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onepieceisreeeeaaalll · 2 months ago

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You Have A Panic Attack | One Piece HC

Another one from the drafts. This one is a few mini blurbs. If you're someone who has panic attacks (like I do *cough cough*) then here's how they'd react.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law

CW: Panic attack, panic attack symptoms mention, GN!reader, no specific relationship mentions, could be early relationship/pre-relationship, use of (Y/N)

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this! I'm trying to clear out my drafts and get some stuff out for Valentine's Day.

LUFFY

The first time you had a panic attack in front of Luffy, he’s admittedly a little confused. You were hanging out on the deck of the Sunny, as per usual, goofing around and enjoying the warm sun with Luffy, Usopp and Chopper. Laughter and peace filled the air, a nice reprieve from the usual busy schedules you Straw Hats kept. It was like a switch went off, though. Seeing the change in your face, the way you politely tried to walk away and excuse yourself to go through it in private, it all set off alerts in his mind.

“Hey, where ya goin’?” Luffy asked, following you inside the ship like a confused puppy. He couldn’t hide his disappointment that his best friend had walked away.

The moment your panic attack really set in, he grew concerned. The flushed cheeks, the heavy breathing, the look of pure dread and fear in your eyes. He had never seen you look that way without provocation, and certainly not when you were having a pretty good day up until this point.

“Whoa, whoa, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just a p-panic attack. That’s all. I get ‘em all the time.” You tried to reassure him, though it was also an attempt to reassure yourself. Your heart was racing in your chest, pounding in that familiar way that typically made you feel so weak.

“Panic attack?” Luffy asks, tilting his head. “What’s that?”

“It’s-...Luffy, I, uh…can’t really explain it right…now…” You responded, your voice growing just a little breathier. You leaned against a wall on the inside of the hallway, your hand resting over your chest in an attempt to calm yourself.

Luffy stood there in minor shock, unsure of what to do for a good few moments. His brain was processing, taking in what facts he knew. You were upset, sure, and normally he’d just tease someone for something like this. The look in your eyes looked so vulnerable, though - this wasn’t you acting out of anything other than pure...well, panic.

It suddenly hit - a lightbulb going off in his head. He didn’t exactly know what a panic attack was, no, but he understood vaguely the feeling you were having. Flashes of his time after Ace flooded his mind, making his own heart ache in sympathy.

“C’mere.”

Before you even know what’s happening, Luffy’s wrapped his arms around you into a hug. It’s one of his signature ones - not too tight, not too loose. It’s perfect and warm; just like Luffy. At first, you weren’t sure what to do or say, but slowly you found your arms wrapped around him in return.

“Don’t know why you’re freaking out, but I get it. I hope you feel better.” He murmured into your ear, and his chin moved down to rest on your shoulder.

Enveloped in Luffy, you felt your rapidly beating heart gradually, slowly, starting to steady into a slow, easy rhythm. The drummer in your chest seemed to finally have enough. Your arms tightened around his form after a moment, and Luffy returned the gesture easily.

“Thank you.”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

ZORO

Training had become a ritual for you every morning. To your surprise, Zoro would somehow manage to claw his way out of bed early enough to join you almost every day. There’d rarely be exceptions, so you’d both fallen into this routine high up in the crow’s nest - Zoro would work on his form and swordsmanship, and you would work on basic conditioning. It was an easy way to get the blood pumping, and neither of you minded the company.

Sometimes, though, there was a tendency for you to overdo it. When life got particularly stressful, waves of desperate anxiety and despair had a habit of ripping through you. Even with the attempts of exercise to serve as a preventative measure, it wouldn’t always help. It was on one particular morning, with the beams of the sun shining over the floorboards, that you finally fell victim to one in the presence of the swordsman.

At first, Zoro just figured you were exhausted. With a small huff, he took his sword out of his mouth, holding two of them at the same time in one hand just to laugh at you. After all, it’s kind of funny that so little activity got you huffing and puffing.

“Come on - you that out of shape?” He mocked.

But your face looked numb - empty, even. And Zoro didn’t like that at all. Shakily, as you stood up from the weight bench, you felt that familiar racing heart leave you unsteady. Great, how the hell are you gonna get down like this? You didn’t bother answering Zoro, your eyes darting to the hole in the floor that led to the ladder. It’s a long climb down, and with the sweat on your palms, you weren’t certain you could make it. Maybe that’s what made this particular panic attack worse.

That’s when the hyperventilating really set in. And Zoro didn’t like that, at all.

“Hey, what gives? You okay?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, just…” You say, attempting to sound dismissive but the breathy quality of your voice gave away your anxiety. You couldn’t even finish the sentence, and your legs felt like lead as they carried you to the exit of the crow’s nest.

“(Y/N), don’t be an idiot.” Zoro interjected quickly, reaching out to grab your wrist. It wasn’t firm, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. As you turned to look at him, all words died on his tongue. You looked scared. He let go of your wrist, looking you up and down. “Seriously, what’s wrong? You look like you’re freaked out.”

“I just…I get them sometimes, it’s not a big…” You tried to say, but your voice sounded shaky. You couldn’t trust it, and talking felt like such a monumental task paired with the exhaustion of your racing heart.

“Get what?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he looked at you. Yeah, he didn’t get it. Not one bit. Zoro had seen you countless times on the battlefield, holding your own against some of the toughest enemies. Not once had he seen this expression from you before, at least not during a simple training routine.

“Um…panic attacks. It’s just…my body likes to, um…” You stammered, and Zoro felt his heart clench. What the hell is a panic attack? But it didn’t matter. Whatever it was had stressed you out, and Zoro didn’t like that. At all.

Setting his swords aside, he moved over to one of the walls and took a seat easily. He looked up at you expectantly, and no words needed to be exchanged before you walked over to join him. Thighs touching, Zoro put his arms behind his head and leaned back against the wall.

“I ever tell you about the bounty hunting I did before joining the crew?”

You were caught off-guard, and it’s enough to temporarily confuse you. Shaking your head, Zoro took it as his cue to proceed. It was a long story - he had gotten lost leaving his village and decided to pick up bounty hunting, call it training. As you leaned against him and listened, you eventually began to interject with your own comments and questions. Jokes spilled out of both of you, and that vein pulse through your body steadily went to the back of your head. Before you knew it, laughs became less breathless and the stable feeling of Zoro’s arm against yours felt like an anchor. Maybe later he’d ask you about panic attacks, what they are, and how long you’ve had them. For now, though, he was content to just talk to you and see that smile return to your face.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

SANJI

You weren’t exactly sure what started it - whether it was the loud noises at dinner, the texture of the food as you scraped the pans clean, or the fact that you had carelessly dropped a dish and shattered it onto the ground. Regardless of what had actually gotten to you, your body felt that familiar rise of dread and paranoia that always signaled the start of a really, really long night. Sanji had assured you when you dropped the plate that it was fine, that he could clean it, and that you really didn’t need to help him clean up after dinner. After all, it was his responsibility, even when you insisted on spending this time with him every night.

That wasn’t enough to ease your mind or your racing pulse.

You sat down on a chair at the edge of the kitchen, hoping to catch your breath. You pressed your cool hands against your face, but it did nothing to abate the flush of anxiety pooling blood to your cheeks. Sanji being Sanji, it took him all of five seconds after throwing away the broken glass to notice that you weren’t okay.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, quirking a curled eyebrow as he looked at you. That look in your eyes when you turned your attention to him made his heart clench. Something was very, very wrong. “Don’t worry about the dish,” He added quickly, hoping that maybe this was the issue, “We have plenty. If you’d like, I can-”

“Sanji, please.” You murmured, burying your face in your hands again. This wasn’t like you, and that set off warning bells in his head yet again.

Taking a few measured steps forward, he bent down on one knee to look at you. You were shaking, your face was flushed, and it didn’t seem like you had any reason to be afraid. Yet, here you were, hiding your face from him in his kitchen.

“Mon amour, can you look at me?”

Something about that made you want to curl up into a ball and disappear. Maybe it was because he was so gentle, or maybe it was the shame of having this happen in front of him. Regardless, with a lot of reluctance, you peeked your eyes over your hands to meet his gaze. You were met with Sanji’s brows knitted, his eyes narrowed as he observed your expression carefully. For his part, Sanji had taken particular notice of your unsteady breathing. He thought he had an idea of what was going on, even if he didn’t fully understand what had started it. With a sigh, he stood up and took his pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Can you do something for me?”

Your hands slowly dropped from your face down into your lap as you looked up at him. You watched as he lit up a cigarette, and he took your silence as you were either too upset to talk or at least willing to listen. With that permission, he continued.

“I want you to count down from a hundred. Can you do that? And when you’re finished, tell me how many things in this kitchen are blue.” He said simply, taking a drag from his cigarette. He was careful to blow the smoke away from you, and it was something that even in your panic attack, you appreciated. He was always so considerate.

“What?” You asked, your voice breathless.

Sanji hummed at your question, flashing you a warm smile.

“Just trust me. Do it aloud, okay? I wanna hear it.”

So, after a few moments of careful contemplation, you did. Unsteadily, you closed your eyes as you focused on each number. Your voice was still shaky when you reached the end, but you managed to get through it. When you opened your eyes, you looked around the kitchen and easily identified each blue item. Some kitchen towels, Sanji’s shirt, his eyes, a few cooking utensils. Sanji would occasionally ask for details, and by the end of it, you realized you weren’t shaking anymore. Your body was still, your heart was normal, and you felt…exhausted, but better. In your silence, Sanji let out a small laugh and put out his cigarette before walking over to the counter across the kitchen. He had to resume cleaning up, after all.

“That always helped me when I felt weird. Figured it might help you, too.” He answered as if he had predicted exactly what you were thinking. “Next time it happens, come find me. I’d be happy to help you out.”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

LAW

You were walking through the halls of the Polar Tang, intent on getting some work done. Life wasn’t always easy on the ship, but the crew itself made it feel as though the sun wasn’t all that far away even hundreds of miles beneath the surface. It had been weeks since the ship had been anywhere near the open air, though, and that craving for freedom was starting to grate on everyone’s nerves.

You made it just outside of Law’s office, holding a logbook of some patients under your arms that you intended to show him. As your hand came up to knock on the door, though, the panic attack set in. It came as it always did - quickly, brutally, and with a raging need to be attended to immediately. You took a deep breath, trying to force your body to calm down with the knowledge that you’ve already knocked on Law’s door. It’s too late to walk away and come back later.

The moment Law opened the door, his face as neutral and uncompromising as always, he knew something was wrong. He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something off about you. You looked almost surprised to see him there despite the fact that you knocked.

“(Y/N)-ya?” He asked, his tone as disinterested as his expression.

You took another deep breath, grabbing the book beneath your arm with shaky hands and holding it out to him.

“Here. I just needed to…give you this.” You said, your voice shaky and noticeably just a little labored.

“Thank you…” Law replied, a hint of skepticism in his tone as he accepted the book. He noticed the way your hands lingered on the book, almost like you were forgetting to let it go, and that was the last straw for Law. Something was clearly wrong.

As you began to turn to leave his office, his hand darted out to gently grab your wrist. This didn’t help your anxiety, not one bit, and you froze in response. This didn’t go unnoticed by the surgeon.

“Hey, come in for a minute. I want to show you something.” He said, and his tone was as stern as usual, leaving no room for argument. Not that you could argue right now, anyway.

You let him lead you into his office, the familiar cluttered spaces making you feel all the more claustrophobic. Ah, that’s what it was - the walls were closing in, leaving your lungs lacking air and your heart palpitating. Sometimes it was a little game to figure out what had set off the panic attack in the first place.

And it seemed Law had somehow figured that out, too. He led you to his chair and gently sat you down, letting go of your wrist. You didn’t bother watching as he fumbled with something behind you, and before you knew it, a bright light shined down and provided warmth. You finally turned back to look at him, your brows furrowed. You’re met with that same unaffected stare as he moved around you, leaning a hand and his hip against his desk.

“It’s not good to be without sunlight for so long. I picked one of these UV lamps up at a port a few islands back. I think I’ll be buying a few more for the sub.” Law explained, speaking of it as if it’s something as mundane as the weather. For you, though, you feel your heart spike. This time, not with anxiety - anticipation.

“Really?” You asked, and that hopeful lilt in your voice made the doctor smile just a fraction.

“Yeah.” He responded simply, and he turned his gaze to a porthole on the far wall. Then, to your surprise, he kept speaking. “Panic attacks are pretty common, (Y/N)-ya, and I know them when I see them. I have some reading I’d like to give you, and maybe we can talk medication at some point. For now, just try to relax and soak in the UV.”

You were nearly floored at his response. You’d tired yourself out so often having to explain what panic attacks were, how they affected you, and why they came up. But Law knew. Of course he did. You remained silent for a moment before leaning back in his chair, closing your eyes to take his advice. This pleased him more than words could say.

Your heart was still racing, that dread making you feel dizzy, but the warmth of the UV light was almost soothing. You heard Law rustling with some things on his desk, busying himself, and he began to read some of the logs from the book you’d given him out loud. You weren’t sure if it was more for himself or for you, but his voice did add that last touch to help relax and calm you down. When you felt your heart return to normal, and your lungs were satisfied with the oxygen you provided them, you finally settled down into a restful sleep in Law's chair. He was grateful that you couldn't see the small smile that rose to his lips.

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raining-anonymously · 4 months ago

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i really really appreciate how much the mouthwashing gameplay emphasizes that curly is still a feeling human person after the crash. he reacts to every single thing that happens around him. he makes decisions. he changes his behavior as the game progresses. these subtle details are everything to me. he’s not a prop.

CW for discussion of medical abuse, forcefeeding, torture, gore, autocannibalism, basically everything curly experiences in-game

“he doesn’t want to keep still any more.” our first line in curly’s presence. anya doesn’t say “he won’t keep still anymore,” she says he doesn’t want to. this diction provides a sharp contrast to jimmy, whose only acknowledgment of curly’s desires comes up when he puts words in curly’s mouth, while anya observes curly’s body language to extrapolate what he actually wants and needs. she considers him a person, just as the player is meant to; jimmy does not.

the progression of the pills scenes. in the first one, he’s in about as little pain as we see him. he just chokes it down.

in the second pills scene, anya is late on giving him the pills and he’s clearly in great pain, crying, tossing and turning even though that probably just hurts him more. i do think the way the crying can be heard through the entire ship is jimmy’s auditory hallucination, but it was loud enough to wake jimmy up from the lounge. when jim actually does give him the pills, curly briefly resists, but after that first hit, he cries out in pain and then gives this strangled “huh?” before the beating continues. he cries out a couple more times before realizing jimmy wants him to be quiet, and he stops crying out, lets jimmy give him the pills, and sobs quietly before going silent.

in the third pills scene, curly seems to be trying not to make noise or resist. he still sobs after the pills go down and falls quiet after.

after anya’s and daisuke’s deaths, curly lies so still and quiet that i’ve witnessed multiple players be shocked that he’s still alive when his chest moves.

and the infamous laughter… that’s definitive proof that curly isn’t just reacting to stimuli like pain (which would not make him less of a person, for the record) but actively observing and thinking about the events around him.

when jimmy picks curly up. despite the fact that having his burns pressed against another person would be excruciating, curly does not react. just breaths hoarsely and keeps his eye locked on jimmy — until he ends up on the table surrounded by the corpses. then, and only then, does his breath get panicky, and he starts to cry softly.

cutting the leg. my goodness, those screams. incredible voice acting, first of all, but it really stands out to me that it isn’t a terrifying, inhuman scream. it’s very human, very desperate and pained, mixed with heaving, awful sobs. and afterward? curly’s so shaken that he’s visibly moving his jaw on his own as he gasps for breath. and the look in his eye…

in the force feeding scene — which, in my mind, was a hallucinatory version of real events — curly is silent and still. he only moves or cries out when he’s forced to via vomiting or the wheels turning (though the latter is likely imagined). he doesn’t react to anything else. doesn’t even hold up his head. but he gives these pained cries when the wheels turn, and this draws awareness to how he’s being treated as a prop here with intention. he’s being dehumanized, reduced to an object, but we as the player are painfully aware that this is a person. he’s not reacting more because he’s shutting down from all the trauma he’s experienced.

and i have a lot in my head about the juxtaposition of curly POV scenes with jimmy interacting with post-crash curly scenes. they’re often perfectly timed to remind you that the person on the cot, on the table, or in your arms is the same man who you were a minute ago, and vice versa.

just. man. mouthwashing emphasizes curly’s humanity at every corner, and that makes his story so much more horrifying.

i really like this game and i really like that it displays a disabled character being dehumanized by the player character while also emphasizing to the player that this is not right.

