#its the making peace with yourself! accepting your role!!

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART EIGHTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, fire, illness, depictions of death, be warned as always masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Rest didn’t come easy, nor did waking up with agonizing pain flashing through you like a beatdown on repeat with no stop button. Sometime during your rest, you recalled Soap and Gaz returning with the promised pillows, carefully cushioning you in between to ensure you as much comfort as possible, but the memory was fuzzy.

Everything felt a bit surreal, as if you weren’t truly present and the events that unfolded never actually happened. You figured it was your mind attempting to protect you, repressing the pain of the new memories, but it always came back in the form of anguish, your shattered bones shifting beneath the surface of your skin with every subtle movement you dared to make.

There was no use in pretending. It was pure hell, and up until now, you played the role of a strong woman with no fear of walking along a path unknown. You played long enough. The pain was far too much to muster an act of strength.

The room was empty when you woke for the nth time, the barest of sun rays peeking through the small windows and casting the room in a dim glow. The Captain nor the others were nowhere to be found, most likely manning the ship as promised or in their own beds to earn the rest they deserved after seeing a ghost of their past.

Your eyes remained on the ceiling, vision blurring then focusing, in and out. No matter how hard you blinked, the fuzziness wouldn’t relinquish its hold, nor did you have the strength or courage to lift a fist to frantically rub it away.

You hated being alone. After Price left last night, it had felt peaceful��now, it felt torturous, listening to the distant waves clash among each other and having no way of taking your time to breathe in the salty air as they fought against the sides of the ship.

Had he slept last night? Had he rested at all?

You went to open your mouth, to call out for him in hopes of being loud enough, but all that left you was a heavy wheeze, your mouth dry to the bone. You were parched as much as you were weak, and it showed in the way you attempted to inhale a deep breath, only for it to come crashing down on you in the form of an extreme sharp clash to your ribcage.

Everything hurt. The euphoria of your shared kiss with the Captain had long worn off, leaving you sober and miserable.

You were nothing more than a skeleton, or perhaps even an undead from those of the stories you’d heard about as a child. Alive, but not living. That was surely how it felt.

You felt utterly helpless as you laid there, unmoving. Even the lift of your finger felt as if you were lifting the weight of the world. It was all so heavy, your body, mind, and soul.

While you were one to cure the sick, you were never on the other line. There was no one there to coddle you in the way you knew to do with others, nor any treatment that could fix you the way you wanted to be fixed. An immediate recovery was out of sight, and it only grew you more restless, an itch burning beneath your skin.

It was only by a miracle of the universe that just as you were beginning to fight within yourself that the door to the quarters opened, Soap stepping inside with a bowl of something warm, the steam faintly radiating up. He looked surprised to see you awake, making haste in shutting the door and hurrying to the bed.

“Dove,” he chirped, throwing you a smile. You knew immediately he was trying to bring you some light, and for that, you appreciated it. “Yer up early today. Was just bringin’ ye some breakfast to start the day with. Ye hungry?”

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of him, then down to the bowl in his hands. You had no desire to eat, your appetite shot the moment you woke with no relief. Despite the faint grumbling in your stomach, the sight made you nauseous, mouth watering in ways considered unpleasant.

Soap noticed, frowning at your pained expression. He set the bowl down, coming to your aid. “Ye don’t look well. Did ye sleep at all?”

All you mustered was a small hum, lips turning down into your own frown. Your body ached, begging to be stretched from its stiff knots, but you truly felt exhausted. It was taking everything in you to resist moving, fearing more flare ups along your side.

Soap’s hand lifted, carefully resting his knuckles on your forehead. Your skin was clammy and warm, something he took note of, and the skin around your eyes appeared darkened, bags already beginning to form.

“M’sorry for what ye had to deal with,” he apologized sympathetically, brushing a knuckle along your brow bone. “Price has been bustin’ ass to figure out where to take ye. Been out there all night.”

You deflated at that, guilt pulling your heart strings. The last thing you wanted was for them to exhaust themselves for the sake of you, and the helplessness only grew.

“Ach, don’t look so grim, lass. We just want what’s best for ye, can’t have ye all banged up and broken, can we?” he attempted to tease, his smile fading into defeated pout when you gave no reaction. “Does it hurt?”

You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, feeling the tension in your rib cage as you excelled your lung’s usage. You offered a short nod, Soap’s expression only turning more apologetic.

“Can I see?” he asked, and when you threw him a weary look, he corrected himself. “I won’t hurt ye, dove, swear. I’ll be gentle.”

You stared at him long and hard, before ultimately agreeing, lifting a heavy hand to paw away at the sheets. The dress was pulled back over your figure, but with Soap averting his eyes respectfully, you worked with all your strength to tug at the fabric to pull it up enough as you did the night before.

You released a frustrated noise when you were unable to get it past your hips, your arm failing you. You hated how weak you’d grown in only mere hours, feeling as fragile as glass, and you knew it would only grow the longer you remained unattended to from a doctor.

“What’s wrong?” Soap asked, voice slightly muffled from him facing the other way. You huffed.

“I can’t get it,” you mumbled, voice croaky from the dryness in your throat.

“I can help,” he tried, keeping his head turned. “I can see ye wantin’ to say no. I won’t make it weird, dove, but it needs to be checked. Let me?”

Your eyes bore into the side of his face, flickering across the rugged skin and stubble. There was no reason not to allow him to see, granted he already had last night, but alone felt much more vulnerable. Still, this was Soap you were talking about—he wouldn’t dare make you recoil.

You hummed approval, turning away from him to avoid his eye as he shifted towards you. His gaze dropped down to the bare skin of your legs, hand outreaching carefully.

Your warm skin felt even hotter when his fingertips grazed your thigh, trailing its way up to the bunched hem of your dress. He was cautious as he helped you lift it, seeming more focused on his own concern rather than anything lustful.

It made you relax, body slowly admitting defeat as the dress lifted past your ribs, the only thing keeping your decency being the thin sheet he had graciously pulled over your legs to provide you cover. It was as if he sensed your discomfort and was doing everything in his power to guarantee he meant no harm.

Your heart seemed to pick up its pace, pounding against your ribcage and shooting a different type of pain through you. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was. You just knew it hurt.

Once your injury was revealed to him, he couldn’t stifle the pained breath through his nose. His face contorted into one of hurt, as if he mirrored your pain.

“Is it bad?” you asked, voice cracking under the cottonmouth.

“Ach, it’s nothin’,” he attempted, though you could hear the burrowing worry in his tone. “Just a bruise, aye?”

You sucked in a careful breath, feeling your lungs fill then slowly release. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Soap grimaced, fingers lightly brushing along the aggressive bruising on your side. The blackened veins had only grown, spreading into ugly branches. Whatever was hiding within them was the sole reason you were so weak, even just mere hours after inheriting them.

“Would I ever lie to ye?”

“Yeah.”

A small smile broke out on his face, only falling when you whimpered a noise of discomfort as his fingers caressed the skin for too long. His expression morphed into one of deep thinking, eyebrows tugged together and teeth nearly gnawing his bottom lip. You thought he looked a bit silly, but maybe you were being delirious.

“No need to worry ‘bout it, birdie. We’re fixin’ ye up real soon,” he assured, a sign of a promise. Despite it, he didn’t sound so sure.

You only hummed, sinking further into the fluff of pillows surrounding you, eyes redirected to the ceiling.

“Do ye want to eat? Ghost fixed ye up somethin’ warm, figured it may lift yer spirits,” he tried, reaching for the bowl he set aside. The steam no longer rose, but the smell of it invaded your nose.

You didn’t think anything could make you feel better, and the reality was until you got true aid, you wouldn’t heal. Not with the Devil coursing through your veins.

But the look on Soap’s face was hopeful, and you felt a nagging guilt if you were to deny him. It wasn’t often you got Soap alone, and you knew he had been the one to take the food to you in order to spend time with you. It would be downright barbaric to deny.

That was how you ended up with Soap feeding a spoonful of warm soup into your mouth, burning your turn at first taste with him snickering in apology and you glaring daggers.

He chirped your ear off, rambling about everything yet nothing at the same time. You laid and listened, occasionally throwing in your own piece, albeit shortly. Speaking fully was hard, even when you wanted to, but the soup had done wonders to your throat.

You reminded yourself to thank Ghost later. Even if he wouldn’t accept it.

“Have ye ever loved anythin’, birdie?”

The question was sudden, nothing like the ventures Soap had been going on about in order to occupy your mind. It took you off guard and you shifted your head to look at him, noting his curious expression.

Love was a strong word, and you knew your answer. You had been alone up until this point, and even then, the act of friendship was something you were still on the path of discovering.

“No,” you murmured honestly. “I have never felt that.”

Soap hummed, tapping his finger against his lip. “The Captain was quite jolly this mornin’,” he stated suspiciously. “He was still actin’ like a hound dog, don’t get me wrong. Barkin’ us around like his li’l workin’ mice, but there was somethin’ different. Ye know somethin’ ‘bout that?”

The two of you stared at one another, Soap holding a grin behind his hand, you appearing stumped. He was playing a game, even with you bedridden and suffering. He truly was a boy at heart.

“Acting different like Ghost does with you?” you bit back, Soap’s face dropping. “You are barking up the same tree, Soap.”

“Ach,” he tsked, throwing a hand up. “Ghost always say I’m too nosy for my own good. Thought the little birdie would have somethin’ for me to hear.”

You didn’t know why, but you felt you could entrust your heart with Soap. He never held judgement towards you, even from the beginning when he fought for your right to be treated fairly. He was a boy at heart, but a man when he needed to be.

“I’m afraid I do not,” you dismissed, rolling your head back forward to stare at the ceiling.

“Tch. Liar.”

You fell silent, as did he. You could practically feel him waiting for you to break, knowing it was brimming.

“I do not think what I say will be very good,” you confessed, tone growing soft.

“I have never forsaken ye,” Soap replied cooly, unfazed by your reservedness.

You frowned to yourself, knowing he was right. At the end of the day, Soap had been your supporter, even from afar.

“Is it bad to feel for more than one?” you asked, keeping your gaze glued to the ceiling.

Soap grew surprised, eyebrows raising. It wasn’t what he was expecting you to say, let alone ask him. “Ye said ye have never loved anythin’.”

“Because I have not.”

“Then what’s this yer speakin’ of?”

“Forget it.”

Soap cocked his head, taking in the way you seemed to shut in on yourself. While he was an open book, he’d dealt with plenty of introverted feelings with Ghost. It was nothing he hadn’t seen.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with feelin’ for more than one person,” he assured, eyes flickering over the side of your face. You could feel the heat of seriousness in the stare. “Hell, who cares if ye end up with more than one? More love to go around, aye?”

You took in his words, allowing yourself to feel comforted by it. You didn’t expect Soap to find it strange anyway, but to hear it outwardly put your mind at ease from the torn battle being fought within it.

“I feel for the Captain,” you murmured quietly, as if afraid to say it. “Yet I feel for Gaz. I am trapped.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, encouraging you to continue, yet you had not much to say. Your own words felt like vomit with anything wanting to come out being trapped in your throat. “Is there anybody else included in that picture?”

You knew what he was insinuating, and it made you nauseous. To confess that your heart pushed and pulled towards each of them in a way that had you longing, it was too much to say. You feared for the path you were strung along, though you feared veering off of it more.

“No,” you replied, missing confidence in your answer. You knew you were lying—you were just too frightened to admit it.

Soap blinked, weighing your answer. It felt as if he was hiding disappointment. You wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the slight drop in his shoulders. “S’not that bad,” he dismissed, trying once more to make you feel better.

It only made you feel worse.

You no longer had a reply, opting for silence instead of conversation. You knew you could trust Soap with the information you’d given him, but there was an underlying feeling of something missing from the conversation, something you weren’t quite ready to address.

Sensing the shift, Soap shot you a smile, clapping his hands on his knees to stand. “I’ll be back later, dove. Ye know to yell if ye need anythin’.”

You highly doubted you’d have the energy to yell, but you nodded nonetheless, frowning at his back as he receded from the room.

You worried you hurt his feelings, but you weren’t sure why they’d be hurt in the first place—your own strange inner workings towards him and the others were nothing bad. He’d said so himself. Yet, the way he left so suddenly had your stomach sinking, thinking that you gave the wrong answer.

You watched the door for the next agonizing hour, blinking away sleep in hopes of catching the next person to come in. When nobody came in, you caved in, disappointed, slipping back into a restless sleep, losing the fight with your own mind and body.

The world was distorted around you, as if peering through a dense lens. You weren’t sure where you were, but all around you was an unsettling darkness surrounding a vast, empty land where nothing there seemed to thrive.

The grass beneath your bare feet was dead and dry, poking into your soles like little needles. The trees, albeit what was left of them, were thin and brittle, branches littering the ground around them. Buildings crumbled in pieces, standing broken and tarnished, the homes of what once lived here now vacant.

The world felt void of anything but disaster, showcasing its ugly teeth and rearing them into you.

You couldn’t recall if you’d ever been here before. There was a sense of familiarity in it, something that struck a chord with you.

The air filled your nostrils, breathing in old ash and faint smoke. It made your throat tighten and your eyes water, the scent shifting the more you consumed it, something more rotten poisoning it.

When you looked around, you realized your loneliness. Nobody was near you—not even Graves. It grew confusion, wondering whether this was one of his nightmares he loved to toy you with, or if this was entirely on your own.

Your body felt weightless, as if the pain you’d been suffering had vanished and you were nothing more than a feather. When you lifted a hand to touch your side, there was no agony. It was like you’d never been injured to begin with.

The world around you was eerily quiet. While it had a nostalgic feel, it had your hairs on the back of your neck standing.

You dared to take a step forward, your feet burrowing into the straw-like grass. The moment your foot touched the ground, everything morphed. Rather than the quiet runes of an old town, your ears nearly bled from screams and cries of hopelessness that filled the air.

Villagers ran frantic, seeking shelter from impending death. Women, men, children, they all were succumbing to their own horrible cruelties. Mother Nature offered no mercy on their souls, taking what she wanted and whatever stood in her way.

The homes were no longer rubble but burning in flames, villagers running for safety, coughing and hacking from the smoke that clouded around them in a dome. You felt the heat singe your skin, warming you from the inside and out.

You stood, horrified, unable to do anything but watch.

You knew why everything seemed so familiar—this was your home. You were watching it fall apart just as you’d done before, but this time, you knew the outcome before it arrived. Everybody around you would be dead once again, and you would be the unlucky survivor.

You attempted to move, but as if your feet were glued to the ground, you remained frozen, locked in a nightmare of watching everything you’d ever known crumble to pieces for a second time.

Why? Why were you being shown this? Why did you have to relive it? You didn’t understand, and the more you fought, the more disoriented you became.

Your gaze darted everywhere, frantic as you searched. It wasn’t until you realized the small bookkeep of your village that it was the only building left standing, unharmed. The flames hadn’t slithered inside, nor had it succumbed to destruction.

You tried your hardest to understand, to think of any reason why your mind was reliving this horrible memory, but the flames began to slink its way towards you, tickling your feet. Its ember grew, and you cried as the heat embedded into your skin.

You’d hardly visited the bookkeep, only on the occasion your curiosity on a subject got the best of you. It held no significant meaning to you. All the knowledge you earned was from your own research. So why?

You watched the fire dance around the building as if it were untouchable, killing everything in its wake while protecting the bookkeep. It hadn’t even touched its grass, keeping it green and vibrant compared to the soot-covered fields around it.

You desperately searched through your mind for importance. Even as the flames at your feet rose, you tried with all your might, hoping that anything of significance would cease the torturous pain and bring you back to your reality.

They rose and rose, until you could no longer think of anything but your melting skin and scorching body. You burned along with the villagers and could do nothing but accept it until you were swallowed whole, engulfed in your own personal hell.

“She’s a furnace, Cap,” Gaz said wearily, the back of his hand pressed to your forehead. “Whatever Graves did to her, it’s not givin’ us a lot of time.”

The Captain paced his quarters, hand dug into his beard, tugging.

Upon Gaz returning to feed you dinner, he found you clammy and burning, your skin hot to the touch. Your forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, the skin discoloring around your eyes to a meek gray. You were asleep, though God only knows for how long since Soap had left that morning.

“Captain,” Gaz tried once more, watching the man nearly rip his own hair out as he lost himself in his own muddled thoughts.

