#though that may change once i pirate it perhaps

[jokest3r]

Thinking of making a Bell design once I get my computer in working order

[kingprinceleo]

Find my Aus sorted by category here: https://deviantart.com/kingprinceleo

Where to find me: Complete List

Ao3 (home to one [1] fic): https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingprinceleo

Updates:

New summary post ! yay !

Vampire au is getting a total overhaul!

Ships present:

1000 Years Bound-None

Happy Auau- No active ships during the story but hints of Blazamy (married) and Knuxouge (flirting) from a hundreds of years ago. Sonic and Shadow have their typical weird tension with no clear definition as to what they are. (though i may draw non canon fluff art with them)

Fire n Water- None

Vampire Au- Sonadow (Eventual marriage + LOTS of non canon fluff), Blazamy, Knuxouge (flirting)

Desert Vampires Au- Wavouge (exes)

Tag method: Cw (blank)

General/Frequent Content Warnings for my art- Blood, injury, violence, horror themes, body horror, drowning, cannibalism (mostly depicting the urges, minimal straight up gore), gore (very rare, and never extreme)

1000 Years Bound Summary- 500 years into the future, Miles finds himself at the mysterious kingdom of Solar Sanctum, ruled by the long absent King Shadow. Shadow invites Miles to stay as a collaboration of great minds to try and solve the murky state their world has fallen into. It isnt long before Miles starts to realize Shadow is no longer the man he remembers, and starts to get tangled up in his web of madness.

Happy Auau Summary- An au of an au branching off the 1000 Years Bound timeline, or perhaps it's the original…

Sonic the Hedgehog, immortalized by extended use of the chaos emeralds, is alive and well 500 years into the future. His latest adventure leads him to taking down a tyrant king and he finds himself thrust into power when the people of the struggling kingdom declare him to be their next leader. Realizing he's absolutely boned, he calls upon his old friends for help.

Fire and Water Au Summary- Thousands of years ago, the Sol dimension and Mobius had become one planet after a catastrophic event caused by Solaris. After hundreds of years of research and splitting the beast into two halves, Iblis reeked havoc on the planet and threatened to destroy it once again.

Under a time limit and the constant threat of Solaris's return, a baby Sonic was chosen by the royal family to be the vessel to inhabit the flames of disaster.

Present day, Sonic and Blaze's parents have mysteriously passed away and Sonic's coronation is closing in. Desperate, he escapes the castle to pursue a life of freedom as a pirate.

Blaze, with no one left, sets out to retrieve him at any cost.

Vampire Au Summary- Angel Island is the only life Sonic has ever known. Being trapped within the permanent barrier encasing the 8 islands isnt quite his style, so finding a way to destroy it and explore the world below has been his goal for as long as he can remember. Hes got a number of other things keeping him occupied however, trying to prevent both Dr. Eggman and G.U.N from taking over total control of the islands. 

When he isnt fighting them off, hes hanging out with his friends, living his best life being a vampire both day and night. When he wants to get everyone off his back, and feed from his favorite vampire hater, Shadow, he uses his magic staff to change his appearance into an alter ego, Hoax the "Tenrec."

Desert Vampire Au Hook- People are going missing in the desert...

[terresdebrume]

"Charles. You promised."

Charles, sprawled on the ground with his feet up against the walls of the office, lowers the cover of his current volume to send an apologetic smile Edwin's way.

"Well I didn't know you meant right away, did I?"

Edwin cannot help a sigh. They have had some variation of this conversation at least once a year since they met, and Charles has yet to actually submit to any sort of schooling. This time, however, Edwin prepared for the inevitable.

"That was also your argument the last time we had this conversation," Edwin sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. "As well as the previous time. And as I recall—"

"Look, Edwin," Charles interrupts, looking up at Edwin again with a half pleading look, "I just really don't like the idea of fighting."

"Sometimes, fighting is the only way," Edwin points out.

He himself has bitterly regretted his avoidance of combat sports as a living boy on many, many an occasion. Who knows how things would have changed, if he had known then a fraction of what he knows now? Perhaps he would have lived. At the very least, he might have died fighting, and avoided Hell altogether. Of course, that would have meant never meeting Charles, but he would not have known that. He would have been blissfully ignorant of what true suffering feels like.

