imperfect, doubting Galadriel. After centuries of pain and loss, fear and anger, rage and grief, she believed that there was someone in this world who could understand her – and he turned out to be the Dark Lord. This makes their misunderstanding all the more vivid and profound – Sauron thinks that Galadriel rejected him because he did not offer her enough, but she did it because he offered too much. The noble Halbrand was enough – not the divinely handsome (another jab at fans of epic films with grandiose perfect men), but a man who was wrong and willing to admit his mistakes. By showing her that Halbrand was a deception, Sauron betrayed not her love, but her belief that there was a way back. Including for herself, who, no matter how absurd it may be, still cannot forgive herself for putting the helmets of her brothers and sisters in the mound.

This faith will be restored to her later by Adar – for a moment, for a few minutes, he returned to his former elven appearance and showed her that it is possible to forgive others and forgive herself. Having missed the opportunity to escape with the ring of power and accepted her help and their alliance.

All these plot lines, all these stories, all the events and heroes do not look bright and spectacular. Even the battles do not look spectacular. Do you know why?

Because battles are not spectacular. They are dirty, stinking, disgusting, and full of pain and blood. Eregion during the siege does not look like grandiose fortresses – it looks like bloody besieged cities. Like cities on which bombs fall. Like cities into which, like cockroaches, aliens crawl. This is what the truth looks like. Do not believe the artificial mouse running across the floor. Better check if the candle is burning out.

The problem and, in fact, the essence is that all these things are impossible to see and understand if you are a young person. In youth, all the stories are about love (with a capital letter), about war (heroic and brilliant), and about refined characters who proudly walk back and forth. They talk little because the young are not interested in conversations. They are interested in kissing and figuring out who is better.

But I am interested in something else. And many people like me are too. And I am incredibly happy that the authors made this film for us. It is not even about Tolkien – I repeat, I am rather indifferent to him. The point is how, through Tolkien and his legendarium, the authors talk about what is important to me. And they do it masterfully. And the most beautiful thing is that those who are young will definitely grow up and become adults.

And then maybe they will love this story too.

[mswyrr]

One of the most important bits of dialogue in hotd is from Viserys in 1x01:

"The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They're a power man should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria its doom. If we don't mind our own histories, it will do the same to us."

This is a man who bonded with Balerion, The Black Dread, the oldest dragon who had actually hatched in Old Valyria. This was the same dragon who flew Princess Aerea, a 12-year-old girl who bonded with him, back to Valyria against her will - sickening and killing her in the process (Fire & Blood, p 263). The little girl was away from her home at the time and probably feeling "I want to go home" but what Balerion did with that feeling killed her. His will was strong and his memory was *deep*.

Viserys only rode him one time, his inaugural flight, and then never again. IMO he experienced something bonding with that ancient beast that--in addition to studying the family's history and Valyrian lore--convinced him of the danger and fundamentally uncontrollable nature of dragons.

It is totally in keeping with canon events that Vhagar, in the current timeline the most ancient dragon alive--a dragon who drank deep of bloodshed and war with Visenya during the Conquest and *likes* war--translated Aemond's anger at Lucerys into murder of the boy and his small dragon. It is perfectly in keeping with what the show has been saying since episode 1.

An ancient, powerful and wilful dragon overcoming the will of its rider is *literally canon*. Princess Aerea must have been terrified during the whole, long flight to Valyria, and yet all her protests couldn't stop the dragon she'd bonded to.

I would also say that the Valyrians turned magical creatures, dragons, into weapons of warfare - that the dragons, in that sense, represent war. And the show is imo fundamentally antiwar - so here war is something you cannot control. GRRM has said the dragons are "nukes," which fits with this reading:

“Dragons are the nuclear deterrent, and only [Daenerys Targaryen, one of the series’ heroines] has them, which in some ways makes her the most powerful person in the world,” Martin said in 2011. “But is that sufficient? These are the kind of issues I’m trying to explore. The United States right now has the ability to destroy the world with our nuclear arsenal, but that doesn’t mean we can achieve specific geopolitical goals. Power is more subtle than that. You can have the power to destroy, but it doesn’t give you the power to reform, or improve, or build.” (source)

War and nukes - you cannot aim them only at the guilty, only at those you hate; you cannot prevent them from consuming the innocent as well. They a raging fire that consumes, that is all. And so, on that level, I just adore what they're doing and how it all fits together.

Aemond's domestic violence fits too - boys go to war thinking it will be honorable and manly and they'll protect "their women" but instead come home and hurt those very women. This thing burns and burns until it is exhausted, and it doesn't stay contained, not within you or outside you. "So it goes," to steal a phrase from antiwar writer Kurt Vonnegut.

The reason I keep coming back to my antiwar reading of the show is that things that people dismiss as "bad" or mock actually come together beautifully if you don't expect to war to be glorious and masterful and heroic. If you take the text seriously, in terms of what the dragons are metaphorically and what characters have outright said about their fundamentally uncontrollable nature. The lore supports what Vhagar did! That she could overcome a teenaged human's will with her century old bloodlust.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Touch of Sweetness 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Loki Laufeyson

Sister series to mob!Thor

Summary: you make a new friend, but that’s not all. (short reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You lean forward to keep an eye on the moon. It glows brighter as the sky deepens around it. You always liked watching the sky. Your favourite mornings are when the full moon appears against that baby blue canvas. 

You sit back, keeping the container of tarts steady on your lap, and instead focus on the streets. You don’t often go through these neighbourhoods. Truly, there isn’t much you do on your own. You were only ever your sister’s tag-along. 

“You know, it isn’t often I drive anyone to my brother’s estate and see them leave so pleased,” Loki muses. 

You glance at him, untangling his words. “Oh? But it’s a very nice house.” 

“The house is pleasant, but not all within can be,” he replies. As always, his words are aligned to mystify you. 

“I don’t think you’re unpleasant,” you argue. 

“I didn’t mean...” he begins then shrugs. “Hm, I suppose that is a compliment.” 

“Sorry, I guess I misunderstood,” you say. 

“Suppose you did,” he agrees. 

“Thor must be a good brother. He seems so happy. And you two get along.” 

“Do we?” He wonders. 

“Uh, oh,” you chew your lip. “Or I wouldn’t know. We only just met. It’s only that he brought you to the berry farm and--” 

“And he sends me to drive around his plaything’s plaything,” he scoffs. “Yes, I am a useful asset, as everyone else in my brother’s wife. A word of advice, if you might hear it; when you assume the best in people, you set yourself up for the worst.” 

You bat your lashes in his direction and frown. His profile is naturally pensive; his nose elegant and his cheekbones sharp. You shift uncomfortably. 

“That’s a sad way to look at the world,” you comment. 

“It is pragmatic,” he insists as he curls his thumb under the wheel to turn on your street. “If you can apply a bit of that, your idealism might have some value.” 

You put your chin down. It’s not really an insult but it feels like one. And it isn’t something you haven’t heard before. Jada always says you have stupid ideas. 

You’re quiet as he draws up in front of your house. You undo the seat belt as you balance the container and you grab your bag from between your feet. As you open the door, he clears his throat. 

“I do not think you are unpleasant either,” he sniffs.  

“What?” You pause and look back at him as you’re half-turned out of the car. 

He sighs, “here, you are going to drop something.” 

He gets out and struts around the car. He comes around your side and takes the container from your hands. He stands back with his hand on the door. 

“Thanks,” you stand and step out of the way. He closes the door and you reach for the tarts. 

“I shall walk you to the door. To prevent any mishap,” he says. 

“Okay,” you agree. 

You walk together to the porch and he lets you lead him up. You stop at the door and search in your bag for your keys. It’s a lofty mission as everything is just tossed in together. 

“Before, you said I wasn’t unpleasant and I only wanted to know that I would say the same of you, that is all,” he explains as your keys jingle over the top of your bag. 

“Oh, yeah, thank you,” you beam up at him. “See, I was right.” 

His eyes dart away and he turns his head to the street. You unlock the door and hook your bag on your shoulder. You put your hands out and he gives you the container. You hug it and pop the lid off. 

“Try one,” you insist. 

“I said I would later,” he slithers. 

“Please? The good part about baking is getting to share,” you say. 

He exhales and looks at you. He reaches to pluck a tart out. He examines it and takes a small, tidy bite. He chews and swallows, his cheeks pinching. He’s silent and you’re nervous. 

“Delicious,” he allows and lowers his hand, “I will finish it in the car. I’d be out of your way sooner than later. Have a good night.” 

You smile. It’s a small victory. “You too, Loki.” 

He hesitates then turns away. You watch him go and he brings his hand up to take another bite as you stare at his back. You spin and push through the door. You set down the container and take your shoes off. 

Jada appears at the end of the hall as she emerges from the basement. You grab the tarts, ready to retreat to your room. She calls your name. You ignore her but she follows, grunting and out of breath. 

“Wait, I have your clothes,” she says. 

You stop and face her. “My... clothes?” 

You look at the basket in her hands then at her. Her eyes are swollen from crying and her hair is a mess. You gasp. 

“Jada? Are you okay?” 

“I’m sorry, okay? I'm about what I did.” She blusters out. 

“Oh...” 

“And I cleaned out your dresser and I did my best to get the stains out,” she babbles out. 

“What-- why?” You grimace. 

“Because it was wrong. It was mean,” she sniffles and her eyes flit around. 

“Oh?” 

“And I bought you some new berries,” her voice is wispy and nervous. “So, we’re even and you’re not mad at me anymore, right?” 

You shrug, “I guess so.”  

You open your bedroom door and let her in. Your dresser is as clean as promised, you even think she vacuumed. She puts your clothes on your bed and hurries back. 

“Oh, did you want me to put them away?” She asks. 

“Er, that’s fine,” her behaviour is making you nervous. You remember what Loki said in the car about assuming things and you know your sister; she isn’t nice without reason. “What do you want?” 

“Huh? Nothing,” she stands by the door, shifting her weight as she hugs herself. “I just... felt bad.” 

You doubt that. Even you have enough cynicism for that. You know she won’t tell the truth though. She never does. 

“Well, if you want a berry tart,” you gesture to the container. “They’re pretty good.” 

She brings her hand to her throat and shakes her head. “No thanks,” she backs out, her voice scraping hoarsely. “Um, good night.” 

She turns and pulls the door shut as she leaves. You sit on the bed and wiggle your feet. There’s something strange going on. You better take Loki’s advice and stay alert. She’s up to something. 

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) p15

chapter 15: dirty laundry

series masterlist

avaspeaks - im soooooooooooo sorry i havent updated this series in so long. school is a bitch <3 anyway here is pt15!

Y/N marched Lewis, still bewildered by the sudden change of scenery, towards her living room. Before he could protest, she shoved him gently inside and slammed the door shut. The sound echoed in the quiet room, punctuated by the click of the lock.

Lewis turned around, a frown creasing his brow. "Y/N? What's going on?" (oh y/n you little shit!!!)

Just then, the back door opened, and Nico walked in, his face a mixture of surprise and apprehension. His gaze flickered between Y/N, who was leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, and Lewis, who stood frozen in the middle of the room.

"Nico," Lewis breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

Nico's jaw clenched. "Lewis," he replied curtly, the years of unspoken tension hanging heavy in the air.

Y/N pushed herself off the door frame and walked into the living room, her gaze unwavering.

"You two," she began, her voice firm, "are going to stay here and talk. Until you actually communicate like adults, this room becomes your prison."

Nico scoffed. "Y/N, this is ridiculous."

Y/N ignored him, her focus solely on Lewis. "And you, Lewis," she said, pointing a finger at him, "don't even think about using your charm offensive on me. This isn't about excuses, it's about accountability."

With that, she turned and walked out, leaving the two men staring at each other in stunned silence. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. Finally, Nico broke the tension.

"So," he said, his voice laced with bitterness, "here we are. Back under the same roof, forced to face the wreckage of what used to be a friendship."

Lewis let out a shaky breath. "Nico, I…"

The words wouldn't come out. Shame and regret choked him, a bitter taste in his mouth.

Nico wasn't finished. "Don't even try with those empty apologies, Lewis," he spat. "We both know actions speak louder than words. And your actions, for years, spoke volumes."

"Nico, please," Lewis pleaded. "We were both at fault. The pressure, the competition…"

Nico cut him off, his voice rising. "The pressure? Don't you dare try to use that as an excuse! We were brothers, Lewis. Brothers! And all you cared about was proving you were better."

Tears welled up in Lewis's eyes. "It wasn't just about that, Nico. We were both consumed by winning, by proving ourselves."

"But at what cost, Lewis?" Nico roared, his voice cracking with emotion. "At the cost of our friendship? Were those trophies worth the silence, the animosity? Was it worth losing what we had?"

Lewis looked away, unable to meet Nico's heartbroken gaze. The memories flooded back – the sly tactics, the suspicious accusations, the simmering resentment that poisoned their bond. He realized now the magnitude of his actions, the depth of the wound he had inflicted on their friendship.

"No," Lewis whispered, his voice thick with shame. "No, it wasn't worth it."

A sob escaped Nico's lips. He ran a hand through his hair, his face etched with pain. "Then why, Lewis? Why did you let it go that far?"

Lewis looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "I…" he stammered, struggling for words. "I didn't know how to stop it, Nico. We were caught in a current, and we just kept getting pulled further and further apart."

Silence descended again, this time laden with a heavy sadness. The weight of years of unspoken hurt hung over them, a suffocating cloud threatening to consume them.

Nico paced the room, his voice raw with emotion. "Don't tell me you didn't know," he spat. "We were teammates, Lewis. We were supposed to have each other's backs. Instead, you guarded every strategy like a state secret, second-guessing every move I made."

Lewis flinched at the accusation, his own emotions rising to the surface. "It wasn't just me, Nico! You were the same. Remember Baku? Remember how you…?"

He stopped himself, the memory of the infamous collision still fresh in his mind. Before he could finish his sentence, Nico interjected.

"Baku? Don't even try to play the victim, Lewis! You squeezed me out like a bug, desperate to steal the lead. It was a reckless move, and it almost cost us both the race!"

Their voices rose, accusations flying back and forth like verbal missiles. The years of pent-up frustration and anger finally erupted, a torrent of raw emotion that tore at the fragile truce Y/N had imposed.

"This is pointless!" Lewis shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "We're just rehashing past mistakes. It won't change anything!"

Nico stopped pacing, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Maybe not," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But maybe acknowledging those mistakes is the first step towards… whatever this is supposed to be."

For a moment, their eyes locked, the intensity of their gazes mirroring the storm raging within them. Then, slowly, the anger began to recede, replaced by a profound sense of exhaustion. Tears welled up in Nico's eyes, spilling over onto his cheeks.

"We were supposed to be more than just teammates, Lewis," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "We were brothers. Remember that day at McLaren, when we promised each other we'd win the championship together? Remember how we celebrated every victory, shared every heartbreak?"

Lewis's own vision blurred. He remembered those days, the camaraderie they once shared, a stark contrast to the animosity that had poisoned their relationship for so long. Shame washed over him, a bitter tide threatening to drown him.

He walked towards Nico, each step heavy with the weight of regret. "Nico, I…" he began, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I let the competition, the pressure… I let it all come between us."

Nico didn't move, his gaze fixed on a point on the floor. "And me," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I was so focused on proving myself, on beating you… I forgot what mattered most."

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Tears welled in both their eyes, threatening to spill over. Nico wiped a stray tear angrily, his voice cracking as he spoke.