#curly mw #mouthwashing #jimmy mw #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #anya mw #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #post crash curly #mouthwashing curly #mw curly #mouthwashing game #analyzing anonymously #<- more like summarizing really #grant curly

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starrynightarchive · 5 months ago

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no but like. the one piece universe would be 10000x funnier if ace didn't die.

imagine you're a decently known pirate in the grand line and now you are trying to make yourself a name in the turbulent seas. you try to take over some stretch of the sea and wreck havoc and BOOM your ships are burning your subordinates are screaming and why is there a cowboy crouched on your ship mast????

("CAPTAIN APPARENTLY THIS IS WHITEBEARD'S TERRITORY-"

"YOU SAID THE SAME THING TWO DAYS AGO"

"I THINK EVERYTHING HERE IS WHITEBEARD'S TERRITORY"

"FUCK.")

but it's fine. it's whatever. you make a narrow escape with one ship and half of your crew and start rebuilding your reputation. years pass. you have now taken over a small, peaceful island in the middle of fucking nowhere. everything is awesome.

and then suddenly a teenager wearing flip flops and jorts comes to your throne room and claims he is going to kick your ass. why? because some little girl gave him food and you made her cry by making her parents sad. he claims he will kick your ass not for the multiple counts of murder, assault, human trafficking or your favourite hobby, slavery. no, he says he will beat you up because you made some little girl sad. he seems very confident that he and his silly little crew will defeat your whole evil army. with what, you laugh, the power of friendship?

he then proceeds to beat the shit out of you and your minions with the power of friendship. and an insane amount of violence and bloodlust.

somehow, you manage to escape the island. one plus point to this whole thing is that this island was basically unknown so no one knows of your colossal fuck up. you move on. two years pass. you get stronger and are careful with the people you go against. eventually you start working for the government and provide them with information on the underground world and the whole pirate business. it's a good, easy life. you can wreck havoc under the protection of government. nothing can go awry now, right? wrong.

some motherfucker with a goddamn PIPE and a TOPHAT beats you up (you wonder if it's a big joke the universe is playing on you. fucking humiliating to get defeated only by brats that wear the most ridiculous hats in existence). for some reason the chief of revolutionary army thinks you are annoying and wants to kill you. he calls his move dragon claw (what the fuck is up with his hands??? arthritis???) and you watch him bring his hand down and your base fuckinh crumbles. he crushes the skulls of your lackeys. he is laughing all the while. oh my god he is insane.

you have always been lucky so against all odds, you escape. you're smarter about your comeback this time. you have realised you can't survive the new world on your own and ally with some bigshot emperor and have successfully convinced them to kill the strawhat kid, because BOY was that brat fucking annoying. JORTS??? FLIPFLOPS??? GUM GUM NO UFO???? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING???

you are smart about getting him too. the kid is strong but he is dumb so somehow, you manage to catch him with some meat (did no one teach him about stranger danger??), some sea stone cuffs and shove him in a basement of seawater. it's going GREAT. a day passes. suddenly everything is on fire and your base is crumbling and your people are screaming and you only have time to think oh no before the other two hat bastards come in.

("you hurt our little brother. prepare to die."

"im sorry your WHAT")

but they don't get to do anything because apparently their little brother is a god??? he's still wearing flipflops??? oh you're dead. you're so fucking dead.

#long post alert #i just think they're neat #the true mystery in the one piece universe is: how many brothers does mugiwara luffy have. why are they all insane #it does not help that luffy never talks about any of them #anyone who has met all three asl brothers must be TRAUMATIZED of hats #random guy: smiles too much wears a hat looks like he's the type to help a grandma cross the road #pirates now sweating: oh my god he's fucking insane is he a strawhat brother. FUCK this shit im out of here #ace lives au #monkey d luffy #revolutionary sabo #sabo #portgas d ace #asl brothers #one piece #luffy #straw hat pirates #vi talks

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somewhereincairparavel · 1 year ago

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Percy this. Percy that. It was always about Percy Jackson. All the fucking time.

It was always about the Hero of Olympus, the one who defeated Kronos and led the battle of Manhattan, the one who was offered immortality by the king of the gods himself, the one who restored glory to Rome by returning the golden eagle, the one who became praetor of the Roman camp in 2 weeks with limited training.

His Roman camp. Jason Grace's Roman camp.

Percy Jackson had pulled off everything in 2 weeks that Jason Grace wasn't able to accomplish despite dedicating his whole life for duty. 11 years of blood, sweat and tears, simply gone down the drain.

Jason had failed his camp. He had failed his home. Turns out, he wasn't as great as the people of Rome had once preached about him. It was obvious considering the less than warm welcome he had gotten from his so-called “home”.

He received no hugs, no cheers, no “we missed you jason!”, no “I was so worried about you!” or even a single pat on the arm by his “friend” Dakota. Dakota and Gwendolyn hadn't even spared a glance at him.

Nothing. Instead, this new Jackson boy was held up to worship like a god amongst the people who once considered Jason a “hero”.

Jason laughed bitterly. Was it selfish of him to be disappointed with Reyna? With a pang, he got to know that Reyna hadn't sent a single search party out to look for her “best friend”. Not like Annabeth did for Percy, not like Thalia did for Percy.

With a pang, he got to know that the whole camp basically deemed him as ‘dead’ and Reyna hadn't even set up a memorial of remembrance for him. The camp had simply moved on with their new hero. Without a single shred of thought for Jason Grace.

The forgotten Hero. The lost hero. Jason Grace.

These thoughts of doubt gnawed on Jason's mind, slowly eating him up ever since he'd first seen Percy Jackson in those damned praetor togas that once belonged to him.

He didn't dislike the boy, of course not, it wasn't Percy's fault that Hera wiped their memories or switched camps.

But it was hard for Jason to not resent him, or feel even the tiniest amount of envy, knowing that Reyna willingly replaced him with Jackson. Very quickly too, at that. He overheard Octavian blabbing to his lackeys about how Reyna “was head over heels for Percy almost immediately”

“I guess that's it. Maybe I am someone who is easy to replace.” Jason thought, his eyes pricking as he looked over from the flying ship, at the place he once used to call home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason watched remorsefully as Thalia, Grover, Percy and Annabeth were all gathered at the table in camp half blood, cracking jokes about dam french fries or whatever that meant.

Thalia caught Jason's eyes, staring at all of them from a distance. She smiled softly, and gave him a tiny wave. He weaved his lips into something that was meant to look like a wry smile, but it came out as a slight grimace, as he waved back.

Thalia was so close to Jason, yet so far away.

He knew she loved him, but it felt different. And an annoying, nagging part of Jason had known that Thalia would never be as close to him as she was to Annabeth or Percy.

Ironic isn't it? Jason and Thalia were always connected since they came from the same womb, yet she was closer to Annabeth, a girl she'd found after she had run away from the same woman that had given Jason to the wolves. The same woman who had turned his life upside down by abandoning him.

Thalia had found Annabeth right after she thought she had lost Jason. In a strangely ironic way, Jason felt like he'd been replaced all over again.

Thalia had replaced Jason as a younger sibling with Annabeth without even realizing it, all of this took place mere months after a baby Jason was considered to be dead. This situation had strangely reminded him of Camp Jupiter, how he was replaced by Percy right after Jason was considered “dead” by Camp Jupiter.

This made Jason reach the possibility that if he were indeed “dead”, he wouldn't be missed. People wouldn't bat an eyelash. Since there was always someone better than him. Someone like Percy Jackson, who could easily fill the void Jason would leave behind.

His eyes watered, as he looked at how much fun his sister had with his friends. Knowing full well, that he'd never be able to do the same.

Jason felt ashamed that he had to ask Percy about Thalia’s likes and dislikes, he was thalia’s brother. He was supposed to know.

Jason watched as Thalia quickly hugged the trio, as she left their table to leave with the hunters, not even realizing that there was one person whom she forgot to hug.

Don't take it personally. Don't take it personally. She just forgot. She doesn't hate you. She just forgot. She doesn't prefer Percy over you. She's in a hurry. That's why she forgot. Jason repeated that like a mantra, the only person he was trying to convince was himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And he rejected immortality!- oh you should've seen Zeus' face!” Annabeth exclaimed to Hazel excitedly, as Percy was blushing at the compliment fountain being poured at him by Hazel and Annabeth.

Jason had always been fascinated by that story, the almighty Percy Jackson getting offered to become a god, by Zeus.

His father. Jason's father, Zeus.

Jason felt stupid and guilty for getting envious, it's not the fact that Percy had been offered immortality, no. Jason couldn't care less about being immortal. It was the person who offered Percy invincibility that bothered Jason so much.

Jason knew that even if he went to the ends of the world to accomplish something, his father wouldn't be able to praise him or even talk to him for a long time.

Zeus and Jason could never be like Hades and Nico, or Poseidon and Percy. That's just how it is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reyna had come to camp half blood for a fun visit. Jason would've been ecstatic in other circumstances, but in this case, he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. Because currently, Reyna seemed to be looking at everyone, but refused to meet Jason's eyes. She seemed to keep her distance as she laughed at something Percy and Piper were saying.

She may as well have just stabbed him, it would've hurt a lot less.

He had truly been naive to believe that he could make amends with Reyna. Now he knew, it would never be possible. There was too much pain mixed with bitterness on both ends. But seeing her get along with Percy reminded him of the old times of friendship he and Reyna had shared. Keyword: had.

Once again, the fates had shown him that Percy Jackson would always be better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jason Grace lay on the cold floor, coughing out blood. He realized he was alone, he was dying, but he was alone.

Like always. The sickly voice of Gaia, that had once haunted his nightmares, boomed in his head. Jason knew he was hallucinating as a result of blood loss, Gaia is in deep slumber. But that did not stop the voice in his head that was invented by his insecurities. Even in the end, you've been forgotten, Jason Grace. Because that's what you will always be. The second best. The leftover. The pawn who is discarded, after his purpose has been fulfilled. Percy Jackson would always be better in everyone's eyes.

To the Romans, you are simply the one who betrayed his lineage. But Percy is the one who restored glory. He did your job for you.

To the Greeks, you are simply a burden, one whom they were forced to welcome.

To your father, you are merely one of his many sons.

To your sister, you are a stranger.

Jason's resolve to live had weakened, hot tears were streaming down his face as he closed his eyes in defeat, he had come to the painful conclusion that nobody is going to come find his body. Nobody is going to mourn him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh I will always be much better than you at this! Bring it on, dude!” Percy laughed as he striked his play sword lightsaber at Jason's. They clashed.

“You wish, Jackson!” Jason shot back jokingly, as they sparred playfully with toy lightsabers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jackson, you jerk. You were right after all, you will always be much better than me” Jason laughed bitterly, as he recalled that memory of his sparring session with Percy.

Suddenly everything went black. The life had successfully ebbed out of him.

Little did Jason know, was that someone had indeed come to look for him. Tempest, his Pegasus had come to retrieve his body, but Jason was long gone. People had indeed mourned him. His friends were, indeed, anguished. His sister was, indeed, heartbroken.

Jason's soul parted this world, with the knowledge that he'd always be The forgotten Hero.

The lost hero. Jason Grace.

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traflawgar · 1 month ago

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Hello!! Could I please request zoro head cannons. This is a fluff prompt. Basically after the straw hats liberate yet another country and have their celebration on the sunny, zoro snatches the reader and throws them over one shoulder while he has a barrel of booze on the other. Someone asks him “aren’t you going to eat” and he says something like “I got what I need” before going to the crows nest with his partner. I wonder how zoro would show his affection when liquored up and away from nosy eyes (sanji probably sets some food aside because it would be a cold day in hell before his crewmates go hungry)

alone with you

zoro x reader. FLUFF.

TAGS: alcohol, of course. zoro likes to pretend he's a tough bitch but he loves cuddles and kisses.

divider by @/uzmacchiato.

NOTES--I love zoro. I see him as the kind of dude to pretend he's super stoic in front of others, but once he's alone with his partner will be quite cuddly. for this request I went more on the properly headcanons direction, hope you like the result!

Zoro has been staring at you since everyone reunited at the ship. Sitting across from you, taking gulp after gulp of his sake, he’s not letting you ignore him. No matter how hard you try. You can’t even meet his gaze, afraid that the simmering fire in his eyes will reflect your own need to be alone with him.

And then everyone would find out that there’s something more going on between the two of you.

He does not have the same concern. That much becomes evident when he abruptly stands up and strides toward you. He ignores the crew’s complaints as he moves anything and anyone out of his way. Complaints that fall silent as confused and shocked eyes—and one pair of knowing ones—watch him carelessly pick you up and throw him over his shoulders.

Stunned silence hangs in the air, before wolf whistles and laughter break it unceremoniously. Your friends are not deterred by the groan you let out, nor by the murderous glare you throw their way.

“Wait, dinner’s almost ready!” Sanji yells as he steps onto the deck, lured out of the kitchen by the chaos unfolding.

“Don’t care. Got everything I need here.” As if to emphasize his words, Zoro shifts the weight of the barrel he’s holding in one arm, and pats your ass with his free hand.

You think you hear Sanji complain and threaten to let you starve later, but that’s quickly pushed out of your mind as Zoro begins climbing up towards the crow’s nest. He’s completely oblivious to how dangerous it is, while all you can think about is the very precarious position you’re in.

A few torturous moments later, he sets you down on the floor and you finally open your eyes. “Finally we’re a–” he starts, but is quickly interrupted by your fists on his chest as you accuse him of nearly killing you.

Usually, Zoro would let you carry on with your antics and tease you once you get bored of them. Tonight, however, he’s feeling quite impatient. He’s been waiting for ages (a few minutes) to be alone with you while everyone else hogged your attention (spent time with you in a group setting). He was hoping to sneak away after dinner when everybody was too full of food and alcohol to notice—and he usually would’ve done just that. You know that, know tonight feels different for some reason, so you don’t really complain when he shuts you up with a kiss, hands holding your wrists to stop you.

You let him pull you to his favourite spot in the crow’s nest, follow suit as he plops down on the floor. He’s a lot more affectionate when he’s drunk, not holding himself back from what he actually wants.

His head is immediately on your shoulder, and whenever he’s not filling his cup with the barrel he brought, he’s nuzzling against you and muttering how warm you are. Every other minute he’ll look up at you with puppy eyes and –ask for– demand a kiss.

“I want a kiss,” he’ll mutter with a pout (which he later denies was a pout), and you think it’s the cutest thing to ever happen to you.

Eventually he gets you to sit between his legs, your back pressed snuggly against his chest. He wraps his arms around your body and pulls you impossibly closer. He all but wraps himself entirely around you, pressing lazy kisses on your back. His fingers trace shapes on your thighs, random things at first, but then you think he might be spelling something—he’s spelling “I love you” because no amount of booze can get him to say it out loud yet. So, for now, he’ll settle for spelling it on your skin and trusting you understand it.

You’ll stay like that until your stomach growls embarrassingly loud.

“Let’s see if the shitty cook made good on his threat.”

He did not, to nobody’s surprise. Regardless of how many times he threatens to do so, Sanji never lets you go hungry.