Edwin sighs, then makes himself blink. There is no point in dwelling on the past, especially if it makes Charles look at him with his worried frown, book forgotten on his chest. Edwin attempts a smile, though the look Charles sends him in response does not speak of success.

"I know," he sighs, hard enough to jostle the cross in his ear. "But you'll be there to defend me, yeah?"

Always, Edwin thinks. He is, however, cruelly aware that things do not always happen the way one plans for. Sometimes, students who may have had a very satisfying academic career die and must learn to fight to escape literal Hell. These things are unfair, but they happen. And the thought of Charles, trapped defenseless as Edwin once was... It is unbearable. It does not bear contemplating.

"Charles," Edwin pleads, hearing the touch of despair in his voice. "I will protect you as best as I can for as long as I exist here with you... But there may be times when I am not enough. I might be away and need some time to find you, or—any number of things could happen to keep me from your side. It would ease my mind to know that you have the skills to keep yourself alive until such time as I am able to take up the task again."

For a moment, Charles says nothing. He stares at Edwin, with his bright brown eyes the color of rich soil, with that smile he gets when he thinks Edwin is being particularly chivalrous. Edwin sustains his gaze, sweat filling his palms...and sighs in relief when Charles takes a deep breath and stands up.

"Alright, mate," he says, softly. "Fine. What am I learning then, how to throw a punch?"

"That would be the more sensible choice," Edwin admits around his own smile. "However, since I know very well how distasteful you find any of these activities, I thought perhaps I would appeal to your other sensibilities."

Charles makes an inquisitive noise as Edwin rummages in the coffer he prepared for this exact purpose earlier. He finds the tricorns first, handing one to a bemused Charles before donning his own. The way Charles frowns is as endearing as ever, and Edwin smiles as he reaches back into the coffer to find the sabers.

Charles gasps.

"Get out! You're not seriously teaching me how to be a pirate!"

"I should think you have seen ample evidence to belt that sentence," Edwin points out with a roll of his eyes.

Charles, of course, ignores the barb entirely.

"Can you say 'Ahoy, matey?'"

"Do take this seriously please." Charles sobers up, although his grin remains. As a reward, Edwin makes a point to demonstrate an old fashioned salute before he says: "En garde."

Charles smiles as brightly as if Edwin had told him Christmas would come early.

(Reblogs make the world go round! Consider sharing this if you enjoyed it!)

[chironshorseass]

Imagine an AU where Percy never remembered Annabeth. It would’ve been heartbreaking

girl hi this is what spiraled me into looking at my docs and finding this wip that I may never finish but it's got that concept only I never finished it but here it is:

It starts with rain. The water pelts down on the ground, droplets piercing his cheeks like pinpricks. 

He remembers nothing as the ground trembles and as the wolves come out of the foliage.

He remembers nothing when that she-wolf, that goddess Lupa, trains him. 

“You will need this,” she says, sword against his throat. “To survive.”

“What,” he asks, “get murdered?” 

He’s perfectly still, knowing full well what would happen if he even moves an inch. His skin is iron, sure, but he still prefers not to get cut; there is something about caution that calls to him, like the snare to a fox. He can pretend, for a second, that he is fully mortal. 

Meanwhile Lupa’s eyes give away nothing. Her grip on her sword doesn’t falter. “The Romans won’t take kindly to a son of Neptune. A son of Neptune with a Greek curse.”

“If it’s a Greek curse, then why am I—“

“You shall be trained like any Roman soldier,” she says evenly. Finally, her arm falls to her side. “You cannot be seen as a weakness. A weakness of a pack can be the key to demise.”

“You must be fun at parties.”

In a flick of the incoming lightning, her form is changed to that of a wolf. She curls her lip, something he knows is the equivalent of a sneer. “Do not play games with me, Perseus. I do not like it either, but you are a soldier of Rome, now. This is what the Goddess wishes of you.”

“You know,” he says, scooping Riptide from the ground. “For all this talk about destiny and about how some goddess ordered you to train me or whatever, you’ve never once mentioned who this ‘Goddess’ is.”

She levels his stare with her ice-cold eyes. Like the brutal wind. Her fangs glint in the dimming sunlight.