Price said nothing as if he hadn’t even heard Gaz. He was thinking up anything to stall your illness from whatever disgusting infection Graves mustered up, but he wasn’t a medic. That was your knowledge. He felt utterly useless.

“Price,” Gaz snapped, loud enough to garner the Captain’s attention. “Get a fuckin’ grip. Stress later, come up with a plan now.”

Price halted in his tracks, taking in a deep breath. He took the moment to calm himself, knowing Gaz was right in everything he said. He was a Captain, damn it, yet was falling apart at the sight of one of his own.

“We don’t have time for a professional,” Price stated, stepping up to your bedside where Gaz sat. He peered down at you, observing your sickly skin and pure exhaustion. “We’ll take her to a village doctor, a shrink, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. The nearest place, we take her to.”

Gaz released a sigh, glancing back at your crippled form. Broken ribs seemed to be the lesser worry. It was the ugly veins that only seem to travel further under your skin. They looked worst than they had been the night before, far worse.

“Nobody leaves her alone,” Price continued. “One of us will be here at all times until we make landfall.”

“I’ll stay,” Gaz offered immediately.

Internally, Price wanted to protest. He was Captain, he should take the responsibility, but his responsibility lied with the helm and manning the ship until his body gave out. It was his heart yearning to stay.

“I’ll let Soap and Ghost know,” Price replied. His hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenching uncomfortably. “None of you leave her fuckin’ side. Am I clear?”

Gaz stared at the Captain, noting the tension he held. He glanced back at you, a poor sight to see, and he nodded in agreement.

“No man left behind, aye, Cap?” Gaz tried.

Price grunted, giving him a clap on his shoulder. He gazed down at Gaz with an unreadable expression before shaking it off, storming out of the quarters to inform the others of the plan.

Gaz sat quietly, focusing on you. His heart was pained, seeing you so distressed. He did what he thought may comfort you, grasping your hand in his, rolling a thumb over your knuckles. There was nothing for him to do but get comfortable for the night and ride out the storm that Graves stowed upon them once again, promising to whatever God was listening that he’d fight through hell and back if anything were to happen.

You didn’t wake that day, nor the day after. You relived the nightmare over and over until it was engraved in your head, festering itself deep. It took nearly three days to awake, forcing your eyes open.

Your mouth was dry as cotton, eyes crusted over with endless sleep. Your body felt heavy, as if molded to the cot, and it took all your strength to move your head. You would’ve shrieked in surprise if your throat was hydrated enough.

Price slept beside you, faint moonlight as well as a trusty candle illuminating his peaceful features. He laid on his stomach, arms curled under the pillow and cheek pressed into it. He looked almost boyish like that, the worry exhausted from his face and replaced with a quiet calm.

It was the first you’d woken in the middle of the night to the sight of him. The times you’d spent in his bed before were ones you didn’t wake up to, only waking to an empty cot or falling asleep alone.

You couldn’t help but stare, studying every smooth feature. You almost felt it wasn’t real, that maybe this was a new nightmare forming and was playing tricks on you with a subtle beginning. But when you stared long enough, reality formed and you knew you were awake.

Your body was still hurting, though from being so still in slumber, it was more stiff than anything. You weakly lifted a hand, pawing at the Captain in attempts to rouse him.

As if he’d already been on edge, his eyes shot open, meeting yours. His expression quickly morphed into surprise, then relief.

“Dove,” he breathed, sitting up. He made an uncomfortable grunt from the stiffness in his muscles but was quick to ignore it, laser focused on you. “Are you alright?”

You opened your mouth to speak, an embarrassing squeak coming out. Price noticed instantly, shooting up from the bed.

“Water?” he asked, and when you nodded, he dipped from the room, leaving you alone.

You didn’t wait long, and you would’ve thought Price was running a marathon with the haste he made. He sat beside you, carefully curling his hand on the back of your head to lift it. He placed the cup to your lips, and you nearly moaned in relief once the water hit your tastebuds, flooding them with hydration.

“Better?” he asked, watching you gulp he beverage.

Once finished, you sighed, blinking away the soreness of your eyes. His hand remained on your head as he stared at you, worry lines forming between his brows.

You knew you looked even more hellish than before, but he didn’t seem to pay any mind, only concerned about making sure you were alright. It warmed the coldness in you, melting away the icy wall you’d built from the reoccurring nightmare you suffered.

“We’ll make landfall tomorrow,” Price explained, smoothing his knuckles along your cheekbone with his other hand. The affection caused you to relax. “Get you all better, aye? I know how much it hurts.”

You sluggishly nodded, content with the change of scenery rather than angry flames that burned you to death over, and over, and over. Though it’d only been three days, it felt like years.

“Home,” you murmured, voice still shot from weakness.

Price appeared confused, cocking his head. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone as he spoke. “Home?” he repeated. “What’s on your mind, dove?”

“Need to go home,” you mumbled softly.

“I don’t understand—”

“My village,” you explained, frowning.

Price stared at you, trying to read you. His eyes flickered between yours, displeased with the sickly bags surrounding yours. You looked void of life.

“You want to go home?” he tried, and when you nodded, he hummed. He knew you had no home to go back to, and so did you. It was rubble.

Rather than question your reasoning, he merely took it in stride, nodding in agreement. “We can go home, dove—after you get better. Alright?”

You knew you sounded silly, but the nightmare kept flashing in your head. The bookkeep—something was there, even in the ruins of it. It called to you in your dreams, and it stayed unharmed during mass destruction. There was nothing else for you to believe besides its calling.

Price glanced down at the bare skin of your ribcage where it peeked out from beneath the blanket, your dress still pulled up from when you’d shown Soap. They all made sure you remained decent, never wanting you to feel uncomfortable.

Whatever was plotting beneath your skin in the rooted veins, Price could only hope it wasn’t making you delirious. Hearing you utter words about home had him stuck, but he knew better than to not trust you—it was something he did with his life, now that he had you.

If it was home you wanted to be at, he’d take you. He only prayed you made it long enough to see it.

[irisfixation]

it is generally understood within the adventuring community that some sort of contract should be preemptively made in order to protect oneself from an untimely death.

[original hypnosis fic, second-person narration from perspective of the subject. gender-neutral, little to no sexual content. please read accordingly, and enjoy.]

now, the act of seeking out such a contract, let alone the fact of its normalization, would have been taboo a few decades past. "we don't negotiate with pact-entities", the old elders crow; anti-demon and anti-fae rhetoric was accepted as the norm.

it only took looking at the rate of mortality, the expenditures of the local church, and getting over themselves to at last shake up the in-culture of heroics.

of course, that didn't mean they weren't diligent with their new protocols; information on prospective patrons was inscribed down in ledgers half phone book and half grimoire, noting the terms of agreement, the trustworthiness of pact-entity after pact-entity, any bargain a little too faustian struck through in red.

you'd watch your peers peer through the book, discussing the pros and cons of each. was an unlucky fate too much to pay? were compulsions too obstructive, did the bodily changes contrast too much with one's self-identity?

of course, they all ended up choosing sooner or another. better that than dying young and alone.

it was under this sort of necessity that you went to the house.

-------

it was closer to home than you expected, really - you anticipated some kind of ominous manor on the cliffs, or secluded cabin by the forest's edge, so the three minute walk from the town square came as a welcome surprise. its residence looked the same as any other lodging - you'd no doubt walked past it on your regular commutes countless times without batting an eye.

you knocked, and the door fell open, as if it had been awaiting your arrival; afternoon sunlight bouncing off the gossamer-thin threads adorning the hallway.

make yourself at home, she says. i'll be upstairs when you're ready to talk. you nod and ask if there's any consequences for eating any food or drink. i promise you this; all food i've set out here is yours to eat and drink without consequence comes the reply; perhaps a little verbose from anyone else, but necessary caveats for a pact-entity's trust. you oblige.

with throat wet and stomach sated, you ascend the stairs. the bedroom is small, humble even; you've seen more expensive homes by far from some of your more show-off rivals. more fit for a pauper than the-

"than Her Lady of Marionettes?"

yeah.

"i never cared all too much for the trappings of nobility. i'm satisfied simply living in peace here."

then why the contracts?

"it's mutually beneficial, no? i quench my thirst for control for a time, and you don't meet any horrible, lonely fates. it's no different from any other line of work."

more reasonable than any would-be evil queen you've ever met, let alone one considered an enemy to the hero's guild not so long ago.

"please. i never cared all too much for that arrangement."

she rolls in her bed to face you. despite her role, she looks little different from your sister or partner; eyes still closed, hands still set upon her crosses.

-------

you discuss business. she will string you up, she says; and then, if she were to find yourself in an otherwise fatal scenario, she will pull your body back, mend you, even clear your mind from any hostile entities trying to take it over.

what do each of you get out of this?

"i get to observe the world through your eyes. i get the joy of commanding a body beyond my own. you cede a small, negotiated amount of control, and in return you are freed from tragedy's grasp forevermore."

it sounded like a hell of a better deal than half of the faustian bargains you saw other contract-entities propose.

"if you'd like, we can provide a demonstration here and now. no permanent alterations, and you can back out any time you wish. is that amenable?"

it does indeed sound amenable.

-------

you're sitting by her side on the bed. she's set her crosses down in place of a needle she holds deftly between thumb and forefinger, pinched together like a bee ready to sting. "hold your left arm out, please? we'll begin now."

you do so, and she passes the needle through skin. you feel it travel up across the veins in your wrist, her other hand steadying you in place with the tenderness of lily-petals. your elbow twitches as it passes through; the nerves firing once in shock, but no more. up through bicep, then shoulder; and then out, a release in pressure from within as the needle finally leaves your insides, leaving a trail of silken fibres behind it.

she plucks the taut string left in its wake, and your arm twitches with it, pulled from within. "see? no pain at all."

next is the right arm, then the legs. she flutters around you like a sprite alighting upon forest blossoms, soft fingers and steel-precise nails moving you, adjusting your wrist or shoulders or rotation with studious diligence. the intimacy of being studied and guided like this is almost palpable.

"...and, done." she declares, finishing a line of thread across the shoulders and through the nape of the neck. "well, how is it? comfortable, right?"

"yes, miss", you are made to say; and then, immediately, recall the strings through your upper and lower lip alike, a third running through the seam in your tongue. right. you move your eyes to meet hers; she's smiling brightly, but it's more the naive smile of a child than the former evil queen's smirk you expected. the effect is equal amounts unsettling and genuinely cute.

"well, let's begin." she picks up her crosses again, and with one subtle rotation of a hand's balance, she guides you.

it's easy to follow through. your right arm raises with a poise and natural nature that shocks you, outstretched to one side. she returns her hand to neutral, and your arm falls back once again, more sudden and limp than you were expecting.

("excellent", she says.)

with that first test done, she guides you down the stairs. your eyes are still your own, so some reflexive part of you fidgets as your body glides down each flight of steps; you have no control over if you fall or not. she could throw you down the stairs now, and you'd be helpless; passenger in your own tumbling body.

but she doesn't. your hand remains firmly upon the balustrade, and your every footstep is delivered with care. by the time you reach the landing, your heart may be pounding, but you're just glad to have made it through.

("well done," crows her voice.)

the near-invisible threads all throughout your body continue to urge you forward - sometimes single strings tugging suddenly, but other times shifting in a steady unison, almost imperceptible from your body's natural movements save that no thought of your own guides it. you're in the kitchen, before too long - a rack of dried dishes shows that she, too, has been here recently. your fingers and palm grasp onto each bowl and glass, one by one, filing them away in procedure through the unfamiliar house.

with your body outside of your control, you'd think your mind would wander to idle thoughts; to the birdsong from beyond the window, perhaps, or to thoughts of how your companions are faring in their own attempts to find their own contracts. but all thoughts seem to be silenced by each consequent string's plucking, a resonance within yourself that numbs your brain under its force.

before you know it, the rack of dishes is clear, and you are ascending the stairs again. it's less scary going up, and she knows it; she takes each step faster now, with a fluidity of movement that your legs accept graciously. there is no joint pain, no hesitation - each step is placed with pinpoint precision, each movement following the next.

a puppet's dance, you think; then dismiss the idea just as quickly. you're just here to obtain insurance from danger, not to humor thoughts like that.

she's lying back down on the bed when you arrive - exposing her back to you, vulnerable. but her hands are still outstretched, each one holding those crosses linked to the many strings pulled taut across, within, and around you. "welcome back", she tells you. "i trust it wasn't too uncomfortable?"

"no," you say, "it was fine."

"i'm glad to hear it!" she says, turning to smile at you. "and you took to it so well, too! good doll."

there's something about meeting her eyes as she says those last two words that feels different from everything prior. something deeper, like the strings are mycelial network growing their own nerves to entangle around yours, setting them alight in a microcosm dance, your whole body twitching just subtly as you are affixed within her gaze, burning up from the inside out-

"oh, my apologies. old habits die hard it would seem."

she doesn't gesture you to sit next to her, but your body does so, so you can assume it was her will all the same. she turns to you and explains that the demonstration has concluded; that the act of forming a pact with her is something you can now think of on your own, that you can return to her any time you need and in fact she'll completely understand if she never sees you again. she snips off the strings, one by one, with a pair of ornate scissors - the ones within will dissolve organically, she notes, metabolized by your own body. nothing to worry about.

you're not worrying. you're not thinking much at all, in the aftermath of everything that's happened. but she is patient, and you have all the time you need to recover.

-------

she walks you to the door and waves you out with a flourish. you're reminded of how mundane the house is, and now you can see that same mundanity in the Lady's face; no different from any number of passers-by through the town square.

"safe travels~!" she says, and you walk out the door; your steps faltering just a little as you once more acclimate to control over your own body.

well, for a contract patron, that wasn't so bad. and she seems well-meaning enough. maybe you'll go back there sometime again, you think to yourself, and shrug as you make your way home.

[ozzgin]

Hi it’s me again 😁. I wanted to try to request something but it’s very specific so if you don’t like the idea or just don’t have the time you can just put it aside 😅.

It’s another female predator story but in this one reader is a preator that was born black with white markings which is seen as a bad omen ( i don’t think it’s real in the Yautja culture but let’s just role with it ). Reader was abandoned by her family and was found by a family of thanator ( you know those fierce alien panther from avatar ) so she was a savage and knew how to hunt without any tools from a young age. Her grandmother, a strong and important matriarch, found her and took her back to their planet. But reader doesn’t really have contact with her kind except for her grandmother and her thanators and she hunts alone a lot of dangerous enemies ( like xenoporph queens ).

I’m totally making the even up but let’s imagine it’s mating season and there is a huge a tournament to help yautjas find a good partner. Like wrestling, shooting or small combat matches… It’s time for the females to compete, reader is participating cause her grandma asked her ( she wants grandpups 😂 ) and is wrecking the events and catches the interest of many males. Especialy after the one on one fight where she would use a lot of her natural features and thanator fighting style ( we don’t really see them using there claws, feet or teeth a lot and it’s disapointing cause those are mass murder weapons). The males are enamoured and quickly process to begin the courting but reader doesn’t really know how to act with males and she never really paid it much attention before cause she’s usually hunting or founding and taking care of new alien pets companions. I bet the males are amazed with this unique and strong ( and kind of inexperienced 😏 ) female yautja.

Thanks for reading this ( long ass fuck to be honest 😂😅) resquest and i hope everything is alright for you, 😘 bye.

You'll have to excuse potentially wrong assumptions as I haven't watched Avatar and have no idea what it is about 🥲 buut otherwise I just detailed around your ideas, they’re pretty solid and I didn’t want to tamper with them more than necessary

Predator Headcanons: Predator Reader in Tournament

Featuring a Yautja female with an unusual background.

Everything happened so suddenly. Your peaceful like among your family, uprooted within seconds. One particular day and out of nowhere, a bizarre vessel hovered over Pandora's forests, alerting everyone in its vicinity. The intruders that teleported down caused even greater confusion: they looked just like you. Yet you couldn't understand their odd clicks and guttural noises, nor did you trust the intricate holograms and machinery pointed in your direction.

After what felt like an eternity - and with the help of a translator - the uninvited guests announced their purpose: to retrieve you and bring you back to Yautja Prime. Nonsense, you thought at the time. There's no "back" when your home has always been on this Planet. Despite your protests, you'd quickly learned that your hunting expertise was no proper defense against their foreign technology and so you begrudgingly accepted the proposal.