When the two of you get to the kitchen, there’s food waiting for you. You take the plates and sit on the deck, traces of the crew’s celebration all over the floor. You sit and look at the stars, and Zoro surprises you with an incredible amount of knowledge on stars and constellations.

(He read books about it just so he could tell you all these interesting facts about the night sky because he likes seeing the impressed look in your eyes whenever he does something cool.)

After eating, he’ll suggest going back to the crow’s nest just so you can keep cuddling and maybe, if all goes according to his plan, you’ll fall asleep like that—holding each other close, with your head on his chest and your legs intertwined.

#zoro headcanons #zoro fluff #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro fic #zoro fanfiction #one piece headcanons #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fic #one piece fanfiction

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777heavengirl · 4 months ago

Text

the one with the unpacking

sirius black x f!reader ! - 2,526 words warnings: angst, father is vaguely threatening masterlist bags masterlist a/n: this is like my fourth time reposting this shit TUMBLR WHY. my posts aren’t showing up on the tags im afraid o might’ve been shadow banned???

Sirius remembers the first time he packed his bags by himself. Of course, his entire life had been under the begrudging hands of Kreacher, his room tidy, his trunk packed neatly and to perfection. Every year like clockwork, he never had to pack or unpack, half the time he didn't have to carry his trunk either. And at Hogwarts… well he hated to say it but he didn’t unpack or pack anything either. Half the year he just pulled straight out of his trunk until he ran out of clothes, and then magically (bless those house elves) they’d be clean and dry, neatly folded on the corner of his bed where he would basically just run through the same process as before. By the end of term, all of his belongings would be safely locked in his trunk again.

But he remembers.

Like it was yesterday, the night he packed his first trunk, by himself, by hand. Sirius Black at sixteen was everything but organized and neat, so packing everything he owned, everything he loved, into a trunk to leave and never turn back had proved to be a daunting task. It does not matter how much time has passed, he will always vividly remember the dread at the pit of his tummy.

He remembers the folding and the refolding, nothing quite fitting, or everything fitting except for one item or two, it should not be this hard- it’s just like doing a puzzle he thought. Yet the answer on how to fit everything evaded him for hours.

It was the first time in his life he had to learn how to fold clothes in the most efficient way possible, it was the first time he realized how much he actually owned.

It was the first time in his life he could not leave anything back because he could just get it later- there was no going back.

There was no return.

So he learned to pack, on the spot— painstakingly and with lots of force. He had to sit on his trunk just to close it, and he still had to fill about another bag worth of stuff.

He often thinks about what he left behind, the things that just couldn’t quite fit, what he had to sacrifice. He tries not to think of Regulus.

He thinks of the posters on the walls and the photos he left behind.

He thinks of the bracelet his cousin Andromeda gave him when he turned eleven, a sliver of white gold that fit snugly on his wrist no matter how much he grew. He knows exactly where he left it too.

Yet- He thinks of his brother again.

He left him there too.

He thinks of Regulus, alone in that dark cold house.

Sirius Black knew how to pack his bags now. He did it himself every year living with the Potters, he and James packed their suitcases together every August, ready to leave for Hogwarts again. Not that the Potters didn’t have house elves, Euphemia just ran a tight ship with the two rowdy boys.

Sirius eventually learned how to consolidate, how to not leave every remnant of himself in the room he inhabited at the fear of having to pack everything up again, at the fear of leaving something behind.

Sirius stared at his trunk. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, somehow, in the rush of it all he had forgotten to actually move on with his life.

It had been two years of living together, and he had never properly unpacked.

Sure, there were traces of himself in his room, it was inevitable. But you were right.

It was like he had one foot out the door the whole time.

So for the first time in his life, he unpacked.

Properly, carefully.

With intention.

He didn’t use magic, no, this was something he felt like he had to do with his own hands no matter how tiring it was. So he did, he hung and folded and tucked away until the last sock. He hung more pictures on his walls, he unraveled himself across his room until everything was out of his trunk.

He stared at the empty bag when he finished. He could remember the last time he saw the bottom of it like it was yesterday. It was the same day he learned how to pack.

With a flick of his wand, he made the trunk small enough to tuck into a corner of his closet.

There was no need to have it out now.

Your head still spun from the argument with Sirius. The whiplash of pouring every ounce of want and every last drop of need accumulated over the years into each other and then exploding in argument made you feel nauseous.

Nothing much was said after you confronted him about his oh-so-stupid packed bags.

He let go of your hand, and nodded, biting his tongue.

“You should’ve told me- we deal with shit together remember? you’re the one that said that don't be a hypocrite now-”

You didn’t know what to answer.

He disappeared into his room with a scoff.

You rubbed your temples at your desk, it had been a sleepless night after the fight, and a morning without even a peep of Sirius.

“What's wrong sweetie?” The blonde that had a desk parallel to yours put her pencil down, leaning on her hand with a pout. “Are you fighting with your boyfriend again?”

You sighed with a chuckle, for a muggle she was way too perceptive.

“He’s not my boyfriend, although-” she scoffed, you sighed “nevermind-”

“No! Tell me-” she smiled sweetly, she reminded you of Mary a lot. “That’s what we’re here for you know? what else are we going to do all day in this shit hole?”

“Work?” you said, a short laugh leaving your lips as you said it.

She laughed too, pearly white teeth peeking out from behind her glossy lips.

“That’s a good one sweetheart- so come on, spill”

“We kissed yesterday-” you said, and she squealed in her seat, kicking her heel-clad feet “but then my dad called- and it was just… this whole thing and he got angry because he thinks I want to move out but I thought he was the one that wanted to leave this whole time and I-” you took a deep breath, groaning as you leaned back on your chair. “I just don’t know what to do or where we stand anymore Cassie-”

She hummed in response, thinking deeply about your issue. Her short hair bounced in the pinned curls as she nodded with her eyes closed- her expression changed into one with a smile.

“I think you should go home right now-”

“What?” you stared at her, brows furrowed, just about ready to roll your eyes

“I’m serious- I just really think you should go home- like right now” You stared at her dumbly as she spoke, and she smiled “Just trust me- everything will get resolved if you just go home and talk to him… I’ll cover for you- besides, you helped me out by covering like three of my shifts last week-” You nodded slowly, limbs moving to pack your things into your bag.

“Just trust me-” she said with a wink as she bid you goodbye.

A chill ran down your spine.

You were quickly spat out into your room, the small crack and pop of your apparition ringing out softly.

Your door swung open-

“Y/n,” you frowned at your name, Sirius stood at the door- white as a sheet “Your parents popped in for a visit,” Sirius shot you a closed-lip smile— one that didn’t reach his eyes, one that screamed of apology and regret. You hadn’t been able to properly talk and now your parents were home-

Maybe Cassie was a bloody witch-

“Oh,” you moved out of the room, Sirius hot on your trail as the two of you made your way to the kitchen. You stopped dead in your tracks as you took in your parents. Your mom smiled softly, a warm cup of tea between her two hands as she sat on the kitchen stool. Your dad stood stoically next to the counter, arms crossed. You knew immediately, from the mere look in his eyes, he wasn’t happy. “Hi- what are you guys doing here?”

“Just wanted to pop in sweetie,” your mom laughed hollowly, a nervous bite of her lip, and the way she avoided your gaze made you want to leave immediately. “chat a bit…”

“We need to talk, Sirius if you will-” Your dad spoke up, motioning to the door. The boy looked at you, mouth slightly agape as your father borderline kicked him out of his own house.

“Whatever you wanna say to me can be said in front of him-” Your father stared at you, a gaze of vague threats and unhappiness.

“Fine,” you moved next to Sirius, the counter that stood between you and your parents hiding how his fingers quickly found the loop of your pants to anchor the two of you together. you felt a jolt of electricity down your spine at his touch “Your mother has something she wants to tell you-”

Your mom shot him an ugly look, one with disdain and anger as she said through gritted teeth. “Your father thinks-”

“We think- sweetie,”

Your mom turned towards you, “No— your father thinks you should move out soon, he has taken it upon himself to call in some favors and he thinks he can get you this small flat close to home,”

“What?” You stared incredulously at the both of them. You could feel Sirius’s grip tighten, the color draining from his face. “What the actual hell are you talking about? I told you last night-”

“We think it will be what’s best for you- you can start going to the small college that's a bit away, it’ll be good for you” Your father decided to speak up, a smug tone lacing his words. You could feel a knot form in your throat.

“No-”

“you haven’t even given it some thought”

“I am a bloody adult- not some child you can relocate wherever you want” You raised your voice now, anger coursing through you. If you moved out it would be out of your own volition, panic settled in your bones. Even then, you knew you didn't want to.

This apartment was your home.

“I will not let you dictate what I do with my life- matter of fact I’m quitting the damn travel office too-” You could feel Sirius tense up next to you.

Your father’s nose flared briefly, eyebrows twitching as he geared up to argue

“You know what— just get out,” you said

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me- get the fuck out of my house, I’m not- I’m not doing this with you, get out”

Your mom stood up quickly, grabbing your father tightly by his arm “I told you, you should‘ve just shut up,” he quickly shook her off

“You can’t just kick me out what is wrong with you?” He started approaching, heavy steps with an even louder voice reverberating through your small flat.

Something shifted, at that moment. You could feel it in the way that Sirius immediately grabbed your hand closest to his, standing somehow taller, somehow stronger.

For a long time now, you and Sirius had something you could not name, call it instinct, call it a bond. James liked to joke you could read each other’s mind when you looked into the other’s eyes.

It was why you stopped getting paired together in defense against the dark arts, it was the reason why the two of you were very rarely caught in pranks, it was that same reason why you could both feel something instinctive and raw, engrained deep in your bones that made you both pull out your wands before either one of you could think twice about it.

You could feel the hesitation in your father now, for the first time in your life, your father took a step back, faced with something he did not know of nor controlled. And you realized in that moment, that it wasn’t magic itself he hated- it was the fact that it was something he could not control, but you could.

“Oi- get out, you heard her” Sirius spoke up now, his wand was steady, eyes focused. He could feel the adrenaline in his veins, the fear of an angry man in his house again, the need to run or fight or hide.

He stayed still, solid. Because he knew that’s what you needed him to be at that moment.

Your father stayed quiet, turning on his foot to walk out the door.

“Don’t bother coming home-” He walked out before you could retort, dragging your mother with him.

Sirius turned to you, immediately, like every bone in his body had been beginning him to do so the past ten minutes.

“I’m sorry-” he said, breathless

“Stop,” you said between the flow of tears that poured from your eyes, you couldn’t meet his gaze- “it’s not your fault, I’m the one that should be sorry” Your breath shook “I’m so sorry-”

you gripped his hand tighter, your free hand wiping furiously at your face. You felt embarrassed, right to your core. Embarrassed he got dragged into it, embarrassed that you let it get this far.

Embarrassed that your father violated the sacred space you and Sirius had created.

“Hey- Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about dollface-” he quickly took you into his arms, your head tucked under his chin as he engulfed you. Tight against his body, like trying to put himself between you and the world.

Nothing else mattered right now. “It’s not your fault he’s so dreadful”

“I’m sorry about everything-” you sobbed into his chest, fingers gripping his shirt like he might disappear if you let go. “I-I’m sorry about the job- and the moving out and Merlin- I’m so sorry about him-” you sobbed out, hiccuping and stuttering at every word.

“Don’t apologize my love- please?” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and then your temple, slightly loosening his hold so he could kiss your cheek. “Please don’t— I'm sorry too, I didn't hear you out either”

He could feel his own tears gather in his eyes, his heart beating fast against his chest as you took deep breaths along with him, trying to match your rhythm to his.

“Nothing else matters right now, okay? Just you and me love- I promise” You nodded at his words, and his lips pressed a kiss against your tear-stained cheek once again.

He wondered if he would've ever had the guts to kick one of his parents out of his house. He thought of Regulus again, he thought of the night he left, the way his father was too drunk to care, how his mother stared at him from the doorframe. She did not stop him, did not call out.

That night, Walburga Black could only stare as Sirius left with his bags.

tags ; @thatlittlered @giuli-in-earth @notsolong-pause @niceonejames7 @caspiankingofnarnia @ilovejamespottersomuch @bmyva1entine @lanadelreykt @froggiedragon @stanzie @theendofthematerialgworl @featherlightfairysworld @plk-18 @coldthinghairdobakery

#sirius black x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #the marauders era #padfoot #marauders era #sirius black fanfiction #marauders x reader #sirius black x you #sirus black #sirius #sirius o black #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius x reader #sirius x you

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ardienothesieno · 14 days ago

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taking notes on the hermitcraft charity livestream for my friend @pookapufferfish and also just anyone else who had to miss it 👍

these are going to be all over the place lol

i started my note-keeping like an hour or so into the stream so i dont have a lot of stuff from the beginning...

but: grian and scar opened the stream, showed off some of the items up for auction (like real wild life snails. i want one so bad but they're MASSIVELY out of my price range...)

POST-POSTING EDIT: I FORGOT THERE WAS AN IMP AND SKIZZ PODCAST. it wasnt really a traditional podcast though, martyn was asking them questions, a group of hermits would vote on who they thought had the best answer, and whoever lost got shocked by grian.

my most notable takeaway from the shock-cast is that if impulse could have any superpowers he'd want control over time, and skizz would want the ability to heal people. mmm yes food for the superhero aus

and then ren busted out this custom hermitcraft guitar that's also up for auction and played a song by green day

and then we got treebark content.martyn and ren ran the main stream for like 20 minutes

also we hit ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS really freaking fast. and they spun the wheel of chaos and it landed on ✨hermit boxing✨

ROBO-CLEO

okay now all that follows is liveblogging

i keep recognizing people in chat. like not even from mcyt spaces ive seen like three people who i know from skurry streams

martyn using they/them for cleo pog!!

THERE'S A JELLIE MURAL IN THE MINECRAFT OFFICE AWWW

irl guess the build / drawing... drawing things on whiteboards or building things and then guessing

cub is wearing a bob ross wig.

jimmy has built skizz's giraffe...

SKIZZ GIRAFFE REDEMPTION ARC GOES HORRIBLY WRONG

pearl has gorgeous handwriting

grian has obtained a cat keyboard and jimmy is beatboxing along

GEM GIRAFFE REDEMPTION ARC GOES INCREDIBLY RIGHT

they're gonna auction off the terrible drawings. i want one.

round two of guess the drawing / build has the most unhinged prompts ever. including the cursed creature mumbo built in the last permitmaster

it has gone off the rails incredibly fast

grian is just torturing everyone with nerf guns and whoopie cushions

jimmy is left handed

martyn's doing a dollar drive and it's not letting me donate because it doesnt take debit cards. now i need to somehow convince my dad to let me use his credit card... i'll pay him back but. gah. the hassle.

pearl and some person fighting in the background (who was apparently karn, her partner!)