"Do you remember that summer, Lewis?" he said, his voice barely a whisper. "The one before we started karting? We spent every day glued to each other, building ramps in your backyard, dreaming of becoming the next Schumacher."

A flicker of a smile touched Lewis' lips, a fragile memory surfacing from the depths of their fractured past. "That summer…" he breathed. "We built the most epic ramp ever, convinced it would launch us to the moon."

Nico managed a choked laugh, a hint of warmth returning to his eyes. "We crashed spectacularly, of course. Remember how your dad spent the whole week patching up our cuts and bruises?"

Lewis' smile morphed into a wistful grin. "And Mom scolded us for being reckless, but we were heroes in our own eyes. We were invincible."

The shared memory hung in the air, a bridge between their present and a past filled with innocence and unwavering support. But the bridge was fragile, easily shattered by the harsh realities of their rivalry.

"Then came karting," Nico said, his voice turning bitter again. "The competition, the pressure... it changed everything."

"It did, didn't it?" Lewis replied, a wave of regret washing over him. "We became obsessed with winning, with proving ourselves to everyone, including each other."

Tears streamed down Nico's cheeks now, falling unchecked. "We used to dream together, Lewis. We used to celebrate each other's victories as if they were our own. We were a team, remember? A team fueled by passion, not by a relentless need to dominate."

Lewis watched Nico's silent breakdown with a heart that ached. He took a tentative step forward, his voice thick with emotion. "Nico, I… I miss that. I miss the way things were before."

Nico looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and longing. "Do you, Lewis? Or do you just miss having someone to push you, someone to elevate your game?"

The accusation stung, a harsh reminder of the poisonous competition that had driven a wedge between them. Yet, Lewis knew there was truth in Nico's words.

"Both," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "I miss the competition, yes, but most of all, I miss my friend. The friend who understood me like no one else, the friend who believed in me even when I doubted myself."

A flicker of hope sparked in Nico's eyes. He stepped forward, mirroring Lewis' movement. "There's still a part of me who misses that too, Lewis," he admitted. "But can we rebuild the trust we broke? Can we move forward from the hurt we inflicted on each other?"

Lewis met his gaze, a spark of determination flickering in his own. "I don't know, Nico. But I'm willing to try. We owe it to ourselves, to the memories of who we once were."

The tension in the room began to ease, replaced by a fragile hope. The path to reconciliation might be long and arduous, filled with the ghosts of past mistakes. But for the first time in years, both Lewis and Nico acknowledged the pain, the loss, and the possibility of a future where their bond wasn't defined by rivalry, but by the enduring strength of their shared past.

credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs

taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 , @xoscar03 , @torossosebs , @jajouska , @lindsayjoy444 , @barcelonaloverf1life , @charli123456789, @heyheyheyggg

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[saintvainglorious]

My First Fanbind! A Black Sails Fic Anthology Series

It took me a year (and a lot of anxious research) before I worked up the courage to bookbind fanfiction, and after months of on-again-off-again work, my first fanbind is finally done!

I knew that if I was going to bookbind fic, I had to bind something from the Black Sails fandom, aka the fandom and show that have had the biggest impact on my life. Y'all, I almost went into academia to study slavery in the 17th-18th century Caribbean because of this show - when folks say this show rewires your brain chemistry, they are NOT kidding. THEE show of all time. Happy 10th anniversary to Black Sails! This fandom is small but mighty. May we continue to get our hearts and souls blasted to smithereens by this show for many years to come.

Ao3 abounds with magnificent Black Sails oneshots, so I decided to put together an anthology of my favorite Silverflint fics under 20k, which I split into two volumes. Included are works by @justlikeeddie, @vowel-in-thug, @balloonstand, @annevbonny, @francisthegreat, @nysscientia, and more! Thank you, thank you all, you brilliant wonderful people, for gracing the Internet with such amazing writing. When I read the fics in these anthologies I want to fling myself into the sun.

More on the design and binding process below the cut!

Vol. 1 Page Count: 270 (12 fics) Vol. 2 Page Count: 248 (11 fics) Body Font: Sabon Next LT (10.5 pt) Title Font: Goudy Old Style Other Fonts: IM Fell English, pirates pw

The typeset (which I did in Word) took a while, mainly because I'd never done it before. Manually adjusting the hyphenation line-by-line was especially tedious. After making these books, I abandoned Word in favor of InDesign, in large part because InDesign gives you way finer control over your justification and hyphenation settings.

Regarding my actual design choices, I'm happy with how the ocean motif on the title page turned out (it's not the same pattern as my endpapers, but they're complimentary) and I'm very fond of my divider dingbats, which are little swords! Goudy Old Style was a fun title font to use, since it's the font that Black Sails uses as its logo. The stories in Vol. 1 are divided into parts based on what Silver WAS at that point in the show (cook, quartermaster, or king), and Vol. 2 is split up into comedies, histories (AUs set in the canon universe) and tragedies - befitting Black Sails' Shakespearean ~vibes~.

I stuck to a flatback binding, as I wasn't feeling quite ambitious enough to try rounding and/or backing. I've learned that I ~Anakin Skywalker voice~ hate sanding, enjoy folding/sewing, and don't LIKE edge trimming but enjoy the results enough to make it worth it.

The real adventure was decorating the cover, which remained bare for months. After agonizing over Illustrator and experimenting unsuccessfully with HTV and lokta paper embossing, I ultimately turned to using stencil vinyl to paint on the designs. There was a bit of seepage under some of the stencils, but I was able to scrape off the excess with my Cricut weeding tool without damaging the coated surface of the bookcloth (probably Arrestox Blue Ribbon from Hollander's). Even though it was very time-consuming, I'm so happy with the end result of the stenciled paint job and I intend to stick with stencils for my foreseeable future binds.

Are there things I would change? Sure. It was humid out when I printed, so the pages have got a wave. There’s an extra two pages in Vol 2. that I have no idea how I missed, and I got a line of glue in the middle of one of my Vol. 2 endpapers. I’m pretty sure I didn’t case in quite right, since my endpapers pull away from the case at the spine. I think the inner margins are a bit too big, and despite going line-by-line there’s still some wacky justification spacing in the typeset. But man, am I proud of these books! It is so satisfying to learn a new skill - MANY new skills, if we’re being honest - and to make something both beautiful and practical. If I’m still binding in two years or so, I can see myself redoing the typeset in InDesign, cutting out the existing text block, and reusing the cases. I’m also already planning for Vol. 3, which will be Silverflint Modern AUs.

Thanks for reading!

[findingcrow]

Okay, its been a couple months since my last Roomies post which means I need to ramble more (mainly because I consume the found family trope like its oxygen I need to survive), so here we go again!!!

The Roomies (Grian, Etho, and Cleo in Secret Life) are genuinely my favorite group out of all of the life series. They are the very definition of found family. They made the trope, actually. And what's worse is that they were doomed from the beginning.

Grian, known for abandoning people for the hell of it anytime it's convenient. The last time he was really loyal to someone was in Last Life with Scar, and after how that ended, I like to think that he was afraid to make any connections like that again. He messes with people for the sake of it. He is the embodiment of chaos itself.

Cleo, known for her violent and merciless nature. Throughout the series, she's constantly making a long list of people to kill when she gets the chance. It's not often she displays openness with people, especially knowing how the life series always ends. The last time she did, her family was splitting by the seams and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She refuses to not be in power again like that.

Etho, extremely serious and yet not at all. He'll lie when he needs to, he'll mess with whoever he wants, whenever he wants. He does his tasks, bumps into everyone and no one on the way. Known for being loyal, but loyal to who? All of the other seasons are done, he has no solid allies, besides BDubs.

And yet after the divorce arc, Cleo and Etho reunite, Etho allowing Cleo to stay when she was trying to escape Tango and the others. It's more for connivence at first, maybe helping out with a task here or there. They made a home and continue on.

Then Grian asks for a place to stay- just as Cleo had all those episodes ago- and they say yes. They know that there's a high likelihood of him killing them when the time comes to it. They look between each other, remembering all of their pasts and all of the blood shed, and they realize that they're just the same as the man standing at their door asking for shelter. Not a home, just a shelter. That's all this is for the three of them, it's a roommates-for-connivence situation.

But over time, they all get... closer. Maybe it's after the zombie apocalypse, where Grian's first thought after realizing is, "I need to warn Cleo and Etho" or where Etho purposefully wards the zombies away from his friends. Maybe it's after the traps set specifically to kill them. Maybe it's after Grian begs Etho and Cleo to do the "zombie dance," where Cleo tries her best despite not even knowing it existed.

There was never a specific moment where they decided they were no longer roommates and that they were family. It's rarely acknowledged until Grian is speaking with the two of them where he swears to never hurt them, even after all of them turn Red. Etho and Cleo, in return, agree.

When the end eventually comes, like they all knew it would, they stick together. They climb high up, high enough where they should be able to live in peace together for the rest of eternity. But they're found, just like the game is meant to go, and everyone knows there's going to be people who don't come down. Etho is one of the first.

There's no mistaking the cries that are shouted when Etho falls. Grian and Cleo watch intently, only wanting Etho to run faster. They don't hear his final words, they don't hear him say "I'm going home, everybody. I'm dying in my home." They don't get to be there, in his last moments, as he passes away in the home they made together. All Cleo and Grian can do is mourn for a short moment before trying to save themselves. Grian calls out, "No, Etho, my boy!!!" eyes straying to their home, staying there for a moment, not being able to know what happened there, other than his family being dead. Cleo begins to do something similar- "Etho, you're my bo..." She lets out a sob, her voice cracking, before she quickly distracts herself. She understands now what the goal of the game is, how everyone else is playing it. They're willing to do anything to avenge Etho, even if it means getting killed themselves.

Grian and Cleo- only two of their trio, a blank space left open where another should be- work together, barely leaving each others side. But eventually they're found, even with their trap doing so much damage. Cleo is the second to go, cornered and slaughtered.

Grian was the last to join The Roomies and the last to leave, and he made sure it counted. He fought not only for himself, but for his fallen family. He's only one person, but he fights with the strength of all three of them. Eventually, he's killed, just like the others, but at least he did what he could. He tried, and that was all that mattered.

I'd like to think that Etho and Cleo were waiting for him, then. Etho had waited for Cleo, both of them tearing up at the fact that they got to see each other again. They cheered from above, watching Grian fight off so many more than himself. And when Grian joined them, they opened their arms, the same that had held on so tight throughout the series. The three of them, The Roomies, they had named themselves, were only thankful that their last memories of each other's faces weren't the bloody versions from their deaths.

The three of them were so different. They had different personalities, different friends, different backgrounds. They knew that in the end, only one could win. And yet they were willing to die for each other, ready to murder the whole server in cold blood for even trying to hurt any of them. After trying so hard to not be attached, they couldn't help it.

Family isn't always the blood in your veins; sometimes its the blood on your hands. Sometimes it's the hand that holds yours, despite it being red-stained and calloused. Sometimes it's the ones that would be willing to spill more blood with you, for you, even if it was illogical. Sometimes it's the stupid animals that you named together, sometimes its the adventures that ended up causing pain but you can laugh through because you're not alone.

[hellenhighwater]

I love the celestial Minotaur concept. Am I out of line to ask, what celestial moment in time would b e appropriate for each one? You mentioned ArtPrize, and since I live in the same state as you and have been to Art Prize (lol in conjunction with your profession,even), I considered the venue for display. A big bedsheet size heavens moment in time? Over each sculpture (shockingly inexpensive to print)? So many messages could be implied with the astrological moment above. As someone who loves a good research rabbit hole, I wince to send this, but I couldn't not ask, you know?

I actually don't have an answer to specific astronomical moments for this--astrology has never been my thing. The primary resonance of a celestial theme to me with this series has been more about the layered tragedy of a creature named for the stars, who may never have even seen them, and also something about a finished story being like the light of a dead star--we still see it, but the ending of it is already written, and as unavoidable and unchangeable as history. And also I just like space!

But one of the things I really love about making and sharing art is that people see different things in it. I didn't expect A Crack in the Labyrinth to resonate with homebound people in the way that it did; that was a total surprise. I tend to make things with a very clear message and symbolism in mind (the process of making things is time consuming but does not take a ton of conscious thought in the physical process, so I tend to have very thoroughly contemplated things by the time I'm done, because ADHD brain Does Not Stop) and it feels like a win when people get that message. But it's also really exciting to see expansion on that! I try to walk the line of making my intent clear while leaving room for that interpretation. I struggle to not cram allll the ideas into one piece.

So I'm not planning to actually incorporate my clock of the world or any other outright, external "sky" to these pieces, in large part because it feels too explicit in message. Kind of like 'telling' instead of 'showing.' I have thought about, if I'm able to successfully cast multiples of the miniataur, maybe some kind of small display space that could include a little starry sky of some kind.

[rebo-chan]

IMPORTANT CHARACTER ANALYSIS UNDER THE CUT. DO NOT IGNORE, YOU DO NOT WANT TO MISS THIS.

OKAY SO WE ALL KNOW THAT TSUNA LIKES SALISBURY STEAK FROM THE DATABOOKS AND ANIME, AND WE KNOW THAT REBORN LIKES ESPRESSO.. BUT IS THAT THE TRUTH? Is that what these young lads consumed throughout the series? What do they like to eat? What do we BEAR WITNESS TO THEM SHOVING INTO THEIR MOUTHS? With this question in mind, I embarked on a quest with my good friend @ketchup-chup TO DOCUMENT WHAT TSUNA AND REBORN ACTUALLY EAT. Have you been deceived to believe that Reborn doesn't like sweets? If so, you're in for a FUCKING treat. Some things we discovered during this is that Tsuna just is SO bad with eating. HE EATS SO LITTLE. I WOULD GO CHAPTERS UPON CHAPTERS WITH HIM NOT EATING ANYTHING. All while REBORN SHOVED HIS FUCKING FACE WITH FOOD TO THE POINT WHERE WE HAD TO ADD IN RULES FOR HIM.

You see the frame on the left? You see the difference in plates between Tsuna and Reborn? This is the best way I can symbolize what this was like before we begin.

Okay, before I begin, here are some ground rules:

We only did the daily life MANGA chapters, chapter 1-61 because nobody has any real time to calculate the distance of Byakuran's ash to see if any landed in Tsuna's mouth. That being said, I am sure that if we did Reborn would continue to be a fucking menace. We did not include any anime scenes, because we just could not realistically watch the entire daily life anime. This also does not include any 'food' we see in openings like the strawberry jam toast from Boys and Girls, or the soda he is drinking in Dive to World. Same goes for endings.

Reborn ate so much that for @ketchup-chup's sanity, we included only the things that he was actually shoving in his mouth. So, the list you're about to see, there WAS more and we cut it for our sanity's sake. Tsuna was eating so LITTLE, we did the exact opposite where everytime a food was even SPOTTED NEAR HIM, I snatched up into my list.

The foods will be listed in order as they were spotted in the series as we went through, but as sometimes they are doubled up on later. (As in a character for example had coffee once, then coffee again in a later chapter will be written as Coffee x2)

That's all! So, let's get started!