The first few months were, plainly put, depressing. The matriarch - you'd soon learn she is your remaining family - insisted on keeping your integration a secret at first. Many factors were still unknown to them: would you be able to learn their language after so many years? What about defending yourself against other Predators? Yautja communities are ruthless and unforgiving, and the matriarch could not risk killing off her only successor.

Thankfully you proved yourself efficient enough with your skills. Growing up in the forest has honed your senses, perhaps to an even greater degree when compared to a Predator who relies on modern weaponry. Impressed with the outcome, your grandmother decides to register you for the Grand Tournament. What better way to reveal the return of her long-lost suckling? You don't know what it entails, but the time spent hunting xenomorphs has gotten quite monotonous. You'd take any challenge to entertain you.

The gate opens and you step inside the ring without hesitation. There's a moment of silence, followed by suspicious murmurs from a confused audience. Unbeknownst to you, the patterns you're donning are not only a rare occurrence among the Yautja species, but a bad omen as well. The males are studying your movements carefully. It's not just your appearance; Your fighting stance is unusual, resembling a wild animal. And, as the end of the match quickly follows with an effortless win on your side, they're certain of one thing: they've found their mate.

You raise your first victoriously and don't even notice the predatory stares. Nor do you comprehend the sudden gathering of males that has formed towards the exit, awaiting your return. What's the meaning of this? You glare at the matriarch, and she responds with a smirk. You'll figure it out soon enough.

[astroeleanor]

The Four Zodiac Signs That Will Be REBORN in September 2024

LIBRA (Moon, Rising, Chart Ruler)

During September, Venus conjuncts the South Node in Libra, bringing about:

• Opportunities to let go of outdated beliefs or attachments, particularly in the areas of relationships, self-worth, and personal values, leading to a sense of liberation.

• Reassessment of how you relate to others, potentially ending old relationship dynamics that are not beneficial. This can feel like a “rebirth” as new, healthier ways of connecting and creating balance are established in your life.

• A deeper exploration of your personal identity, beyond your relationships, redefining who you are independently of others.

• Find new equilibrium in your life, shedding what disrupts your inner peace and embracing what promotes balance.

• This conjunction might bring people or situations from the past back into your life for resolution. This could be an opportunity for closure, healing, and growth.

PISCES (Moon, Rising, Chart Ruler)

The Lunar Eclipse in Pisces on September 17th and the transit of Saturn in Pisces might affect you in the following ways:

• Heightened emotional awareness, deep insights, and the potential for significant release or closure.

• Profound emotional release or awakening, letting go of past emotional wounds, illusions, or attachments.

• Closing of a significant chapter in your life, paving the way for new beginnings.

• Bringing form and structure to your dreams, spiritual practices, and emotional world.

• A strong emphasis on developing boundaries and self-discipline. You may be pushed to balance your compassionate, empathetic nature with the need to protect your energy and establish clearer boundaries.

• A reality check! You may have to confront your fears, illusions, or escapist tendencies. This confrontation can lead to a major personal transformation and a clearer, more realistic vision of your future.

VIRGO (Moon, Rising, Chart Ruler)

With the New Moon in Virgo on Sep 2nd, Virgo Season, Mercury entering Virgo, and the opposition between transiting Sun and Mercury in Virgo and Saturn and Neptune in Pisces, you may experience:

• A powerful opportunity to initiate new projects, habits, or routines that are aligned with your goals for personal growth and improvement.

• A focus on self-improvement, clarity, and redefining your purpose, making it a perfect time for a personal "rebirth."

• An emphasis on rethinking and reevaluating your thoughts, communication style, and decision-making processes, refining your perspectives and adopting new ways of thinking.

• Confronting where you need to balance your desire for perfection with accepting life's imperfections and integrating more compassion & flexibility into your routines.

• Potential confusion or uncertainty but also the chance to clarify illusions or unrealistic expectations, seeing beyond your usual practical mindset and incorporating a more spiritual or imaginative perspective.

• Integrating more emotional intelligence, compassion, or spiritual awareness into your life, gaining a more holistic sense of yourself.

• Setting new health goals, establishing healthier habits, redefining your daily routine for greater well-being.

CAPRICORN (Moon, Rising, Chart Ruler)

As Pluto makes its final entry into Capricorn for our lifetimes, you may experience:

• A culmination of the transformative energies Pluto has been bringing into your life since 2008, marking the end of a profound cycle of personal and collective transformation.

• Shedding outdated identities, roles, or structures that are outdated. This shedding process allows for the emergence of a renewed, more authentic version of yourself.

• Letting go of rigid beliefs, societal expectations, patterns of control.

• Becoming aware of deep-seated fears or traumas that need healing. This is a final call to confront and transform these issues.

• Reconstructing your personal and professional foundations, building them on more authentic & stable ground.

• Pluto’s energy is about power dynamics, both internal and external. There is an opportunity for you to reclaim or master your personal power, learning to wield it responsibly and effectively in your life.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ASTROLOGY READINGS ARE OPEN!

Full Birth Chart, Soul mate Readings, Career Readings are available. There are limited spots for the month of September so grab yours now!

• 🗡️ TAP HERE TO BOOK A READING with me to navigate your life with more clarity & awareness.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Thank you for taking the time to read my post! Your curiosity & engagement mean the world to me. I hope you not only found it enjoyable but also enriching for your astrological knowledge. Your support & interest inspire me to continue sharing insights & information with you. I appreciate you immensely. • 🕸️ JOIN MY PATREON for exquisite & in-depth astrology content. You'll also receive a free mini reading upon joining. :)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[luneengene2]

I was wondering if you could write about what it would be like to be newly married with Jo and live a quiet life in Kyoto, Japan? 🫶🏻

Peaceful Life After Marriage

• Warnings : Mention of 'after intercourse' (?)

• idol!Jo x Fem!reader

• Notes : When making this, I had to look for things directly related to Kyoto, and it turned out to be quite difficult༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

// Being a newly married couple with Jo and living a quiet life in Kyoto must feel like a fairy tale that you would never have imagined, even when you were a child.

// When you decided to accept his proposal, you wanted a quiet life away from the noisy city life. You wanted yourself away from the camera spotlight after becoming his wife. His love for you is so great, and he is willing to do anything for your happiness. And yes, he complies with your wish to live a quiet life in Kyoto, away from the noise of the city and the glare of the cameras. He can balance his career as an idol and his role as a good husband for you.

// Kyoto, with its natural beauty and deep cultural heritage, will provide the perfect backdrop for raising a family together with your sweet husband.

// Mornings in Kyoto begin with the sound of birds chirping in temple gardens, where maple leaves turn red and gold in autumn. You wake up feeling refreshed even though your body is a little sore from having sex with him last night. He treated you well that night, not even leaving you to sleep first, making sure that you were fresh before going to sleep completely.

You don't find your husband beside your bed, the part where he was lying is already neat. A sign that he woke up first. The bedroom door opened, revealing Jo carrying a tray of breakfast for you. His sweet smile makes your morning feel fresher.

He approached you and put the tray on the bed, saying good morning in his deep voice, not forgetting to peck your lips briefly. Eating breakfast together in bed.

// Every morning, you and Jo can enjoy the fresh air from the beautiful mountains. You can take a leisurely stroll along the narrow streets lined with traditional wooden houses, or maybe sit in a small cafe that is quite famous in that area while sipping warm green tea and tasting wagashi (traditional Japanese cakes).

// On weekends, you can visit famous temples and parks such as Kiyomizu-dera Temple or Arashiyama Park.

// In Kyoto, life feels slower and more intimate. Of course, you'll be staying in a traditional Japanese house, probably a machiya, full of wooden furniture, sliding doors. as well as a small garden behind the house. The two of you use the garden to sit and relax in the afternoon, listening to the trickling water from the small pond or simply taking in the scent of the blooming seasonal flowers. Talking sweet nothings about your new marriage. How Jo is always touched when he remembers that one of his life goals has been achieved, marrying you.

// PICNIC! Together, you can enjoy simple moments like a picnic by the river when the cherry blossoms are in bloom.

// Cycling through the Arashiyama bamboo forest in autumn, with beautiful red leaves decorating the roads.

// Your days are filled with a serene routine—shopping at the local Nishiki market, picking out fresh vegetables and traditional Japanese ingredients to cook together at home. When at the market, a seller who was around 70 years old asked you whether you were married or not, when you answered 'yes', He prayed for you, blessed you at length with good words, even prayed that you and Jo would be given great descendants.

// In the evening, maybe you'll cook a simple dish like homemade nabe or ramen. Then sit together on the tatami while talking about future dreams, laughing, and enjoying each other's presence.

// The nights in Kyoto were quiet but peaceful. Outside the window, the wind could be heard gently blowing the bamboo leaves. Jo might like to draw or read in a corner of the house, while you make green tea to accompany him while doing his hobby.

// When he's tired, he'll immediately invite you to the room. Lie down and cuddle on the comfortable bed. Back to talking about the future before he really falls asleep in your arms.

// Every day, you find happiness in each other's little moments—a touch of the hand in the middle of a conversation, a loving look in the eye, and a burst of laughter for no reason.

// In Kyoto, time seems to slow down, giving you the chance to be truly present with each other, cherish every second together, and celebrate love in a quiet yet meaningful way.

// Even though he sometimes has to return to Tokyo for his career as a idol, he will still come back to accompany you to enjoy a quiet life. Until you have children, he will continue to follow your wishes, keeping your children's privacy away from the camera.

[matchagyudon]

Pomp and Gallantry - Jakurai Jinguji English Lyrics Translation

Now, do you understand what karma is? The glory and errors of my past days have been piling up Was I trapped because I wanted to be at ease?

Remorse, my guilty conscience, and self-sacrifice This is the conclusion to taking the easy way out The challenges that have been lying about are still untouched

In this Labryinth Wall Time or patience, are they no longer necessary? Is it easy to break free from here? Are you saying that life itself has no pain?

Is our answer, even now, that suffering in agony is inevitable? Is it said that we humans have ended conflict? So then, what in the world have we learned from history?

Life is a game, this embellishment is a joke Just when you think that you can’t take it anymore, The true scenario of your fate can be rewritten Strike out your languidness, and remove the overbearing shackles With my mic and charts, all that’s left is the love in my heart It’s not that those who believe are saved, But rather whether you can keep believing until you are saved

Inside of strength is tenderness, and within tenderness you can find strength The taste of defeat, like biting on sand, is now the spice of life

With these hands, certainly, with these hands I will wake them up This country’s heart is coming to an end And the only power that can revive it Would be love That is the only way we can wake them up With pomp and circumstance, today, we will be gallant too

The commotion of Shinjuku, noises mingling together Dissonance reverberating within the spiral of reincarnation This city is still in deep turmoil Whispering sweet temptations, fleeting pleasures

Like a weed hidden in a back alley, this flower is nameless, yet noble It sways gently in the breeze today, once more There is no other flower as strong as concrete

It was sudden, my heart became soaked The shock hit me like lightning “Obligation and self-awareness”, I was prepared for those two words From tragedy to comedy, the reasoning is reversed

To live, in itself, is love Life isn’t about winning or losing It’s about everything Now is the time to accept one another’s differences Why don’t we accept each other? Or to love each other?

Let’s return, once more, to the beginning Be rid of any doubt’s on the meaning of Life Life and soul, the contrast of finite and infinite The land that rises with its bestowed role

The voices that cry out as we plunged into the battlefield Even if my throat were to be slit, I will keep shouting For the happiness of myself and others, my altruistic heart keeps going on The timbre of world peace now sounds nostalgic Let it ring out

From this one microphone, this song will connect once again I am not offering words such as ostentation, vanity, or greed But my very life in itself, I am selling piece by piece Relish yourself to your heart’s content on my flesh and body

The contradictions and absurdity of our murky, chaotic society Drink it all in one gulp This is the essence of the power of words, true vitality, meaning and significance of life, To be inherited with abundance and triumph

There’s no need to be frightened or worry anymore If you have already put together that death is certain That even then you cannot escape the 7 Deadly Sins Calmly hold it close, just as you are, all your worries The future is waiting for us to complete our unfinished work Lying in wait, clearing their throats Eagerly waiting for as long as it takes

We will set a firm foundation for the new century to come When that time comes, we shall make a sound that will shake the heavens and the earth The land will split and crawling out of it will be song and dance The voice that we shouted at the moon, and felt as if it were in vain Will reach the moon in 32 days Devote yourself to the one before your eyes From the bottom of one’s heart to another, the seed of peace Together, slowly, one step at a time, we will move forward

We are all God’s creatures!

From now on, let us all entrust our lives to another, together!

[ivymirrorball768]

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 3: Strange is the call of this strange man

series summary: sejanus plinth’s great grandchild (you) gets reaped for the 69th hunger games.

warnings/notes: still a short one, chapter length and quality will increase slowly (sorry)

pairing: finnick odair x reader

wc: 1.4k ao3 link

i recommend the combined read for chapters 1-5 rather than individual

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Strange is the call of this strange man I wanna fly down and feed at his hand

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The train was extravagant, far too much so for, effectively, a cattle car to the slaughterhouse. Its walls were painted in dark shades of indigo, giving the effect of the space seeming smaller than it actually was, and the golden lighting provided an air of richness rather than homely comfort. It didn’t feel like District 4. No, everything here was an expense, a glimpse into heavens gates before they sent you sailing over to hell.

You’d only ever seen the exterior of the train before and the pristine, newly painted white and greys couldn’t serve justice to the true expanse of the lavish interior. You wondered how many children had stood here before you, how many died? how many returned to the cooling waves of district 4 after stepping foot on this death carriage? There were certainly victors from this district, in fact you knew one, your friend’s ma. She’d been in your shoes and returned.

How many hadn’t?

The escort, Ms Lovegood, noticed your staring and looked all the more eager to begin her little tour, yet she glanced sideways with a distaste towards the girl beside you. Her tearful goodbye had escalated into incessant choked sobs and she could hardly contain herself, so full of misery and fear. It was a poor sight, really. You’d doubt she’d make it through the bloodbath if she kept this up.

Of course, she was only acting how you would’ve been if you weren’t so well repressed. You couldn’t blame her at all.

The other girl, Tulip, you recalled, was much too quiet as she hadn’t spoken a word since the reaping. It was uncommon for a child to react this way, so emotionless in her plight. She didn’t seem to have any close relatives or anything to substitute the fact.

You’d heard about orphanages in District 4, but you’d never much seen one yourself as the Capitol frowned upon displaced children. They often ended out missing or dead. Orphanages were rumoured to be located nearer to the outskirts of town, separate. Maybe that’s where she was from.

Unlike the other two, you were externally composed after the initial shock had worn off. It wasn’t unusual for your family to experience… somewhat tragic events so you’d become almost accustomed to it. Your ma called it the Plinth curse. Due to that, you were happily resigned to let fate run its course and accepted the probability of your imminent death.

Well, ‘accepted’ might’ve been a bit strong a word. ‘Ignored the prospect of, but also maintained to do nothing against the probable outcome’ was far more fitting.

If you treated this as a normal day or another new adventure then you’d find peace when you had to. Death would come quietly like the setting of the sun.

“Please, sit.” The escort smiled at each of the tributes, indicating to the seats encircling a delicate glass table adjourned with perfectly placed golden cutlery and vases of flowers.

“Thank you, Ms Lovegood.” You forced a smile, maintaining to be polite even given the nature of her role.

For a Capitol elite, she was severely taken aback by the formality whether it be about your district nature you weren’t certain, but they sure did like to treat you like animals.

“Oh lovely, feel free to drop the title. Just Pandora will do.” You nodded unenthusiastically.

As the food was spread out across the table, the slaughterhouse metaphor really started coming together. They genuinely were fattening you up before abruptly taking you to your graves. The array was enticing in appearance, yet the floral scent of the appetisers was overbearing. Just then a compartment door slid open.

“Oh and here are your mentors! I’m sure you will all get along just beautifully!” Pandora beamed in a tone achingly happy and sickeningly unaware.

The girl beside you didn’t stop her blubbering for even a moment, but managed a hopeless, “What use will that do?”. Evidently, she wasn’t well accustomed to resigning to death.

Pandora barely spared her murmur a glance, far too excited to present the mentors. Your friends mother wasn’t mentoring this year, so you wondered who it would be.