“Patience, demigod. All in due time for those who wait. Besides, you must follow your instincts to find those lost memories of yours. That is what you want, is it not?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Lupa regards him, the space between them filled with howling gusts. Then, she looks up at the sky. The clouds are darker than before, heavy with rain and anticipation.

After some time like this, she finally meets his eyes. 

“There is little that I can say.”

She leaves him there, as rain pours down like cries calling for the earth. Perhaps he’s going insane, but he hears a whisper.

“Percy.”

It’s the voice of a girl. Desperate and earnest. But it’s gone as soon as it came; the voice is replaced by the breaths of air that brush past his ears. 

.

A few days pass before Lupa sends him on his way. 

All roads lead to Rome. 

So he follows those instincts she’d mentioned, trekking across California. Really, it’s the call of the sea that keeps him going. 

He remembers nothing as he cleans his shirt in a fountain. And he remembers nothing as he fights countless monsters on his journey, many of which claim that they’d fought him before. It’s no matter. 

The goddess Juno, whom he carried across the Little Tiber, promises him that his memories will return. Someday. Ignoring the gawking campers and the praetor with a face made of stone, he holds onto that hope. An invisible rope is there; he grasps it with all his might, fingers laced together in a death grip while Reyna, the praetor, interrogates him. She tells him of grand adventures and near-death experiences. How, because of him, she was swept away from her sanctuary and into the hands of pirates.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For whatever I did. I’m sorry.”

She raises her eyebrows, eyeing her metal dogs. “You seem to be telling the truth. Strange, though,” she muses. “Clearly, you remember nothing—didn’t know what I was talking about—and still, you apologize. Not very Roman of you.”

He can only shrug. “Just want to make amends.”

Her lips become a thin line, head tilted in a quizzical manner. “I’m curious to see, as a son of Neptune, what will become of you in the legion.”

She didn’t ask, but he’s sure no one knows about the Greek Curse. 

.

He finds friends soon enough. Hazel and Frank. Two kids fighting for their worth just as 

hard as Percy, and yet they do all that is possible to promote him to the Fifth Legion.

He also finds enemies. Octavian. Augur. Every time he addresses Percy, there’s a strange light in his eyes—similar to that of Lupa when she’s about to go for the kill. The hate is mutual, really.

So, his dreams are blank, and the day is bleak. He falls asleep to the sound of Frank’s snores and wakes to the sound of kids preparing for War Games.

.

He remembers nothing, but at least his skin remembers not to bleed when blades crash against him. 

To hell with mortality, he thinks, as he grabs a girl’s knife with his bare hands. 

Her eyes widen. “What the—”

She never finishes that sentence, because he kicks her away and blocks someone else’s blow. Second after second passes, and people hesitate, now. Hazel throws metallic weapons in the air with just her mind, and Frank shoots arrow after arrow with deadly accuracy.

And Percy? Well, the Romans don’t fear Neptune for nothing. 

.

“Some team you made, you and Hazel and Frank.”

He meets Reyna’s eyes, though he’s not sure what he sees there. “We’re a good team, yeah. But the victory was for the Fifth Legion. They deserve it.” 

“No arguing about that,” she says. “But there’s also no arguing that you three were the key players.”

“Why am I here?”

Aurum and Argentum growl in response; Reyna quiets them down with a pat to the head. She glances at Percy. “Right to the point, are we?”

He shrugs, leaning against his leather chair. 

It takes her some time to respond. She swishes the jellybeans at her table. Delicately, she plucks one into her mouth, the chewing slow, with control. Deliberate, he might say.

“It’s not because of the exploded water cannons, is it?” he finds himself asking. “Because that was for war strategy; you of all people should appreciate it.”

Her mouth curls into the hint of a smile. “No, Percy, you’re not here because of that.” Again, she eyes him, up and down, and not even the metal dogs make a sound. “When were you going to tell me,” she begins, “that you carry the Curse of Achilles?”

The dogs stare at him, baring their teeth, surely waiting eagerly for him to lie. Something tells him that one wrong move and he’d end up alone in the streets again, surrounded by monsters that would turn to dust and seconds later reform, over and over. He has to choose his words with precision.

“I didn’t…plan to tell you. Obviously, there’s a reason for that, though. Lupa told me I couldn’t say anything.”