Sawada Tsunayoshi: Pocky Milk Italian Pasta Water x8 Chips x2 Lollipop x2 Poison Cooking x3 Rice balls x2 (the second time he had this, he fucking spit it out..) Soda x5 (his third soda was in one of harus pictures at the end of the chapter<3) Soumen noodles Sushi x2 (Two separate pieces of Sushi within two frames of each other that looked different lol...) Rice x3 (Rice in a bowl!) One bite of cake (This agitated me because there was a separate frame of Reborn with his own cake, that looked demolished in comparison to Tsunas measly one bite... OTL) Ramen Coffee x2 Instant Ramen 2 WATERMELON RINDS (IN THE SAME SCENE!! HE ATE TWO!!) Juice It should be said before I move onto Reborn, that the "ramen" entry was this:

That's 61 chapters worth of Tsuna's food. :) As you can see he really likes water. Water and one bite of cake :)<3

Reborn:

Fish Coffee x7 Italian Pasta Tea x3 (Second entry of this was him having his own tea ceremony of this) Watermelon x2 Cold Soba noodles Popsicle x7 Hot pot Kimchi Soumen Juice x2 Beer Sushi x2 Tuna Water x3 Cake x2 (First was the one he devoured that I mentioned further above, second was his wedding cake with Bianchi) Rice Mochi (For the mochi making competition, he was taste testing) Soup (Probably miso judging by it, but he sure was slurping it) Cookie Barbeque Soda

An honorable mention that the lovely ketchup didn't include because he didn't actually eat it, but I spotted in digging through chapters of Tsuna starving himself: a smoothie/milkshake(?) and a icecream sundae. Here you can look at it yourself~

Also, yes the popsicle was included in the count of FUCKING popsicles he's CONSUMED.

To do a recap:

Tsuna ate 39 things by the start of kokuyo, subtracting the RAMEN gokudera dropped on him and the spit out rice ball and i wish i coULD HALF HIS FUCKING ONE BITE CAKE THATS NOT REAL FOOD TSUNA. Tsuna really consumed 36.5 items (37 if you count the one bite of cake but whatever..) Also, if you subtract the poison cooking, he's sitting at 33.5 (34 *grumbles*).

Reborn ate 39 items, including the honorable mention he had 41 items. Bearing in mind, we cut out so much of Reborn just showing up near food or holding onto it. Tsuna, meanwhile was counted for existing near food. Gathering nutrients through photo-fucking-synthesis. The anime feeds Tsuna SO much more, I can name 5 items off the top of my memory that he ate in daily life that just aren't counted from the manga. Please don't be fooled by the fact they start out with the same number till we started subtracting, MOST OF TSUNAS IS HIS WATER COUNT. If you IGNORE ALL THE DRINKS HE HAS, MANS IS SITTING AT 17, WHILE IF YOU REMOVE REBORNS DRINKS HE GOES DOWN TO 25. (Its mostly his love for espresso bringing down his number, MEANWHILE FOR TSUNA ITS HIS FUCKING WATER COUNT??)

Now that our statistical analysis that NO one told us to do has been completed. What can we learn from it about our characters favorite food preferences? Well, Tsuna is SO well hydrated. We love a water-stanning king. Besides that, he's mostly eating snacks with his lollipops, chips, and his enjoyment of drinking soda. (He drinks fast food soda the most, with 3 of those submissions being him sipping from a container with a straw. The last two are from a can and a bottle specifically.) Meanwhile, we can believe Reborn when he says he likes coffee, but ALSO he fucking?? loves?? popiscles?? it's unreal??? there were so many popsicles??? He LOVES SWEETS.. sad to say but he just fucking lied to Luce in the fillers about not liking sweets. It's Tsuna, if anyone, that doesn't like sweets with his one bite of cake. HOLD ON ACTUALLY FUCK THIS IM SHOWING YOU GUYS THE CAKE DILEMMA ME AND KETCHCUP WERE STARING AT.

YOU SEE THAT LITTLE CAKE THATS BEING CUT OUT OF FRAME? THATS IT. THATS THE EXTENT OT TSUNAS BITE. MEANWHILE, HERES REBORNS.

THAT THING IS ALMOST GONE. YALL ARE SEEING THIS RIGHT??

REKSHNS anyway! Reborn's more of a curious soul with his food, trying a bunch of stuff that he wouldn't normally eat. Meanwhile Tsuna plays it mostly safe with snacks and mostly Japanese food. AGAIN, no one asked us to do this and while we are absolutely hysterical as I type this up, if you have any questions about specifics please feel free to ask SDKJGN this is IMPORANT!! CHARACTER ANALYSIS!!! CLEARLY!!!

Thanks for reading this far HELP ME. This was funny as hell to dig through and perhaps we may look through the last arcs if we feel like it, or do other characters. (I've noticed Gokudera is a good eater!)

See you next post~

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 4: Under Pressure

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: Bucky’s been weird since that night at the bar, but will a taste of danger at the farm bring him back to his senses?

Word count: 5,468

Content/warnings: Avoidance/masking of feelings, consumption and mention of alcohol, mutual pining, omg Cole is such a jerk, use of pet names, use of y/n, a little angst especially at the end, mentions of bullying, vulnerability

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this chapter. There was a lot I wanted to include, and so much that made it in here that I hadn’t even intended originally. Happy reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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The rest of the weekend had been generally uneventful. You worked on the books and finances for the farm while Curtis did chores on Saturday and hung out with a book of your own on Sunday.

Bucky had become scarce. You had hardly seen him since Friday night besides mealtimes. Other than that, he was in his room, outside on the gravel talking to Steve over the phone, or shadowing Curtis to relearn how to do the tasks a sixth time.

You admired his work ethic and dedication to your agreement, but couldn’t help but feel that he was avoiding you. Was it something you said? Was he angry? To be honest, your memory seemed pretty clear. The last thing you remember was being grateful that he was there to help you get rid of Cole, and then waking up in bed to medicine and a glass of water on your nightstand. Not much could’ve happened in that small gap, right?

Wrong. Bucky had been consumed by the thought of you since that night. Every moment he went back to it, the nerves in his fingers burned all the way up to his shoulders with the thought of your touch. His gut felt tingly in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a young boy daunted with the task of rising to power in his organization.

Was he nervous? No. Bucky Barnes doesn’t get nervous. He just gets pensive. When things seem like they’re getting out of his hands, he takes a step back to make a plan, then muscles his way through until he gets what he wants. He was used to using that same strategy to tamper down every emotion he felt except pride, and was well-practiced at that, so why did it all come crumbling from the simple act of you on his arm? Or was it the fact that he wished you taking his hat and putting it on your head could hold actual meaning? As soon as he identified his feelings, he called Steve.

“Whaddup, Buck? Not much has changed around here since last night, so I assume something has changed on your end?”

Bucky sighed. Why did he call in the first place? The last thing he wanted to do was acknowledge this… ~feeling~ by doing it the dignity of speaking it out loud. That made it real. “Um, no, not really. Just wanted to check in. I’ve got the day off.”

Steve paused on the other side of the line. “Okay….are you sure about that? Because you don’t seem very sure about that. Was everything okay at the bar? You didn’t get into a fight, did you?”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth turned up and he sighed in relief. “Oh, no, yeah, I’m sure. And I definitely did not get in a fight last night, some guy came up and was hitting on Y/N while I was out on the phone with you, so she wanted to head out right after.”

Bucky was satisfied with his well-formulated response until his best friend spoke up again. “Ah, so this is about your feelings for her, right? You were jealous?”

Bucky froze. “Pshhh….uh, no. Definitely not. She was very obviously not interested in him so we left.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Bucky could hear the deadpan in Steve’s voice. “I don’t care whether she was interested in him or not, I care about how her talking to some handsome stranger made you feel.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Steven, I’m going to be honest with you and I do not want you to say a word of this to anyone, or else.”

Steve poorly hid a smile in his voice. “Okay, Bucket. Floor is yours.”

“First of all, he was not that handsome. Based off her reaction, he was probably a scumbag in a Carhartt jacket that has never seen a day of actual work, but that’s besides the point….Yes…. Seeing her talking to that guy, and talking to her about her ex made me feel…things, but that wasn’t all of it….” The next words came out as a mumble. “She put my hat on her head and her head on my shoulder when I drove her home….andiwisheditwasreal.”

Steve was full-blown laughing now, so much was going on in that statement. Since when did Bucky care about work clothes and people’s worthiness of them? At least he was being honest. “Sorry Buck, missed that last part. Care to repeat?”

“Oh you know exactly what I said.” He spat back.

“Okay, okay. So what are you gonna do about it then? You’ve still got three more weeks out there. From what I can see, you’ve got a few opti-“

“Nothing.” Bucky cut him off. “I’m going to do nothing. I can’t play into her charm anymore. I’m just going to stay away and put my head down and-“

“Bucky stop. Slow down.” Steve cut him off in return to stop the spiral. “Your solution to everything can’t be to ice it out until freezes and shatters. Let’s look at this for a second. You care for her, so why can’t you stay friends? You obviously get along well, and I’m not just saying this from a personal standpoint, I’m saying this from a business standpoint. She very evidently knows how to deal with people and looking at the books, her finances are exceptional considering it’s a relatively small farm operation.”

“Okay, first off, of course I can ice her out. I need to show who’s in charge and this has worked with other associates before. And second off, what are you seeing in her finances?” Bucky huffed.

“Buck, she could buy your house. Somehow she’s invested so well that she doesn’t need our business deal, but she took it anyway. Makes me wonder why. Someone doing something like that doesn’t deserve ice, maybe you should try a little sweetness. I mean, I know you think everyone’s a sucker for that tough exterior of yours.” Steve’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “But you know what they say: you catch more bees with honey…. However, that sting on your face shows you can catch a bee just by standing there, so I’m not sure how fair that analogy is.” Steve let out a hearty chuckle at his own joke as a scowl crawled onto Bucky’s face.

“Ha ha ha, very funny, but we’re doing this my way. I’ll figure it out. I just have to last three more weeks.”

Steve sighed and replied with evident disappointment and a hint of frustration in his voice. “Okay, whatever you say, you’re the boss. I’ll call you later with a new update, Bucket.”

Bucky rolled his eyes in response. “Ugh, why do I still tell you everything when you use it against me like this?”

“That’s platonic love, my friend. Someone’s gotta hold you accountable and know you won’t punch them in the face for it.” And with that, Steve hung up and left Bucky looking up at the clear, blue sky.

Although Steve’s words and accusations stuck in his head, Bucky decided he wanted to muscle through this deal on his own. All he really needed to do was stay away from you and put in the work, and that would make it easier, right? He would simply do what he came here to do, nothing more, nothing less. If only Bucky could hear Steve’s grumble “why does he even tell me about this stuff if he won’t even take my advice?” that was said after every phone call.

You woke up to the first rooster crow on Monday morning. By the time you had gotten dressed and walked down the creaky stairs, you saw your breakfast plate made and sitting on the counter and a mug of coffee that had already cooled down to a more than drinkable temperature.

You peeked in the dishwasher to see a set of dishes had already been placed in there. Bucky must’ve already eaten and gone out for the day. He probably wanted to get a jump start on his work. At least he knew what he was doing.

The real reason he was up and going already that you hadn’t known? He couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned all night thinking about what Steve had said and honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Couldn’t bring himself to mess up more in your presence and be saved and comforted by your seemingly bottomless grace. The solution was to do the work in pensive silence, as far from you as possible, so he could mess up and fix it on his own without the thought of your kind, yet penetrating, gaze. He was getting too close for comfort. The only solution was to pull away.

This continued for the next three days. Wake up before you. Make breakfast. Get a jump start on chores. Mess up on chores (as you secretly watched from the tractor, or the hay loft). Fix the mistakes. Carry on with his head down. Come home. Make dinner. Trap himself in his room. Go to bed. Start again.

Some notable moments that you’d caught unbeknownst to him: Bucky’s galoshes getting stuck in the mud of the pig pen, followed by him having to step out of the still-stuck boots, continue to walk to pour the feed in the trough while losing both socks as well, then returning to dig out the boots. At least half a dozen goat head-butts while trying to grab the babies to take them to the separate feeding area. The mommas were not happy with Bucky’s insistence on taking their kids, and they showed him by knocking him repeatedly into the white-painted fences. Bucky responded with an oof and him rubbing the affected area, returning a glower to the seemingly now unbothered mothers. Bucky losing sheep, but not knowing how to command your dog to corral them, thus having to run and herd them himself, surprisingly more efficiently each time it happened, you might add.

You were proud of Bucky for his work ethic. If he had put half this effort into his business dealings, you could see how he rose to the top so quickly. He wasn’t the only one who did research on whom they were dealing with.

He was stubborn and wanted things right, but didn’t let a lack of perfection stop him from completing the tasks. However, at some point, it looked like he was beating himself up. Like he was self-punishing for something you couldn’t quite identify, so you called Curtis to help at the farm so you could figure it out. Come Thursday afternoon, you handed off your chores to him and went back to the house early in hopes of catching Bucky. You were half way through dinner when the front door opened, the mud-covered mob boss in well-fitting farm clothes crossing the threshold.

You looked him up and down, doing your best to hold in a laugh at the disheveled appearance. “Well howdy. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. Figured you’ve been working so hard, it’s my turn to help you out some.”

Bucky was taken aback by seeing you in the kitchen, not only had he purposely been avoiding you and planned to get in the house before you even considered dinner, but you just looked so relaxed. Something about that stoked an ember in him he’d tried hard to snuff out. You were wearing a t-shirt and your hair was pulled up off your shoulders, almost like any other day, but your features didn’t have their usual determined focus. They were at ease, which was in total juxtaposition with Bucky’s swirl of anxiousness rising in his gut.

Bucky looked at you with wide eyes and pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “Um, I thought you were still out in the field. Saw the tractor turning the hay over.” He swallowed thickly.

You leaned to peek around him. “Ah, yes. That’s Curtis. Called him in today to help me finish up so you and I could talk about a few things. Go ahead and wash up. By the time you’re done, this should all be ready.”

All he could do was nod in response as he slowly made his way up the steps, mind racing with everything you could possibly say. Did you know how he felt? Did he do something wrong? Were you going to cut the deal? He could only hope the warm water would wash his worries away, along with the mud.

Bucky came back down to a homey aroma that wrapped him in comfort. That much was consistent every time he saw you. Your existence provided him a blanket of relief, despite the way he knew he should still be holding onto anticipation for what you might say. You were sitting at the head of the table flanked by Curtis, the both of you reading though some papers.

“Hey, Bucket, just in time.” Curtis greeted him, as Bucky took the seat across from him at the table, flanking your other side. You all started to dig into the food as you set the papers down on the table for Bucky to read them. It was a headline that read: TURNing the Tables: The Road to an Empire.

“What is this?” He looked up from his plate and directly into your eyes for the first time in days.

“Well, we haven’t gotten to talk about this yet, but remember that guy who we ran away from at the bar? This is him.” Bucky’s eyebrows pinched together, he knew the look of disdain on your face made sense, but still felt like he was missing something.

Curtis cleared his throat after taking a sip of tea and spoke up. “Forgot you didn’t grow up with us. Allow me to explain.” He looked to your eyes and you nodded in approval of his continuance. “In school, I was a few years older than Y/N here. Back then, there were a bunch of farmers around town, each with their own little niche, and a lotta nice farm kids who were in our classes. Except Cole. He grew up a little awkward kid, but once he hit puberty, he became the cockiest thing in town. Didn’t even care to know those other kids anymore, just bullied them. It didn’t help that it was around the same time his parents started buying out all the other small farms here, turning their small dairy operation into a much larger-scale distributor. Little too big for their britches, if you ask me.” Curtis mumbled that last part as he rolled his eyes and shoveled another fork full of food into his mouth.