The two entered, a young boy you recognised from the year before and an older lady, you didn’t recall. Her games were likely long before your birth.

The boy had an air of superficiality to him in the way his grin faltered as it teetered on the edge of his sea-green eyes, failing to quite reach them. He was familiar enough. The same boy you’d seen for all those years. It was a shame this would be the first time you’d actually speak - in such circumstances.

From last year, it was evident that he was an able victor: adept with a trident, resourceful, charming and ultimately a glowing example of what District 4 was meant to be. But all that emphasised was how you paled in comparison.

You weren’t exactly trained for this.

A self proclaimed poet.

If ma was here she would’ve said not to underestimate yourself, but she was enticed by the same delusions as all of the Plinths - fairytales and fictions. It started with your great grandmam and her tales of a strange, peculiar but alluring girl who she’d once seen through a TV screen. She proclaimed that this mysterious girl was a true musician with charm and honour - a victor. Of course, your great grandmam took this elaborate story as a freeing fable and a reminder of the powers of ingenuity.

You saw it for what it was. A pitiful comfort and a way to pretend you were more capable than you truly were.

Occasionally, it was fun to believe in fairytales though. If the girl had won by her smarts and her words alone, maybe you could too.

Regardless of the tale you remained apprehensive about the whole ordeal. There hadn’t been enough time to really process it all from standing there like every other kid, to being reaped for death then being shoved on some train? It was a lot to take in, evidenced by the three of you exemplifying an array of hopelessness.

The young boy glanced at the lady beside him, somewhat unsure of himself. She provided a gentle smile accompanied by a nod of reassurance.

“It’s lovely to meet you all, I’m Mags and this here is Finnick.”

She looked upon you all, her district accent heavy but familiar, words quiet and homely offering much needed comfort. She continued offering some solace,

“Even with the games, I hope you find some comfort in your stay.” Her eyes scanned the three of you, taking in as much as she could as if it would be of use later.

Automatically, you stood to greet her, offering this lovely lady your hand and name with a soft but somewhat pushed smile - manners your Ma taught you. The others seemed to catch on to the need for an introduction and followed suit. Hands were shaken in an awkward formality, though it helped to be reminded of the girls names. Petunia and Tulip.

Then you turned to the boy, Finnick, offering him the same gesture. His hand shake was firmer with a guise of certainty. Your eyes met momentarily. The intensity of the swirl of colours dancing in his irises caught you momentarily off guard. Sure, Caesar wouldn’t stop talking about them during the interviews last year, but now being up close you could understand why. The beauty was so deep you could just drown.

The compliment tumbled from your lips, thankfully restraining your indulgence in his eyes. “You did well… in the games last year.”

You knew you’d needed to say something, anything. As lost for words as you often were, relying on whatever thought first jumped into your head to carry you through.

What do you say to someone who was forced to fight to the death for their district? It certainly wasn’t the honour the Capitol made it out to be.

“I’m sorry you had to though, the games are… definitely something.” The last part was riddled with uncertainty, evident in the quieter tone.

“I’m sorry you’re yet to face it.” The words left his mouth with a smooth clarity that was almost startling. It was spoken so charismatically, but served as nothing more than a reminder of your fate.

Something you never wanted.

You’d run from this as long as you possibly could. So, with a curt nod you allowed him to turn and greet the other two whilst trying to contain the spiral beginning to formulate in your mind.

It was all to come yet.

Chapter 4: I want a nice soft place to land

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART THIRTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, heavy topics such as death, blood, and past trauma mentioned, lots of tension in this chapter masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

“Shadow’s Peak,” Price began, pointing to the circled island that seemed to be parted from all of its neighboring ones, “is where Graves resides when he’s not at sea. Nobody’s been to the island that’s been able to return home. It’s cursed to many, deemed uninhabitable.”

“If you have never visited it, then how do you know?” you risked asking.

Price looked up from the map, a frown on his face. “Ghost,” he answered, and you let out a sound of recognition. “You must understand that Graves is known amongst the people as a danger, same as us. People see monsters when they see pirates, but Graves lives up to the name.”

You trailed your finger along the map, studying the remote island and the ink around it. It looked as if Price had been the one to sketch it out himself, rather than a merchant selling it with the island displayed.

Monsters, you thought. For a long time, you were in the same boat as others. Pirates were never in good fortune. They were a rarity, but when they appeared on land in the public, you’d heard the stories. They almost never ended well.

“I do not think you are monsters,” you murmured quietly, more so to yourself than anything. Still, Price cocked his head, eyes locked in on you as you kept your own focused on the map.

“Even now, after everythin’ we’ve done?” he asked, watching the way your fingers flattened against the map. “You do not view us in the light everybody sees is in?”

You finally looked up at him, and you felt your breath catch in your throat uncomfortably. Your gaze flickered over his face, down to the frown lines permanently etched into his skin, and the way his eyebrows tugged together in heavy doubt.

“Perhaps at first, I did,” you admitted honestly. His expression didn’t falter, and he seemed to be expecting that answer. “I do not now. I have seen the true monster and where it hides. It is not you.”

Price blinked, softening. A look of relief passed over him. “We have done horrible things,” he muttered. “We are prepared to do more until we can no longer. I truly hope you’re aware of what you are agreein’ to, dove.”

You pressed your lips together. You contemplated, though you knew your answer and had already made it previously. You knew the moment Graves invaded your mind and filled it with parasites that he was the true monster in your world and not Price or his men.

It didn’t make their doings any better, not did it excuse it. But you knew they were trying, and that was all you could do in return.

Perhaps you were an idiot for thinking so.

“You will protect me?” you asked Price, catching him off guard.

“With my life,” he confirmed instantly. “I will not allow you to be harmed. I swear on it.”

You watched his finger cross an X over his chest. You didn’t know why it made your heart pick up its pace.

He was swearing to you, on behalf of him and his men, to keep your life as untouched as possible. It was an oath that was to be taken serious. Price was devoting his life to yours the same he did with Soap, Gaz, and Ghost as their Captain.

“What is your plan, Captain?” You gestured to the map, right at Shadow’s Peak that sat on the paper in its lonesome wake. “With Graves. What exactly is the outcome you wish for?”

Price looked at Shadow’s Peak briefly, his eyes hardening. The mood in the room shifted, and the heaviness weighed on your chest when you took a sharp breath in.

There was a protectiveness that came over him, one you were beginning to recognize when the thought of his men or you getting harmed seemed to take control of his thoughts. The idea that he cared enough for you that he placed you in the same category of priority as his men had your mind running astray.

“He has to die,” he grunted out firmly. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation or doubt in his tone. “One way or another, I’m goin’ to kill that fuckin’ beast. For Ghost, and for you.”

Your breath hitched at the pure determination he exuded, the way his fists clenched on the table and jaw tightened until it looked painfully taut. Wide-eyed, you said nothing outwardly, though your mind was a gamble.

He was willing to kill for you. He was willing to die for you.

You shouldn’t be thinking that way. It was crude even being flattered by the prospect of it, yet your heart and mind were both in unity with how you were growing increasingly flustered.

When Price’s gaze met yours, and the hardness immediately softened and was replaced with a distant tenderness filled with words unsaid, you weren’t sure how much longer your thoughts could be suppressed.

“I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill him, dove,” he said softly, a stark contrast to the venomous words being spoken.

Your fingernails dug into your palms, fists growing clammy and restless by your sides.

“I understand,” you whispered with a curt nod.

Price’s eyes flickered over your features, the silence growing between you two. His hand furled and unfurled on the table, fighting with itself to not reach out and touch you.

“You look tired,” he murmured, tearing his gaze away. “You should go get some rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut when you realized. Price seemed to be in just as much a whirl of confused emotions as you. He was giving you an out, while also expressing his desire to be alone.

You could respect that. After all, you truly were tired, given your earlier sleep was interrupted by the cruel, cold hands of death knocking at your doorstep.

“Alright,” you agreed softly. “You should rest as well, Captain. You wear yourself out too much.”

Price looked up at you in surprise, expression furrowing. He bristled, slumping with a quiet chuckle under his breath. Shaking his head to himself, he spoke. “I have never been the one told to rest. It is usually me doin’ the biddin’.”

You smiled, watching his every movement as he sat in his chair, melting into it. “Perhaps you need to hear it more often,” you reckoned in amusement.

Price smiled back, and you did your damn hardest to ignore the low ache it gave you in your chest. “Perhaps I do,” he hummed. “Go on and rest, dove. We will talk in the mornin’.”

You nodded briefly, shooting him a farewell before retreating out of his quarters and into the night. The Captain watched as you left, eyes lingering on the door even after your absence, before forcing himself to bed, only because you told him to.

Strange girl, he thought to himself, yet his heart thought otherwise.

Upon entering your shared quarters, you nearly flung up in surprise to see Soap meddling about. Your clothes were spread out on his bed, and the miniature telescope you bought for Gaz was in his hands, held up to his eye as he peered through it curiously.

“What are you doing?” you asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed in on the telescope.

Soap startled, dropping the telescope from his eye and clenching it between his hand. “Dove!” he exclaimed. “Give a man a warnin’, will ye?”

You mumbled an apology, stepping towards the bed and eyeing your clothes. “Why are you going through my things?”

“Ach, I’m a nosy lad. Ye can’t buy all these things and not expect me to go through ‘em,” he tsked, and at your side-eyed glare, he stammered. “Don’t look at me like that. Makes me nervous.”

You let out a heavy sigh, seating yourself on the edge of the bed. You carefully grasped one of the flowy dresses you bought for yourself, thumbs running over the fabric. Its quality was rich, much richer than you were used to, and it felt soft under your touch.

“It’s pretty,” Soap hummed. “Didn’t expect ye to be into dresses like that.”

“I never had the opportunity or funds,” you explained, staring down at the dress. “Gaz was very gracious with gifting me the money.”

Soap cocked his head, looking between the dress and you. “That lad never buys me anythin’,” he huffed, taking a seat next to you. The telescope sat carefully in his lap. “And here he is, buyin’ ye a whole store.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him. You briefly recalled Ghost seeming just as confused by the generosity. “Is this not common?”

Soap snorted, shaking his head. “Nah. Gaz is a stickler with his money. Doesn’t like to spend it unless necessary.” He sniffed, peering down at the fabric in your lap. “He clearly didn’t care to give ye some, though.”

You were surprised, to say the least. Gaz didn’t seem the type to be cautious with his spendings, and to learn that he gave you money despite that left you just as confused.

He had no reason to do so. He was simply being generous. But now, knowing it wasn’t just something he did casually, it left you wondering.

“Strange,” you muttered to yourself. Soap gave a hum of agreement.

“What’s this, by the way?” he asked, lifting the telescope. He inspected it, turning it in his hand. “Ye don’t seem the type to use it.”

You watched as he fiddled with it, growing a sense of protectiveness. You were scared he’d break it, or worse, deem it unusable.

“Gaz’s one request was to bring him back a gift,” you explained. “I know he likes to sit and watch the sky at night when it is quiet and peaceful. I got him a telescope to make the experience better.”

Soap’s eyebrows raised and he placed the scope to his eye, frowning. “I don’t think it works, dove.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It does not work well indoors, Soap. It is meant for distance.”

“Ah.”

He pulled it away, smoothing a thumb over the gold detailing. As if sensing your faint distress, he turned to you, holding it out. “Ye gonna give it to him?”

You took it graciously, cupping it in your palm. “Do you know where he is?”

Soap nodded, giving you a toothy smile. “North end of the deck. That’s his favorite spot.”

You noted that in your mind. Gaz was always a lonely wanderer, so it came as no surprise that he was on the opposite end of the ship, soaking in the quiet. That was something the two of you had in common.

You couldn’t help but wonder. “Do you think he will like it?” you asked, uncertain.

You felt silly, stressing yourself over whether Gaz will appreciate your gift. A gift was all it was, one he specifically told you to surprise him with, yet you found your stomach in knots.

Soap lifted a hand, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. When you looked at him, he was smiling softly, a hint of amusement glistening in his eyes.

“He’ll love it,” he assured kindly, and he gave you no reason to think otherwise. “Though, I also like gifts.”

You felt your lips curl up involuntarily and you laughed lightly, something Soap reflected. “There is no need to be envious, Soap,” you jested, standing from the bed. “It is but a one time thing.”

Soap beamed, eyes following you as you stood. “Just a mental note for the future,” he replied back cooly.

You shook your head, making your way towards the door with the telescope in your grasp. You felt Soap watching you, and when you turned, you stilled when he seemed to be in thought so quickly.

“I really do think the dresses are pretty, by the way,” he murmured, voice much quieter. “They… suit ye.”

Your gaze flickered over to the dresses muddled behind him before returning to him. “Thank you,” you replied warmly. “I’ll be sure to try them on tomorrow.”

Soap smiled softly, giving you a nod. You returned the favor, turning back around to leave the quarters, beginning your mission to find the mysterious pirate who loved to vanish in the night.

Your nerves grew the closer you got to the North end of the ship, and you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t as if Gaz were a danger nor a stranger, yet your heart pounded aggressively against your rib cage with every step you took.

The telescope felt infinitely heavier in your hand, and you repeatedly swiped your thumbs over the gold detailing to rid it of any grimy fingerprints and ensure it looked good as new.

Gaz was exactly where Soap said he’d be, and you instantly paused your walking, staring at his back. His gaze was towards the sky, shoulders relaxed and at ease. One knee pulled towards him while the other dangled loosely over the edge.

“Gaz?” you called out quietly as not to startle him.

Gaz’s head tilted back to look at you, and a smile graced his lips. “Hey, dove. Y’alright?”

You stepped closer until you were standing by his side, peering down at the dark abyss the ocean offered below. It was black, your eyes struggling to adjust to the waves that lapped at the ship.

“Mm. Soap told me I could find you here.”

Gaz studied you, curious. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, before his gaze dropped down to your furled hand that held the telescope.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, before Gaz gestured for you to sit beside him. You complied, letting your legs dangle with his one over the edge, knee brushing his.

“What’s that?” he questioned in faint amusement, nodding towards the telescope.

Gosh, you didn’t know why you felt so unnerved. Perhaps it was due to this being the first time you were gifting somebody something special. You feared he wouldn’t like it, and your heart kept lurching out of your chest as if it were running a marathon.

“Your gift,” you answered, slowly reaching the telescope out. He took it carefully, immediately observing the intricate detailing. “I know you like coming out at night, so I thought it may help you see the sky better.”

Your hands furled into fists on your thighs. You kept your gaze on the sea, reveling in the breeze that came with.

Why wasn’t he saying anything?

It had knots growing in your throat that you desperately tried to swallow down.

You felt foolish and silly. The entire duration of your stay on the ship, you held your ground and stalked your claim. You remained stubborn and fearless for as much as your fragile heart could possibly take, yet all it took for your resolve to crumble was a sickening anxiety over whether or not Gaz liked his gift.

It felt like you were a little girl again, fighting for approval from the other kids in the village. Wondering why you had to be different, why they couldn’t be friendly towards you.

You felt so stupid—

“Hm. You win,” he hummed, smiling faintly to himself.

You whipped your head up to look at him. The scope was pressed to his eye as he gazed up at the stars, admiring them through a new lens.

“What?” you breathed, confused.

“Our negotiation,” he recalled, pulling the scope away to glance at you. “You win.”

You stared at him dumbly, realization creeping in. If he didn’t like your gift, you were to owe him the money back for the clothes. If he did, then you were home free.

“You like it?” you asked, unsure. You thought he was messing with you. He was secretly more of a tease than Soap, and you knew it just from the day of the negotiation alone.

“Oh, yeah. This thing is a real dime,” he assured, inspecting the telescope in his hand. “You know me better than I thought. Lucky you.”

You watched as he looked into the scope again, his other eye squinting to focus. You shifted your gaze to join him in looking up while your stomach twisted and rolled in shot nerves.

“It’s a shame I lost, but I can’t deny that this is somethin’ I would’ve killed to have had I thought of it. You did well, dove,” he praised and you felt your heart leap.

Gaz turned to you before holding out the scope. You raised your eyebrows, shaking your head and throwing your hands up in protest. “No, it’s for you—”

“Look through it, dove,” he sighed. “Give it a shot.”

You paused, glancing down at the scope. You hesitantly took it, giving Gaz a quick look before lifting the scope to your eye.