Reyna raises her eyebrows, looks back and forth between her dogs and Percy. “Well. You seem to be telling the truth. Again. Any idea of when this happened? The curse, I mean?”

Pain. He tries to remember, and all he feels is pain pain pain. First, burning his lower back, and then traveling to his throat and to his brain. 

This happens in just a second, because his mind pops like a bubble, and he anchors himself to Reyna’s dark-brown eyes.

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t.”

She hums. “There are many mysteries about you, Percy Jackson.”

“You can say that.”

“I know you don’t remember anything.” Here, her face opens up to reveal a smidge of sympathy. He stupidly wonders how Reyna would be like as just a regular teenage girl instead of a child soldier in charge of an entire child army. “I can tell that you’re hurting. But the other Romans, they don’t care about that. They care that you’re a threat—Octavian, especially. And believe me, people have noticed how you can’t bleed. You fight like no other demigod, Percy.”

“So? What do you want me to do? Fucking take away the curse?”

She crosses her arms. “Playing dumb with me doesn’t work, you know. Mars issued a quest; Frank Zhang, as you well understand, was made a centurion to lead it, to free Thanatos. Rome is in more danger than you think.”

He can see the toll this is taking on her. The toll of leading alone. The hunch in her shoulders and her cracked lips and the bags under her eyes. But he can also see that she won’t take any pity from him. 

Then it dawns on him—the hidden request behind her reminder about all that’s at stake.

“You want me to go.”

“Of course I do. Not to feed on your ego, but you’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched the Amazons fight. There is also something else: you have to build the Roman’s trust. They already see you as an unreliable weapon—a son of Neptune with a Greek curse is not a good combination. So, you have to earn their trust. If you accomplish this…I have an offer for you.”

Praetor. In all honesty, he might as well go with it.

.

As Reyna promised, all eyes are on him the next day. Ignoring the hushed comments and the stares and the sneers, he goes straight to Frank and Hazel’s table. 

“So it’s true,” Hazel says, studying him. “You carry the Curse of Achilles.”

“How do you know it’s true?” Percy says, sitting next to her. “Those are only rumors.”

She shrugs. “Curses are a bit of my specialty. Also, I watched you fight. I saw how you didn’t bleed.”

“Everyone saw, apparently,” he mutters.

But she doesn’t deserve his jab; Hazel is anything but malicious. Her eyes are big and her face is open—in awe, maybe. To her right Frank fiddles with his medal claiming him as a centurion. Dakota and Gwen—the girl who came back to life just yesterday—merely eye him in wariness. Nico di Angelo, on the other hand, acts as if Percy doesn’t exist, puncturing the act once in a while with stolen glances. The ambassador of Pluto. He’s the strangest of the bunch, and not just because Percy swears that they’ve met before.

Percy decides to only focus on Hazel and Frank, for his sanity. “Yeah,” he tells Hazel. “My skin’s kinda made of metal. Kinda. I don’t know how to explain it, but…”

He takes Riptide, still in pen form. Everyone is watching his every move, he knows. Not just the people on his table. He rolls the ballpoint pen in his hand, feeling the slick coolness of such an innocent object. These Romans, they had never seen a weapon like his before.

Then, he uncaps it; in seconds the innocent pen is transformed into a sword.

Some gasp. The ones sitting with him flinch, except Nico. Percy points his sword down, toward his hand, and his eyes connect with the son of Pluto’s. They are dark as obsidian, glittering, like he knows of an inside joke only he and Percy share. Finally, Percy’s gaze lands on Octavian. Even from this distance he can see that the augur’s jaw is clenched, and so is his fist that grasps onto a teddy bear, knuckles as white as the pillars. He is one of the many standing, ready for whatever trick Percy is about to pull. Even the fauns are gawking.

“Here’s a trick.”

His eyes never leave Octavian, not once. Slowly, the fingers curled around Riptide’s hilt lower down to the sharpness of the glowing bronze. Some cry out; others murmur in wonder once his hand squeezes into the blade and no scarlet comes gushing out of his palm. His other hand is ready, laid out on the table with a serene calmness, even if his palm faces the end of Riptide, point blank. Even if everyone knows he intends to cut himself. 