TWO HUNDRED THOUSANDDDDDDDDDDDDD

joe and cub are boxing!! cub is still dressed like bob ross

it's been like 20 minutes and martyn is still going strong with the name reading. and about 30,000 dollars have been raised in that time alone

dimension 20 reference!

martyn's free from yelling names for now... in half an hour we raised SEVENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS

zed and tango hosting the QUIET GAMESSSSSSS. 3 teams of two, imp and gem, ren and skizz, GRIAN AND JIMMYYYY. basically just a bunch of weird minigames where you have to be as quiet as possible. scored on how quiet you are and how well you do

first minigame is moving marbles with spoons but the spoons are attached to a cowbell

gem and impulse did good. skizz and ren did better then i expected. jimmy and grain instantly dissolved into anarchy. jimmy and grian had the most marbles, skizz and ren were surprisingly the quietest

okay the next game is so weird. knocking around ping pong balls with party popper blow kazoo things. but you hold the kazoo for your partner so it's weirdly intimate

someone in the chat described it as nightmare blunt rotation and that the most accurate description yet

someone else in chat has named skizz and ren team rizz and i hate everything

also i realize now that if theyd have done this with commonly shipped pairs the fandom would never shut up

despite the absolute chaos that was happening grian and jimmy won that round on both number of balls and quietness. grian may have slapped jimmy at one point. (he totally did)

the last one is EVEN MORE COMPLICATED. one person blindfolded navigating a minefield of bubblewrap and rubber chickens. another with jingle bells on their ankles and a big stick to smack their partner around.

gem immediately has grabbed the big stick with an evil look on her face

impulse is INCREDIBLY clumsy and gem is just whaling on him

"IT'S ALL BUBBLES!!!?!?" -- impulsesv

ren and skizz have a STRATEGY

ren is doing adorable little shuffley step-steps. "Robo-penguin Ren... Renguin" -- Zedaph

JIMMY IS MOUTHING "HELP ME" OMG.... GRIANS GOING TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM...

but theyve got the best strategy yet actually grian's only kinda beating the shit out of jimmy... they might win this...

GRIAN AND JIMMY TAKE THE WHOLE THING HOME!!!!!!!! SKYBLINGS VICTORY!!!!!!! THE ONE NO ONE EXPECTED!!!!!!

wheel spin for 200,000 landed on "tortilla slap challenge" whichll be weird

the artworks from guess the build have gone up on the auction site and scar is very horrified over something skizz drew... a "sentient sock" that looks very... sus.

speed TCG time!!!!!!! i dont know much about TCG so im gonna try and maybe try and study a bit during this part (also also every 1000 dollars donated each player gets an extra item card)

joe is doing live TCG sound effects

neither joe or ren cant flip a coin to save their lives

pearl v cub. ren v joe. ren v cub.

TCG IS TOO CHAOTIC I CANT FOCUS ON TRIGONOMETRY LIKE THIS

also i need to learn how to play this it looks so fun

this is HEATED. and ren keeps getting armor stands and is so pissed about it

REN TAKES THE VICTORY!!! and they raised like 20,000 dollars in the process holy cow "THIS IS THE MOST EXPENSIVE GAME OF TCG EVER TO BE PLAYED" -- Joe Hills

ONE MILLION DOLLARS RAISED FOR GAMERS OUTREACH IN TOTAL

THREE HUNDRED THOUSANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

300k wheel spin has unlocked NERF GUNSSSSS

also it's "donate x amount of dollars get your name on a sign on hermitcraft" time

cleobot is back!

scar is having a fantastic time running the main stream

GRIAN HAS COME IN AND BARRAGED SCAR WITH BULLETS.

it's tortilla tiiiiiiiiiiime

twich has a personal vendetta against me. it gives me ads right when the exciting things are starting.

scar is apparently on the board of directors at gamer's outreach now!!

IMPULSE V JIMMY. a draw. they are both invulnerable to tortillas.

TANGO V ZED. tango loses through laughter

IMPULSE V ZED. zed didnt get a single slap on impulse. a draw.

also all the hermits really really like to play scissors. in rock paper scissors.

"she removed both of my heads from my body..." -- RentheDog

THE GIRLIES ARE FIGHTING (ren and false)

SKIZZ V GRIAN TORTILLA FIGHT. skizz wins lolol

...im buying a sign

gem signed pearl's ankle.

OKAY I GOT REALLY DISTRACTED FROM MY LIVEBLOGGING. THERE WAS WAR. THERE WAS A MASSIVE NERF GUN WAR. IT INTERRUPTED THE SIGN PLACING.

and yeah... i bought a sign <3

but i dont even know how to cover the half of the nerf war. but there was a lot of hotguy and cuteguy action

grian was even using two pistols instead of a bigger nerf gun... just like cuteguy in ddvau... omg...

at one point scar became a tank. and jimmy wheeled him behind enemy lines and he sniped four people and won the round

and theyre starting to wrap up now, martyn's doing another dollar drive. we're at $375,000...

everyone is signing the pc in the background of martyn's mad line-spitting

TEN HOUR MARK

we need 10,000 dollars... then we'll hit 400k and martyn can rest his vocal cords...

SPARKBIRD GOT MENTIONED

since it's been brought up like 13 times on the stream today. hey. you. you, the person reading this. you just lost the game :3

FOUR HUNDRED THOUSANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

holy cow. that wraps up day one!!!!

im gonna reblog this post in a bit with all the screenshots i took. because i took a lot of them lol.

link to my day two liveblog

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revelboo · 5 days ago

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This is a sandbox storyline- basically a story starter anyone can play off of. No set Transformers universe here so any partner or partners goes- you want to romance BW Wapinator, IDW Megatron, and TFP Ratchet? Go for it. The premise? Cybertronians trying to find a human who's a compatible match to their sparks and biofields (bit different than my normal stuff, where here, a match needs to be made to be able to bond). Due to how severely endangered their species is, the factions are cooperating even if there still is palpable tension. The agreement is to lure potential matches onto a massive cruise ship where they can interact as their holomatter avatars with their real forms stashed in the hold. Flirting, chatting up, and romancing humans they're drawn to with the intent to reveal their true forms when the cruise stops at its first and only port of call. An isolated island.

If you want to play: no minors in any context, smut is fine, dub-con/forced seduction is okay, but anything beyond that is a nope. Pick whatever characters you want from any TF continuity and carry on the storyline. You can do next/previous like I do and reference this starter if you want, but you don't have to. It's free real estate since it's a very old fic I haven't touched in forever and it probably wasn't getting touched again ever otherwise, so have fun.

Cruise ship concept inspired by Swim Away by themaskismyface on Ao3

Cybertronian Cruiselines

Squinting up at the massive ship as the sun bakes you, people move around you up the walkway alone or in small groups. And some of your doubts ease a bit seeing the ship up close, because you'd honestly assumed it was a scam of some sort. The brochure that had come with your ticket had indicated it was a fantasy cruise. That you could roleplay and romance crew members as funny as it sounds.

Rounding a corner, you run into a queue of people and the cause? The two tallest men you've ever seen. One's mostly silver hair is swept back from an almost sinister, scarred face and red eyes that have to be contacts sweep over the crowd. The other one's hair so dark a black it almost looks blue in the sunlight, his eyes startlingly bright. Yeah. You absolutely understand the backlog now. Everyone gawking at the eye candy on display. That one with the contacts, his eyes almost glow with a feral light, lips twisting in annoyance. And that duster he's wearing looks too hot for the heat, his shirt halfway unbuttoned to show an expanse of tawny skin and tucked into tight fitting jeans. His buddy's shirt stretched tight over a broad chest as he smiles and reaches to hook a finger against his tie, tugging slightly.

"Welcome to the Iacon. I'm Optimus and this is my co-captain Megatron," blue eyes says, his deep voice easily carrying over the whispers. "Please get settled so we can set sail without delay." And he's sweeping an arm to get people moving in the right direction.

Glancing at the two hunks, you follow the crowd, pulling your luggage with you. If the entire crew is that lovely? You're going to have some fun. The ramp enters into an expansive main area, and your neck cranes to try and figure out how many levels there are above you. Never seen a ship this big before. Everything gleaming gold, cream, and glass. Looking far too bourgeoise for you to set foot in or touch. And it looks like the entire cruise line crew is right here, mingling and drifting among the guests. Men and women both and there doesn't seem to be any real dress code going on that you can tell. The only way to tell the crew from the guests is the lack of luggage and the little pins they're wearing. Little colored badges that look like funny faces. And there's multiple versions it looks like. Showing what their duty is, maybe?

"I can't believe that the future of our race lies with these pathetic creatures," Megatron growls, watching the humans wander up the ramp to the ship, fingers flexing in irritation at this indignancy.

Shooting him a censoring look, Optimus watches the humans go. "The strong should protect the weak. Though, these forms do take some getting used to." Rolling his shoulders, he rubs his fingers together, playing with the sensory net and the sensations that feel as real as if it was his own servos touching.

"It's a miracle humans have survived as long as they have," Megatron mutters. No claws, no fangs. Disturbingly squishy and weak, and still very determined to murder each other from what he can tell. Shuddering slightly, he growls as more of them head their way. To come gawk at him. But after centuries of failed attempts to create a hybrid or artificial spark? Their numbers are dwindling. This is the last, best option and he despises it. And as carefully as they selected humans to invite, he can't deny the dread that maybe it won't work. That the medics and scientists got it wrong and this is all a waste of time. That Cybertronians can't be saved. Head turning, he sees Autobot and Decepticon avatars crowding the railing, leaning to watch the humans that might be their salvation with open curiosity.

Annoyed when he sees several head into the ship to greet the humans. And to get close enough to see if any of them trigger reactions to their biofields. Oblivious little organics smiling and gawking at them as they're fussed over on the pretense of getting closer. Because that's the game here. A fantasy cruise where the crew, his people, cater to the human guests' whims, trying to find a compatible partner. It's horrifying that they've sunk this low.

#transformers x reader #megatron #optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #megatron x reader

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pigfacedbitch · 1 month ago

Text

The Price of Promos

summary : Percy is obsessed with you, but people ship you with Jason. what's worse is you two take advantage of it on certain situations.

word count : 0.9k

pairing/s : Percy Jackson x Daughter of Nyx! Reader (Kinda?). Jason Grace x Reader (It's just for show).

warning/s : does lying for free stuff count as one? Percy is a little unhinged.

here's my masterlist!

Note : I, too, would like free stuff.

Perseus Jackson doesn’t hate Jason Grace.

I mean, how could anyone?

The guy is basically a walking PR campaign for heroism— selfless, kind, responsible, and so absurdly noble. They all had their tragic backstories, but Jason?

The guy was literally sacrificed as a toddler. Meanwhile, Percy at least had a childhood (albeit featuring Smelly Gabe and an absentee sea god for a dad, but still— memories were made).

Let’s not forget the sheer unfairness of Jason’s looks: golden-boy Roman features, electric blue eyes, six-pack abs (which Percy totally never stared at), and that conveniently attractive scar that made people swoon like he was the protagonist of a tragic romance novel.

If they only knew he got that scar from trying to eat a fucking stapler.

Jason could’ve been an entitled jerk, taking advantage of his powers, his authority, his stupidly good genetics. But no. He had to go and be a great person. Patient, understanding— the human equivalent of a therapy dog, if therapy dogs could shoot lightning and fly.

How could anyone hate that?

So yeah, technically, Percy couldn’t hate him.

But sometimes... Percy wants to yeet him into the ocean and never let him out.

Why?

Because of you.

The only demigod of Nyx.

You, the one demigod that somehow made Camp Half-Blood look like it had something to prove.

You weren’t rude, per se. Just… too unbothered, like someone who had already seen way too much crap to care anymore.

A walking badass, terrifying in the way that made people question their own survival skills.

Like when a monster asked, “How will you sleep at night after everything you’ve done?” and you deadpanned, "Like a baby, motherfucker." before slicing its head off.

You, who casually sipped a drink after saying, "Gods are the funniest to torture. They don’t die. They can’t beg for death if it never comes."

Or the time you casually dragged a monster into Tartarus instead of fighting it because "Ugh, this is taking too long! I have plans."

Half the camp was terrified of you. The other half idolized you. There was no middle ground.

And Percy? He is obsessed.

It wasn’t a secret either. His friends roasted him constantly about it.

They have a running joke about how the literal savior of Olympus could barely ask you out without causing plumbing disasters.

It was either you were oblivious, or you were just waiting for him to, as Leo so eloquently put it, grow some cojones and finally make a move.

So technically, you weren’t his. Yet.

He is working on it, okay?

But what made his blood boil was how everyone kept shipping you and Jason— the golden boy and the dark, dangerous femme fatale. Oooh, forbidden love! The perfect aesthetic! Percy couldn’t care less.

At first, you and Jason laughed it off. But then—

Sales. Discounts. Promos.

And suddenly, Percy was living in hell.

Because the moment a deal was on the table, you and Jason leaned into the "couple" act so fast it gave Percy whiplash.

That’s when Percy’s casual irritation turned into full-blown homicidal intent. Towards Jason, of course.

The first betrayal happened at a café.

A barista, way too chipper for Percy’s liking, smiled at you and Jason. "Are you two a couple? Lovebirds get free drinks today!"

Percy watched in horror as you and Jason shared a look.

Free drink, (Y/N)?

Duh, idiot.

And with synchronized, Oscar-worthy smiles, you both turned to the barista. "Yes, we are."

The barista squealed. "You’re like night and day. So cute!"

Jason, fully committing, threw an arm around you. Percy was this close to turning that café into an aquarium.

His hand inched toward Riptide.

He could make it look like an accident. Right?

Instead, he settled for stabbing his blue cupcake with enough aggression to count as a felony. He, of course, paid full price for it.

Unbelievable.

The next time, it was at a shopping mall. You were all just supposed to get supplies. Simple. Harmless. Until a saleslady smiled brightly at you and Jason.

"You two are adorable! Are you dating?"

"Oh, we’re n—"

"Couples get a 50% discount per purchase. To keep the love alive!"

"—totally dating! Right, Jason?"

Percy felt his soul leave his body.

Jason, grinning, sealed the betrayal with a playful peck on your cheek.

Percy lunged. Annabeth and Grover had to physically hold him back.

"I can make it swift. Jason won’t feel a thing—"

"No." Annabeth and Grover said in unison.

And then there was the movie theater.

The old vendor, all kind smiles, handed Jason a snack box. "For you and your girlfriend. Enjoy the movie, kid."

Jason, with those perfect teeth, turned to you. "Love, come here."

You complied. He puts an arm around your waist and pressed multiple kisses on your cheek. "Isn't my boyfriend the sweetest?"

Percy nearly exploded on the spot.

Jason Grace. Cause of death? Choking on excessive buttered popcorn and blue Coke.

At the end of the day, Percy knew it was all for the freebies.

Logically, he got it.

But that didn’t stop the irrational rage whenever he saw you two act like a couple.

It looked too good. Too natural.

Like you were actually in love and not just two chaotic demigods scamming capitalism.

So, eventually, like a normal human being? He snaps.

"Are you SERIOUS? AGAIN?" He practically yells during another fake dating stunt.

Everyone stops. You and Jason blink.

Percy throws his hands in the air. "Oh my gods, just date Jason already if you love scamming the universe so much!"

You tilt your head. "Or… you could just ask me out already?"

"...That's a better option. Come on, let's leave this stapler-eating nerd." Percy grabs your hand and pulls you away. "Fly home, Jason!"

"I drove us here, though?" Jason murmurs, confused.

You just laugh, intertwining your hand with his.

And Percy? He just smirks, finally tasting victory.