Bucky nodded in acknowledgement, but still harbored some confusion in how this all tied together. “So why was it crazy to run into him at the bar if he’s from around here? And what’s the deal with him making you so uncomfortable. Like, I get it, he’s a prick, but you were running out of there. You hardly budged for me, so there’s no way he can be that intimidating to you.”

Curtis’s eyes narrowed slightly and his brows furrowed at that statement, but he let it go for now. He swallowed down another bite of food and looked at you again. Your mouth was slightly agape, debating the best way to move forward. “I didn’t look like this in high school, or throughout any schooling for that matter, so he didn’t recognize me when we ran into each other at the bar. Frankly, I hardly recognized him. And come to think of it, he didn’t even ask my name Friday night, so that goes to show what a trash bag he really is. But this is a good thing, because I think we’d be in a way bigger mess if he did remember me. It’s a long story, and I think we’ll have to go back even farther.” You took a sip of your water before setting down your silverware and leaning forward on your elbows on the table.

“Like Curtis said, Cole didn’t get along with anyone, especially Jake. In school he’d constantly push him around, so Curtis would come to his defense, even though I probably could’ve taken Cole myself.” You let out a small airy chuckle and Curtis smiled back at you, shaking his head. “But anyway, after every time Cole started a fight and Curtis finished it, he’d look at me with this big, almost mischievous grin. So honestly, I’m glad I didn’t play into getting close to him by personally defending Jake.”

Bucky continued nodding along. You seemed so unproblematic. Why were you in the middle of this? “So he didn’t recognize you at the bar, and again, he’s from around here. What’s the big deal?”

You sighed, having to explain more small-town politics to Bucky, who very evidently didn’t understand the delicate nature of places outside the city. “He’s not really from around here anymore. His farm still is, but it’s one of many now. After school, he went to get some fancy business degree from who knows where. What I’m truly concerned about is what he said to me at the bar. He’s here to squash the one thing Curtis and I, and frankly this town, have left.” Curtis rubbed your shoulder reassuringly and you rubbed your eyes in frustration. Bucky felt that same pang in his lower stomach again, seeing how close you and Curtis were and how that dumb little milk man had you this upset. You looked at Curtis gratefully and continued.

“My mom’s brother and Curtis’s dad’s sister used to run this farm back when Cole still lived here. When they passed, they left it to us, but Curtis’s dad also left the shop, which is why I mostly run things around here. But the thing is, anyone who hasn’t been to town since back then, doesn’t know that. The last name tied to this farm doesn’t apply to either of us.” Oh, so you and Curtis were second cousins? Explains a lot. Bucky hated himself that all he could think was ‘one more man who’s close to you he can check off as not being a threat.’ He really needed to get himself in check. Once he pushed those thoughts back down is when everything finally clicked.

Cole was back in town. He had a history with you. He’s got a bad track record in general. He said he wanted to squash competition. You were that competition. He didn’t know you were that competition. You had no idea where to go from here.

Before Bucky could open his mouth for his next round of clarification questions, there was a knock on the door. The three of you were so enthralled in conversation that no one heard the wheels crunching through the gravel in the driveway. You exchanged glances with the men on either side of you. A random visitor out here wasn’t too out of the ordinary, considering how much the community depended on you, but the conversation topic had you on edge. It was for good reason, because as you opened the door, leaving the screen in place, you were met with a face that had started to haunt your dreams these past few days: Cole.

He was wearing that sickening smile again, looking down at you. “Hiya, Peach. It’s been a minute.” You crossed your arms and looked at the man standing on your porch, a plastic smile glued to your face.

Bucky and Curtis shuffled behind you. Curtis shoved the papers and articles at Bucky to take somewhere else so Cole wouldn’t see them, while he made his way to your shoulder, his large stature holding every intention to intimidate Cole.

“Ah yes, your guard dog Curtis, great to see ya, buddy.” Curtis gave a death glare of acknowledgement, stance unyielding.

“Sorry I didn’t recognize you at the bar, you’ve all changed so much, including your pal, Jakey. He’s the one who so kindly told me my family missed this farm while we were on the rise. As soon as mom and pop gave me the reins, I knew I had to stop over, didn’t realize you were the one running things now.” You did your best to keep your face level.

“So what can I help you with, Cole? Are you lost? Need directions on a map? I’m a whiz at that. Happy to print one out for you.”

If it was even possible, his troubling smirk became wider. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? I’d love to talk business. Maybe over dinner? Smells delicious.”

You scrunched your nose, keeping the fake smile on your face. “Unfortunately, it’s all gone. Maybe next time. How about you and me mosey over to the office. It’s been too long. I’ve got some mints in there. Maybe those can tide you over.”

“Too long, indeed.” He ignored the rest of your statement, but Bucky didn’t. He’d never heard you say something that rude before. Someone like Cole might have been none the wiser, but those were loaded words that he knew you said with intention. How could he blame you, though. The man in the fake work clothes had invited himself in unannounced. Not even Bucky did that to you. The same couldn’t be said for his actions with other associates, but one thing he knew was that you were deserving of all the respect in the world. Respect Cole was not giving you. Cole nodded to the two men and followed you down the hall, not bothering to take off his shoes and add them to the files of boots by the door. Another mark in Bucky’s mind. You closed the door you’d held open behind him after giving a wide-eyed look to your two confidants whose eyes followed the whole thing.

Bucky scrambled to clean up the dinner plates and pack away the leftovers. It was smart of you to not offer Cole anything. He didn’t need any reason to stick around longer than you wanted him to. Bucky knew a thing or two about business dealings with enemies, and he was usually much cooler than this, but the fact he could tell you were freaking out, freaked him out.

He still hadn’t dealt with his emotions for you, and your earnestness not even half an hour ago had made it worse. So he did what he always does when he’s not sure and needs a wall to talk at: he called Steve.

Steve picked up in a surprisingly good mood. “Hey Buck, what can I do ya for.”

“I need to you gather everything you can on Cole Turner.” He frantically spat out. Steve grew serious to mirror his best friend’s tone. “And…” Bucky lowered his phone for a second and looked at Curtis. “What’s Jake’s last name.”

Curtis looked at him skeptically. “Jenson. Jacob Jensen.” Bucky nodded his head in thanks and lifted the phone back up to his ear.

“Did you get that?…Yeah, put our best guys on it. Ok, call me later tonight when you know. Doesn’t matter the time. Bye.”

Bucky lowered the phone and looked at Curtis who had just finished wiping down the counters. Curtis had his arms crossed and was leaned up against the kitchen island, opposite Bucky. “So you wanna tell me who exactly you are? Why you’ve got people who you can seemingly throw commands at for immediate attention? And why you care so much about this little farm that you’re only working at for a month?”

Bucky sighed and put his hands on the counter, pushing his body away from it, hinged at the hips, and hanging his head in between his arms. He stood up and quickly looked at Curtis straight in the eyes. “I think you know. I think you know the answers to all those questions, but I think you should also know, I care enough to be on your side.”

Curtis leaned in towards Bucky, his frame shadowing the mob boss’s in the evening light. For the first time in awhile, Bucky was intimidated. He knew how much Curtis cared for you, and he knew how hard he’d be pummeled if he messed up, whether Bucky used his combat training or not. He mustered up as much confidence as he could to rebuild his demeanor to face your Cousin. “You know I care, and I think all that matters is that I’m using my resources to make sure your cousin’s farm is okay and stays in her hands. You know I’m here to do business, but this is bigger than me and I see that now. I’m someone with power, and not unearned power like that prick in the other room. So I’m someone who uses that power in your best interest. That’s all you need to know right now.”

Curtis nodded in acceptance of Bucky’s answer. He could respect that logic, and the way Bucky held his cards close to his chest, because at the end of the day, at the core of Bucky’s motivations was your well-being. No matter how much he thought he could put a veil over it, Curtis saw through.

“Well, Bucky, I won’t doubt you then, but you better hold true and honest, for your own sake and for hers. And I hope to hear more of your other ‘business ventures’ later down the road, but for now, I think our girl needs us.” Bucky nodded along in agreement.

“I don’t think there’s much else I can do right now while I wait for that intel to get back. You got anything?”

Curtis grinned and gave a small shrug. “I can think of one thing. Go up in that top cabinet above the fridge. We’ve got a bottle of the good stuff. She’s gonna need it once we can get the slime ball to slide outta here.”

Bucky’s shoulder’s bounced with a small laugh as he pulled down the bottle. “Let’s get cracking then.”

It was another half hour before Cole emerged from your office and looked cockily at the two men chatting in your kitchen. You followed closely behind, doing your best to subtly corral him out of the house.

“I hope you’ll consider my offer. Actually, I know you will. Over dinner next time.” He smirked back at you over his shoulder. You escorted him out the door as politely as you could, draining your last bit of energy. You closed and locked the front door, which rarely was so, and peeked through the window until he was gone.

You turned around to look at the two of them as your shoulders slumped. You dragged your feet over to the island where Curtis and Bucky were leaning leisurely, grateful Curtis knew exactly what you needed as he slid the filled shot glass toward you.

You grabbed it and threw it back, slamming it back down on the butcher block counter top as Curtis moved to refill it. “How many do I have to catch up on?”

“Only two.” Curtis replied as he slid the shot glass back over to you again.

“Let’s make it three.” You choked out after you attempted to swallow down the burn of the second shot.

“Bucket, can you please make us some water bottles? I’ve gotta get out of this house. We’re going for a walk.”

“Yeah, okay, Honey. Only on the condition that you put my boots on me for the walk. My hammies are sore from being your little chore boy.” He replied as he reached into the cabinet to grab the bottles.

He smiled to himself when he heard your giggle. He’d normally never complain that openly and ridiculously, but you gave him the reaction he was hoping for. Anything to make sure the life wasn’t totally sucked out of you by Cole.

“Your negotiations are no good here. You put your own boots on and take your own boots off unless you’re married. My house, my rules. But tell ya what, I’ll let you have another shot of this small-batch bourbon with me and Curty boi. That’s more than payment enough.” You winked at him as he handed you the water bottle. The three of you taking the last shot and heading out the door, making your way towards the back of the property.

It was an easy walk through level fields, just long. The three of you fell into easy conversation about anything other than Cole, insisting you’d debrief them tomorrow, so the conversation mainly consisted of teasing Curtis about the new girl and her truck he had to fix last week. The comfortable silences otherwise were filled with the sound of the crickets chirping. You found comfort in the caress of the warm, humid breeze that blew through as you walked towards the hills where the old mines of the property resided.

Once you reached the entrance, you turned around and faced the two large men. “Buck, you’ve been working really hard this week, so I think it’s time I showed you what you’re working toward. Figured it would be a nice change of pace for us to take a look at this tunnel tonight, and we can start scheduling some time in for us to fix up the scaffolding and supports.”

Bucky nodded, looking at you with a grin on his face while Curtis clicked on his flashlight. “I’m honestly curious to see what’s going on in there. I don’t think we’ve ventured in since we were teenagers.” His voice echoed through the mouth of the mine.

You led the way, turning on your own flashlight, scanning the dirt walls and old, wooden supports. “Yeah, it’s been awhile, but I think you could work with this, right, Bucket? This tunnel specifically doesn’t have an outlet like the connecting network in some of the others, so it would be mostly storage. You could probably send some underlings out here to help you out.”

You both laughed as Bucky walked closer to the wall, examining one of the support beams. “Yeah, I mean, I own a construction company, so that shouldn’t be a worry at all.”

That caught Curtis’s attention as he stopped to give a side glance toward Bucky. You continued on ahead unfazed as Bucky kicked the wooden beam in front of him to test its integrity. It crumbled slightly at the toe of his boot. Underwhelmed with the scale of the break, the two men made a move to step forward when they heard a rumbling, followed by the beam Bucky had kicked crashing down in front of them. Pebbles shifted and fell out of the ceiling, followed by larger rocks and before they could blink, the tunnel buckled creating a wall of sand and stone between you and them.

All Bucky could hear was your muffled scream on the other end. I’m okay, just get me out of here. He was going into panic mode, but a plan still was racing though his brain as he made every attempt to mash it together into something coherent. Through the ringing in his ears he heard Curtis yell. “We have to call the police, the fire department, someone to get her out of there. She might not be injured now, but I can’t say the same if there’s a secondary collapse. We need to do something. Now.”

Bucky grabbed him by his collar. “No. No police. It’ll ruin everything.”

Curtis put his hands up in surrender. “Okay then, what do you suppose we do, big guy?”

Bucky paced back and forth, biting his thumbnail with worry. “Gimme a second. I’m figuring it out.” He stopped in his tracks. “Who all knows about the mines?”

“What? What does that ha-“

Bucky cut Curtis off. “Who. All. Knows?”

Curtis shook his head and shrugged. “I-I don’t know, not many people. Me and her, her college roommate, and Jake. That’s it, I think.”

Bucky rapidly reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed Curtis a card from his wallet. “This is my associate Sam. You’re going to call him and tell him those names. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

Curtis immediately pulled out his phone, trusting the judgement of his new friend. Bucky did the same, calling Steve. It was time to send backup to the farm. He could have his men out here tonight, and your friends by at least the morning, sending his private jet to retrieve them.

He needed you out of that tunnel like he needed to breathe, mostly because if he didn’t get you out of there within a day, you wouldn’t be able to.

Next >

Bonus A/N: so much going on!! What will happen next? Who was the girl whose truck Curtis had to fix??

Thank you so much for reading!! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are soooo appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be added to any of my tag lists. Love you!

Series taglist:

@scuzmunkie

@openup-yourmind

@vicmc624

[mychemisgay]

Yuji, the main character of the story is the son of Kenjaku (big bad mastermind of the series) and part of Sukuna's soul (final big bad in the series). These seem like important plot points, right? Wrong, they go exactly nowhere.

If you think about it, the story would've been the exact same if Yuji was just an unusually strong human. He gets told he's a really good vessel for Sukuna, most other people probably wouldn't be able to contain him, but no one, not even Yuji questions why that is. It's just accepted at the start, so they start feeding him the fingers. No one thinks it's kinda suspicious how strong he was even as a non-sorcerer. Literally no one cares, it's just accepted in the manga, quirky main character syndrome I guess.

Then why make these interesting plot points about his parents as one off remarks? The reader gets baited into thinking these will all tie together, then gets blue balled.

Why did Sukuna mention towards the end of the whole manga, that Yuji was made from part of his soul (his would-be twin that he consumed before birth) and that Kenjaku wouldn't make a kid for no reason? We could see Sukuna hated being in Yuji so what was Kenjaku's plan? As soon as he could Sukuna dipped and posessed Megumi instead. So what even was Kenjaku's plan with creating Yuji? Even Sukuna said he doesn't fucking know, and that's where we as readers are left at.

Also, we got the conversation with Yorozu, Sukuna told her she could do whatever with him if he lost. What was the point of that out-of-place conversation in the middle of a mediocre fight? Logically it could have been foreshadowing as to what will happen when Sukuna is actually defeated in the series.

When Sukuna lost against Yuji, he could have done anything with his body, and with Yuji wanting to help him, he probably should have eaten him. Even the deal they made in Yuji's domain went something like "give back Fushiguro and come back to me OR I will kill you." Sukuna gave back Megumi, so by that logic he should have gone back to Yuji, probably by Yuji eating him. But no. Nothing comes from this at all, he just fucking dies.

Man, Gege is the true potential man (gn).

[cosmerelists]

If the "Chicken Dinner" Tradition Existed in the Cosmere...