The sky was pretty before, but now, it was breathtaking to look at. You didn’t appreciate it enough before.

Through the lens, the stars twinkled brightly, waving hello. They were much easier to see, and much more beautiful up close.

You could finally understand why Gaz enjoyed his time out here. It was as if lying under a blanket of warmth, shielded away from the troubles day brought and invited into a night of oasis.

“Beautiful,” Gaz breathed out. “Am I right?”

You nodded, lost in the shining lights. It truly was, and you felt calmer than ever since your first night aboard. In the night sky, there was no Graves, nor danger waiting for you. Just blissful serenity.

You reluctantly pulled the scope away, handing it back to Gaz. He was already looking at you, and when you met eyes, he grinned, taking the scope.

“It’s a nice gift, birdie,” he said calmly. “No need to beat yourself up about it. I could feel you gettin’ all nagged up before you even arrived.”

He knew you were there? Embarrassment flooded your body and you grumbled in feigned annoyance, looking away. He snickered to himself, resuming his time with the scope.

The air filled with a light silence, the only sound being the crashing waves that seemed to further the peace. It was an escape from the hands of life, and you understood enough to see Gaz in a new life.

He was a pirate, through and through, but that human side of him stilled longed for a simple life. You couldn’t help but think of the last time the two of you spoke beneath a blanketed sky, when he had confessed he was a prince, yet turned to a life of crime.

“What was your life like before?” you couldn’t help but ask. “Before you were a pirate, I mean. When you were a… prince.”

Gaz made a noise under his breath, one of thought, and he slowly removed the scope, letting his hand fall into his lap.

“I had everythin’ I could ever want,” he started slowly. He made no efforts to look at you, lost in his own world.

“Then why’d you leave?” you pushed.

Gaz glanced at you from the corner of his eye before sighing through his nose. “Everythin’ can still mean nothin’,” he explained. “There was an arranged marriage between a princess from a neighboring country and I. When I flat out refused, it caused tension.”

Gaz twiddled with the telescope absentmindedly, his focus stuck on the stars. You wondered if he was embarrassed or ashamed.

“I didn’t want a lifetime of dead romance between a woman I did not want. I wanted freedom and individuality,” he continued, growing solemn by the second. You could feel the passion in his words.

“Did you run away, then?” you asked, curious. “You left the kingdom?”

Gaz snorted through his nose, though it was more bitter than amused. “I fled like a coward,” he corrected sharply. “War broke out the moment I left. Blood and ash was the only thing left of my home.”

You gawked in surprise, feeling a tightness in your chest. It seemed all too familiar, in which your home was destined with the same fate. By none other than him, too. It was dramatic irony.

“Your family?” you whispered, and he shrugged.

“Dead, surely.” His fiddling with the telescope grew more consistent. “I wouldn’t know.”

You frowned, turning away from him when he began to seem uncomfortable. Whether it was with your questions or simply his past, you weren’t sure, but you hated ruining a decent moment. They were rare as is.

“I apologize,” you murmured lowly. Gaz perked up, throwing you a weary look.

“Hm?” He sat up straighter, shifting so his body faced towards you. “Why are you apologizin’?”

“I made things uncomfortable for you,” you replied, deflated. “It is a difficult topic, I understand. So, I apologize.”

Gaz went quiet, staring at you with eyes that felt like they’d pierce through your soul. Then, he smiled, tilting his head to the side and eyeing you down. “That is to nobody’s fault but my own,” he assured kindly. “You lost your home just as much as I. I am not uncomfortable talkin’ with you.”

You lifted your head up enough to side eye him, testing the waters. He didn’t appear upset, especially not with you, to your surprise. You’re used to Price having an easy temper to set off, yet Gaz acted as if no anguish had been spoken.

You felt relieved.

“I am glad,” you commented stiffly, awkwardly. “I do not feel uncomfortable talking to you as well.”

Gaz released a lovely laugh that filled the air, easing the previous tension you’d been building on your own. “I’m glad myself, birdie,” he retorted easily. “I appreciate the gift.”

The gift sat in his palm, no longer being fiddled and moved at an anxious rate. It sat calmly, his grip light on it, as if he was now worried about holding it too tightly and damaging it.

“Soap told me you do not normally offer luxuries to them, nor yourself,” you recalled. “Was I a special case?”

Gaz hummed in thought, a smile gracing his radiant features. You had to stifle your own beating heart and sweaty palms. “I feel bad for you,” he confessed without a moment’s hesitation. “I figured an act of kindness could go a long way with you. It seems it has.”

He shook the telescope teasingly before letting it rest back on his lap. You smiled small, happy to know he truly enjoyed the gift and not simply out of pity.

“You do not have to feel bad for me,” you assured. “I will be quite alright.”

“Will you?”

You cocked your head in question.

“It is a lot to take on for a bird like yourself. You should be out there, livin’ how you want. Now stuck on here with us,” Gaz said. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the slight concern.

“I could say the same for you, could I not?” you replied with a shrug. “You also seem to suffer similar fate.”

Gaz quirked his eyebrows, pursing his lips. He mulled over your words, giving them a decent thought. Truthfully, he knew you were correct. Perhaps that’s why he liked you.

“You win again, dove,” he replied softly, a warm smile on his face.

You smiled back, unable to hold back the sudden burst of feeling that coursed through your veins. Gaz made you feel heard, and under the concept of moonlight and stars, it made everything feel much more of a rush.

Your eyes locking on to one another’s made you nervous, even more so that he did it so shamelessly. It seemed as if the two of you got lost in time, the world around you freezing. The sound of waves faded away, the rocking of the boat seizing to a halt.

“Thank you for the telescope,” Gaz thanked, voice soft as ever. You nearly missed it.

You fumbled for words, wanting to look away but unable to. “It is nothing,” you murmured, fisting the fabric of the old night shirt you wore and had yet to discard.

Your daze seemed to falter momentarily when you felt a finger graze your cheek, the touch gentle as it mapped out your skin. Gaz seemed just as entranced as you, and in that moment, you grew fearful.

Fearful of what?

You couldn’t figure it out.

The distance between the two of you seemed closer than ever, and you don’t recall either of you moving. The realization made you jolt, forcefully tearing your eyes away and leaning back.

“I am glad you like your gift,” you muttered, flustered. You made quick work to stand on your feet, stumbling in the process. “I should rest. Enjoy your night, Gaz.”

You didn’t stick around to see the surprised look on Gaz’s face, nor how it morphed into crestfallen. You left as quickly as you could, making haste to the shared quarters so you could lock yourself in, pray to the Gods you fell asleep before he returned, and that Soap wasn’t awake to burden you with any questions.

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 55

Purple Heart (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

August 7, 1782

My dear country, the United States of America,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and I hope the negotiations with your father are going well. I look forward to seeing the results of your efforts, and I hope that you are remembering to take the time for yourself and to help build relationships with more than just your father.

Things in your land have been peaceful since you have traveled to France, and I am confident that they will stay that way. The British have retreated from the Southern cities and are drawing back, and there has been little fighting. It seems certain now that both sides are waiting for the results of the treaty, and that we all know the war is coming to an end.

Additionally, in more recent news, General Washington has established some new military badges earlier today and is prepared to begin awarding them to men who deserve them. I'm sure you know this by now, with all your politics and discussions, but everyone here is certain of your victory and ascension. General Washington also wants to award you a medal as well, although I am not sure if you will accept the medal, as I know your role in the war was just you doing your duty as our nation, but he sees it as a way to show straight within the country and show that you served an important role within the country's war of independence.

These medals are not going to be given to higher-ranking soldiers, however, but to regular soldiers who fought bravely in the war. As General Washington had explained, "the road to glory in a patriot army and a free country is thus open to all." These medals are not to repeat the pomp of the kingdoms, but to honor the people in our new nation who fought for you and your life as a country. All soldiers will be eligible for military honors.

There are three badges. Two are Honorary Badges of Distinction, and the third is a Badge of Military Merit.

The badge of distinction is to be given to veteran non-commissioned officers and soldiers who have served more than three years with bravery, fidelity, and good conduct. If a recipient has served more than six years, they will receive two badges, as the badge is a narrow piece of angular white cloth that will be fixed to the left arm on the uniform.

The Badge of Military Merit is for those who have performed a meritorious action in combat, as a way to reward virtuous ambition. This badge appears as a purple heart made of cloth or silk, with an edge of narrow lace or binding, worn over the left breast. This is the badge that General Washington believes you deserve, as your role makes you a commissioned officer.

I know that it is perhaps unconventional to create and reward military badges without the approval of the nation that is rewarding them, but General Washington has assured me that you would approve of it. He sends his fondest regards and wishes you the best of luck.

Your obedient servant and aide-de-camp,

Lucas Miller

• ───────────────── •

September 26, 1782

There were many things that marked a country as a country. Recognition was only a piece of the puzzle, albeit the most important piece.

United States knew that well. Even when he had been a colony, he had been witness to the pomp and tradition of his father's country—been a part of those traditions and ceremonies, serving loyally in the role that he had been made for.

But his father's traditions could no longer be his. And another important thing that sets a country apart is its holidays and traditions, its ceremonies and its honors.

United States already knew that the day of his independence was going to be a holiday, as they had already been celebrating it, and he had already had to refute several claims that July 4 was now his birthday.

But…military honors were another important aspect of being a country, especially when one was established through a war. And now…United States had medals to give to the men that had served him, who had protected and fought for him.

"Isn't that exciting? It's not only a sign of our independence, but another way to legitimize and honor the service of our soldiers, especially since they have been called rebels by most other nations. Now they will have to be recognized as soldiers, even if they aren't officers. It's amazing!" Massachusetts said, excitement in his voice. United States' children had been so much happier since they had arrived in France to begin the discussions of peace terms.

It was nice.

"Will you accept their offer to take the Military Merit medal?" James asked. United States frowned.

"I don't know. It doesn't feel right, it just feels like what Father did—decorating himself in badges and medals and hiding all…all the other things underneath a fancy façade. I don't…I didn't earn it the way my people have. They deserve to have the medals, not me," United States said, before signing, setting the letter on the table, "I don't want to be a fancy kingdom. I want to be me."

"You're still you if you're honored for being able to fight against your father," James said. Virginia made a noise of agreement.

"Especially since you violated your place in the world, the role you had been made for. You—we were meant to be obedient little things, serving Grandfather's whims. And…we're not anymore. That's…you're a country, I'm a country in a confederation, and now we have the ability to plot out our own course," Virginia said. "I feel that's pretty worthy of honor."

"Maybe," United States said before standing up and preparing for the day's negotiations, grateful that his children and brother were willing to act as counsel for his silly worries. "Although I would prefer you all got one. You have contributed so much to the fight, and I wouldn't have been able to do half of what they think I did, because it was you all."

And there lay the main problem.

United States would always receive the credit for what they did. No one would ever be able to know them the way he did.

And that made United States unfathomably sad.

"Maybe you can think on it more," Massachusetts offered. United States let out a small laugh.

"I definitely am."

[selisverse]

Nocturne

Warnings : graphic violence, ship destruction, death (minor characters), capture, psychological tension, threat, non-sexual physical contact (reader discomfort)

A/n : Welcome aboard the Nocturne. Pirates, tension, hostage dynamics, and a captain who's way too calm to be safe. If you're into toxic slow burns, handcuffs, and emotionally questionable situations — you're exactly where you need to be.

⚠️ Dark content, power imbalance, attraction that stings where it shouldn’t. Consider yourselves warned.

And yes, English isn’t my first language — be gentle, or I’ll toss you straight into Caleb’s arms without a second thought. 😌

Your reblogs, your screams, your ALL-CAPS tags = pure fuel. Taglist is open, treasure chest unlocked.

Summary : pirate!caleb × diplomatic!reader

You were meant to bring peace. He came to burn everything down.

A ghost ship with black sails. A captain with violet eyes. No survivors.

You were sent to make peace. Now you’re locked in his quarters — alive, for reasons he won’t explain.

He looks at you like he wants to destroy you. Or keep you. Maybe both.

You hate him. You can’t stop thinking about him. And the sea shows no mercy.

WC : 4.5k

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

☸︎⸻ 𝒩𝑜𝒸𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒 ⸻☸︎

Chapter 1 - Under the Black Flag

The salty wind lashes your cheeks. You stand at the prow, facing the vastness of the sea. Above you, the royal banner snaps in the breeze, a restless symbol of a power you carry without fully understanding it. Ahead, the ocean stretches wide and wild beneath a sky already painted with the dark hues of an emerging dusk.

You take a slow breath, trying to calm the quick beat of your heart. The taste of salt clings to your lips. The air is thick with damp wood and worn ropes—a brutal reminder that you're far from the soft world of palaces, audience halls, and gilded libraries. Here, there is only the sea, raw and untamable, humming its deep, relentless song.

You didn’t choose this mission, but you accepted it. Diplomatic emissary, messenger of peace between a restless kingdom and tense annexed lands—you bear a title heavier than it seems. And you carry a name: the Admiral’s. Not your father by blood, but the man who found you, a war-orphaned child from a ruined village, and raised you in the shadow of flags and oaths.

He gave you shelter, education, a future. In return, you owe him your loyalty, your obedience, and the role he shaped for you—whether you wanted it or not. Sometimes you wonder: when he looks at you, does he see the girl he saved, or the tool he forged?

You remember the first time you saw the sea. You were six, wrapped in borrowed cloth, still blinking in the sunlight after days spent in a cellar. The Admiral had taken you to the docks—said nothing, just let you look at the horizon. You had cried, hoping for a hand, a word. He had remained there, silent, unmoving, as if already watching you through the eyes of a commander.

The sea has never been yours. You weren’t born to it, and it has never offered you comfort. It still humbles you, with its dark and endless reach. Even now, after several days aboard this ship, the swaying still unsettles you. You walk these planks as a stranger, tolerated but never at home.

You cross your arms against yourself, watching the light slip over the water like molten gold. Beautiful but unstable, ready to dissolve with the slightest wave. In the distance, where sea and sky blur into a single indistinct line, clouds gather. You wonder if a storm is coming, or if it’s just your imagination—a reflection of your own unease painted on the horizon.

A murmur dies as you pass. A glance held too long. You can't tell if it's respect or suspicion. You don't want to know. You pass a young sailor—a boy more fragile than the blade he polishes. He looks up as you approach, his gaze a mix of deference and wariness.

"Evening, my Lady," he says, more out of duty than warmth. He doesn’t bow. His gaze slides over your uniform, then away. He sees you, but he doesn’t welcome you.

You offer a nod, keeping your posture composed. Here, there is no room for hesitation. No space for the weight you carry in silence.

In your cabin, letters await you. Missives from the court, instructions wrapped in elegant calligraphy and even finer expectations. You’ve read them twice already. You could recite them if asked. You know the names of every chieftain you’re meant to meet, every treaty clause you’re meant to propose. And yet, it all feels fragile. Ink on parchment, promises on paper, meant to survive in a world carved by wind and steel.

Your gaze returns to the sea. Somewhere out there, beyond your reach, lies a future forged by your actions. And perhaps, just perhaps, by your choices.

The sound of footsteps pulls you from your thoughts.

"Miss."

The voice is low, polite. You turn slowly to face the captain—an older man, weathered by the sea, his jaw tight, his eyes heavy with concern he does not try to hide.

"We'll reach the archipelago before dawn."

You nod quietly. He inclines his head slightly and walks away, his boots echoing softly across the deck. You draw another breath, the air sharp with salt and razor-edged promises. You swallow the weight in your throat. This is no longer the time for fear.

There is no room for doubt. Not tonight.

This is your mission. This is your name. This is your inheritance.

And you will carry it across the waters, whatever the cost.

☸︎⸻ 𝒩𝑜𝒸𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒 ⸻☸︎

Night has fallen, cloaking the ship in a shroud of shadows and whispers. Beneath a sky littered with stars, the deck hums with quiet activity. You walk slowly, each step measured, your gaze drifting toward the distant horizon as if searching for something to hold onto. Around you, sailors move with practiced ease—checking ropes, adjusting sails, their calloused hands never still. But it’s in the pauses, the low voices between tasks, that you hear what truly matters.

"They say he leaves only wreckage behind," murmurs a young deckhand, eyes wide, caught between fear and fascination.

"Not a single survivor," adds another, his voice barely louder than the wind.