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson imagines #jason grace #jason grace x reader #jason grace imagine #jason grace imagines #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus imagine #heroes of olympus imagines #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #pjo imagine #hoo imagine #riordanverse

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inchidentally · 6 months ago

Note

Sorry new landoscar fan here, I kept seeing the notion that Oscar was Lando’s fan for years, but I can’t seem to find any info about that?

ofc babe ! I store a lot of it in this tag but I think a little roundup post is probably due - heads up this is not in chrono order bc a lot of it is referenced from recent content:

2015 and Oscar making the big move to the UK to join Ricky Flynn and his fanboying of Lando begins

tiktok compilation of Oscar revealing his chronic Lando content consumption well before they were teammates

compilation from twitter of Oscar's decided bias toward not only liking Lando content but also searching his tag and finding posts that sometimes had barely a few likes (and this was just going back to 2017)

Oscar knowing when Lando's maiden podium was (and Lando calling him a nerd)

the 2020 hornet tweets because Oscar watched the stream of Lando battling 2 hornets in his house x x

Alpine Oscar 'interviewing' Lando and Alex on Sky in 2022 and the quote from Lando that he hasn't raced Oscar "yet" and Oscar well basically staring at Lando

2021 Oscar citing Lando's social media inspiring him to use humor as a way to open up to the public more (added landoscar angst here bc the hate and abuse he received after alpinegate seriously made him clam up and between that and him being fairly in awe of Lando, meant that Lando himself didn't rly get to know Oscar's humor until fairly late 2023 - like, no one should underestimate how Oscar entered F1 properly and got to know one of his favorite drivers all while being universally despised and painted as a villain/cold/evil - how much could have been different if one team had simply kept their mouths shut until verifying that tweet first esp when Oscar was already a shared reserve driver w McLaren anyway !!!!)

the beloved Oscar and Max F at Renault Academy lore

this post I made is a mess but the anecdotes he can only know from Lando's or Max's streams streams or Quadrant videos: Lando making stickers and selling them at school; Lando's snoring lore could be because of the thin shared walls but also Max has def brought it up before; he definitely already knew the story of Lando falling from a window trying to break into his own house; and the fact that we got Max reacting to Oscar referencing Max's outrage at Lando forgetting his birthday

it's a bit too scattered to compile but trust and believe Oscar has been a carlando girlie from day one - def the bromance but idk I feel like he's read a fic or twenty

watching Lando's career when asked about his idols coming up

and backing that up, him in 2019 saying the same thing

EDIT: his mum Nicole saying he would choose Lando as his ideal teammate going into F1 because the expectations of him wouldn't be too high since everyone knows how good Lando is

pulling out the it's Friday theeeen Lando meme

being so addicted to Lando content by 2020 that he actually fanboyed about the LN4 admin interacting w him

EDIT: he then followed it up by creating a sort of ship name for himself and Lando ???

EDIT: Lando's kart and the number 481 !!

EDIT: how could I forget Oscar submitting this old photo of Lando to a meme page in 2023 but he literally had that photo somewhere saved

EDIT: how could I forget the hornets saga ??

and ofc K's beloved Oscar primer has a lot of context about all of this more fleshed out!

I think that's everything but if anyone notices I've forgotten anything lmk !!

#inchreplies #landoscar lore #it's #a lot #oscar's lando obsession #op lore #for reference

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jintaka-hane · 9 months ago

Text

Massive Crush

Masterlist

Summary: The captain of the Victoria Punk notices your growing interest in Luffy and Law and decides to set a new challenge for himself: winning your attention.

Notes: (*) Lyrics of Timber - Pitbull used Word count: 800

Everything in Eustass Kid’s life has to be a damn competition.

He’s got the coolest crew, the flashiest ship, and the most powerful devil fruit. He lifts the heaviest weights, can drink anyone under the table, and wins the toughest fights.

So when he spots you for the first time, radiant and beautiful, leaning against the bar and chatting animatedly with your new friends Law and Luffy, he instantly knows what his next competition will be.

Are those two losers actually rivaling for your attention? HA-HA-HA-HA! Do that flip-flop-wearing brat and the gloomy emo really think they can win you over? Just wait till they see how, in just five minutes, he’ll have you perched on his lap and sipping from his glass.

Oozing with confidence, he grabs a stool and strides over to you, shoving Luffy aside with a dismissive 'Move it, rookie' to clear the way. He sits right between you and Law, turning his back on the latter and abruptly cutting off your conversation. Then, with a shitty grin plastered on his face, he asks what you want to drink while patting his thigh, indicating you can use it as a seat.

"Rude," is all he gets from you in response, and you sidestep him to resume your conversation with Law.

Your cheekiness leaves him utterly speechless, and from that moment on, he’s OBSESSED.

He's convinced that the two captains are his competitors in this new self-imposed challenge—a notion far from reality, as Luffy just wants to make friends and Law is only interested in having an engaging conversation. And his wounded pride only strengthens his determination to have you all to himself and to show you off as a trophy to his so-called rivals.

So every night, he drags his crew to the bar, pretending he’s there just to drink the place dry, but his real interest lies in winning you over to prove his superiority in front of the two captains. And every night, he finds you accompanied by those losers, laughing and drinking with Luffy and having serious conversations about who the hell knows what with Law.

It’s pathetic how someone like you wastes their time with those two fools when someone like him is in the bar...

He could easily just grab you, throw you over his shoulder, and haul you out of there. Or he could yank you onto his lap and hold you there by force...

But that wouldn’t win him the competition.

The only way to claim victory in this battle is for you to willingly fall at his feet. For you to end up begging for his undivided attention in front of everyone.

And that requires a slightly more… subtle approach.

Something he's not quite used to.

One night, in a secretly rehearsed choreography, he approaches you, adjusting his clothes to flaunt as much muscle and skin as possible. He plants his elbow on the bar with swagger, cockily fixes his goggles, and starts talking loudly about all his conquests and victories.

It doesn’t work.

And his first mate watches from a distance, shaking his head...

Another night, Killer gives him some basic etiquette advice, like acting like a halfway civilized person and saying please and thank you when his drink is served. Before leaving the ship, he even hands over his own deodorant, and Kid grabs it with a scowl, grumbling irritably as he sprays it all over himself.

It doesn’t work either, and you end up spending the whole night chatting with the idiot in the ridiculous leopard-print pants.

He hates seeing you nodding, focused and captivated in those long conversations you have with Law, talking about subjects he doesn’t understand.

So he tells himself he has to give it his all.

He does some serious digging into your likes—your drink preferences, favorite tunes (he’s genuinely surprised you share some), hobbies, and passions. He’s determined to gather enough material to hold a conversation that's at least halfway decent and draw you in like a magnet.

But when he tries to make his move, the irritatingly loud presence of Monkey D. Luffy barges in, dragging you off to dance and stealing all your attention, leaving him fuming in the background.

Swing your partner 'round and 'round

End of the night, it's goin' down

One more shot, another round

End of the night, it's goin' down 🎶 (*)

The music plays, and Kid's eye twitches as he watches Luffy twirl you around on the dance floor, laughing boisterously.

He HATES that song.

He hates seeing how that punk with the stupid straw hat throws an arm around you, smiling in camaraderie.

He just can't stand it.

Does Luffy know what your favorite color is? Or your favorite food? Because he does. It seems you’ve gotten inside his head—and even his pants, from which he’s tried energetically to shake you off several times.

So he needs to win this competition.

He must claim you as his prize and establish his superiority over those two useless excuses for captains.

His pride demands it.

So every night, he keeps trying, approaching you again and again under the amused gaze of the members of the three crews, who have known from the beginning that what Eustass Kid has is, simply and plainly…

... a MASSIVE, COLOSSAL CRUSH on you.

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

Taglist: @fanaticsnail <3

#one piece #one piece fic #x reader #kid eustass #eustass captain kidd #eustasscaptainkid #one piece eustass #eustass kid x reader #eustass x reader #eustass kid #jintaka stuff #captain kid #kid pirates #kid x reader

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honeypiehotchner · 4 months ago

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The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part one

I'm backkk 👀 Reminder that y'all do NOT like each other (for now 🤭)

I did a lot of math to make sure I had my timeline in order but I won't bore y'all with all the numbers. Some basics, tho: we're somewhere in s5/6, Foyet doesn't exist here but Haley and Hotch are divorced and Jack lives with Haley, Reader is in her mid 30s and Hotch is in his mid 40s. That's all for now, happy reading! xxx

Chapter warnings: these two are at each other's throats! and a new case begins ofc

Your day started out perfectly.

You sorted more of your belongings into boxes for the movers. Everything will be shipped ahead so it arrives shortly after you do at your apartment in Virginia. You’re running ahead of schedule, so you even have time to stop for a good breakfast before heading into the office.

The day felt…too good to be true. And you quickly find out why.

“The BAU?”

Your superior, Agent Reynolds, sits across from you and raises an eyebrow, assuming incorrectly that you haven’t heard of the branch. “The Behavioral Analy—”

“Yes, I know what the BAU is,” you cut him off, something he’s used to, waving your hand sharply. “Why the BAU?”

“You were requested,” he replies simply with a slight shrug.

“By who?”

“Agent Hotchner, as I’m told.”

That is the last name you ever expected him to say.

“Hotch?” you echo incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

Reynolds sighs. “I’m really not.” You know deep down Reynolds will miss you, but he’ll also thank god every day that he doesn’t have to put up with your attitude anymore.

“Huh.” You could laugh. You almost do. “Interesting.”

Your now ex-boss gives you a look, and a sigh. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing,” you shake your head. “Agent Hotchner and I have met before, that’s all.”

+++

Ten and a half years prior to the present day, you worked on a case with Aaron Hotchner.

Key word: case. One singular case.

You were joined by agents Gideon, Morgan, and, of course, Hotchner. You were the only woman with them at the time, and that already threatened to drive you up a wall. To make matters worse, you and Hotch could not get along to save anyone’s lives.

The two of you butted heads for two weeks straight, but even that is sugar coating it. He raised his voice at you and you raised your voice right back. Of course, only in private. In the field, you were as professional as can be. But in the tiny conference room that you had to set up for them coming in unannounced? All bets were off.

You’ve never been a particularly angry person, but something about Hotch brought all your anger to the surface.

He was the most arrogant man you had ever come across. He explained things to you that you already knew, and even when you told him you were aware of the topic, he’d continue explaining like he hadn’t heard you, just out of spite.

He underestimated you in ways that had your blood boiling. He wouldn’t send you to interview anyone, despite that being your area of expertise. He had you doing busy work, like a goddamn intern.

You were your office’s own little BAU. You had read Gideon’s papers, been to profiling lectures. You became a profiler because you knew your city needed one, and by your fifth year in the office, you were one. You knew what you were doing, and Hotch treated you like a newbie.

He always walked around in a damn suit and tie. Does he not own a t-shirt? Does he know what that is? Would it kill him to breathe once in a while?

Why does he have to look like he constantly has a stick up his ass?

Of course, you aren’t totally innocent. You found his buttons and pushed them since day one. He hated being talked over or shouted at, so those became your favorite things. Especially after he began doing them to you.

Don’t disobey direct orders, he said. You did. And you got the results needed, so he had no choice but to move on.

Don’t come into the interrogation room unless asked for, he said. You did anyway. The unsub needed to feel important, a high priority, and he wasn’t. So, you walked in and told Hotch that the Attorney General of the United States was on the phone. It worked. While Hotch “spoke with the Attorney General,” you got a confession. Hotch had to thank you through gritted teeth.

When the case was solved and the BAU left town, you popped a bottle of fucking champagne. Good riddance you screamed and drank straight from the foaming top.

+++

You mutter under your breath the entire drive to the BAU. Your boxes arrived this morning, but you haven’t had a chance to unpack them, so your apartment is currently a shitshow.

And now you’re driving to deal with another shitshow.

You haven’t received any emails or texts from Hotch, which is odd, but you’re sure as hell not questioning it. The less you have to deal with him, the better. He probably shares the same sentiment, which is why he hasn’t contacted you.

From far away, Quantico looks more like a prison than it does a headquarters. You hope it doesn’t feel the same way it looks.

The BAU office is just a short elevator ride up from the parking garage, and you dread every second of it. When the doors open on the BAU floor, you want to scream.

But you’re a professional, not a toddler, so you walk your ass through the glass doors and into the bullpen, your head held high like an adult.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Hi Morgan,” you mirror his grin, accepting his hug. “Miss me?”

He’s in the same black t-shirt and black jeans he always wears, his haircut just the same but shorter. And he finally got rid of the “shaving my face every morning” routine. Stubble looks much better on him.

“For ten years,” Morgan reminds you. “What brings you here?”

You shrug cheekily, feigning innocence. “I heard there was an opening.”

His grin, somehow, grows wider and brighter. “Come here!” He tackles you in another hug, this time lifting you up and spinning you. “God is on my side to-day. Where’s Reid?”

“Putting a disastrous amount of sugar in his coffee,” a blonde woman says as she passes, then stops. “Oh, hi. I’m JJ, you must be Agent L/N. I heard you were coming in today.”

You escape from Morgan’s grip to shake JJ’s hand. “That’s me. JJ, you said?”

She nods, shifting her feet to a more comfortable position in her heels. “I’m the BAU liaison, so you’ll see a lot of me. And very little of me. It’s complicated.”

“I hear that,” you chuckle, just glad to see another woman has joined the team.

And to your surprise, another joins the circle, this one with black hair parted down the middle. “Emily Prentiss,” she says, sticking out her hand. “Are we finally getting another woman around here?”

You nod, glad to hear she agrees with your unspoken comment. “Looks like it.”

“Did someone call my name?”

You turn and see the infamous Dr. Reid stirring a mug of sugar with a splash of coffee. He’s wearing a cardigan, per usual, and what looks like the same pair converse from when you first met him five years ago at a lecture the BAU put on. He was brand new back then. His eyebrows furrow when he sees you, and then they go wide.

“Y/N? Hi!” he says excitedly, nearly spilling his drink. “It’s been so long! Wha— What are you doing here?”

You give JJ and Emily a look that only you three truly understand. “Why do none of the men assume I’ll be joining the team?”

Emily laughs. “Believe me, I wish I knew.”

“Wait, seriously?” Reid blurts. “Are you really joining us?”

“Sure am,” you grin. “And once I get out of this meeting with Hotch, you’re telling me when the hell you joined a boyband.”

“Oh, ouch,” Morgan taps Reid’s arm lightly with a grin.

“Uh, you too, Derek,” you punch him, letting him know he isn’t off the hook either. “What’s up with the shirt? Do you not own another color?”

“Damn, momma,” Morgan groans. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” you pat his cheek.

“I like you already,” Emily grins.

“Agent L/N,” an unmistakable voice comes from the top of the stairs, effectively ruining the moment.

He definitely hasn’t changed, you think to yourself as you slowly turn around.

“Agent Hotchner,” you mimic his tone. “Nice to see you again.”

He grips the railing a little too tightly. And he’s still wearing a damn suit, with a damn tie knotted so tight you wonder if it’s choking him. If it’s not, you want it to be. Maybe he’ll shut up then.

“I believe our meeting was scheduled for 9am,” he says, earning a sideways glance from the other man standing on the balcony.

“It still is,” you reply, looking beside his head at the clock on the wall and shit. “I’m late. That’s my fault, sir. I apologize.”

“Yes, it is,” he says. “We need to make this short. Hurry up.”

He turns and disappears into his office like some imitation of Dracula. You give Derek a helpless look.

“Welcome back,” Reid says, grimacing.

“Thanks, bud,” you reply, knowing he means well. “If any of you hear any screaming, pay no mind, that’s just how we greet each oth—”

“Agent L/N!” Hotch shouts from his doorway.

“Coming!” you shout back, just as loud and just as annoyed. “For fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself.

You hop up the stairs two at a time, reaching Hotch’s office in seconds.

The man that was beside Hotch offers you a smile. “I’m Agent Rossi,” he extends his hand.

“Agent L/N,” you return the friendly expression, shaking his hand, just glad that he at least seems happy to meet you. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

Rossi nods slowly, mouthing, “Good luck.”

You like him already. You smirk.

Hotch is standing behind his desk when you walk into his office, anger written all over his face. His arms are crossed over his chest, fingers picking at his nails ever so slightly.

“Close the door.”

“Promise not to shoot me?” you joke, but it doesn’t land. You shut the door and take a seat in front of his desk while he remains standing. “Well?”

Finally, he speaks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You let out a laugh. “Oh, great.” You sit up because this is just stupid. “Are you kidding me? This is the last division I wanted to work in, but I was transferred here. At your behest, might I add—”

“I can assure you, Agent L/N, I did not request that you join my team,” he says as he sits down, rolling toward his desk and placing his arms over the files littered before him.

“Well then Agent Reynolds is a fucking liar, I guess,” you deadpan. “He’s the one who told me I was assigned to the BAU — because of you.”

“Well it wasn’t me.”