"Chicken dinner" post requested by anon. :)

If you're not familiar with it, this is the "chicken dinner post." Basically, it's a tradition that Someone on the Internet has created, where you and a friend tear apart and eat an entire rotisserie chicken with your bare hands, fighting over it the whole time. Look, the post I linked explains it better.

Anyway, let's say this tradition (and also rotisserie chickens) existed throughout the Cosmere...

1. Sadeas & Dalinar: Firsthand Observations by Jasnah

--There was but a moment of sizing each other up from the edges of the tarp before both men charged directly at the chicken

--Dalinar kept his feet but Sadeas dove and so got the chicken first. He was able to get a few bites in before Dalinar dove onto him from above.

--There is now intense wrestling over the chicken.

--I observe that while Sadeas appears focused on getting as much chicken into his mouth as possible, Dalinar appears to be more focused on pinning his opponent to the mat--I mean, the tarp

--How did both men lose their shirts?

--Dalinar does now have Sadeas pinned, but the chicken is directly in front of Sadeas' head and he is STILL biting at it. I am not convinced that Dalinar has actually consumed any chicken at all.

--Sadeas has at length grown still. Dalinar has picked up the remains of the chicken carcass and is now holding it in both hands while he consumes it over Sadeas' prone form. However, I do observe that the most choice bits of the chicken do appear to have been consumed already--by Sadeas

--If this is a game with a winner, I do not know how to declare it in this case.

2. Tress & Huck: A Post-Chicken-Dinner Conversation

Tress: A-Again, I'm REALLY sorry. Huck: You don't have anything to be sorry about! Tress: Going in, I thought: well, it's just food, and Huck and I are friends, and I don't see why we can't just share the chicken peacefully. Tress: ... Tress: I don't know WHAT came over me! I ripped that chicken apart! I think I was growling at some point! Huck: Can confirm. Tress: A-And, worst of all... Tress: ... Tress: I can't believe I HELD you in one hand and ate the chicken with my other w-while LAUGHING that you were just a tiny helpless rat! Huck: Yeah, I sure hope that didn't awaken anything in me. Tress: ...what? Huck: A-Anyway, I think it was good for you to let go! Be wild and feral! It's probably healthy! Tress: It was...oddly freeing. Huck: That's the spirit!

3. Steris Rates People's Greatest Strength in Chicken Dinner Combat

--Wax: Airtime. Is able to fling himself and the chicken into the air and eat a great deal of it before they both land again

--Wayne: Hand-to-hand technique, lack of fear. Not afraid to get in close and literally eat chicken out of his opponent's hands

--Marasi: Surprising levels of savagry

--MeLaan: Stuck the entire chicken into her body, through her ribs. May be considered cheating

--Myself: No particular strengths. Did create a Chicken Eating Suit out of the same material as a tarp, and did replace the Central Chicken with a Fake Decoy while hiding the Actual Chicken in a place only I knew, thus securing my victory

4. A Series of Drawings by Shallan, Commemorating the 4 v. 1 Chicken Duel

[Adolin running toward the central chicken, alone, while four figures in Shardplate charge in from the opposite side]

[Abrobadar eating a chicken wing in triumph in front of Renarin, who is kneeling on the tarp]

[Kaladin Stormblessed, gloryspen swirling around him, holding up an entire chicken thigh on the end of his spear]

[Adolin sitting on a shouting Jakamov while he, Kaladin, and Renarin share the last of the chicken]

5. An Apology Letter Penned by Valette, To Elend

Dear Elend,

Sazed says that an apology letter is traditional after "something like yesterday." He is helping me write this.

I am sorry that I strangled your fiancée during our chicken dinner bout yesterday. When Shan Elariel grabbed that chicken thigh, I was overcome by an uncontrollable desire to take it from her by any means possible. And though I did win, strangling her while shouting that I was the Queen of Chicken was impolite.

I am also sorry that I punched your brother so many times. Zane was not even supposed to be there, but when he showed up and tried to take a bit out of the chicken while I was holding it, well, something came over me. But when he collapsed next to your still-unconscious fiancée, I did feel a moment of guilt...but only a moment, as I was soon overcome by the delicious Victory Chicken I was enjoying.

Finally, I am sorry that I also attacked your father. He wasn't even trying to get the chicken. But he was there. And he was looking at it. And I feel like the Zane thing was his fault. But I understand that it was probably disconcerting when a small woman covered in chicken juices launched at him suddenly while screaming.

I hope we can still be friends.

Sincerely,

Valette

6. Hoid & Kelsier: A Pre-Chicken-Dinner Conversation

Kelsier: I thought you couldn't eat meat. Hoid: Not if it's from a dead animal, no. Kelsier: And you can't perform violence. Hoid: Nope. Kelsier: ... Kelsier: So what are we even doing here? Hoid: Did you know that I was once challenged to a duel? Kelsier: Why would I know that? Hoid: Do you know what I did? Kelsier: [Looks to the side where Jasnah stands, wearing a giant apron that says "It's Chicken Eatin' Time", eyes glinting] Kelsier: [grins] I do love a fight I can't win...

[uglypastels]

Not Wholly Evil |IX| pirate!Eddie au [NSFW]

a/n we are getting so close to the endddd oh my god i am so excited and sad at the same time because i don't want this story to end as much as some of you, but I also cannot wait to share my next lil projects with you 🥰 thank you for all the support on the last chapter!

this chapter will include explicit scenes. Minors DO NOT Interact. 18+. if you have read the previous chapters but do/should not wish to consume this content, please read:

Chapter 9 (safe for work version)

Series Masterlist

word count: 13k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. near-death experiences in water. men are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. [in-dream] non-consensual behaviour. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying. small wounds inflicted by fire. blackmail. binds and knifes. SMUT 18+ ONLY, MDNI - p in v sex. oral (f receiving). no condom (this isn't the 18th century. wrap it before you tap it). choking. thigh riding. jealous!eddie.

Chapter 9: Paragon

“Perhaps the wolf wasn't quite so dangerous as he pretended. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out for sure——give him a little rope and see if he hung himself… And pray that he didn't tie her up with it instead.”

― Sabrina Jeffries, Dance of Seduction

He looked like he saw a ghost. And maybe he had. You didn’t feel like yourself, so who was to say if you were still alive? You had comprehended how you carried yourself back to the Hellfire. Standing in his room felt like you were looking down at yourself. Aware of everything around you but understanding none of it.

‘I thought you had left.’ He stepped into the room, leaving the door wide open. As he walked, you noticed he was clearing the way for you, allowing you to leave if you wanted to. His eyes were intently focused on yours and threaded lightly. Like any wrong move would cause you to disappear.

‘I wanted to,’ you admitted. You still wanted to. Your thoughts had screamed through the night for an escape. Yet, something tied you down to this ship and made you return.

‘Then why didn’t you?’ He came closer, and so did you. That string pulled at your ribs again, pulling you two closer. You had tried long enough to fight it to no avail. Whatever you thought you wanted did not compare to your subconscious need to be next to him. 

‘I don’t know.’ Deep down, you knew the reason, but the time was not there yet to admit it. In your mind, you still despised everything about him, this ship, the crew, and, therefore, yourself for needing his touch as much as you did at this moment. It was weak to give in to him like you did.

The candle’s light fell upon him at angles that brought something new out in him or maybe revealed what had always been there. The signs of the wear and tear of a life at sea. He wasn’t hiding it any more, letting all that pain be visible, and he looked beautiful. You held back from reaching out and tracing the thin scar against his brow or the flawed line of his nose that must have been broken once. The longer you looked at him, the more you realised that you could look at him in this way forever. 

And that scared you. 

Munson walked past you to his desk, occupying himself with whatever he could reach. It would have been good for you to have something to focus on instead of him, but you stood in the middle of the room with nothing but him to clutch onto. Neither of you spoke, stuck in an awkward limbo, tiptoeing around one another to see who would be the first to step over that line. The line that had kept you, your heart, safe until now. You could impossibly predict what was to happen if it was crossed.

The ship creaked as the tide softly bounced off it. For the rest, it was uncharacteristically quiet on board.

‘Is the rest coming as well? Will we be departing soon?’ It was ridiculous to change the topic in this manner, but you simply did not know what else to say, and this barrier between you and him was dreadful. You could sense it in the middle, waiting for that catalyst to burst. And you wanted it to. Just how?

‘No, I doubt they realised I’ve gone.’ He finally turned back to face you, leaning against the desk, arms crossed, eyes on the ground. If he could just look at you—would that make things easier or that much harder?

‘Why did you? Leave the tavern, I mean.’ With your heart pounding in your throat, tightening your breath, you stepped toward him. 

‘I noticed you were gone. Then I heard you had gone to the harbour with some man and I thought…. I grew worried.’

‘Why?’ You could not imagine him caring for you to go out, away from his crew and his festivities, to look for you. 

‘I know what you’re thinking, and at first, yes, I was thinking about the money,’ he admitted, which took you aback. You took a step closer. ‘But then I—when I realised, or thought, that I had actually lost you, I thought about how I would never see you again, and I realised—’ his words faded as you took your final step towards, letting your chest press against his. He finally let his eyes meet yours. 

‘Realised what?’ Considering your proximity and seclusion, you hadn’t meant to whisper, but it felt right. 

‘That I was scared’ His breath was shaky as his eyes took all of you in. ‘Of loosing you.’

‘I was scared too.’ And maybe that is what kept you from leaving. The idea that if you would go, there was a possibility that you would never see him again, and it was enough to hollow out your entire being with dread. It felt wrong. But that gnawing in your chest stayed there the whole night, even when you had returned to the Hellfire, and it only left once you felt his fingers intertwine with yours. A flutter of a touch at the fingertips.

‘And? Are you still scared?’ He matched your hushed tone with his response. The question was simple on its surface, but only the facade for an obliterating iceberg was the truth. 

‘No.’ Standing in front of him, feeling his breath on you, the warmth that radiated off him, his gentle touch on your skin, seeing the smile hiding in his features, you saw nothing to be scared of anymore. There was nothing to fear anymore. The voice in you that had screamed for help all those days was silenced for a final time when you leaned in to kiss him.

His lips were chapped, cheeks rough with scars and the light shadowy scruff of a beard. His touch was featherlight, as if he was scared to pursue it as if you were to break underneath him. It starkly contrasted the force he had pulled you in with hours before. The intensity had been dizzying, and yet this was what genuinely shut your mind down entirely. But you could tell that he was not there yet wholly. Something kept him guarded. 

You pulled away, but your lips still shared the same breath. When you opened your eyes, you were met with his and how they were shaking with uncertainty as he took all of you in. 

‘Is there something you’re still afraid of?’ you asked.

‘Many things,’ his hand found its place on your waist, ‘but mostly of myself,’ and gently pushed you away. ‘And what I will do to you. I have made so many mistakes, mistakes that hurt you, already in that I will have to live it for my eternity, but I do not know what I will do if I make one again.’ 

There was silence as you took in his words. You understood them, possibly more than anyone could, for they were yours. As your lips met, you thought if what you were doing would lead to your doom, if it would all end in a disaster, but could something that felt so right be so devastating?

He had let his eyes fall to the ground. You reclaimed the one step he had made you take, closing the gap between you once more and letting your hand guide him to look up at you.

‘Do you think that kiss was a mistake?’ Your heart beat faster than it ever had as you waited for an answer, but his lips remained shut, so you continued. ‘If so, do not play with my heartstrings, but tell me, and I will leave. I will return to my cell, and you can lock me up and never see me again until you bring me back home.’ It would only be a couple of days, and it would hurt to mend this extremely fragile piece of you that you had just opened, but like all wounds do, it would heal eventually.

‘Answer me, captain.’ You kept your voice as steady as possible, regaining the confidence you had built up since you got onto the ship. ‘Was that a mistake?’

‘No.’ And with that one final word, you both leaned in for a kiss. Your hand was still on his cheek, his holding you tightly, but you still felt that urge to pull yourself closer to him. As you felt the press of his chest fully against yours, he actually pulled his lips away from yours. He hesitated but finally spoke against the corner of your mouth. ‘But… call me Eddie. Please.’ 

You couldn’t help but smile into your next kiss. Just like that, all that weight of the world fell off both your shoulders, down into the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again. You didn’t hold back with this newfound freedom when you pushed him up against the desk. The furniture shuffled with a creak over the floor, and you could hear some things topple over at the impact. Still, neither of you cared, too occupied with one another. He could just about manage to extend his hand and begin to push all the loose items off the desk to make space for himself. The papers flew around you, and all the measurement equipment clattered onto the crowd. 

As the kiss intensified, Eddie shrugged and smoothly sat up on the desk, pulling you in with him. As he slowly let himself fall back, you followed, attached by the lips, hands, and hearts, until you practically lay on top, arms keeping you up from falling entirely onto him. Well, one hand, as the other found him and laced your fingers together once more. He had tried to make more space around you, pushing objects aside, when he cursed loudly.

You startled away and saw the clench in his jaw as he took a deep breath. He must have read your panic-stricken face as he showed you his hand. ‘It’s alright,’ his voice was calm, humour peaking through it. ‘I might have just put my hand right into the flame.’ And indeed, the side of his hand was glowing red. 

Hearing this did not put your mind at rest as you tried to grab his hand and inspect the damage more deeply, but he pulled it away from you, instead taking your fingers in his and kissing your knuckles. 

‘Don’t worry, my darling,’ he smiled while kissing your hand, ‘Can barely feel it.’

He had just made direct contact with fire; you doubted it would be alright, but then again, you had seen all the scars on his body. This would just be another small blister among the list of many. But you blinked the thought away. Tried your best to not think about the pain he had endured. You doubted he wanted you to feel pity for him and what had once happened to him. 

The look in his eyes was adamant. He needed you to let it go, so all you could do was sigh.

‘You’ve gone mad.’ 

Eddie chuckled at your comment as he let his lips travel over your wrist, over the length of your arm. ‘As mad as any other sane man.’ His kisses moved over the material of your shirt. The lack of contact that was so clearly there shot sparks of anticipation through you, but he took his time taking you all in until his lips reached your collar. He had practically strained his neck to reach you from his position. Some of you wanted to back away to see how far he would follow you, but your weaker portion gave into his touch and melted over it. 

He had just kissed your neck, sparking a fire through you on the spot, when a noise boomed over the silent ship, bursting you out of the solitary moment of bliss. In an instant, Eddie held you by the hips as he gently pushed you off him and got himself back on the ground. There was an alarm in his features, and so, when he looked at you and told you to “Stay here”, for once, you listened.

He closed the door behind him as he left to see what the noise was, and when minutes later, he had not returned, but there had also not been any more ruckus or signs of danger; you calmed down. Unsure of what to do now, you lay down on the bed. In the past few days, the bed had gotten more comfortable as you got used to it, but it still felt strange. You lay down on your side, facing the wall. The patterns in the wooden planks almost seemed to move in the shadowy light and, unfortunately for you, brought you into a trance of clarity and thoughts.

What were you doing? How could you have let all this happen? Kissing the man that had caused the death of so many people that you had deemed friends. How could you betray their souls by… by falling for him? You had lost control of all your feelings and emotions. 

It was a trick of the sea. You had simply been captured on this ship for so long that you did not know what was wrong or right. How else could you explain the yearning feeling that still circulated through you? Why else did you wish he was still here with you, touching you?