"That captain. Caleb… they say he’s a demon," whispers a third, a shiver laced in his words.

You pause, your heart skipping a beat. You listen, pretending to look away, your fingers brushing the cold rail. An old sailor, his beard stiff with salt and his hands cracked with age, sits on a crate. He spits into the dark sea and lifts his gaze. "I saw it once—the Nocturne. Not up close, no. But close enough. Black sails. Dead silence. The water just… parted for it. And when it passed, nothing was left. Only broken boards and ghosts."

You inhale, trying to calm the chill crawling up your spine. Just stories… murmurs to chase away the dark, you tell yourself, not quite believing it. Yet something in their voices, in the flicker of their eyes, unsettles you more than you’re willing to admit.

Why has your father—the admiral, the meticulous strategist, the man who misses nothing—never spoken of this threat? Why the silence, as if this captain and his ship existed only on the margins, between official reports and battle plans?

You pace the deck, your steps muffled on the damp planks. The air feels heavier here, thick with moisture and a tense silence. You sense an undercurrent in the exchanged glances, as if the men aboard carry more than the weight of the wind. And the conversation drifts into deeper, darker waters.

"Ever been to Orven Bay?" says one sailor, his voice low and bitter. "Used to be fish markets and songs. Now it’s barricades and curfews. A curfew in a fishing village—can you believe that?"

"They’re afraid," another murmurs. "Afraid the annexed people might rise up."

"And wouldn’t you?" another voice snaps. "After what we’ve done to them?"

You slow your steps, heart heavy. The words hit harder than they should. You’re supposed to bring peace, to ease tensions. Yet here, anger isn’t hidden—not even beneath the cover of night. It flows like an undercurrent, silent but relentless.

"They took our homes," a younger voice protests, defensive. "My brother died defending those territories. They’re ours now."

A bitter silence follows.

"No one belongs to anyone," the old sailor says at last. "That’s what we forgot. And the Nocturne? Some say it just came to remind us."

You grip the railing tighter, your knuckles whitening. You’re no stranger to complexity, nor to the compromises diplomacy demands. But this raw fracture, this low-burning tension that coils in every word—it fills you, not as a threat, but as an old fatigue, a weariness born of too many swallowed silences.

The ship groans as it rides a mild swell, the lantern light swaying across the deck. Behind you, the bell tolls softly, marking the late hour. Yet no one sleeps. Conversations continue in small clusters, voices quieter but no less intense.

A group near the helm passes around a flask, their laughter sharp, forced. You catch fragments:

"They say the Nocturne’s captain used to be navy—one of ours."

You glance away briefly. The air smells of hot tar and salt-worn wood. A laugh escapes—dry, joyless, like a forgotten reflex.

"Turned pirate? Why?"

"Betrayed, maybe. Or he saw too much. You see what we do, the orders we carry out… it changes a man. »

“And now he kills without mercy?”

“Maybe he kills with purpose.”

You move away from the group, unsettled. This isn’t the kind of talk they’d dare share in daylight—not with you present. But beneath the shroud of stars, the truth seeps out—ugly, raw, undeniable.

You pass a young sailor with pale hair and sunken cheeks, sitting cross-legged near the stairs, sharpening a dagger with care. He looks up at you, somewhere between suspicion and curiosity.

“Do you believe in monsters, miss?” he asks.

You hesitate, uncertain.

“We do,” he says, without waiting for your answer. “Not the kind with fangs or claws. The kind that wear uniforms. The ones who sit behind polished tables and sign orders like death warrants.”

You continue walking, his words still echoing in your mind.

Near the bow, the night feels colder. The wind has shifted, bringing with it a salty bite… and something else: anticipation. You raise your eyes. Clouds are gathering, veiling the stars.

You place your hands on the railing again, staring at the black waves. You wonder what your father would say if he heard what you’ve just heard. Would he defend the orders? Justify the losses? Remind you of your duty? Of the bigger picture?

You already hear his voice. Calm. Cold. Your name is his. And a name, he says, must be protected—above all, even at the cost of silence. But if silence turns to poison, what’s left to protect?

The hush deepens… then footsteps. A throat clears. You don’t move.

“You know what they say? That the captain of the Nocturne only takes prisoners when he has a message to send,” someone says. “Otherwise, he sinks the ships—every soul aboard.”

“And what kind of message do you think he’s sending?”

“Revenge. Revolution. Maybe just a warning.”

The footsteps fade. You close your eyes.

Your mission is clear. Deliver conditions written by others. Extend hands no one wants to take. Rekindle a trust drowned long ago. But these men—they don’t want unity. They want someone to blame. And some of them, you feel it, would welcome the flames if it meant watching the old structures burn.

A sudden gust rips through the sails, snapping them taut. Sailors shout, rushing to adjust the rigging. Instinctively, you step back—your coat whipping in the wind.

Lightning splits the horizon—distant, silent. A warning. Something’s wrong. You feel it. In the air, in the deck’s uneasy groan, in the glances that lift without a word.

Then, as quickly as it came, silence returns. Heavier.

“Starboard… black sails.”

The words are quiet, but they strike the ship like a cannon blast.

You spin around, your heart lodged in your throat. The lookout is pointing, his face pale beneath the moonlight. Silence falls across the deck. One by one, heads turn.

Out there, a shape moves forward—fluid, black as oil. Its low silhouette seems carved to slip beneath the surface, a predator crouched in shadow. At its prow, barely visible, stands a worn wooden figurehead—a nameless beast, mouth open in a frozen snarl. It doesn’t cut through the water—it devours it. No splashing, no breath, not even the cry of gulls: only a silence so thick it seems to swallow the wind itself. And its sails—black as forgetting—freeze the world around you.

Your breath halts. No scream, no flight—only the pounding in your chest, so loud it drowns out the wind.

You don’t know if it’s fear… or something older. Something instinctive. A call you’ve never been able to name.

☸︎⸻ 𝒩𝑜𝒸𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒 ⸻☸︎

The scream tears through the night, sharp and brutal, like a mast snapping in a storm. You jerk your head up, breath caught, heart pounding out of control. There—far across the black water—a shadow cuts through the waves, gliding like a ghost. The Nocturne. Its black sails, swollen with a silent wind, slice across the horizon, moving without a sound, as if the ocean itself is holding its breath.

Lanterns swing wildly, casting flashes of gold and shadow over faces you barely recognize. Hands clench, blades hiss from their sheaths — and your breath catches again, as if the chaos around you is pressing down on your chest. 

"To your posts!" shouts the first mate, voice ragged with fear. "Arm the cannons, damn it!" 

An old sailor spits on the deck: "They’re coming down on us like vultures."

Orders fly through the air, boots thunder against the planks, chains clatter, and above it all cracks the sharp snap of sails lashing the wind. A bell rings out suddenly—shrill, three times—the signal of an imminent boarding. A sound that slices through the air like a knife and pierces straight through your bones.

You should shout a command, give an order, honor your father. But nothing comes. Just that cold, old weight lodged in your throat. You stand there, an idle spectator to a well-oiled machine spiraling out of your control. The deck is slick beneath your feet, soaked in spray and fear.

Salt burns your lips... as if your body understands what’s coming before your mind can catch up. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this — this nameless fear, this gut-deep certainty that something is about to be torn from you. You freeze, trapped in a single breath, eyes locked on that unreal silhouette.

Then instinct crashes back. Violent. Your legs give out, tear free from the deck before you even know what’s happening. Your heart pounds—again and again—like it’s trying to escape your chest. You run—or think you do—but your movements blur, unreal. The night thickens, closes in, clings to your skin. It hums with a danger you can’t see, but every part of you screams to flee. Everything becomes too fast. Too loud. Too late. And in that spiral, one truth punches the air from your lungs: nothing will ever be the same again.

☸︎⸻ 𝒩𝑜𝒸𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒 ⸻☸︎

The impact is brutal. The ship shudders beneath your feet, a sharp crack ripping through the air as grappling hooks sink into the wood. You stagger, catching yourself just in time on the railing. Around you, the planks groan, some splintering under the force of the collision, flinging splinters like a rain of needles.

And then—they appear.

The pirates. Fearless, faces exposed. Some scream with savage joy, others advance in silence, focused, methodical—more like trained soldiers than bloodthirsty brutes. Their howls burst into the night, mingling with the clash of steel and the alarmed clamor. You want to move, to flee, to find cover, but the chaos swallows you whole. Bodies already fall—silhouettes collapsing with muffled cries, to the sound of blades piercing flesh.

"Don’t stay there!" the captain’s voice cuts through the din, commanding, almost pleading. You turn your head, meet his gaze for a second before he disappears into the melee. But your legs won’t move. They feel rooted to the deck, as if the ship itself has nailed you in place.

Your breath comes short, too short. The acrid smell of gunpowder stings your nose, the metallic taste of blood already thick in the air. You want to retreat, vanish into the shadows, but suddenly a hand clamps down on your arm—strong, unrelenting. You struggle, heart pounding wildly, but the man—a pirate, broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed—pins you against the railing with chilling precision. His hard chest presses into your back, his breath burns hot against your neck. His hands glide briefly over your hips before tightening, locking you in place. You fight, you protest. His grip tightens. A predatory smile creeps across his lips. He savors the contact. The shiver you can’t suppress. His fingers tighten possessively around your throat, as if he wants to leave an invisible mark, as if he's already savoring the idea of returning for you. His gaze slides over you, slow, hungry, and he murmurs something—a guttural, harsh word you don't understand. But you know he's naming you, before vanishing again into the fight.

You stumble back, but your legs feel numb. You cling to the railing as if it might keep you from sinking. Every breath is shallow, as if even the air refuses to reach you. The sounds of battle swell around you—the clash of blades, the screams of the wounded, the desperate orders of officers trying to rally their men. But their voices drown in a maelstrom of sabers and clamor, a din of iron and fire that consumes every word.

And then you understand. You’re not an enemy. You’re not a fighter. You’re a prize. An exception on this battlefield.

Your heart pounds, dull and frantic. Everything around you is too fast, too loud. Some pirates laugh, almost euphoric, as the turmoil, shouts, clashing swords, and stomping boots shake the ship.

Someone yanks you violently backward, nearly throwing you to the ground. You recognize one of your own—a young sailor you’ve passed a thousand times on deck, always the first to salute, always adjusting the rigging with care. His face is tight with fear, but his blade is already raised. He steps in front of you without hesitation, shielding you with his body.

"Get out of here!" he spits, just before a blade runs him through. He stumbles, eyes wide, blood spilling from his mouth. He collapses at your feet, dropped like a broken puppet. You flinch, the sound of his body hitting the deck louder than thunder in your ears. You drop beside him, your hands trembling as you try to press against the wound, to do something—anything. But the blood flows too fast. His eyes are already fading. You press harder. Again. The bleeding doesn’t stop. His gaze is already drifting, far away. You whisper his name—or maybe it’s just a breath. And only then does the raw horror of the scene freeze you. The wood beneath your boots turns slick, and for a moment, you think the sea itself is rising to meet you.

The tumult wraps around you, dizzying. The stench of powder, flashes of steel, cries and chaos blend until you lose your footing. Your senses blur—screams turn to echoes, the lights above twist into strange halos. You stare at your hands, covered in the blood of your own, praying to stay calm, stay clear, survive. A dull rage rises in you, hot and senseless. You hear your adoptive father's voice—his repeated orders, his speeches about duty. Everything is crumbling, and yet something inside you still wants to hold on. Just hold on. Too much noise. Too much blood. Too many eyes. You want to flee. Understand. Breathe. Just one second.

Voices rise nearby—gruff, accented, filled with sharp commands. You don’t understand the words, but the tone is unmistakable: victory. The pirates are winning. This isn’t panic. It’s victory, executed with cold precision.

One of your comrades rushes past, a trembling blade in hand. He doesn’t make it three steps before a blow strikes him down. You hear the sickening crack of steel meeting bone. You swallow your scream.

A cannon explodes behind you. The entire ship lurches. Splinters rain like hail, and you cover your head on instinct. Something burns—tar, maybe the reserves. A rancid heat claws at your throat.

And still, through it all, you feel his gaze. The pirate who marked you with his hands, with his eyes. You don’t see him, but you know he’s watching. Somewhere in the chaos, he’s tracking your every move.

You push yourself upright, trembling. You refuse to break. You scan the deck for a weapon, anything, but all you see are blades in the hands of men who wouldn’t hesitate to gut you. Your fists clench. You’re not useless. You’re not. You’re no warrior. But you have a mind. Eyes. You’re already searching for a weakness. This isn’t just about surviving anymore. It’s about responding. Striking back. Somehow.

You back away, staggering toward the quarterdeck, the soot-blackened rail in your sights. But there’s no escape. The sea is everywhere. And the Nocturne is already securing its lines, pulling your ship into its jaws.

In the heart of this storm, you know: the night has changed its face. And it will never let you go.

☸︎⸻ 𝒩𝑜𝒸𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒 ⸻☸︎

When the last sailor falls to his knees, disarmed, a heavy silence settles over the deck. The screams, the clashes—everything seems frozen, as if the sea itself were holding its breath. And then, he appears.

The captain of the Nocturne.

His boots echo on the wood—slow, measured, filled with icy confidence. Not the savage chaos of a bloodthirsty pirate—no, a presence controlled, almost elegant. He walks through the carnage like an amused spectator, each step falling like a promise. Around him, men scream, drag the wounded, loot. He moves through the disaster untouched. His coat brushes the torn sails strewn across the deck, the long silhouette of a predator calmly observing the wreckage. His purple gaze sweeps over the survivors—cold, methodical—and when it finally meets yours, the world narrows until nothing remains but this suspended moment between you.

He approaches, a faint smile curling at his lips, quiet irony in his eyes. His eyes pause on your clothes—on the royal brooch pinned to your bodice. The piece is finely crafted: a deep blue emblem studded with seven stars, one for each province of the kingdom. A silver sword pierces it from top to bottom—both symbol and fastening pin. A sign of loyalty and protection. The prince himself gave it to you, long ago, in a quiet farewell. A silent promise: if you were ever in danger, the brooch would speak for you.

“Well now, that’s a change from the usual cargo… A noble fallen from the sky, or a shipment gone astray?”

You gasp, heart racing, as a pirate grips your arms, his fingers digging into your skin. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

His smile widens slightly, a flicker of mockery in his gaze. “Oh, I think I’m beginning to. A sharp tongue, a burning stare… You’re not just a passenger, are you?”

You lift your chin. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t impress me.”

He stops just a breath from you, watching. “Not yet, maybe. But the night is young.” His voice is soft, almost amused, but his gaze sharpens—like a silent threat beneath each word.

A heavy pause falls, then he murmurs, lower, “Now tell me… who will mourn your disappearance?”

Your throat tightens, but you hold his gaze. “My father. The Admiral of His Majesty’s Royal Fleet.”

You hear the pirates around you whistling and snickering, feigning awe at the title.

A short breath escapes the captain, and his smile falters, replaced by something darker, more focused. “Oh… now this is getting interesting.”

He seems to think for a moment, never looking away from you. Then he straightens slowly. “Sink the ship,” he says, calm and cutting, never raising his voice.

“No!” you protest, your voice trembling but firm. “There are still survivors on board. You can’t—”

You struggle, trying to pull away, to catch his attention. “They’re sailors. Men. They have nothing to do with this!”

But Caleb doesn’t even look at you. He’s already turned away. The pirates either laugh or ignore you. No one moves to stop the order. Your words vanish into the din of shouted commands, flaring torches, and boots pounding the deck.

Then he adds to the pirate holding you, a hint of irony in his voice, “Bring her aboard the Nocturne. Our crew will be honored to host the Admiral’s daughter.”

A muffled laugh escapes behind you. Around you, orders snap, flames flare, cries rise again. You protest, struggle, but Caleb stands still, measuring you in silence.

As the pirate drags you back, your feet catch on the bloodied deck. You twist, but it’s like his fingers are anchored in your skin. You feel the burn. You feel the fear. And the anger—brief, cold. Caleb watches without a word, unreadable. Something flickers in his eyes—then vanishes. He turns and walks away, his coat whipping in the wind as flames begin to rise.

The wood cracks like it’s screaming. Like the ship itself refuses to die quietly. The cries of your crew dissolve into a rising wall of smoke. You can barely breathe. Heat licks your skin as the night turns into a roaring blaze. And through it all, the silhouette of the Nocturne looms—dark, relentless, inevitable.