“Glad we got that settled,” you shoot back, wanting instead to add, like I fucking care if it was you or not. “Listen, whether either of us likes it or not, I was assigned here, so I’m here. If you want me to leave, take it up with Agent Reynolds or whoever the fuck really requested me. But I can’t do shit about this, and this is now my job, so I’m not leaving just because you want to have some pissing contest.”

He looks like he’s chewing on fire. “Your job security is not my problem—”

“For God’s sake, call your fucking boss, it won’t make you any less of a man to ask a goddamn question about why you have a new agent in your office.”

Hotch glares at you, but does as you say, picking up his desk phone and pressing a few buttons.

You sit back in your chair, waiting in silence. You turn your head to look through the blinds because Hotch didn’t close them all the way, and you nearly start to laugh. Huddled around one desk, Morgan, JJ, Emily, Reid, and another blonde woman dressed in bright colors and shapes are listening intently to Reid who is no doubt lip reading and translating this entire conversation.

Finally, the line connects and Hotch starts speaking. Almost as quick as the phone call begins, it ends.

“Well?” you ask.

“There was some miscommunication,” Hotch admits, though he does not look happy about it. “Welcome to the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You smile sarcastically. “Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“You’re dismissed,” he says. “We’ll meet in the conference room in five minutes to discuss the rest of today. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir,” you mutter as you escape his office, just glad he didn’t torture you with a handshake.

Emerging from Hotch’s office, you stand against the railing and ask the team where the conference room is.

Morgan points to your left. “Why?”

“He told me we’re meeting there to discuss—”

“That’s on hold now,” JJ says, whirling around the BAU with an armful of files. “We’ve got a case. Missing girl, thirteen years old.” She passes out files in the bullpen, handing one to you as she ascends the stairs.

“Shit,” you mutter. “How long has she been missing?”

“Starting without me?” Hotch asks as he walks out of his office. He takes a file from JJ and says a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Yep, we are,” you say right back, scanning your file. You think you hear Rossi let out a chuckle at your response. “Gone since this morning. Are they certain it wasn’t overnight?”

“The mother dropped Lila off at school this morning at seven, and by nine, she was absent,” JJ explains as everyone fills into the conference room. “They paged her at school over the intercom, but she’s not in any of the classrooms.”

“How are we hearing about this so quickly?” Morgan asks. “I mean, I’m glad, but it’s been…just over an hour. We don’t normally have this much time.”

“Because,” JJ pauses, pointing the remote toward the TV. “This is Lila’s father.”

On the screen, the FBI’s Most Wanted are staring back at you. JJ clicks again, and one face comes forward.

“Who?” Emily says.

“Richard Monroe,” Reid says aloud. “He’s been on the run for almost two years. He’s said to have killed a dozen people, all females, but they suspect there might be more. Every time we’ve come close to catching him, he gets away.”

“And now his daughter is missing,” Rossi adds. “I’m guessing this guy is our unsub.”

“I don’t know,” you stare into Richard’s eyes on the screen. “When was he last seen?”

“You can investigate that when we get there,” Hotch says curtly. “They’re waiting for us and we’ll lose time by flying. Wheels up in ten.”

Everyone files out of the room and Hotch stays back, waiting for you to be the last one in the room.

“Agent L/N,” Hotch gets your attention. “Since you’ve never tackled a case like this before, try your best to follow orders, and watch what the team does. Don’t make any rash decisions and don’t go off on your own.”

None of his comments anger you as much as the first one. “You don’t know that I’ve never encountered something like this.”

“Don’t argue with me when we have a missing girl,” Hotch snaps. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply, pushing past him.

“I hope you have a go bag,” he calls after you. “There will be no time for shopping when we’re on the ground.”

“Then I’ll just wear your clothes!” you yell back, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him. You hear Morgan snicker down in the bullpen.

“Agent L/N,” Hotch says, and when you turn around, you see he’s giving you his famous stare.

You sigh. “My bag is in my car. It’ll take me two minutes to grab it. That’s clearly less than ten. Unless you have anything else to say that might delay me further?”

“Go,” he says, waving you away as he heads into his office to grab his bag. “Now.”

+++

While you’re on the jet, you do some research on Richard Monroe. He’s a grade A piece of shit if you’ve ever seen one.

But he’s not the type to go after his daughter.

“Garcia, can you check and see if Richard tried at all to contact Lila on her cell?” you ask.

“I would, sweets, but I can’t find Lila’s phone. Their house phone, however, has no calls.”

“He wouldn’t call the house phone, not with Lila’s mom watching over her like a hawk,” you murmur.

Hotch lifts his head. “How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That her mother would be overbearing.”

“Her father’s a serial killer on the run, Hotch,” you reply. “Any mother would keep tabs on her daughter’s every breath if she had a father like that. It’s logic.”

“She makes a fair point,” Rossi says.

“It’s unfounded,” Hotch ignores him, still dead set on irritating you. “Until you talk to her mother, don’t jump to any conclusions about her behavior.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Until I do?”

“Yes, you will be talking to her mother when we get on the ground. Morgan will go with you.” He nods to Derek. “Reid, you and JJ get set up at the precinct. Prentiss, Rossi, and I will go to the middle school. We’ll meet back at the precinct to discuss our next steps.”

You share a look with Morgan before sinking back in your chair, glaring at the file instead of Hotch.

It's going to be a long fucking day.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x you #enemies to lovers #criminal minds fanfiction #angst angst angst #The Gambit

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velvetvisionsaurora · 2 months ago

Text

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

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‼️if you have read chapter 7 already please go back and make sure you have read the reunion part with Ella/Yeosang! It’s after the flash back scene! Something happened with posting and it got removed‼️

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Masterlist

Chapter 7

Intersections

In their shared cabin on the ATEEZ's port side, Yunho sat cross-legged on his bunk, carefully fixing a torn sail section while Mingi cleaned his special tools at the small workbench beneath their single porthole. Neither spoke for several comfortable minutes, the silence between them built on years of shared understanding rather than awkward emptiness.

Finally, Yunho looked up from his stitching. "She knew the stars in Orion's belt before I even pointed them out."

Mingi nodded, continuing his careful work on the firing mechanism laid out in perfect order on his workbench. Unlike the nearly silent way he acted in group settings, here in their private room, his shoulders looked more relaxed, his movements less stiff, more natural.

"And she knew exactly where to find Canis Major," Yunho continued, his normally gentle voice showing a hint of doubt. "The same stars I taught y/n to spot during night watches on The Crimson Serpent."

"Important," Mingi replied, his voice fuller and more flowing than the short phrases others heard. With Yunho, words came more easily, the safe space of their shared cabin allowing him to express himself in ways he rarely showed elsewhere.

"But not proof," Yunho countered, setting aside his sail repair. "Seonghwa pointed out that anyone with basic star knowledge would recognize major constellations."

Mingi turned from his workbench, giving Yunho his full attention—something he did almost only for his roommate and oldest friend. "You doubt now?"

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of real frustration. "I don't know what to believe. Yesterday I was certain. Today..." He trailed off, the conflict clear in his usually calm expression.

"Seonghwa's reasons," Mingi observed, not a question but understanding.

"He makes good points," Yunho admitted. "Everything we see as her recognizing things could be explained other ways. Common behaviors, basic knowledge, chance preferences."

Mingi rose from his workbench and moved to sit beside Yunho on the bunk—a closeness that would have surprised anyone else aboard the ATEEZ. While the quiet gunner typically kept careful distance from others, with Yunho he allowed closeness built through years of shared hardship and looking out for each other.

"Found my maker's mark," Mingi said, his tone showing unusual certainty. "On the gun port housing. Hidden on purpose. She knew exactly where to look."

Yunho's expression brightened slightly. "You didn't mention that in the officers' meeting."

Mingi shrugged one shoulder, a small gesture carrying complex meaning. "Seonghwa would find an explanation. Coincidence. Good observation skills."

"And you don't believe that?" Yunho asked, watching his friend carefully.

"No." The single word carried absolute certainty, rare from the careful gunner who typically added qualifiers to his statements with careful precision.

Mingi reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a simple leather cord from which hung a small wooden compass rose, its five points carefully carved despite its tiny size. The navigation symbol that had become his maker's mark—appearing on every weapon he designed, every mechanism he created, every carving he left behind—was an exact copy of this original pendant.

"The compass I made for Mr. Hugs," he explained, holding the pendant where Yunho could see it. "Fell off during struggle at auction house. I kept the original design. Put it on everything since."

Yunho studied the wooden compass with new understanding. For fifteen years, he had seen this symbol on Mingi's creations without fully understanding its importance—not simply a maker's mark but a deliberate connection to the teddy bear's lost navigation guide, to the little girl who had called Mingi "Puppy" with innocent affection rather than mockery.

"I forgot you kept the original," Yunho said softly.

Mingi tucked the pendant back beneath his shirt, the private gesture showing how he carried both keepsake and mission against his heart. "Reminder of promise," he said simply.

He returned to his workbench, but instead of going back to tool cleaning, he opened a small drawer built into its side. From within, he took out a rolled piece of fabric, carefully unfolding it on the workspace to reveal dozens of tiny wooden animals, each small enough to fit in a child's palm, each bearing the special compass mark on its underside.

"Make one every port," Mingi explained, his voice softening with rare emotion. "Leave them where children might find. Markets. Docks. Public squares."

Yunho stared at the collection with growing realization. For fifteen years, he had sometimes noticed Mingi carving small animals during quiet moments, had sometimes seen him lagging behind when they left port cities, but had never connected these observations to their shared mission.

"You leave them as messages," Yunho realized. "In case y/n might find one and recognize your work."

Mingi nodded, his finger gently touching a small wooden rabbit, perfect despite its tiny size. "Fifteen years. Hundreds of carvings. Every port we've visited."

The revelation—delivered in Mingi's private voice rather than his public way of few words—carried emotional weight beyond its factual meaning. While the others had searched through official channels, tracking auction records and slave lists, Mingi had kept up his own parallel effort: creating tiny wooden messengers that might somehow find their way to a lost girl who had once treasured his carvings.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Yunho asked, moving to stand beside his friend at the workbench.

Mingi's expression shifted slightly, showing rare vulnerability. "Might seem foolish. Not practical."

"It's not foolish," Yunho countered immediately, his hand settling gently on Mingi's shoulder—one of the few touches the gunner accepted without tension. "It's... hopeful. Faith that connection might last through separation."

Mingi's posture relaxed slightly under Yunho's reassurance, the acceptance flowing between them without need for more validation. Unlike others who might have dismissed his silent fifteen-year ritual as superstition, Yunho understood the deeper idea: that connection sometimes followed paths logic couldn't predict, that effort kept up without guaranteed result still had value.

"You really believe Ella is y/n," Yunho observed, the statement carrying no judgment or pressure.

Mingi nodded once, certainty clear despite his usually careful expression. "Too many matches for coincidence. The way she moves. Watches. Protects herself. Knows things without saying she knows them."

"Seonghwa suggests those behaviors might come from fifteen years of captivity rather than specific connection to us," Yunho countered, though his tone suggested he welcomed Mingi's counterargument.

"True," Mingi acknowledged, his response more detailed in Yunho's presence than others ever witnessed. "But combined with specific knowledge—star patterns, maker's marks, food preferences—pattern becomes clear."

He selected a small wooden dolphin from his collection, its details remarkably precise despite its tiny size, and placed it in Yunho's palm. "Made this last night. For her."

Yunho examined the tiny carving, noting the compass rose carefully embedded in its underside. "You want me to give it to her?"

Mingi shook his head slightly. "Leave where she'll find it. Without obvious placement. Test whether she recognizes what it means."

The suggestion—smart yet respectful of Ella's choice—reflected Mingi's careful approach to all challenges. Unlike Wooyoung's desire for immediate confirmation or Seonghwa's careful skepticism, Mingi proposed subtle opportunity for recognition without pressure or manipulation.

"Her bedside table?" Yunho suggested. "When she's with the captain for afternoon briefing?"

Mingi nodded approval. "Natural discovery. Her choice to acknowledge or ignore."

The plan settled between them without need for further explanation, their years together creating shorthand communication that others aboard the ATEEZ marveled at but couldn't copy. Even Hongjoong, with his smart planning and leadership instinct, sometimes found himself excluded from the silent understanding that flowed between the ship's tallest officer and its most reserved.

"If she is y/n," Yunho said after a moment, his voice carrying the uncertainty Mingi's lacked, "why wouldn't she simply tell us? We've given her no reason to fear us."

Mingi considered this carefully, his expression thoughtful in ways he rarely showed outside their private quarters. "Fifteen years captive," he replied finally. "Trust becomes a tactic, not instinct. She weighs benefit against risk before sharing."

"And the risk of revealing herself to us?" Yunho prompted.

"Expectation," Mingi answered immediately, the insight flowing more freely in Yunho's presence. "We might expect y/n unchanged. The child we knew, not the woman survival created."

The observation showed emotional intelligence that would have surprised those who knew only Mingi's public persona—the silent gunner whose rare words addressed practical matters rather than people's feelings. Yet with Yunho, he revealed the depth of understanding that made him not just the ATEEZ's weapons specialist but one of its most insightful observers.

"You think she fears disappointing us," Yunho realized. "That we might reject who she's become in favor of who we remember."

"Possible," Mingi acknowledged. "Survival changes people. Needed adaptations might not match childhood memories."

He carefully rolled up the fabric containing his collection of carved animals, securing it with careful precision before returning it to its drawer. "We remember five-year-old child. She brings twenty-year-old survivor shaped by captivity."

"And if she's not y/n?" Yunho asked quietly, the question reflecting his lingering doubt despite Mingi's conviction.

Mingi paused in his careful organization, considering this possibility with typical thoroughness. "Then she remains valuable ally against Blackwell. Worthy of protection regardless of identity."

The simple statement reflected core principles that had guided their mission through fifteen years of increasingly dangerous operations: that their campaign against the slave trade went beyond personal revenge, that protection extended beyond specific connection to broader purpose.

"You're right," Yunho acknowledged, his expression clearing somewhat. "Whether she's y/n or not, she deserves freedom and safety after fifteen years of captivity."

"Exactly," Mingi confirmed, returning to his workbench with renewed focus. He resumed cleaning his special tools, each movement precise yet flowing with natural grace rather than forced control. In Yunho's presence, he kept to careful standards without the rigid tension that marked his public performance, the safety of their shared space allowing expression that others never witnessed.

Yunho watched his friend work for several quiet moments, appreciating Mingi's confident movements and focused attention—qualities that had saved their lives countless times during fifteen years of increasingly dangerous missions. Though Mingi spoke rarely in public and avoided casual contact, in their private sanctuary he revealed the person beneath carefully built protection—thoughtful, perceptive, and far more talkative than anyone beyond Yunho ever experienced.

"Thank you," Yunho said simply, the gratitude covering their current conversation and fifteen years of unwavering loyalty.

Mingi looked up briefly, a small but genuine smile softening his usually blank features—an expression reserved exclusively for Yunho. No verbal response followed, none being necessary between two who had survived childhood captivity, teenage rebellion, and adult warfare side by side.

Outside their cabin, the ATEEZ continued its steady progress through morning waters, feared throughout the maritime world as the Black Ship, the Compass Crew, the vessel whose appearance meant precise revenge rather than random destruction. Few who encountered its distinctive silhouette understood the vessel's true purpose—that its feared reputation came not from bloodthirst but from blood oath, from promise made by children and fulfilled by the men they became.

And within that black-sailed ship, the quietest officer continued creating tiny wooden messengers marked with five-pointed compass rose, carrying fifteen years' hope that connection might somehow last through separation, that paths cut by violence might eventually come together through persistence and determination.

*Blackwell's Estate - Seven Years Earlier*

Twelve-year-old y/n stood stiffly in Blackwell's formal study, her expression carefully blank despite her inner panic. The summons had come without explanation—guards appearing at her work station in the laundry, taking her directly to the master's private domain where staff entered only when specifically ordered.