With all these thoughts occupying your mind, you must have missed Eddie walking back into the room, mumbling something about how it had been a few of his crew that stumbled back up to the ship. Too busy with your own mind, you did not hear him calling your name softly, assuming you had fallen asleep and telling you good night. You did not hear how deflated the last words came from his mouth. You only caught the sound of the door closing behind him. 

And soon you managed to turn all these thoughts off and fall asleep. Except then, they came back even stronger and in the form of dreams. You found yourself back on the Red Tail. The hawk flapped its wings on the flag in the wind and every man’s uniform. The sun shone brightly in its last few minutes before hiding behind the horizon. It was a strange illusion as you stared down at the ship and the two figures that stood out looking at the sparkling sea. You watched yourself talking to Admiral Carver.

‘I would have imagined you to have grown tired of the water by now,’ he laughed.

‘I won’t say I will be happy to return home, but I can’t ever see myself becoming tired of this view. It is beautiful.’ You leaned forward onto the balustrade and breathed in the salty air. ‘Besides, you have done this for much longer than I have, and you’re here too, so it can’t be that bad.’ It seemed it was only your first expedition while he had crossed the world several times. If anyone was to grow tired of it, you thought it would be him. 

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he had his arms behind his back, ‘but everything is more bearable when there is something back home to look forward to.’ 

‘I suppose so.’ You would not exactly know what he meant. Of course, you could not wait to see your father again, and your friends, but nothing at home gave you the sense that it genuinely anchored you there or drew your heart in for your return. ‘I am sure you miss your family very much.’

‘Yes, of course,’ He took a step closer to you, ‘but I will miss these moments.’

‘Oh,’ you were startled by his proximity, unsure how to respond. Politely, you smiled and tried to keep the conversation going, ‘I’ve enjoyed them too, uhmm-’, but you were suddenly thrown off-guard when you felt his hands on you. Before he had the chance to do anything, you were quick to push him off. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking our last chance before it’s too late.’ He leaned in again, and you stepped back. 

‘What about your–’

‘She does not need to know.’ The sea was a free playing field for most men, so what happened out there was not up to the women at home to know. You had seen adultery but never thought the admiral would participate in such activities. He had been drinking; maybe he wasn’t thinking straight. Before he would make any more mistakes, you attempted to walk away, but he caught you by the arm, putting all his strength into the hold.

‘Admiral, you’re hurting me.’ You tried to pull your arm back, and this is where things began to change. Where the dream made itself apparent. Carver’s handsome features turned into vicious angles as he spoke. 

‘So you’ll kiss Munson, but not me?’ 

‘What- what are you–’ you tried to get away, but it was as if he grew in size. And there were flashes. These flashes of light. Like lightning, there was no thunder, rain, or light. It blinded you, and you tried to regain your sight by blinking, but each time you did so, he seemed to change right in front of you. 

There was him like you knew him, but the next second he turned into this nightmarish version of himself, but there were moments when he wasn’t himself at all. You’d blink, and suddenly you saw Captain Munson. Still in that uniform, however, you would try to make sense of it all. Still, before you could, he would disappear again, and you would be looking into Carver’s blank eyes, and you’d see the blood dripping from his mouth as he spat out his words.

‘Don’t trust him.’

‘What?’ You had tears in your eyes, and your wrist burned from his touch. There was another flash of light. Eddie stood before you again, just as you knew him. 

‘Do not trust him.’

Don’t trust who? Who were you meant to trust, then? The questions rang through you as you woke up, head throbbing with pain, limbs sore and dehydrated. If you did not know any better, you would have blamed the rum you consumed the night before on everything, making you imagine all that had happened. Still, the sensation that Eddie had left on your whole body felt too real to be just a drunken dream or nightmare.

He was not in the cabin when you awoke, but you could hear him outside, yelling commands out. When you looked outside the window, you could tell by how the waves moved that you had departed the Saint Claire harbour and were on your way again.

You sat up in bed but remained still afterwards, uncertain what to do next. Some part of you wanted to go outside and see Eddie, talk to him about whatever it was that had happened that night. Still, a bigger side of you doubted you could ever look him in the eye again. Seeing your reflection from the glass doors of a cabinet in the room, of yourself in his bed, made you feel bad enough. So, staying in the room for the rest of the day was not an option either. You were already at the door, hand on the handle, when it opened, nearly crashing into you. 

‘Sorry,’ his apology was muffled. 

‘I was just on my way out,’ you muttered in the same awkward tone and walked past him. 

‘Wait,’ Eddie reached for you, and the memory of your dream of Carver made you retract away from him, regretting it as soon as you did. Eddie wasn’t him, but you treated him the same because of something your exhausted mind had decided to conjure up. Eddie kept his distance. ‘Can we talk?’

‘Later,’ you pleaded. This was not the right time. You could tell that it would not end well if you stayed there. 

But when would it be right? When would the stars align correctly for you to speak? It certainly wasn’t the next two days, as you kept walking in circles around eachother. You avoided him like the plague, and it was unlikely that he had not noticed yet. 

You kept yourself occupied with anyone else but him, really. Talking to Robin, Steve, and anyone else who seemed to require company as much as you. Almost as much, at least. It shocked you as well as them how smoothly the conversations went. While only a little was exchanged, neither side being too keen on sharing too much of their past, somehow, you still managed to fill hours with polite pleasantries. Some even showed you how to work around the ship, probably more than happy to give you some of their workload now. You didn’t mind. It was alright if it stopped you from overthinking everything that had happened in the past weeks. But it was still hard to do when you felt Eddie’s eyes on you. He’d watch you work the sails or anything else from afar, but when you’d try and catch him, he’d be suddenly occupied with something and walk away. 

The biggest surprise, however, came one evening when everyone had gathered for their final meal of the day. You had gotten your portion and were ready to return to the cabin when Robin pointed to the seat between her and Steve. You wanted to politely decline, feeling like you did not strictly belong in this dynamic—the crew’s meals felt more sacred, a moment for them to spend together, but they all saw your argument coming and shut it down. 

‘Never thought I’d say this,’ Wheeler, one of the lankier crewmates, said at some point, ‘but I might actually miss you.’ There was a cloud of agreeable laughter to which you belonged. It was funny, but what scared you was that you would miss them too when that eventual day of your return home would come. 

And it was coming.

Something about the air around you began to feel more familiar each day. And when you talked to Robin, you could sense that she knew how much time there was left. But each time you asked, she avoided answering straightforwardly. 

‘Not sure. But you know how seatravels are, you can never be sure… I mean, we should have been there days ago and yet,’ she laughed nervously, tying knots in a piece of old rope that someone had cut off once. 

‘I suppose you’re right.’ You had your own piece of rope and were toying with the frayed ends, pulling them apart mindlessly. You could hear Eddie talking to someone somewhere around, and you did your best not to look up. It had been days, but your tension still felt raw and strange. You wanted to simultaneously run into his arms and run away from him as far as possible, and you could not figure out which urge was the right one to follow.

‘It probably won’t take much longer, don’t worry.’ Robin said, her shoulder slumping as she untied another knot to remake it.

‘I’m not worried,’ you admitted. 

‘No, and you don’t need to be,’ Robin panicked, not wanting to give you the wrong impression of what she had intended to say, ‘but I’m sure you’ll be glad to be home.’ To this, you had no response because, very much like in your last days on your old ship, you had been eagerly awaiting your return home but did not feel like you were actually happy to go back. On top of that, you actually had the sense that you would miss this crew. By leaving, you would be leaving something behind, and you had never felt that before.

But it still did not feel right. Like a kink in your neck that you were trying to stretch out until it disappeared.

‘Can I ask you something?’ you said cautiously. 

Robin glanced up from her rope. ‘You always scare me when you say that.’ 

‘I hadn’t noticed I did it often.’ 

‘You’re quite inquisitive. It’s commendable, but dangerous.’

‘Should I be scared?’ You blinked. 

‘Not here, but in other parts of the world they’re not too keen on it, so just beware.’ She had tied a knot she couldn’t loosen anymore. ‘But what was your question?’ 

You took a deep breath. ‘Why did you target the Red Tail? And I know it was targeted, since the captain was aware what ship you were attacking.’ There was that other puzzle piece that was missing in your brain. How would he know if you were supposed to be on that ship or not? 

Robin froze and dropped her rope. You watched it fall to the ground and her reaching to pick it up clumsily. Once she did, she fumbled around even more with it. ‘I’m probably not the best person to ask this; I joined the crew late, I don’t know everything that’s going on around—’ she was getting distracted, losing the point of your question, or so you thought, ‘I had only heard things, but you have to know that people around here, we trust each other and that trust is earned. We might cheat once in a while in a game of cards or dice, but some things you just can’t lie about.

‘So, I didn’t need much convincing from the captain when he said that those— that those were bad men.’

‘He told you that my crew were bad men?’ 

‘They needed to be punished.’ Robin shrugged, but not in the way that made you think she thought indifferent. More so that, there was nothing she could do about it. It was a brief apology to you, not for what they had done, but as if she was sorry for being the bearer of the news. 

‘Punished for what?’ you asked, but Robin shook her head. Right, she wouldn’t be able to know, and you didn’t blame her. Was there anyone around willing to share more of the specifics of this situation? You felt like you had the right to explain what had brought you to their ship, but it would go past some lines of comfort for the men. Could you dare ask Eddie? 

But to ignore him for days just to come up with these questions could not be appreciated; then again, he owed you at least this after being the sole reason for your presence on this ship in the first place. He had caused all this mess. He could at least help you clean it up. 

You finished your conversation with Robin slowly, without any urgency to actually put it to an end. It must have been confusing to Robin, who saw how you tried to tie your sentences up to walk away, just to disentangle them just as she had been doing with her rope and keep pulling it back. Ultimately, she stopped it all and excused herself from the argument she needed back on her lookout post. She walked away, giving you this look that made it clear to you that she knew what you were planning to do and how apprehensive you were to do it. And whatever for? You had fought, punched, slapped and kissed Eddie in the past days without hesitation; why could you not just talk to him now?

Because that would actually mean something to you. It would unblur all the lines that connected you into a clear pattern, and you would have to live with those results, and you just were not ready for that yet. 

You took deep breaths as you walked up to the captain’s quarters. The door creaked as it slid open but was met with a resistant force as you collided with Eddie. He grunted lightly at the impact, and you began to apologise. 

‘Sorry,’ you mumbled, not expecting him to be so close suddenly. You had hoped to catch him at his desk, where the furniture could keep some kind of barrier between you. Still, now he stood mere inches away, towering over you and the heat of his body radiating onto yours. 

‘I was just on my way out.’ He scratched his beard casually, but his eyes said enough about how similarly he felt about your sudden appearance.

‘I hoped we could talk,’ you blurted out, and Eddie blinked.

‘Talk? Now?’ To this, you only nodded shyly. It had been too long. You had made him wait for days, which was simply too long. Why would he want to listen to what you had to say now? Eddie was ready to brush past you, but you were quicker, catching his arm and pulling eachother closer until your lips met in a chaste kiss. The suddenness stunned him, but for a blink of an eye before his muscles melted into position around you. It only confirmed your worst thoughts, how perfectly the two of you fit together, how your bodies simply locked into place with one another. The heat that grew between you could not only be felt by you. It was too strong for that. As much as you did not want to admit it, there was something there that you did not want to lose.

‘I’m sorry, ‘you said breathlessly, ‘for everything I’ve done in the past few days.’

‘You have done nothing to apologise for.’ He sighed.

‘Exactly,’ you jumped back at how loud you sounded. Still, his pull on your waist kept you close, ‘I have done nothing, while I should have stayed here with you, and we should have talked of, of whatever it is that stands between us, but—but I was scared. I thought I hadn’t been, but I was, and that, in turn, scared me even more, so I thought I needed time to think—’ 

‘And did you?’ He looked down at you inquisitively like he was observing a strange, yet highly fascinating, phenomenon in front of him. Something that he should not be enjoying as much as he was. The unwanted smirk appeared on his lips no matter how hard he tried to hide it. It made you aware of just how much you had tried to say in what short of an amount of time.

‘Yes,’ you said with a slow breath to help you calm down. At this, Eddie simply reacted with a gesture telling you to go on, to tell him what kind of discovery you had made. Would it be anything that could help your conundrum? Clear things up in your heads and maybe even hearts? You could not be sure, but it was a start if you just let those parts of you speak freely.

You took one more deep breath. ‘That night you asked me if I was scared, and I said “no”, but…’ you pushed past the shake of your voice. ‘But I realise now that that wasn’t the truth.’ As you announced this, the hand on your waist tightened its grip before leaving your body entirely. The immediate lack of contact made you regret your choice of words. Maybe you should have prepared what to say, but letting it come out unrehearsed and unplanned felt like the right thing to do. It would not cut out any of the emotions you felt. What you wanted him to know that you thought, so you stammered out your following words.

‘There is so much that I am scared of. It scares me how and how much I have changed in the past few days, and I am scared that I do not mind it. It scares me how much I enjoy being here and how much I want to be… with you.’ Your last words faded as you had not expected to hear yourself say them out loud. Eddie, who you had watched as he walked around the room in slow paces as he listened, must not have expected them, too, for he stopped to stare at you, dumbfounded.

‘Why?’ was the only thing he said in response. 

‘Because…’ you let out an exasperated sigh, walking up to him. You had somehow managed to find yourselves at his throne, ‘because this is not who I am supposed to be. I shouldn’t be. You are you; I am me, and nothing here is right.’ Yet the puzzle had never fit tighter together than it did now. But at the same time… ‘As much as I want to spend my days with you, I cannot stop thinking about all the chaos you have caused in my life. Whether on purpose or not…There is blood on your hands, Eddie.’ there were tears in your eyes. Eddie looked down at his hands as if you had meant it literally. They were pale and had a shake to them, but he quickly put them down to his sides.

‘And yet you’re still here.’ He said it with a distance, more to himself than anyone else, narrating the events as if putting it all into words could make it make more sense somehow, and maybe to him, it did. However, you were still utterly clueless and running in the dark.

‘I am.’ You nodded your head lightly. ‘And I wish I could explain why. To you and to myself, but I simply do not know.’

‘Let me pose you these two questions then,’ he spoke sternly, and you got the unexpected feeling that this would be a test you had to ace. ‘Are you still scared of me? Do you regret anything that happened between us?

‘Answer yes to either of my questions,’ he held two fingers up, ‘and I will make all of this very easy for you and disappear. You will never have to see me again but be honest.’ Looking into his eyes the way you were, it was difficult to lie, or it would have been if you had any intention of doing so. The word came easier to you than anything else had in your life, but you still needed to know some things before sealing your fate.

‘Before I answer, I need to know your business with the admiral.’

Eddie scoffed, looking out the window, ‘I could not care less about the admiral.’ Something in him tensed up despite his attempt to make his reply come out casually. Everything besides his eyes, which flickered with so many emotions simultaneously, you could not distinguish between them soon enough.

‘But the attack on my ship was deliberate, was it not?’ You did not need this to become another one of your rows and spoke as carefully as you could manage. If one of you began to raise your voice or fill your words with anger, it would take over the other, exploding fatally in the middle, and that is not what you wanted.

‘What do you remember from that day?’ He looked at you, head cocked to the side as he studied your face. He saw you blink slowly, trying to understand what he was implying.

‘I remember everything.’ How could you not? It was one of the most terrifying days of your life. ‘I remember being on the deck and seeing your dark sails and how I hid under that desk as the canons went off–’ 

‘Whose canons?’ He stared at you blankly, and you mirrored him perfectly. 

‘What?’