They haul you into a rowboat, forcing you between two silent pirates. You’re no longer fleeing. You’re no longer captive. You’re being delivered. You glance back. The ship that carried you—your mission, your protection, your certainty—is now just a silhouette devoured by flame. It’s like watching your past burn.

The Nocturne rises like a monster from the deep. Its hull is blackened, scarred. Its sails stand tall with pride. A ship that doesn’t just sail—it hunts. It waits. And now, it claims.

The climb up the rope ladder is rough. Your hands slip, but the pirate shoves you forward. You collapse onto the deck, breathless. The air reeks of salt, gunpowder, sweat, and something older—something soaked into the wood like blood into cloth.

The crew watches in silence, expressions unreadable. Some smirk. Others look curious. A few glance toward the upper deck, where Caleb has already reappeared, hands behind his back, watching.

He descends the stairs slowly. Every step deliberate, calculated. You straighten your back despite the bruises, meeting his gaze.

“You look less regal now,” he says, casually. “Salt, ash, fear. You finally resemble what you’re hiding.”

You say nothing. You refuse to offer him your fear. Even if it pulses in your throat.

“Lock her in the officer’s cabin,” he orders a nearby crewmember. “No one touches her… for now.”

You lift your head, disturbed by those final words. The man nods, but his gaze lingers on you with a slow drag that makes your stomach knot. Caleb’s gaze lingers too, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

They drag you again, down a narrow, dim corridor, past bolted doors and crates reeking of alcohol and oil. The cabin is too small. The wood too dark. The air too thick. Even the moonlight seems to filter in like through stagnant water. They shove you inside.

The door slams shut behind you.

You’re alone. And for the first time since the assault, silence falls. Heavy. Total.

You curl up on the cot, trembling. Not from cold. Not from pain. But from the terrible, unshakable certainty: you haven’t just been captured.

You’ve been chosen.

☸︎⸻ 𝒩𝑜𝒸𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒 ⸻☸︎

༒ 𝒞𝓇𝒾𝓂𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓈 ༒

𓆩 ⚓︎ 𓆪 Written by selisverse. No reposts, no translations, no plagiarism — respect the ink and the salt. ⚔️ Like & reblog if the tide pulls you in. It keeps the ship afloat.

[monokyubey]

Catching his eyes

Denji angst time!!!

The soft light filters in through the nearby window, casting pillars of light onto his soft blonde hair. His expression is surprisingly tranquil as he sleeps, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open lightly. Although this reveals razor sharp teeth, it seems unthreatening in this morning light. Seeing Denji this peaceful almost makes it worth it. Almost. 

When he came to you in the middle of the night to lament to you about his suffering, you found it almost impossible to turn him away. As always, you would be his comfort when he had nowhere else to turn. You wanted to help him, after all, you knew how hard he always had it. He had once told you that you were similar to his old dog, whom he could share his dreams with. That you would always listen to him. That’s what you wanted to be for him. But it was so damn hard. Afterall, these dreams of his always starred a girl he could never quite get, and one you could never quite be. 

Makima. 

“Makima.” 

As you said it quietly to yourself, even the name felt wrong on your tongue. It felt like poison, a slow working but fatal poison. Perhaps that is what it was to your relationship with the confused boy in front of you. As he slept on your couch, you could almost imagine that her name would never cross his lips again. But of course, you doubted when he actually rose for the morning that it would take more than five minutes for her name to be brought up by the excited boy. Sometimes you wondered if it was actually love in his heart for the red haired woman, or he simply didn’t know how to express his true feelings. Despite all the time he had spent pouring out his heart to you, you still weren’t quite sure.

When had this happened to you? When had you allowed yourself to fall into this confusing chaotic relationship that would never be a relationship? Afterall, Denji was unaware of your feelings. Even if he knew, he was eager for romance so he might accept even with no feelings of reciprocation. The flame in his heart would always burn bright for the girl with the golden eyes. Before Denji, you had never seen Makima in this way. In your brief interactions with her, she had always seemed untouchable, but not unkind. She seemed to still care for her job and the people around her. Yet now, Denji had put a filter over your eyes. Sometimes you could see what he saw, you could see why she was so perfect. Still untouchable, but now she was worthy of adoration, worthy of worship. It was true, you could see why Denji had easily fallen for her. And yet the pain in your heart whenever she came into your gaze remained. 

Perhaps it wasn’t just seeing her. It was seeing him. His expression. His adoration. He was usually so loud, so obnoxious, so uncaring about others’ opinions. Yet around her, he grew silent. Respectful. This was a phenomenon you had never seen Denji experience with anyone else. 

Its not that you wanted that with him. You didn’t want Denji’s worship. Even asking for his love felt too much. Perhaps you just wanted his consideration. Just wanted to be in the running for his affection. 

Sometimes you could imagine it was there. When he came to you late at night, and you would offer him tea made with way too much sugar (just the way he likes it), a piece of toast with his favorite jam, and a patient ear; you could just barely see it. Just hardly there, glimmering below the surface, you could see something. Some emotion in his eyes. You didn’t quite know what it was. You didn’t want to give yourself false hope, but just like him, you liked to dream. 

Afterall, there had to be a reason he came to you. There had to be. Something inside of you refused to accept his reason of “Power would make fun of me” or “No way I’m talking to Topknot, he’s my rival!”. You never considered yourself an egotistical person, but you had to be special. Denji wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise. You were his confidant, a role you took with honor. You would always be there you this strange boy who had wormed his way into your heart. 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound of an alarm startled you from your thoughts, even startling Denji awake as well. As you walked over to click it off, you heard him groan lightly. 

“Ugh, thanks for setting an alarm for me. Aki would be on my ass if I was late again”. 

There it was again. You didn’t think you’d heard him say “thank you” to anyone else but you. And of course, Makima. But that had to mean something, didn’t it? 

“No problem. Do you want some breakfast before you head out?”

 Your eyes dragged over his tired frame. He was still dressed in his public safety uniform, although much more disheveled now. His tie was undone, his shirt was half unbuttoned, and everything he was wearing was wrinkly. If you had more time, you would offer to fix his clothes for him, even going as far as to get out your rarely used iron, sitting forgotten in your closet. However, you knew he was under a time crunch, so his heavily creased clothes would have to do. His eyes, though they looked tired, lit up slightly at the prospect of food. A fleeting thought crossed your mind about how you wished he would look at you like that. How pathetic you are. 

“Hell yeah! But it’ll have to be pretty quick or I won’t have time to get back to Aki’s before work.” He grinned as he spoke though, clearly more excited about breakfast than worried about what Aki would do to him if he was tardy. You turned your back to him, rummaging through your cabinets to find the baked goods you had procured yesterday. Although giving them to Denji would require you to go out again for food sooner than you expected, it would be worth it. Despite the fact he would probably never reciprocate your emotions, you would still always yearn to keep him happy and healthy. You would remain on the sidelines for him, if it meant you could see his delighted smile become a constant. 

As you turned back to him, that very smile was on his face, his eyes aglow with happiness. Even if it wasn’t for you, you’d take it. You knew Denji would continue to come as long as you’d let him, seeking someone to listen to and in turn help him understand his complicated emotions. And you intended to always be there when he looked. You just wished he was looking at you for a different reason. And some part of you, would always wish to be the girl with the red hair and golden eyes. 

[pitchcom]

OKAY f1 heathers au post starting NOW

heather chandler: fernando - cmon. look at fernando and tell me he doesnt have heather chandler energy. he is totally a mean girl and would be perf for this role

heather duke: carlos - he is supressed mean girl and im saying this as a carlos lover. he wants to put forth a perfect face until its publicly acceptable to be bitchy and charles is just the unfortunate bearer of that. i do think in this au he would be more passive aggressive mean then singing “kill yourself” mean but those are just little bits. i also think he has the capability to go mad with power

heather macnamara: charles - HONESTLY i think that he and carlos could be slightly interchangable based on your perception of them BUT i do think charles pulls off the innocent charmer look better so hes heather mac. but dont forget that heather mac is a heather for a REASON and she is also a shittalker so charles DOES have a mean bone in his body DONT BE FOOLED. charles here also plays into the macnamara/veronica angle bc he also has a bond with oscar

veronica sawyer: oscar - tbh i dont have a clear reason except it just feels right LOL like the narratives all line up … the carcar beef and the veronica/duke beef … the mcnamara/sawyer connection … loscar and martha/veronica …. i fear it all fits too well. also i think it would be funny for fernando to be a bitchy ghost haunting oscar for half the musical

JD: lando - this is mostly because hes been a menace lately and i DO believe he would be dramatic enough to blow up a school + fake their suicide note because someone broke up with him for killing 3 other people

martha dunnstock: logan - tragic unpopular bestie of the loser -> popular main character that gets hurt and left behind because of it. need i say more

ram & kurt: max/daniel OR pierre/esteban - no super strong reason for either of them except they are the two duos left on the grid that can give fboy but also hidden homoerotic relationship LMAOOO

mrs flemmings: lewis - sorry have u seen his whole peace love and plants front … he is so totally the teacher. tries to be pro mental health and diversity that it feels almost fake AND hes kinda unhinged with it. a case could be argued for seb but unfortunately i need him and mark to be oscars parenes LMAOOO

okay thats all for now folks 🫡 and if anyone ever makes any art of this …. pspspsps please feed it to me (tag me)

edit: PLS DROP ME ASKS IF U WANNA DISCUSS I CANT REPLY 🙏🙏

theres also another take on this thats vaguely developing in my head where its lewis + teammates = heathers with lewis, nico, and george being heathers and lestappen being jd/veronica BUT that needs to cook some more compared to this one LOL

[mydahliarose]

To love oneself 🪽🃏

Parings: niiri x Michael, miiri

Fandoms: what in hell is bad?

Tags: wholesome, no smut, fluff

Synopsis: poor Michael has never learned to love himself because for his whole life hes only cared what god thinks and wants and not for his own well-being so niiri helps him find positive traits about himself in order to love himself properly.

Authors note: i was inspired by a favorite scene in a black and white french movie called angel-a but i reversed the role where niiri takes the role of the angel women in the movie where as Michael is the guy shes helping him find self love and esteem.

A beautiful evening it was today, the wind was perfectly cool and chilly enough to wrap around your arms into your lovers warmth.

But for niiri and Michael they only stood away a bit from eachother, elbows barley touching as there arms where crossed relaxing on the bridge watching the scenery of the city.

They had just finished accomplishing another extermination together a successful one at that. Now finally alone together enjoying the view, streets filled with the stains of there enemy, grinning in pride as the taboo couple enjoy the view in silence so peaceful it felt and yet something was a miss..

A soft sigh that was filled in woe caught the attention of the Harlequin demon turning her head over to see Michaels eyes ponder down in the dark streets with flickering street lights.

" Angelica whats the matter?" She eagirly wanted to be closer to his touch but best until he signaled her to do so for now.

He wont lie but Michael really did appreciate niiris concern during time like this when his mind wonders of to not so great places. such as judgement from the heavens, if they found out how filthy hes become with associating himself with a demon. To think back when his beloved lucifer hyung was so called veiled his eyes by such unclean creatures only to have been fated by the most irony of all things to happen in his life, to fall in love with one. In the end he accepted these feelings, yet it still didnt change the fact that the fear creepily lingered deep within his psyche slowly trying to take full of him. Before it could get any worse he finally spoke, breaking the silence between them. " Filthy...im filthy, thats whats the matter..." The sound of defeat was loud and clear to niiri now. He was beginning to resent himself over something that should never feel sinful. He moves his head,leaning against hers, aching for those comforting words of hers to echo in his mind to overshadow any negativity within him. Her hand moves to caress his raven locks, soothing him down in the process. " How cruel~ how dare your consciousness play evil tricks on you and make you see ugliness of our relationship.." niiri tip toes her fingertips around his scalp, then traces them around " Its never been ugly my dear, its nothing but beauty what you and i have~" and yet he couldnt see that. No matter how much he tried it always creeped up. And god how he hated feeling this way about himself. " Oh dolly..." He lifts a hand to cup her face. " Why must i suffer?" Then niiri tilts his head face hers. Luckily the streets where completely empty for them to be a little bit vulnerable with each other.

" let me ask you this my angelica~ do you love yourself?" Michael only blinked in confusion of her surprising question. "Pardon?" A small chuckle leaves niiris lips. " The fact you dont have a proper answer speaks volume deary~" with the same hand niiri moves from his head to shoulders, rubbing them to avoid any outburst just in case. " ...is this a joke? If course i love myself! God created me i am the angel of decapitation and bring justice by destroying every demon on sight! To rid of this hellhole of its sin! If god were still here hed praise me!...if only he where here to see what i had just accomplished...". As soon as he sniffled immediately niiri used her blouse to help wipe some tears away. " Thanks dolly..." " And you just proved my point, you don't actually love yourself. You love more your god than you do yourself..." She scoots him closer to her. " You love him so much that his opinion matters most, your afraid of his opinion about you and me more than anything yeah? More than what the angels would think?" He said nothing except a gentle nod. His face hiding on her chest. " Oh Michael...you really do suffer so much." She looked up the sky to watch god himself for a moment, Michaels spent year of his life only caring about gods words and ideology that hes never bothered to think much for himself, and the fact he was ok with that worried niiri alot.

The doll demon herself did love god, after all without him Michaels existance would not exist. She has always been grateful of that. God fated them to be together for a good reason she was most certain of that. Perhaps this was an opportunity to finally help Michael see the purity of there love. She was going to help him find love within himself, to finally see that. something thats been long overdue to be done. " Come with me, i want to show you your worth somewhere private." She lends a hand out. " How could an angel like myself be worthy of anything now that ive sinned..." Michaels body felt a force walking him with niiri, she dragged him to a nearby public restroom. "Wait here let me inspect" She went in to check around if any demons where hiding. Thankfully none where seen seemed many retreated back to there base. " All clear, now come inside~" hesitantly he walked in, just to make sure and double checked he inspected each stalls and even the small closet sure enough he felt much better. " Stand here next to me" when he walks foward he looks at niiri with wonder in his face as to what she is up to, she then points at the mirror. " My angelica tell me...what do you see?" Crossing her arms waiting for an answer. What on earth did she mean by this? It was obvious it was just them two, or perhaps she wanted him to look outside the box? Michael pondered as he stared deeply. " I suppose..." His eyes ponder to niiri, due to a fight her face looked messy and cracked. Her pigtails let loose as strands of her hair scattred in uneven places. That didnt take any beauty away from her infact it only made her more beautiful. Michael always found her bloodshed mode aftermath to be far more breathtaking combine that with her joy his heart skipped and so inevitably he blushed. " I see a beautiful demon who took my breathe away..." Niiri was caught of guard then smiled with a giggle. " Ahh thank you my angel~" gives a small peck on his cheek.

" but what else do you see?" Michael looked back towards the mirror again this time struggling to see what could possibly be there? "Nothing?" Two hands where met behind his shoulder " nuh uh~ there is something worth seeing, look closer. What do you see? Anything worth seeing in that handsome face of yours?" She gently caresses it. Michael Became nervous, gulping down his insecurities. A small smile creeped up when she mentioned his beauty. But what on earth is there besides that? Surely his divine existence should be enough just what on earth was she seeing that he was failing to see? The more he stared at himself the more irritated he was feeling. That was until when he looked deep within his own eyes in his reflection he could see something...pain years of bottled up emotion's from the past and now. That golden eye of his held it all, a very painful memory. But the other eye, blue as the clearest sky with a lilac circled around it, filled with outmost pride of bieng an angel of authoration and confidence. These eyes have always represented himself and now he is seeing it clearer as his head was slowly getting into a better mindset to understand himself.

" a mask...a mask that shield s me from unveiling the truth of how i feel..." " And what do you feel?" He tried to find the courage to say it ". broken...numb...angry.... explosive...and tired." Niiri wrapped her arms behind him. " Your right Michael, you do feel that. And you feel it everyday. But when your in my dollhouse i see a change. Your happier, because you can finally be yourself without the constant expectations of heavens law...you feel free there but once thats over you regress back to that awful state...my angelica." She tightly squeezes him. Michael let out a shaking sigh, feeling extremely vulnerable at the moment he could break down at any moment. "Niiri...d-dont let go of me..if you do, i fear i-ill..." "I would never let go of you in this moment darling dont worry~ im here, always making sure you stay together~" he turned to place a kiss onto her broken face. " This is why your my savior.." This was a step needing to happen to find self love and it was slowly working he just needed to find it within himself by seeing past his flaws.