Victor Blackwell sat behind his massive desk, fingers joined beneath his chin as he studied her with the same clinical detachment that had marked his ownership for seven years. Unlike most slave owners who barely told apart individual pieces of property, Blackwell kept detailed knowledge of each person he owned—their abilities, their connections, their vulnerabilities. This personal attention made him more dangerous rather than more humane, his understanding used for maximum control rather than compassion.

"Do you know why you're here, girl?" he asked, his cultured voice showing no particular emotion.

"No, sir," y/n replied, the response automatic after years of conditioning. Show no curiosity, no initiative, no independent thought—only prompt obedience and proper respect.

"Valuable property requires proper maintenance," Blackwell continued, as if explaining a basic concept to a slow student. "This includes not merely physical health but appropriate mental conditioning. Assets that form incorrect attachments develop divided loyalties, lowering their functional value."

Cold dread settled in y/n’s stomach as his meaning became clearer. Blackwell rarely spoke directly about specific wrongdoings; his preferred method involved philosophical explanations that forced the listener to recognize their own mistakes, confessing through realization rather than questioning.

"Individuals within my household serve specific functions according to their abilities," he continued, rising from his desk to pace with careful steps. "The doctor's assistant provides medical support to maintain collective health. You girl, are to become the perfect slave. Educated, hard working and pretty enough to fulfill any requirements a buyer might need. Neither role includes unauthorized socialization beyond what's needed."

Y/n kept her carefully blank expression despite the growing certainty that her friendship with Yeosang had been discovered—the shared moments of connection they had believed properly hidden, the small kindnesses exchanged out of sight of watchful eyes, the wooden carvings passed between them as comfort during hard times.

For seven years, they had kept their alliance through increasingly careful precautions, knowing that their growing connection was a vulnerability that Blackwell would exploit if discovered. Yet somehow, despite their precautions, their secret communication had been exposed—perhaps through carelessness, perhaps through deliberate betrayal by another household member seeking good treatment.

"I have invested considerable resources in medical training for the boy," Blackwell remarked, his tone suggesting discussion of weather rather than human lives. "Skills development represents significant value improvement for specialized property. Such investment should not be harmed through inappropriate distractions."

He turned to face her directly, his expression showing neither anger nor cruelty but merely calculated business assessment. "Correction is therefore needed to maintain optimal asset functionality."

Before y/n could interpret this clinical declaration, the study door opened to admit two guards escorting a third figure between them. Yeosang's usual composed expression had broken into barely contained fear, his fifteen-year-old frame appearing suddenly younger and more vulnerable between the towering guards.

"Ah, excellent timing," Blackwell noted with the same detachment he might use when discussing furniture delivery.

He gestured for the guards to position Yeosang before his desk, then resumed his seat with the casual confidence of absolute authority. From a drawer, he took out a leather portfolio containing documents arranged with characteristic precision.

"Medical training increases property value considerably," he observed, reviewing the contents with practiced efficiency. "Several captains have expressed interest in acquiring specialized personnel for extended voyages. Captain Severino has offered particularly favorable terms for a ship's doctor with your specific qualifications."

The meaning became terribly clear: Yeosang was being sold. Their punishment for unauthorized friendship wasn't merely separation within the household but permanent division through transfer of ownership. The realization hit y/n with physical force, her carefully maintained composure threatening to break despite years of practiced control.

"The transaction will be completed today," Blackwell continued, directing his comments to Yeosang now. "Captain Severino's ship leaves with evening tide. Your medical supplies have been packed according to inventory requirements, with appropriate checking of controlled substances."

Throughout this clinical explanation, he maintained the same detached tone he might use when discussing crop rotation or equipment maintenance—human life reduced to asset management and inventory control. Only the slight tension in Yeosang's shoulders showed his internal response, years of conditioning preventing visible reaction despite devastating impact.

"The girl will observe transfer of ownership," Blackwell added, his gaze shifting to y/n with sudden sharpness. "Visual demonstration provides more effective behavioral change than theoretical explanation."

The deliberate cruelty of this decision—forcing her to witness Yeosang's removal—revealed the careful calculation behind Blackwell's seemingly dispassionate management. He understood precisely how to maximize psychological impact while maintaining appearance of reasonable business operations.

"You are prohibited from direct communication before departure," he instructed, rising to indicate the meeting's conclusion. "Guards will escort the boy to preparing quarters and the girl to observation position at front entrance. Asset transfer will proceed at four o'clock precisely."

As the guards moved to separate them, y/n’s efforts to fight and maintain her neutral expression crumbled, she turned and with tears hugged Yeosang tightly. "Please don't!" She said.

Yeosang, although grateful for one last interaction, closed his eyes in sadness. That moment of weakness would transform already devastating punishment into something far worse—Blackwell's method always escalated when emotional vulnerability was displayed.

Blackwell's cold and dismissive behavior morphed into an almost delightful smirk at the girl's behavior.

"See to it she is punished for this outburst." Blackwell commanded the guard. "It seems more training is necessary to her daily lessons." He commented to no one in particular.

Yeosang stiffened, and before he could open his mouth to speak as the guards roughly dragged y/n out of the room, Blackwell interrupted him.

"I cannot punish your words or actions any longer, however," He looked at the boy smirking. "Since you and the girl are so close, I'm sure she wouldn't mind taking the punishment of your disobedience in your place."

Yeosang's eyes widened slightly and quickly closed his mouth obeying Blackwell. Years of treating y/n’s wounds, with or without permission, taught him how cruel and gruesome they were with punishing her.

Three hours later, positioned on the mansion's front steps where her supposed "observation" doubled as humiliation before the entire household staff, y/n watched stone-faced as Yeosang was escorted to the waiting carriage. His few possessions—medical reference texts and carefully maintained instruments—had been packed in a single trunk that represented seven years of dedicated study and practice.

Captain Severino, a weathered man with calculating eyes similar to Blackwell's, inspected his new acquisition with the same clinical assessment used for livestock or equipment. His cursory examination included checking Yeosang's teeth and reflexes, testing basic medical knowledge through rapid-fire questions, and verifying physical condition through demonstration of movement and strength.

Throughout this degrading process, Yeosang kept the careful composure that had protected him through years in Blackwell's household—present yet somehow removed, cooperating physically while preserving essential selfhood behind strong walls. Only y/n, who knew him better than anyone else in the world, could read the subtle signs of his internal devastation: the slight tremor in his left hand, the carefully controlled breathing pattern, the small delay before each response.

As final transaction details were completed between Blackwell and Severino, Yeosang was permitted to gather his trunk under guard supervision. In that brief moment, as he knelt to secure the latches, his hand moved with practiced sleight developed through years of passing secret messages within the household. Something small dropped into the ornamental grass bordering the front path—a movement so subtle that even watchful guards failed to notice.

Y/n noted the deliberate placement, memorizing its exact location without shifting her gaze directly toward it. Whatever Yeosang had left behind, he had risked severe punishment to ensure she would find it after his departure—a final communication despite Blackwell's explicit prohibition.

The actual moment of separation passed with anticlimactic efficiency—Yeosang boarding the carriage, Severino completing final documentation, the vehicle departing down the long drive toward Halazia's harbor where ship awaited. No opportunity for goodbye, no acknowledgment of connection being severed, no recognition of human cost behind business transaction.

Only after night fell and household activities quieted did y/n risk retrieving Yeosang's final message. With careful movements honed through years of navigating Blackwell's household undetected, she slipped from her dormitory to the front gardens, locating the exact position where Yeosang had knelt hours earlier.

Buried in the ornamental grass, her searching fingers found familiar shape—a wooden wolf with its distinctive compass marking, not the same shared treasure passed between them for six years whenever one needed comfort or strength, a different one. Perhaps Yeosang made another one? A replica? Or he found another one hidden. This final gift represented both farewell and promise: that connection lasted beyond physical separation, that memory remained despite deliberate division, that hope survived even systematic attempts to destroy it.

Clutched tightly in her twelve-year-old hand, the small carving represented Yeosang's final resistance against Blackwell's calculated control—solid proof that something belonging uniquely to them had survived despite their owner's deliberate intervention. Neither understood its deeper significance: that the compass marking connected them to five boys searching throughout maritime world for a lost girl, that the wooden animal was created by a quiet child named Mingi who continued carving similar messengers during fifteen years of searching.

For y/n, it simply represented proof that genuine connection had existed despite Blackwell's systematic isolation—tangible evidence of the one friendship that had sustained her through seven years of captivity. For three more years, she would keep it carefully hidden within Blackwell's household, until her transfer to his business associate necessitated new hiding strategies.

For eight years, Yeosang would carry the original wolf, a memory through multiple transfers between captains who valued his medical skills without recognizing his humanity, until fate and a black-sailed pirate vessel named ATEEZ stepped in to offer unexpected freedom.

Neither could have imagined that 7 years after their forced separation, they would reunite aboard that same pirate ship—or that its feared officers were the very boys who had once protected a small girl aboard The Crimson Serpent, their fearsome reputation built upon the foundation of childhood oath to find someone both they and Yeosang had deeply loved in different ways.

The ship's bell had just rung midnight watch when Ella jolted awake. The nightmare of one of the three worst days of her life jolting her awake. Ella slipped silently from her cabin. Years of moving through hostile environments after dark had honed her ability to move without sound—a skill developed initially for survival, now used for deliberate purpose rather than desperate necessity.

The ATEEZ ran with skeleton crew during night hours, most sailors sleeping in shifts while essential positions maintained minimal vigilance. Her exploration earlier that day had yielded thorough knowledge of watch patterns and patrol routes—information gathered out of habit despite her apparent freedom aboard ship.

She moved through the darkened hallways with practiced efficiency, avoiding the occasional crewman on night duty through timing rather than hiding. No one had forbidden her movement throughout the vessel; nevertheless, caution remained ingrained after fifteen years of restrictions.

The medical bay's location on the lower deck provided ideal seclusion—positioned away from sleeping quarters and primary operational areas, its specialized ventilation creating sound barriers that would contain conversation. As she approached the partially open door, soft light spilled into the corridor, suggesting Yeosang remained awake despite the late hour.

For a brief moment, Ella hesitated outside the threshold, an unexpected wave of uncertainty washing over her. The boy she had known—gentle hands treating injuries, whispered encouragement during dark moments, the quiet strength that had kept her going through seven years in Blackwell's household—had become a man she recognized yet didn't truly know. How much had fifteen years changed him? How much suffering had he endured after Blackwell separated them?

Taking a steadying breath, she pushed such questions aside and entered the medical bay without announcing herself, slipping through the doorway with the silent movement that had become second nature during captivity.

Yeosang sat at his small desk, back to the door, apparently absorbed in writing notes in a leather-bound journal. The small wooden trinket box she remembered from childhood sat open beside his inkwell, medical supplies arranged with the same careful precision she remembered from their shared past.

He spoke without turning, his keen awareness of surroundings showing training beyond medical practice. "I wondered when you would come."

The voice—deeper than the boy she remembered yet carrying the same measured pace—confirmed what his posture already suggested: he had been waiting for her, perhaps since the moment she had left his medical bay hours earlier.

"You knew I would," she replied, closing the door silently behind her.

At this, he finally turned to face her, the careful composure of their earlier meeting giving way to more genuine expression. The distinctive birthmark near his left eye crinkled slightly as emotion transformed his features from professional detachment to painful recognition.

"Y/n." He spoke her true name as if testing its reality on his tongue. "It really is you."

The sound of her name—her actual name, not the shortened "Ella" she had offered the ATEEZ officers—created strange feeling after years of deliberate anonymity. She found herself momentarily speechless, the planned greeting dissolving under the weight of genuine connection.

Yeosang rose slowly from his desk, keeping careful distance as if uncertain of appropriate boundaries after fifteen years' separation. His movements held the same deliberate grace she remembered, though his frame had matured from teenage slenderness to adult strength. A thin scar traced his jawline—evidence of violence experienced since their forced separation—while his eyes carried shadows of witnessed suffering that hadn't existed in the fifteen-year-old boy she had known.

"Angel," she whispered, the childhood nickname coming unbidden. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Something in his expression cracked at the sound of her private name for him—the one she had given when they'd first connected in Blackwell's household. His careful composure faltered momentarily before he regained control, professional discipline evidently ingrained through years of necessary survival.

"I looked for you," he said quietly. "After I gained my freedom. But Blackwell's records were deliberately hidden, and his associate who purchased you had disappeared from known trading routes."

The admission created conflicting emotion—gratitude that he had tried to find her, pain that neither of them had succeeded in finding the other until now. Ella found herself moving forward almost unconsciously, closing the physical distance that symbolized their years of separation.

"How did you end up here?" she asked, genuine curiosity momentarily overriding the flood of other questions demanding attention. "On this specific ship?"

"The ATEEZ raided the vessel where I was being transferred between captains," he explained, his voice steady despite the difficult subject. "Unlike other pirates who typically claim medical personnel as valuable assets, Hongjoong recognized I was captive rather than crew. He offered freedom without obligation, though I chose to stay as ship's doctor."

He gestured vaguely toward the well-equipped medical bay. "This is the first place I've practiced medicine by choice rather than being forced. The first place my skills have served healing rather than maintaining property value."

The bitterness in his final words revealed wounds that professional composure couldn't fully hide—scars from years serving masters who viewed his healing abilities as tools for profit rather than compassion. Ella recognized the underlying anger; it mirrored her own carefully contained rage at fifteen years of being treated as an object.

"They don't know," she realized suddenly, studying his expression. "The officers—they don't know about our connection."

Yeosang shook his head slightly. "I never speak of my years under Blackwell. The specifics of my captivity remain my own."

His gaze sharpened with sudden intensity. "But they know you. Somehow, they know you—or believe they do. The way Yunho was watching you, the way Wooyoung's mouth moves at a faster rate when he speaks about 'Ella'." Yeosang rolls his eyes with a smirk.

"I was disgusted and surprised at first when I learned the captain had purchased a slave, even more surprised when heard the amount he paid just to turn around and free you." He raised an eyebrow. "I can see there's more to it than that."

"The Crimson Serpent," Ella confirmed, the explanation forming connection between separate pieces. "Before Blackwell bought me at auction, I spent three months aboard that ship with five cabin boys who tried to protect me. They tried to rescue me during stop in Halazia but failed. I was sold while they were recaptured."

Understanding dawned in Yeosang's expression. "The blood oath," he murmured, almost to himself. "The reason they target Blackwell's operations with such specific focus."

He looked at her with renewed intensity. "Y/n, they've been searching for you for fifteen years. It's the foundation of everything they've built—the ATEEZ, their campaign against slave traders, their reputation for precise revenge. All of it began with a promise to find one little girl sold at auction."

The confirmation of Wooyoung's earlier claim—delivered now by someone who had no reason to manipulate her trust—created momentary confusion. The implications seemed too vast, too significant to fully understand immediately.

"You knew they were searching for someone," she realized, studying his expression. "But you didn't know it was me."

Yeosang nodded, his face reflecting the complexity of this revelation. "They speak occasionally of a girl they lost, a promise that drives their mission. But never specific details—not her name, not her connection to Blackwell. I assumed she was someone they met after building their reputation, not its very foundation."

He moved to a cabinet secured with small lock. With practiced motion, he retrieved a key from within his medical bag, opening the cabinet to reveal shelves of specialized equipment. From the bottom drawer, he took out a small wooden box similar to the one on his desk but larger, its surface distinguished by detailed carvings rather than simple utility.

"After joining the ATEEZ," he explained, placing the box on his examination table, "I noticed Mingi's habit of carving small wooden animals—leaving them in ports we visited, sometimes asking me to place them in specific locations when I went ashore for medical supplies."

He opened the box carefully, revealing interior compartments organized with careful precision. "I helped without understanding why—assumed it was some personal ritual or superstition. He never explained, and I never asked."