‘What canons did you hear go off? Who shot first?’ He did not say anything else, just stood still as you tried to reply with confidence that you lost as soon as you gave your answer some thought.

Everything had happened so quickly, and it was so loud. All you had tried was to block it out. But you heard the bangs. They came from all sides, but the first one... the first one was the closest.

Eddie must have seen the recognition on your face. ‘I know that those people were your friends. And I am sorry that that is how things-’

‘But you said I was not meant to be on board. You knew what ship it was.’ You cut him off at the memory. ‘You would have attacked either way, wouldn’t you?’

‘It is not that simple.’ He shook his head.

‘Isn’t it?’ 

‘No, and I wish I could explain, but I fear that whatever I tell you will only make you see the worst in me and them.’ 

‘You could at least try.’ You reached for his hand, and a bit of you leapt in relief when you saw he did not pull away. ‘I want to understand, Eddie. You do not know how horrible it is to live in this realm of uncertainty and oblivion.’

‘Would you rather live with the horrors of the truth?’ He asked genuinely, with the pain that exactly this truth had caused him in his eyes.

‘Is that not a choice I deserve to make by myself?’ You once again found yourself up against him. Funny how it always came back to this and how you would not have wanted it any other way.

‘You’ve said it yourself; I’ve hurt you enough times. I can not risk doing it again. I will not let myself do that.’ He brushed a strand of hair from your face, brushing his fingers over your cheek. ‘Now, will you please answer my questions?’

‘No,’ and with that, you answered both. Whatever tugged at you from the inside to feel such anxiety had nothing to do with Eddie.

On the contrary, you felt a sense of calm whenever you saw him. And you had wanted, really wanted, to regret those kisses, but you still dreamt of them at night, and it was all with a magical wonder that you wished to experience once more. Despite everything in your life that had led to this that would have told you to turn around and run away, you stayed firmly in your place in front of him with no intention of ever running away again.

Eddie leaned in, and you anticipated a kiss that never came as he spoke against the corner of your mouth, sending shivers down your spine. ‘I need you to say it, darling.’

‘I’m not scared of you, Eddie.’ The tremble in your voice had nothing to do with fear but all with the way he held you. His hand had moved down your cheek onto your neck, fingers wrapped around your throat, thumb caressing your jaw. His eyes pierced through you. ‘And I do not regret anything.’

You knew Eddie had seen all the far corners of the world. You must have come across the grandest of riches. Yet standing in front of him, you could not help but think how seeing Captain Eddie Munson beam his most genuine smile was the rarest and most beautiful treasure of them all. It was infectious; you could not help but smile at it. 

He let himself come close again, but just as your lips were about to touch, he spoke instead. Right against you, the hot air of his breath pricked at your skin with his light laugh. ‘Before all of this, had you ever imagined yourself here with me?’

As much as you had wished it was not true, ‘I did, actually.’ Your mind flashed to your dreams, the ones you had once thought were conjured up to plague you, but now you realised it was just your heart screaming out your deepest desires.

Like a reward, Eddie kissed your cheek for your reply. ‘Really? The princess had thought of me, a filthy pirate?’

‘I’m not a princess.’ You rolled your eyes playfully.

‘Out of all the things to dispute, you argue my words of affection?’ He chuckled, and you could feel the vibrations deep within his chest. 

‘There was nothing else to correct.’ You wanted to laugh but instead froze at the sensation of Eddie lightly putting pressure on your throat as he was still kissing pieces of your face. Just like that, everything in the past minutes disappeared from your mind. When he pulled away, you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes that once used to bring out fear of the worst in you.

‘Glad to know you haven’t changed too much, darling.’ With his hand around you, he gave you little choice but to look up at him. There was a moment in which both of you took everything of the other in. You tried to soak in all his features from this small distance, for some reason feeling the need to remember them all. Meanwhile, he read your face for any signs of reluctance, which he found none of. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you, princess?’ 

A question which brought a lot of enjoyment out of him.

Still taken aback by his actions, you stood there with your lips slightly parted, bewildered, so all you did was nod. And again, your response was rewarded with another kiss, finally letting you meet his lips while tightening his hold on you.  The weak sound that came out of your mouth at the feeling was an instinct. You had never heard yourself make such a sound, and he must have known it somehow as his grin grew wider against you. 

The kiss grew in strength by the fleeting second as you both lost control over your bodies, just letting them speak for themselves. It was messy and heated. The pent-up tension that had been sitting between you was finally finding its release. Eddie’s hands roamed over your body, almost in a hunger-like manner, devouring you with his touch alone. Maybe this hunger felt too real when Eddie’s teeth grazed over your neck, sending an unknown spark through your body at the sensation.

You held onto him tightly, one hand on his shoulder as the other rooted itself in his dark locks—which made you soon realise that the tiniest of motions of you caused a reaction in him as well, in the form of a low hiss as you pulled the hairs on the back of his neck. It had been an accident, as you tried to keep yourself up when the pleasure he brought you made you feel light as a feather.

Eddie hummed at your response as his hands continued their wandering path across your body. The pressure of his palms, combined with the slow and tantalising pace at which he moved, drove you to press your body eagerly against him, which, in turn, only spurred him on to continue down this track of your curves. His movements got rougher as he kept going.

With your urge to keep your bodies close, you quickly caught on Eddie walking backwards. You followed him mindlessly until he found his throne seat and pulled you along with him, right on top of his lap. At this proximity, you could feel all of him underneath you.

‘Tell me,’ he kissed you briefly between words, ‘have you ever been with a man before?’

‘Yes,’ you dared to reply with the truth. Anywhere else, it would have been considered a great shame, a sin of the highest degree, but with Eddie, somehow, you felt like he had wanted that to be your answer. You tried to focus on his face, that smile he shot up at you and the short answer you gave him, instead of how his hands roamed over your thighs. Even with the fabric of your trousers in between, his effect on you was immense. He must have felt how you tensed up when he reached your core. 

‘Did anyone ever touch you like this?’ 

‘Uhm, no, not in this way.’ You struggled with the words as he let his fingers press over your most sensitive parts, everywhere all at once. You could barely keep track of it. Another moan escaped you as his hand moved over your breast. Even with the fabric keeping your modesty intact, he had still found a way for his fingers to move smoothly across your nipples. The feeling lulled you into comfort, brewing the heat inside your chest. And so, you gasped as, with one aggressive pull, Eddie ripped the material of your shirt in two, revealing you to him entirely. Your eyes were wide in shock as his darkened with want.

‘Not scared of me yet, are you, princess?’ His hand was on your ribs, waiting for permission to touch your bare skin. 

‘No,’ your voice sounded like a hushed, airy whisper. Eddie smiled but still hesitated with his subsequent actions. As the shirt sleeve fell off your shoulder, he kissed you again. Except this time, his lips met your breast. The arch in your back, the tug of your hips towards him, was an almost mechanised reaction to it. And with it came the friction of his thigh against you. 

‘Eddie.’ His name sounded shaky coming from you as you could barely inhale a steady breath, too occupied with him.

‘That’s right, princess.’ He groaned as his lips remained on your skin, kissing the valley of your chest. With each kiss, your want for him grew, but your movements over his thigh barely covered the needed friction. You dug your nails into his shoulders, making him groan out in pained pleasure. He cursed before taking you by the hips. ‘Stand up.’

You did as he asked, something that did not go unnoticed by either of you. Eddie chuckled as he looked up at you, chin on your stomach, lips nearly pressing against it, so close you could feel the vibrations of his voice. 

‘So you can be good for me.’

A snide remark was already forming on the tip of your tongue, but Eddie was quicker. Smoothly, he pulled down your trousers and let them pool at your ankles. You stood in front of him in only your torn-up shirt. His large eyes were on you up until the moment his face made contact with your core, and at that moment, everything went black. You could just about make out that you held him close to you, pulling at his hair; as for the rest, the world was turning upside down and around at a speed that made everything seem like a sea full of stars. Your moans filled the room as his tongue licked through your slit. 

You assumed that with how he held you with one hand, his fingers would leave marks for days, but the other was much lower. You could hear the sound of a belt unbuckling. He was clearly struggling to work around his clothes with only one hand, especially with most of him already preoccupied with you and your pleasure. Never before had you seen such kind of ferocity in a man. Not when he pulled himself closer to you and practically fell to his knees from the throne. You surely would have fallen back if it had not been for him and the desk that hit your legs and now acted as an extra grip. It was especially needed when Eddie pulled your leg over his shoulder, gaining even more access to you. 

The desk kept sliding back with the force at which he held you in your place, grazing the floor, but it was all blocked out by your moans. They were filled with curses and the repetition of his name as your vision blurred with ecstasy and your body tightened with need. There was no possible way that the rest could not hear you through the thin walls of the cabin, but you could not care less about them. At this moment, they simply did not exist. 

‘You taste absolutely divine.’ Eddie spoke while kissing your inner thigh, making your legs even weaker. You noticed his lips glistening, never looking more kissable than ever before. 

He had run your mind through a mill; words were hard to come by. All you could muster out was a weak hum as you let your hand brush through his hair. At that, he nuzzled himself between your legs again, this time much gentler, and took his time kissing every inch of skin he had access to, giving you the time to catch your breath while still keeping you on that high edge.

‘I—I never…’ you still struggled to form a sentence.

‘Hmm,’ he kissed your stomach, ‘I know.’ And he slowly rose to his feet, catching your face in one more passionate kiss. You had gotten so used to how he tasted—rum, tobacco, sea air— that your flavour threw you off for a moment, but soon enough, you were sinking into him just as before. And again, you could hear the struggling twinkle of a locked belt buckle. 

‘Would you be a doll,’ he said with his amusement running down your cheek, ‘and help a poor man out.’

You reached for his trousers, undoing the belt and unbuttoning them so they could drop down his thighs. You had felt it before, how aroused he had grown, but seeing it made you take a step back. 

‘Nothing to be afraid of, darling.’ He grinned, placing a hand on your cheek. The other made itself comfortable between your legs, toying with your wetness. 

‘I know.’ You looked into his eyes. The warmth of them had burned up into a dark and hungry desire. Putting a light pressure onto his shoulders, you pushed him back down into the chair. Eddie practically bounced in the seat, taking you all in as much as you took the moment to look at him. Your flicker of confidence in the moment when you thought you knew what you were doing fizzled, but he must have read that off of you, as the next second he was the one pulling you down. 

‘Was this how you expected it to be,’ he murmured against your ear, ‘when you thought about us.’ 

‘No,’ you admitted. It was nothing like you had imagined. All your dreams had been of what you had thought he was; careless, dangerous, feeding off your fear. There had been none of this passion that you felt now. None of the heat, the tenderness or the feeling.

‘Anything you’d still like to change,’ he kissed the soft spot of skin behind your ear that made you shiver. 

‘No,’ you gasped. You could feel him against you, just waiting for the moment to enter you. The two of you were dancing around it, letting other make that next move, the plunge off the cliff, with no return. You shuffled over his thighs. One more kiss would seal the final deal when you moved your hips up and he adjusted himself infront of you.

The moan you let out at the feeling of him inside you, of him stretching your walls and filling you whole, was impossible to miss. Ships from miles away could probably tell what was going on, but again, they were not a part of your universe in this moment. Just you. You concentrated at the pace he was making you keep up with. The roll of your hips against the grind of his. Each thrust went deeper and harder making Eddie more aggressive in the most blissful of ways. There was nothing else to think about, because why would you when this felt so good? Reality went lost on you, until you felt his fingers dig into your side, a pain rushing through you. 

Both of you froze.

‘What’s wrong?’ Eddie immediately looked to where he had held you, pulling the remaining pieces of your shirt up to reveal the scar. The rough skin was a stark contrast to the rest of you. He met your eyes again. ‘Does it still hurt?’

‘It’s just sensitive.’ You wanted to push his hand away, cover the mark up again so neither of you had to be reminded of it. It had been a stupid mistake, that much you knew, and it was not as if you could change the past, so why let it pester you? But Eddie was not the kind to give up easily. He pushed the shirt material back up, keeping your hand away from him, to inspect the damage he had caused. 

‘I’ve done a lot in my life that I will forever regret,’ he kissed your shoulder as his thumb traced over the scarred line, ‘but this will probably haunt me the longest.’ His words and touch, combined with how you sat in his lap, still full of him, got you lost for words. Because, of course, you had hoped that this was his sentiment, you understood and appreciated his words, but what else was there to say? The only thing you could think of replying, which felt silly to do seeing your current position, was ask for some clarification.

‘What happened? I would have thought you had more control over your sword than that.’ You aired the conversation with a bit of laughter, but it only spurred him on to thrust deeper into you.

 ‘I had thought so too,’ he kept moving his hips forcefully, ‘I had hoped so,’ he kissed you sloppily, ‘but I lost it all when I saw you with him.’

‘Who?’ you asked. Maybe under different circumstances, you could have thought more clearly to realise what he was speaking of, but that did not seem possible. 

‘Harrington,’ the name came out of him with a bitter taste. Apparently, the feelings from that day had not disappeared as far as he had thought, but now he could let these frustrations out in a less hazardous manner. It still took a toll on you, but there was no pain to speak of. Just pure pleasure. 

Still, the mention of the crew member had surprised you. ‘Why– why would you—’

‘The way he held you, smiled at you, don’t you think I had wanted to do that? From the moment I saw you—but all I did was drive you away. It was just another reminder of my failure and before I knew it I—’ he stopped himself, still unable to properly speak of what happened. You kissed the bridge of his nose. 

‘For what it’s worth,’ you tugged at the words to come out cohesively, ‘I never thought of him as—’

‘It does not even matter what you think of him,’ he laughed, more so at himself, ‘You could fall for and by happy with any man on this earth and I could make my peace with it. I just don’t want to be the reason for your suffering.’

‘I think—’ a moan burst through your thought with another deep thrust, ‘I think you have managed to pay back any of your wrongdoings.’

‘Oh, darling, I haven’t even started to repay my debts.’ And so, Eddie kissed your neck, over and over, and with those kisses moved down to your brest. Your head rolled back with a soft whine at the attention he gave you, if not with his mouth, than the hand that kneaded your flesh and played with your nipples. 

As he kept going, and as your hips met his and the pleasure burst through you, you could feel everything coming to a close. The tightness in your body swelled while your control over it strayed. There was no possible way you could hold on for much longer and from the looks of it, Eddie had no plans on making you wait. He bucked his hips into you harder and harder, almost impossibly for you to keep it all in. You could explode with this pleasure and that is exactly what he wanted.

‘Mmm c’mon, princess. Feel so good around me,’ he hummed, ‘could anyone make you feel this good?’ 

‘Just you,’ you moaned out, holding tightly on to him as you felt the tension build up in you. 

‘That’s right,’ he had a smug smile across his face that you wished you could wipe off, and you would if you did not need him to keep doing whatever it was he did. Were his fingers back between your legs? Rubbing tight circles, sparking up your sensitivity. ‘Just me.’

‘Just you, Eddie,’ his named squeaked out from between your teeth when he reached the deepest part of you.

‘I’ll never get enough of you saying my name.’ 

‘Eddie,’ you repeated it in in a haze with his final thrusts that finally brought you over the edge. Stars fell over you in pleasure as Eddie slowed down his movements, letting you come down from the high. He held you tightly in his arms as you let your head fall on his shoulder until you fell into a comfortable silence. There was only the rush of the waves and your tired breaths that filled your ears.