" look again my angelica, what else do you see? If you can get past all those flaws of yours what else is there?". Niiri eagirly awaits for him to see the spark shes always seen enough something so precious yet years of bieng locked away for him to see. Scared, he looked back into the mirror, face in shambles as he looks at his imperfect self. Closer he looked within himself. " Intimidating?" " Haha yeah you are! But what else?" " This is beginning to get irritating my dear what is it that you see in me that i dont? " She points to his eyes in there reflection. " Closer love, look deep into yourself like youve never done." He annoyingly sighed but he was so curious as to what it was he was missing. He looked sharply at himself anxiety rising that he had to face his weaknesses in order to find the answer to something so simple, until he realized. All hes ever described himself where things givin to him as titles by god, the things he was ment to represent. No wonder he couldnt see much else about himself, all hes ever known was those things he just said to niiri. Christ for once he felt at loss. Was there something he was known for positively about himself? Infact there was. " Do you need a hint? " " Dare I say yes?" With a sudden sound of beads shaking gained michaels attention immediately, he knew exactly what niiri pulled out that without even thinking he snatched from her. Nuzzling his favorite toy that he hadnt touched in a good while. " My sunshine! Oh how ive missed you!" He laughed with such enthusiasm that all his worries went away with a snap of a finger except it was a toy in this case. " My dolly thank you, this just made my day entirely!" She smiles " now look back at the mirror and youll finally have your answer that youve been desperately looking for~" When he did he noticed a huge change within himself. He was happy. He looked more peacful, not a look of ready to kill on sight for once.

No infact just like his priced possession his sunflower toy. He looked playful, cheerful and kind. This was how he used to be back when his big brother was still around until he wasnt and that all changed. It was all returning back to him, he finally sees the old love he used to have of himself right before him. " I....i am happy and i am kind...perhaps in my own unique way i am that not alot of people see but i am." " Yes yes! And? " Nods up and down looking towards the toy another hint. Michael tilts his head looking at it and he smiles. " I remember when lucifer once told me i looked as happy as this sunflower when i smiled..." Such wonderful memories these where to Michael that he hugged his toy close to him finding comfort in it. " When i look at myself, i am as happy as a sunflower..." Then with a finger he touches the edge of his lips as he smiles. " When i think about that, i realize now how much i love my own smile...i love when I'm actually happy..." Clutching his childhood toy tears of joy begin forming. Finally he properly began to love himself. The heartfelt moment made niiri clap for him she was so proud of him her mission was a success. " Bravo angelica! You see? You finally gave yourself love you filled your wounds with nurture thats been long needed!" She picked Michael up, swinging him around. Both of them laughing with each other. " I certainly did dolly, i dont think i recall ever feeling this positive about myself in recent times."

She has to agree thou the most time shes seen him like this was in her playhouse to play make believe but to see him be more like that in reality was a breath of fresh air. " And you know why that's it Michael?" He cocks an eyebrow to her statement " It did not just start with loosing god but your brother aswell" he grew silent but stayed composed in an attempt to listen. " He was your big brother, and brothers are ment to love and protect his family. But when he did what he did that day..." She had thought about doing this for a long while and now she is taking the opportunity in doing so. She places her delicate fingers onto his fabricated eye. " N-niiri?" Oh how he loved this womens care. " You felt betrayed, heartbroken and confused that it left your heart filled with a void of revenge and thus no room for love anymore not even with yourself. Am i wrong?" " No i suppose your not..." All Michaels ever seen is the color red, from anger to rage like no other always focusing on taking out demons for what they took from him has taken such a heavy toll on him. Without proper support of a close one he felt lost but finally he didn't feel that way anymore. Demon or not he was glad to have somone like niiri who was so pateint with him never giving up on wishing his psyche to get better one day. " You know Michael...i relate to your tragedy alot" he was taken back from that comment " wait you do?" She nods " back in hades i was created to be the playmate of his majesty Leviathan, we where like brother and sister to each other" he was shocked to hear this sudden information " all this time you both had a familial relationship?! Consider me intrigued" niiri laughs. " I was pretty much created by his legion in order to make him happy and distract him from what happend to him when he got captured..." Suddenly niiri's joy faded, looking tensed up. Michael took note of this and offered to hold her in his arms, moving her face to lay on the crook of his neck

" its ok if you dont want to talk about it my dear, sometimes it pains me to even open up about lucifer hyung~ i understand you." Like a gentleman he caresses her hair, treating her the same as she has for him in his most vulnerable moments. " I failed him Michael...i failed to make him happy! his court was not happy with me i was alienated!" Michael squeezes her in his embrace, not to tight he wouldn't want to break her. " You told him you where an angel didnt you?" Silence. Warm tears stained his white button up shirt but he did not mind it. If she needed to let it all out so be it. " I did...he at first took it as me bieng a doll doing it as roleplay until he realized i was serious..." Michael seemed to understand a bit better how she was treated back at her home knowing now the king of envy knew of her delusion. Although he did wonder if they ever attempted to help her. Regardless it seems shes put those days behind her but the wounds linger on her forever. " I dont think theyd understand you to the fullist my dear, however if one day you ever reconcile ill support you. Just as you support me." He lifts her chin up to look directly at his eyes, they felt ethereal to look at so much so niiris woe went away with how mesmerizing they where. " You think hed miss his sister?" Michael shrugs " i cannot say for sure. But maybe he does who knows." For once she felt a small ray of hope light up within her but leviathan was sure as hell scary she certainly doesn't plan on approaching her past anytime soon or if she even wants to. " And i pray that one day you and your lucifer hyung reconcile and be a family again. If im bieng honest i think you have a higher chance than mine." Her strand of her that was blocking her face was then moved to the side of her ear by Michael. " Never say never my angel."

With the shake of his rattler he lends it to niiri " since your my lover you are the person i trust most and thus I trust you with the most precious thing to me." Her eyes widen " oh Michael i couldn't! " He stops her from giving it back " but you could, besides i think mr sunshine needs to comfort you most right now". He says confidently. " Ill be frank Mr feathers, i appreciate this token of affection very much and ill treasure it!" Wraps her arms around his shoulders. " is it greedy of me to say i want to be comforted by both you and mr sunshine?" Michael rolls his eyes but in a playful manner for her " oooh fine~ ill indulge in your sin of greed~" without warning he picks her up bridal style ready to go back home. " Woah woah woah there! Atleast let me check if no ones outside first!. " A soft snort leaves Michaels mouth. " Nonsense, it seems we scared all the demons away from this area. Ill fly us out like nothing ever happened." Both of them cackle in sync laughing from there devious battle from hours ago that the lower ranking demons needed to retreat from them. " Alright lets go " "Wait angelica" " Hm?" "Im very proud of you today." One last time she leaves a kiss this time on his nose. "And im proud of you for opening up to me about your past. I feel even closer to you knowing we both went thru the same thing." " Now you know your not alone" with a smile from both. Michael lifts his wings and flys out of the area with niiri, a long day it was for them but worth it in the end .

End

Angel dividers by @/Chocoperrito

[moonhedgegarden]

The Liberation of Letting Go

Today, we’ll confront the a part of existence that often fills us in anxiety and regret. It is crucial to recognize that the weight we carry is not an inherent part of who we are but rather a stone we carry. In our relentless search for meaning, we become shackled by our worries, our disappointments, and the fears that loom large in our minds, these chains crafted from our own consciousness.

The universe exists not as a demanding force but as an indifferent expanse that invites us to engage with its vastness. Every star, every leaf, every pulse of life asks us to acknowledge our role within this reality. We are not isolated beings, trapped in a meaningless void; we are intricately connected to all that is. Our consciousness, that profound aspect of our being, offers us the freedom to choose, to act, and indeed, to let go.

Let’s consider today what it means to set free the burdens that anchor us in despair. Perhaps it is a lingering disappointment that gnaws at our spirit, a fear of failure that paralyzes us, or the weight of self-doubt that festers within. These are not absolute truths; they are distortions of our energy, phantoms haunting our existence. By choosing to release them, we do not deny their presence but affirm our right to inhabit life without them, to live authentically amidst the chaos.

Today, I urge you to engage in this act of liberation. Identify that which weighs upon your soul, a thought, a fear, a relationship that constricts your spirit. Acknowledge it, scrutinize it, but do not allow it to define your being. In this act of letting go, you reclaim your agency, your ability to navigate this day with clarity and intention. You are entitled to the peace that arises from unburdening your heart. In this moment of release, remember: peace is not an elusive luxury, nor is it a treasure reserved for the fortunate few. It is your birthright, a fundamental aspect of your existence. You are allowed to feel peace, to find serenity in accepting the impermanence of all things. Allow yourself to breathe deeply, to feel the sun’s warmth on your skin, and to recognize the interconnection of all life around you.

Embrace the chaotic flow of life and trust that by surrendering the worries you no longer need, you allow yourself to experience the beauty that surrounds you. The universe awaits your recognition, ready to welcome you into its vastness. May this day reveal the peace that is inherently yours, patiently waiting for your acceptance.

Write your younger self a letter. Forgive them.

Or perhaps make a playlist of songs that encompass what you’re trying to release. Dance it out. Move it out.

Create art of the worries and destroy it.

Take a walk in nature and whisper your worries to the wind. Allow them to be carried away.

Write out what positives you could learn from these fears and worries and leave the rest behind.

You are so worthy to feel settled inside yourself.

[wyldsolhealing]

639 HZ Solfeggio Frequency Pure Tone • Heal Heart Chakra • Anahata • Self Love • Miracle Tone

Heart Chakra Healing • Self Love Attract Love • Miracle Tone • Boost Creativity and Intuition.

Key Aspects of the Heart Chakra: • Location: Center of the chest • Color: Green (sometimes pink is also associated with it) • Element: Air • Theme: Love, compassion, forgiveness, emotional healing, and relationships • Mantra: “Yam”

When the Heart Chakra is Balanced: • You feel love and compassion for yourself and others without conditions. • You experience a deep sense of inner peace, contentment, and emotional stability. • Your relationships are harmonious, balanced, and filled with empathy. • You are open to giving and receiving love, and you practice forgiveness. • Emotional healing flows easily, allowing you to let go of past hurts and live with a sense of openness.

When the Heart Chakra is Blocked or Imbalanced: • You may experience difficulty forming or maintaining relationships. • Feelings of jealousy, bitterness, or fear of rejection may arise. • You might struggle to forgive yourself or others, holding onto resentment. • Emotional numbness, isolation, or lack of empathy could manifest. • Physical symptoms such as heart problems, respiratory issues, or upper back and shoulder pain may occur.

639 Hz Frequency & Its Role in Heart Chakra Activation: • Harmony in Relationships: 639 Hz resonates with the energy of love, fostering balance and harmony in relationships. It helps in improving communication, resolving conflicts, and strengthening connections with others by enhancing understanding and compassion. • Emotional Healing: This frequency is particularly useful for healing old emotional wounds, enabling the release of past hurts and allowing for forgiveness and love to flow. It assists in dissolving feelings of bitterness, anger, or resentment, making space for empathy and kindness. • Connection and Unity: 639 Hz helps cultivate a sense of unity and interconnectedness, both within ourselves and in our relationships with others. It supports the feeling of being connected to the world and the people around us on a deeper emotional level. • Enhancing Compassion: Listening to 639 Hz is thought to stimulate the heart’s natural energy of compassion, making it easier to understand and feel empathy for others. It fosters a loving and peaceful attitude towards all living beings.

Benefits of Listening to 639 Hz: 1. Healing and Releasing Emotional Wounds: Helps in releasing past emotional pain, promoting forgiveness and emotional freedom. 2. Harmonizing Relationships: Fosters better communication, understanding, and harmony in personal and interpersonal relationships. 3. Inner Peace and Love: Encourages self-love, acceptance, and inner emotional balance, leading to feelings of peace and contentment. 4. Opening the Heart: Expands your capacity for compassion, kindness, and empathy, enhancing your ability to connect deeply with others. 5. Strengthening Bonds: Supports the development of meaningful and lasting relationships by opening the channels of love and connection.

How to Use 639 Hz for Heart Chakra Healing: • Meditation: Listen to 639 Hz frequency music while meditating, focusing on your heart center. Visualize a green or pink light radiating from your heart, expanding outwards and filling you with love and compassion. • Affirmations: Combine listening to 639 Hz with affirmations like “I love and accept myself” or “I am open to giving and receiving love” to enhance its effects. • Sound Therapy: Use tuning forks, singing bowls, or chimes tuned to 639 Hz during sound healing sessions to harmonize the Heart Chakra. • Emotional Reflection: After listening to 639 Hz, take time to reflect on any emotions or memories that surface. This can be an opportunity to release past hurts and embrace forgiveness. • Visualization: As you listen, visualize your heart chakra opening, allowing love to flow in and out, creating a sense of peace and balance in your emotional body.

Signs of Heart Chakra Activation at 639 Hz: • You feel more love, compassion, and empathy for yourself and others. • Relationships improve, with more open and harmonious communication. • Emotional healing occurs, leading to a greater sense of peace and contentment. • You are able to forgive past hurts and release emotional blockages. • A deeper connection to nature, animals, or the world around you is experienced. • Physical symptoms related to the heart or chest area may improve.

[aestherians]

Hero's Lament

Inspired by Vyt's "Archetropy" panel and Rani's "On Questioning An Archetrope" essay

Word count: ~600

Estimated reading time: 4-5 minutes

What is a hero? Someone who fights for glory, fame, and wealth? Someone who fights for the greater good? An idol or icon? A humblebragger? Someone who saves cats stuck in trees and never speaks a word about their deeds?

Yes.

Yes, all of that, and more.

'The Hero' is an archetype as old as humanity itself, and it speaks to desires that live in all humans (and nonhumans raised by humans). To be loved, to not live in fear, to aspire for something better, whatever that may be. To make the world a bit better.

The Hero is a paradox; a walking contradiction. Her greatest desire is peace, yet she lives and breathes conflict. What will the Hero do when the war is won? Find a new fight? Or stop being a hero?

Life is one conflict after another, and I complain when I can't get a moment's rest - one issue is solved, two more take its place, like Heracles battling Hydra. Except, the Hero doesn't win when he kills the Hydra. He becomes restless, aimless, pointless. What do you do when the quest has ended, but 'questing' is in your blood and bones?

I complain about my endless battles, but peace leaves me frazzled, more than anything. When I'm at war, my existence has a point - when I'm at war, I can rest in my existence. When I'm at war, I know my role, and my endless search for a unified identity takes a break.

When the Hero is at war, the Hero is at peace.

What, then, does the Hero fight for? Not for the greater good, but for self-fulfillment? That is the original meaning of the word:

A hero is a real person or a main fictional character who, in the face of danger, combats adversity through feats of ingenuity, courage, or strength. [...] The original hero type of classical epics did such things for the sake of glory and honor. Post-classical and modern heroes, on the other hand, perform great deeds or selfless acts for the common good instead of the classical goal of wealth, pride, and fame. The antonym of hero is villain. "Hero," Wikipedia, retrieved today

What sets classical heroes and villains apart is not our motive - we are both just fulfilling our nature. What sets us apart is outsiders' interpretations of us. We are classified, less by our drives and desires and our actual feelings, and more by how strangers like or dislike us.

What makes me a 'hero' is not my drive to act. It's my desire to be liked. My fear of being disliked. Like the villain, I crave conflict in life, but unlike the villain, I only join conflicts where I have decent chance of coming out the other side looking good.

But it comes at a cost. Can you believe it? That concerning yourself with being appealing to others, and with joining the conflicts others want you to join, has a cost?

The Hero is an idol. The Hero fights, because fighting is her lifeblood, but the Hero fights for others, because simply joining random street fights won't win you any love or fortune. And because the Hero fights for others' sake, the Hero is idolized. And idols don't have personhood.

The Hero reduces himself to an object, because being a well-like object still beats being a maligned villain. The Hero sacrifices autonomy for acceptance. Heroes don't exist without idolatry and objectification, in the most basic sense of the words. The Hero may as well be a helpful footstool.

But at least, at last, the Hero is liked.