From a hidden compartment within the box's lid, he withdrew a small object wrapped in protective cloth. With gentle movements that spoke of treasured significance, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal the wooden wolf they had shared during their childhood—worn from years of handling but still recognizable, its compass marking visible on the underside.

"I kept it," he said softly. "Through eight years, four different captains, countless ports. The only thing I managed to take from Blackwell's household that day."

Ella stared at the carving, emotion welling despite her determined control. "I lost the one you left for me that night. When I was transferred to Blackwell's associate. The guards found it during the transfer, destroyed it along with everything else I'd managed to hide."

Yeosang shook his head slightly.

Understanding dawned as she connected memories previously separated. "A second wolf. You carved it for me? The one you left the night Blackwell sold you?"

"No," Yeosang corrected gently. "I never had the skill for such detailed work." He turned the wolf over, indicating the compass mark. "This is Mingi's craftsmanship. All those animals he leaves in ports—they all bear this same mark. He's been creating them for fifteen years, leaving them throughout the maritime world."

The revelation hit with unexpected force—that Mingi, the quietest of the five boys who had protected her aboard The Crimson Serpent, had continued creating tangible connection despite their separation. That the wooden wolf she and Yeosang had treasured during their years in Blackwell's household had been Mingi's creation all along, its compass mark his signature rather than mere decoration.

"He leaves them hoping you might find one and recognize his work," Yeosang continued, his voice softening with newfound understanding. "For two years, I've been helping him distribute these messages without realizing they were meant for you—that you were the lost girl they've searched for all this time."

Ella reached into her pocket and withdrew the small leather pouch she kept hidden on her person at all times. From within, she removed a tiny wooden figure—not a wolf but a sparrow with folded wings, small enough to hide completely within her closed fist.

"I found this in the garden after a storm knocked down part of the wall," she explained, holding it where Yeosang could see. "Two years after you were sold. I didn't realize it was connected to the wolf—thought it was just similar craftsmanship."

Yeosang studied the sparrow, recognition dawning in his expression. "Mingi's work again. The compass mark is identical." He looked up, newfound understanding in his eyes. "They've been closer than we realized all these years—their search and our survival running parallel without crossing until now."

The meeting of these separate paths—five boys who became feared pirates searching for a lost girl, two children who survived Blackwell's household supporting each other through secret connection—created meaning beyond chance. It seemed like more than chance that these paths crossed—five boys turned pirates looking for a lost girl, and two children who had helped each other survive Blackwell's house.

"Do you trust them?" she asked, the question showing vulnerability she rarely displayed.

Yeosang considered this carefully, his natural caution evident in measured response. "I trust their intentions," he said finally. "Their protection of the vulnerable is genuine rather than strategic. Their opposition to the slave trade comes from personal conviction rather than mere profit opportunity."

He studied her thoughtfully. "Seonghwa reminds me of you," she observed suddenly. "The way he organizes everything, his careful movements, how he keeps emotion behind careful thinking."

"He's nothing like me," Yeosang replied, an unusual edge entering his voice. "His control comes from natural preference for order. Mine was beaten into me through eight years serving masters who viewed showing emotion as a fault needing correction."

The raw honesty—expressing personal history he clearly revealed to few—created momentary silence between them. Ella recognized the pain beneath his words; it echoed her own experience of enforced compliance through systematic punishment.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean—"

"No," he interrupted, regret immediately replacing defensiveness. "You couldn't have known. I've never spoken of those years to anyone aboard the ATEEZ. Not even the captain knows the specifics of my captivity after Blackwell."

The admission—that he had shared his full history with no one else aboard ship—emphasized the importance of their reconnection. Like her, Yeosang had survived through careful compartmentalization, revealing only what circumstances required rather than complete truth.

"Will you tell them?" he asked after a moment, echoing the question from earlier with new context. "That you're y/n? That you remember them from The Crimson Serpent?"

She considered this carefully, weighing factors with careful assessment built through years of calculated survival. "Not yet," she decided. "I need to understand their expectations first. What they believe 'y/n' should be after fifteen years. What they want from her—from me—beyond keeping a childhood promise."

Yeosang nodded acceptance without judgment, his respect for her choice as clear now as it had been during their shared captivity. "Your identity remains yours to reveal or withhold," he affirmed. "I won't betray your trust."

The promise carried weight beyond its simple words—alliance without demand, support without expectation. Unlike potential pressure from others who might discover her secret, Yeosang offered protection for her choice rather than pushing for a particular outcome.

Ella placed the wooden sparrow beside the wolf on the examination table, the two carvings creating tangible evidence of connection kept despite fifteen years' separation. "Everything connects," she said softly. "Paths I thought completely cut somehow coming together against impossible odds."

"Not impossible," Yeosang corrected gently. "Unlikely, certainly. But we always knew connection lasted beyond separation. That's why we passed the wolf between us—solid proof that bonds survive despite deliberate division."

His words echoed their childhood understanding, the philosophy that had kept them going through Blackwell's systematic attempts to isolate and control. Even as children, they had recognized that genuine connection represented resistance against calculated dehumanization—that sharing the wooden wolf created meaning beyond mere comfort.

"I've missed you," Ella admitted, the simple truth emerging without tactical consideration. "Every day since Blackwell sold you. Even after I buried the memory to survive, something remained missing."

The unguarded confession—so different from her carefully measured responses since boarding the ATEEZ—reflected the unique safety Yeosang represented. With him alone, she could express vulnerability without fear of exploitation, reveal emotion without risk of manipulation.

"I searched for you," he responded, matching her honesty with his own. "After the ATEEZ freed me. When Hongjoong offered free movement at port calls, I used that freedom to track Blackwell's operations, hoping to find some record of where he had sent you."

The revelation—that his first use of newfound liberty had been searching for her—created unexpected emotion. After fifteen years believing herself forgotten or abandoned by everyone who had ever shown her kindness, discovering that both Yeosang and the ATEEZ officers had actively sought her challenged core assumptions that had guided her survival.

"But Blackwell erased the trail deliberately," Yeosang continued, frustration evident despite his controlled expression. "His records showed only that you had been transferred to a business associate, with no documentation of identity or location. By then, eight years had passed since our separation—the trail had grown cold before I even began searching."

"He sold me to a man named Calloway," Ella explained, the name still bitter on her tongue despite the years. "A trading partner who specialized in 'premium domestic personnel' for wealthy households. The transfer was deliberately kept from official records—private arrangement between business associates rather than formal sale."

Something darkened in Yeosang's expression at this information—recognition of deliberate concealment designed to prevent exactly the kind of search he had attempted. "Blackwell understood the value of strategic concealment even then," he observed, professional analysis masking deeper emotion. "His operation has only grown more sophisticated in recent years."

"The ATEEZ's campaign has forced adaptation," Ella noted, her own tactical assessment engaging with his. "Their systematic targeting of his ships created operational challenges that required improved security protocols. Blackwell speaks of them with genuine fear disguised as contempt—'The Compass Crew' who appear without warning and disappear before naval response can gather."

Yeosang's expression shifted slightly at this information—pride briefly visible beneath professional composure. "They've earned their reputation through careful precision rather than random violence," he acknowledged. "Each raid specifically designed to disrupt slave trading operations with minimal civilian damage."

"You admire them," Ella observed, studying his reaction carefully.

"I respect what they've built," he corrected, though the distinction seemed mostly semantic. "Their opposition to the slave trade goes beyond mere piracy—they target specific operations with tactical intelligence that military vessels lack. And they treat freed captives with dignity rather than simply alternative utility."

The assessment aligned with her own observations of the ATEEZ's unusual culture, yet hearing it from Yeosang—who had witnessed their operations from within for two years—carried additional weight. Unlike her necessarily limited perspective as recent arrival, his evaluation incorporated extended observation across multiple campaigns.

"And personally?" she prompted, seeking understanding beyond professional assessment. "Beyond their tactical approach and ethical stance?"

Yeosang considered this more carefully, weighing personal opinion against professional evaluation. "They're good men operating within a brutal world," he said finally. "Their methods reflect necessity rather than natural inclination. In another life, they might have been scholars, artists, builders—their intelligence and skills directed toward creation rather than strategic destruction."

The insight revealed deeper understanding than mere tactical alliance—genuine appreciation for the complexity underlying the ATEEZ officers' fearsome reputation. Unlike outsiders who saw only calculated violence, Yeosang recognized the fundamental principles guiding their operations.

"Hongjoong carries the heaviest burden," he continued, his voice softening slightly. "Each decision, each casualty, each compromise weighs on him even when necessity leaves no alternative. Yet he never passes that weight to others—maintains responsibility without giving up despite personal cost."

"And Seonghwa?" Ella asked, curious about his perception of the quartermaster whose controlled precision had reminded her of Yeosang himself.

"The foundation that enables Hongjoong's leadership," he replied without hesitation. "His careful analysis balances the captain's intuitive strategy, creating operational effectiveness that neither could achieve alone." He paused thoughtfully before adding, "Their partnership represents complementary strengths rather than competition—rare in any context, nearly unique among pirates."

"Wooyoung?" she prompted, continuing her exploration of his perspectives on the officers.

A small but genuine smile touched Yeosang's features—rare expression she remembered from their childhood, reserved for moments of authentic pleasure rather than strategic presentation. "Exactly as he appears," he said. "His theatrical energy isn't performance but genuine nature. Yet beneath the constant movement lies remarkable intelligence—he gathers information through casual conversation that formal questioning could never extract."

"Yunho, the heart of their operation," Yeosang answered immediately. "His natural kindness could be mistaken for weakness by those who don't understand its function. But his compassion creates bonds throughout the crew that tactical authority alone could never establish. The men follow Hongjoong's orders out of respect, but they'd die for Yunho out of genuine loyalty."

"And Mingi—" Yeosang stated finally.

Ella leaned forward particularly interested in his assessment of the quiet gunner whose wooden carvings had unknowingly connected all three of them across fifteen years.

Yeosang's expression grew more thoughtful, suggesting deeper consideration than previous responses required. "The most complex despite appearing simplest," he said carefully. "His quiet exterior hides remarkable perception and emotional intelligence. He observes relationships and interactions that others miss entirely, understands motivations beyond surface behavior."

This assessment aligned with Ella's own observations of Mingi's watchful presence, his rare words carrying weight out of proportion to their economy. Yet Yeosang's insight suggested deeper understanding than mere tactical evaluation—genuine appreciation for complexities others might overlook.

"Why did you stay with them?" she asked, the question addressing fundamental choice rather than mere circumstance. "When Hongjoong offered freedom without obligation, why remain aboard a pirate vessel rather than establishing independent practice?"

The question clearly struck deeper territory than previous exchange, Yeosang's expression shifting toward greater reserve before deliberately relaxing into unusual openness. "Because they offered genuine choice rather than merely alternative obligation," he said finally. "And because their mission against slave traders represented purpose beyond mere survival—opportunity to transform personal suffering into constructive resistance."

The explanation revealed philosophical alignment rather than merely practical arrangement—shared principles rather than simple convenience. Unlike her carefully calculated assessment of potential alliance aboard the ATEEZ, Yeosang had found authentic purpose that went beyond tactical advantage.

"And now?" she asked softly. "Knowing who I am—that I'm the girl they've searched for all these years?"

"The choice remains yours," he assured her immediately. "Whether you reveal your identity or maintain your current presentation, my loyalty extends to you directly rather than merely their mission. Whatever you decide, I'll support without qualification or condition."

The promise—alliance without demand, protection without expectation—created emotion beyond tactical assessment. For fifteen years, Ella had navigated captivity through careful calculation of advantage against vulnerability, protection against exploitation. Yeosang's unconditional support represented freedom beyond mere physical liberation—choice without strategic consequence.

"Thank you," she whispered, the simple gratitude encompassing far more than his current assurance.

Without conscious decision, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that went beyond tactical consideration. The contact—initiated without calculation or strategic purpose—represented emotional truth rather than rational assessment, genuine connection rather than deliberate action.

For a moment, Yeosang remained perfectly still, his body tense with surprise at this unexpected physical closeness. Then, with careful movements that suggested both unfamiliarity and genuine desire, his arms encircled her in returned embrace—tentative at first, then firmer as emotional response overcame habitual caution.

It was the first genuine human contact either had experienced in fifteen years without tactical purpose or enforced compliance—chosen connection rather than calculated advantage or unwanted imposition. The simple act of embracing contained healing beyond words, tangible proof that something fundamental had survived fifteen years of deliberate dehumanization.

"We made it," she whispered against his shoulder, the words emerging from deep recognition rather than conscious thought. "Despite everything, we survived to find each other again."

His arms tightened briefly, the gesture conveying agreement beyond verbal confirmation. For several moments, they remained in this unexpected connection, neither willing to break physical proof of reunion after fifteen years believing the other forever lost. When they finally separated, Yeosang's carefully controlled expression had softened into genuine emotion—vulnerability he clearly revealed to no one else aboard the ATEEZ.

"I should return to my cabin," Ella said eventually, practical consideration overriding emotional need. "Extended absence might draw unwanted attention."

Yeosang nodded, understanding flowing between them without extensive explanation. "Dawn watch is quietest," he replied, the practical information conveyed in neutral tone that would appear unremarkable to potential observers. "Medical bay remains unoccupied until morning rounds begin."

The invitation for further private conversation registered clearly despite its indirect delivery—evidence that some habits formed under surveillance remained useful aboard pirate vessel despite apparent freedom. Ella nodded understanding, grateful for his continued respect for strategic communication.

"Rest well, Angel," she said softly, the childhood nickname carrying new meaning after fifteen years' separation. "Thank you for keeping our wolf safe all these years."

As she prepared to leave, Yeosang carefully rewrapped the wooden wolf and pressed it into her hands. "Take it," he said quietly. "It's always been meant for moments when either of us needed strength. Tonight, that's you."

The gesture—returning their shared treasure without qualification or condition—echoed their childhood exchanges, when the carved animal had passed between them during difficult periods. Unlike those earlier transfers, conducted through careful concealment to avoid Blackwell's notice, this exchange occurred through deliberate choice rather than desperate necessity.

"Until tomorrow," she promised, securing the wolf within her clothing with practiced movement that spoke of years hiding treasured possessions from hostile discovery.

As she slipped silently from the medical bay, moving through darkened corridors with habitual caution, Ella felt subtle shift in her carefully maintained reality. For fifteen years, survival had required calculated solitude—alliance temporary and limited, connection dangerous beyond immediate advantage. Now, against all probability, genuine recognition had appeared in the most unlikely location: aboard notorious pirate vessel, among men feared throughout maritime world for ruthless efficiency and precise vengeance.

The officers of the ATEEZ had built their fearsome reputation on the foundation of childhood oath to find one lost girl. And now that very girl moved through their ship's passages, carrying knowledge that could fulfill fifteen years' search or shatter carefully maintained alliance. The power of that knowledge—the choice to acknowledge or deny her true identity—represented freedom unlike any she had experienced since childhood.

For the first time in fifteen years, y/n held genuine choice rather than merely strategic options. The realization carried both excitement and terror as she returned to her cabin in the heart of the most feared pirate vessel on the seven seas, its black sails cutting through darkness like shadow given form, its reputation for merciless precision earned through years of calculated violence against slave traders who never understood the personal vendetta driving their destruction.

Clutching the wooden wolf Mingi had carved fifteen years earlier—the tangible connection that had unknowingly linked her to both her past aboard The Crimson Serpent and her seven years with Yeosang under Blackwell's control—she whispered her nightly ritual, the familiar names grounding her amid turbulent revelation: "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy."

But tonight, she added the sixth name without hesitation, acknowledgment rather than discovery: "Angel."

Tomorrow would bring further navigation of this complex situation—continued assessment of the officers' expectations, strategic planning for potential outcomes, careful balancing of vulnerability against advantage. But tonight, for the first time since childhood, she allowed herself to think about possibility beyond mere survival—connection beyond calculated alliance, protection beyond temporary advantage.

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