Once your heart settled back to a steady pace, you knew it wasn’t safe. As good as this moment felt, it wouldn’t last. Whatever this was, there was no possibility in which it would outlive this voyage. Then, once it was over, it would hurt. That much you knew. Possibly more than anything had hurt before, and you would just have to be on the lookout for that end until then to let yourself become at peace with it. There wasn’t another choice, as this idea always stayed with you in the back of your head from that moment on. When you fell asleep in Eddie’s arms that night, you thought how many more days you got to wake to in such bliss as you did the next morning.

You could not tell if Eddie had these troubles, you could not tell, for he went through his following days much like before. The only difference was that his free minutes were now occupied with you.

It had not been your intention to make it so obvious to the crew, but there was also so little you could hide from them. Nothing could escape the dozens of interested eyes, so why hide your affection towards their captain? He certainly was not making any attempts. Any chance he got, he found himself at your side, holding you, kissing you, then behind closed doors, do all the other unspeakable things to you that made the others turn green of envy. 

Your mornings and afternoons were much the same as they had been before the night of the storm and the Hellfire’s arrival at Saint Claire, as you still spent it in each other's company. The difference was now that instead of being separated by the large oak desk, Eddie would often pull you into his lap to sit in the throne, if not making himself comfortable with you on the bed. The nights began with kisses and limbs tangled with eachother and merged into a joined slumber. Unfortunately, as happy as your days felt, it would not stop the nightmares from coming, but each time you would awake in a cold sweat or with shaking hands, he would be right there to coax you back to peace. What surprised you, however, was that you would do the same to him. 

Somehow, the thought of the notorious captain waking up screaming in the middle of the night, chest heaving, eyes wide with fear, had never occurred to you. You had never imagined him reaching for your thigh to ground himself as his reality spiralled in the dark.

‘Shh,’ you held him tightly, ‘it’s okay.’ 

Neither of you asked what the dreams were about, knowing you could do nothing about them. You could just help the other through it. And then, each time, the dreams that followed were much sweeter. 

Then you’d wake up in each other’s arms long before the rest of the world seemed to. Those few blissful moments where nothing could disturb you and the time you could spend in that bed was endless. 

Except it very much was not. And you realised it exactly through what you thought would be your escape. 

It was a sunny morning. The golden sunrays illuminated the cabin as you reached for Eddie, just to find the side of the bed to be empty. Only his impression in the covers, the faint temperature his body had radiated onto them, was still there. It could not have been long since he had gotten up, and indeed, you caught him standing at the window—leaning against it, more like. His trousers were loose on his hips, and his shirt was still on the ground around you. 

Grabbing that shirt and throwing it over your naked body, you walked over to him, and he looked in your direction as soon as he heard your footsteps. The smile in his eyes was genuine but weak. As soon as you were close enough, he pulled you into an embrace, twirling you around so your back would hit his chest and you could look out at the sea. With how the sunrays sparkled across the waves, it all felt like a dream, too good to be true, but you did not know yet that the dream was at the end of its tether.

‘I really am sorry,’ he mumbled, having his face already nuzzled in the crook of your neck, kissing the spot where it met your shoulder.

‘What for?’ Apologies had become a frequent appearance in his vocabulary, showing up in almost every conversation, if not sentence.

‘You know.’ Yes, you did know. For everything. He held a moment of silence, enjoying your presence in his arms for a little longer, before speaking again. ‘I just keep thinking about how everything between us happened, and if it had not been for me, we could have had more.’

‘I’m just as guilty.’ You had been stubborn, aggressive, and just as blind to your feelings. 

‘Highly doubtful statement.’ He laughed, and his breath tickled the hairs on your neck.

‘I don’t think so.’ You shrugged in his hold.

‘Still just as stubborn, aren’t you, princess.’ He squeezed you tighter. 

‘Is that not one of my most desirable attributes?’ You spun yourself around in his hold and quickly wrapped your arms around him. Doing so, hearing his tone and joy in his  voice, you had expected to see him smiling, but he looked just as sombre as when you had walked up to him. ‘What’s wrong?’ Your hand mindlessly began to trace over the scars on his chest, knowing it brought comfort to both you and him by now.

Eddie shook his head, holding back a laugh. ‘You know…’ he kissed your forehead,  ‘when I woke up, I saw you lying there, with the sun shining on your face, and you looked so peaceful, I had honesty considered just locking you away and keeping you forever, but I am a man of my word, am I not?’

‘I…don’t understand.’ You tried to see the meaning behind his words in his eyes, but there was nothing, and it only got harder to figure out when he held his forehead against yours, keeping you close. You still tried to make sense of what he said when you saw it. There, in the far back corner of your eye. So far, it could have been a play of light, and yet it was more real than anything. So undeniably real it crushed everything around you without question. 

From the angle the ship stood at, that was as much as you could envision through the windows, and thus you ran out of the room. As much as you did not want to leave Eddie behind, knowing it could be one of the last moments the two of you had, you ran out onto the deck to meet the silhouette of mountains against the rising sun. The longer you looked at it, the clearer the details became. The ridges of the mountains, the forests, the watch towers and houses. The uniformed ships that stood in the harbour.  

You knew this day was coming, you had been waiting for it, and yet, now that it was right there in front of you, you wished to be as far from it as possible. In what must have been shock, you took a couple of steps back just to collide with something—someone. You turned around to see Eddie and his soft but sad smile.

‘Welcome home,’ he announced.

Home, sweet home.

Your head turned between him and the land in the too-near distance, waiting for one of them to disappear, maybe even both. Why was this so difficult for your mind to comprehend? Why were the first words to come from your mouth, ‘Can we turn back?’ 

‘As much as I would want to,’ he sighed, ‘I’m sure they’ve noticed us by now.’ They must have. The watchers in those towers had the eyes of hawks, one of the reasons why your town was named after the bird.

‘So, what do we do?’ This is not how someone who is to be returning to their family after months spent with criminals was meant to respond. Everything about this was so wrong.

‘Go put your dress on.’ Eddie cocked his head back to the cabin. ‘I doubt they will appreciate you wearing this, as much as I adore it on you.’ That is when you realised you stood out on the main deck wearing only his shirt. ‘I’ll meet you in a few minutes.’ And with that, he gave you that look he had given you all those times before when you had been too headstrong in your own actions. Please, listen to me. It will be alright.

You walked back, feeling like you were floating, but not anywhere near the same way that you had the previous few days. It did not feel like you were weightless, on a cloud, free of worry or from the world. You were drifting. Far out into the abyss with nothing to hold on to. In this same state, you walked over to the wardrobe, where you had hung your dress, removed the item of clothing you had on and put on the old and tethered garment. It had once fit you like a glove, but you were far from the person it was measured for.

Just as you finished putting it on, the door opened, and Eddie walked in. 

You didn’t want to look at him. Not because of anger, you had, after all, no reason to be angry at him at that moment, but because you were sure that if you looked into those brown irises again, you would break down. He must have had the same idea as you as he walked past you, only grabbing the nearest shirt off the rack, and making a headway to the desk.

‘What are you going to do now?’ After all, that had been what pulled you two together, the money your father would offer for your return. That is what kept you on this ship safe for as long as it did… although, in retrospect, you doubted that Eddie would have ever done anything to you. Maybe he had always intended to bring you home before even speaking to you. Perhaps the money made no difference. But funnily enough, you wanted him to get it. Something in you, a deep instinct, told you that it was what he deserved.

‘Write a random note,’ he said, and you could see he was doing his best not to laugh. ‘Then we’ll send the note out, hope it reaches your dearest, and we’ll make the exchange.’ His words were quick and emotionless, but you noted the hint of novice apprehension in his plan.

‘You’ve never done this before, have you?’ you asked as you made your way up to the chair across from him.

‘Try not to sound too disappointed over my lack of experience in selling beautiful maidens back to their prosperous fathers.’

‘Not at all,’ you shook your head, grabbing the piece of parchment and quill from him. ‘But let me. It will be proof of life, and besides, your handwriting is unrecognisable. He won’t be able to read any of it.’ 

Eddie stared at you blankly as you began writing. 

Dear father, 

But what were you to write? The ink dripped off the quill as you pondered on the words. For a message that was quite clear, it was hard to actually phrase it and write it out. By the time you had signed your name at the bottom of the page, the Hellfire had almost reached the coast. You read it through once more: 

Dear Father, 

I know it has been a long time since you last heard from me. The Red Tail is no more; I was the only survivor, to my knowledge, saved by a crew of rogue sailors. They have kept me locked away but are willing to free me for the price of 5.000 pounds. Please meet me at noon at the Star Port for the exchange.

Love, 

Your daughter, 

—

You had decided against the mention of piracy or anything specific about the ship’s sinking, knowing that it would only drive your father away from pain the ransom. Eddie had been unable to keep still while you wrote your drafts but now stood behind you, hands on the backrest of your chair, reading the note along with you, over your shoulder.

‘Who would have thought, my darling extorting her own father.’

‘I am doing no such thing!’ You looked up at him, ‘I am simply… aiding you in extorting my father.’ when it came to this, you had little sympathy for your father. He had plenty of money to spare and often spent it on ridiculous causes. A faux rescue of his only daughter could surely fit in between those other purchases.

There was a knock on the door, which Eddie welcomed, and Harrington walked in. 

‘Got any mail for me to deliver, cap?’ it had been unanimously agreed that Harrington was the most inconspicuous of the whole crew and would be able to walk through the city unbothered to deliver the message. 

You had just been in the middle of folding the parchment. The last thing left was to let the wax melt to keep the corners together. With the seal done, you handed Steve the letter. He smiled at you with thanks, but his face hid an expression of loss, almost. A farewell. But before he left, you clutched him in an embrace, almost knocking Steve over.

When the door closed behind him, it was only a matter of waiting. After your fifth round of pacing through the room, Eddie walked up in front of you, blocking your already quite well-outlined route. He had met you right in the middle. 

‘I would prefer if you did not spend our last moments together walking holes into my carpet.’ 

‘You do not have a carpet,’ you quipped. 

‘Must you be so difficult now?’ He laughed that laugh you cherished so much before he placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed you the way you adored even more. The sun was almost at its peak, and so was your heart, and you had no idea what to do when it would finally fall. Either way, you would find out in a few minutes.

‘Do you think—’ 

‘Highly doubtful,’ Eddie said somberly before you could even finish your thought. ‘You had said it yourself, darling; you are you, I am me. This is not meant to work.’ But what if it could, you wanted to shout, shocking yourself for the millionth time on board this ship.

‘Well, then it had been an honour being your captive, captain.’ You said with a deep breath to keep your composure up.

‘Oh, don’t look so sad just yet, princess, the real fun is only about to begin.’ At this statement, you blinked slowly. ‘Or did you think you were done aiding me?’

‘What else do you need me to do?’ 

‘Since you mentioned it, I think we need to make you look the part of my sweet captive. Make your father believe we really had kept you all good and locked up, hmm?’ He grinned. ‘I really did not do a good job at this, did I? Got you all spoiled up here.’

‘It was much appreciated.’ You giggled, incapable of keeping a straight face when Eddie got like this. Looking back, you could barely imagine the cold and dark exterior that he had once posed in front of you since he had been an entirely different person underneath that. Then again, so were you. ‘So, what did you have in mind?’

‘A lot,’ he licked his lips, ‘but I don’t think we have the time for that. We’ll probably have to do with tying you up like a pretty gift—just your hands, of course,’ he quickly added as he saw your eyes widen. ‘And I’ll be sure to not make it too tight.

‘Alright,’ you nodded. After all, you trusted him. You watched him look through the room for something to wrap around your hands. In the end, he found a piece of rope hanging among the many items on his wall. It was a bit too long for even the intricate, but relatively weak, knot he tied over your wrists—enough to give the impression of captivity, but in reality, barely grazed your wrists. He made sure to check. 

And then it was time. You walked out of the cabin for the final time. The room in which you had spent so many tumultuous days and nights. A silly part of you wanted to actually run down the ladder into the lower deck to see the holding cell one last time. For what reason, you could not fathom. 

Eddie guided you with a hand on your back, down the gangplank, which wobbled with every step you took. You tried to keep your breathing under control, but then again, if this had been a real threat to your life, you would probably feel similarly. The walk down the harbour was the longest of your life. There just came no end to it, and you could not, frustratingly enough, make your mind up if you wanted that or not. After all, each step closer to the port was one step further away from him… and when had you become so dependent on him? Weeks ago, you had thought up visions of killing him in his sleep; now, you could not think of life without him. 

Your thoughts were still fighting for some kind of cohesion when you saw him walk down the street. Accompanied by his usual entourage of guards. Two of them carried a large trunk between them, which must have been filled with gold or other treasures to meet the demand.

‘Papa!’ You screamed out; an incautious urge to run towards him propelled you forward, just to be pulled back by Eddie. You glanced his way, and your breath hitched at what you saw. In the short amount of time that might have felt like an eternity that it took you to walk down the harbour, he had turned into what you could only describe as his old self. The same version of him that you had seen when you were “welcomed’ aboard the Hellfire. The Eddie that terrorised your nightmares. His eyes were pointed like daggers at your father. 

He, in turn, stood aback at the sight of who had been holding you. Most of the men around him did, in fact. It caused a bit of a stir, the murmur of his name travelled in disbelief, but Eddie was the first to speak up in full volume.

‘Governor. I see we meet again.’

‘Munson.’ Your father always had the skill to look unimpressed at the sight of any man, always seeming to be above them, and even now, he did a good job hiding any other emotion, but you could see the crack of fear breaking him on the edges. It was, however, quickly replaced as he spoke in his usual tone of business.

‘Munson. What are you doing here?’

‘Why, returning your precious jewel, of course.’ He grinned, pulling you closer to him. Some of the guards leapt forward but were stopped by your father and Eddie, who reached for the knife at his side. All eyes were on you and him as he let the blade slowly track over your arm. ‘Don’t wanna do that, gents. It will only cost us more trouble.’ 

‘You got the gold, Munson, now let her go!’ There were still several feet between the two sides of the deal. Eddie looked around theatrically. 

‘Do I?’ He cocked his head in his own direction. The two men in charge of the trunk hauled it over to you. You had no idea how Eddie was meant to carry it back to the ship. As they brought the gold over, your father spoke again. 

‘Is she well? Unharmed?’ 

You nodded, but Eddie nudged you with the hilt of his knife, his lips against your ear, ‘C’mon, darling, the man’s asked you a question.’

‘I am fine, father.’ You spoke. By that point, the men reached you and, with a final kiss to your temple, Eddie let you go. You were immediately pulled out of his reach by the guards. They must have thought they were holding you up as your legs objected to moving. You were unable to look away from him. All up until you felt your face pressed against your father’s jacket. 

‘There, there, it is alright,’ he hushed, and it took you a moment to realise why. You were crying. And if only he, or anyone else, understood that it was for all the opposite reasons. No fear or relief was escaping you through those tears. It was a loss as you saw Eddie standing there, bowing down at the end of his performance, blowing you a kiss goodbye.

It was the panic when you saw the rest of the people in the harbour. All of their eyes on you. On him. None of them were simple bystanders or civilians. 

Your dream had been crumbling into ruin all these days, but this was the final blow. All of it came down, all at once, and it started with your father’s call.

‘Guards!’, and suddenly the tenfold of guards appeared out of all possible directions. They had him surrounded, weapons at the ready. Eddie had nowhere to run. Your father spoke clearly, cutting the silence with the blade of his words. ‘Munson, I arrest you on charges of murder and high treason!’ 

Chapter 10

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