Frank starts, “Percy, are you sure—”

Hazel shushes him. Percy winks at Octavian before the impact comes, rattling the table. He slams Riptide down, into his waiting hand, again and again and again and again. The pain is dull compared with the satisfaction of seeing everyone’s faces.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sword bounces off his skin—again and again and again.

“See? Nothing can pierce my—”

“Enough!” comes a voice, laced with anger and authority. Reyna. “Enough! That is enough!”

She pushes past the crowd, her eyes wide. Percy stops his little show. She’s right; it is enough, because Octavian’s nose flares and his face reddens like a ripe tomato. Percy bites down his smug smile.

“Everyone,” Octavian calls, but his voice wobbles. He clears his throat. “Back to your tables.”

Reyna doesn’t reproach him for taking over her duty as a leader. She only holds Percy’s stare and disperses into the crowd, purple cape billowing behind her. In his table, Frank begins to clap, slow and appreciative. Percy turns to him and shares his smile. 

“That was,” Frank says, mouth wide open, “I mean—”

“Pretty awesome, huh?” Percy grins.

“Fucking priceless,” Hazel corrects, then pauses, her lips pursed. “Um, sorry.”

Percy nudges her. “Why’re you sorry? It’s true; Octavian’s face was priceless.”

“Oh, um.” She waves her hand around. “It’s nothing—just sometimes forget that I’m—”

“Hazel.” Nico gives her a look, stopping her mid sentence. 

What that is about, Percy has no clue. He has no clue about many things. 

“Catholic school,” Hazel says quickly. “I’m not used to swearing.” 

Her tone is too thick, however. Too nervous. Again, he has no clue about many things. 

“Anyway,” Dakota drawls, pointing a finger toward Percy, “the one that should apologize is Jackson, ‘cause he spilled my koolaid all over the table, see? All because he’s a masochist, or something.”

They all share a laugh, and maybe the Romans aren’t so bad.

[eriexplosion]

ND Tech Week Day 1 - Cadet Batch

Rating: General Audience Word Count: 630 Summary: Wrecker takes the quiet part out of Tech's peace and quiet, but Tech can't say he's upset about it. For @neurodivergent-tech-week

For once, the Kaminoan sky was clear. As clear as it could be, at least - Tech had been watching clouds gathering on the horizon since he first settled onto the narrow ledge to work, aware that the weather could shift towards a storm at a moment’s notice. But with his back tucked up against metal, goggles settled onto his thighs waiting for their upgrade to be installed, and calm waters far below, things were as close to peaceful as Tech had ever seen them.

Until his comm, set between his boot and the wall to ensure it didn’t fall from his perch, came to life.

Wrecker’s voice rang through in that hushed shout that passed for a whisper. “You still doing okay?” Even with the comm so far from him, Tech could hear breathing coming through, and he could just imagine Wrecker in his bunk, curled up and leaned in far too close as he waited for his answer.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Tech said idly, raising his own voice to compensate for the distance. He could have retrieved the comm, of course, but that would mean putting down the recording device currently occupying his hands, and with its fragile inner workings exposed at that. Turning it over, Tech briefly inspected the wiring as he waited for another response, only for none to come.

Wrecker was likely lonely then, looking for company rather than having anything to relay to him. Tech’s eyes flicked to the comm, listening to the breathing for a few seconds before asking, “Where are Hunter and Crosshair?”

“Shooting range.” A hint of crackling distorted the reply and Tech frowned. He wasn’t so far from their barracks that it should have interfered with the signal. The first hint of a brewing stom perhaps. He would need to keep a closer eye on the skies then, to ensure that if the weather did turn he - and more importantly, the recorder - wasn’t caught up in the downpour.

Still, the thought was unpleasant and he let out a short sigh, glad that the comm was too far away to pick it up. Wrecker didn’t need to think him disinterested when already searching for connection.

Tech plucked the smallest of his soldering irons from beside him, beginning to carefully fuse the ends of the wires into place within the new recorder. As he worked, he raised his voice again. “Have you listened to the audio recording I acquired for you?”

Wrecker had never been much for reading, but the blast that had taken sight on his left side had taken what little attention span he had for it along with them. Luckily, though he could only hear on his right now, audio processing seemed to have dodged the same fate, as long as the recording was suitably slow paced. He may not have been able to keep up with many of Tech’s explanations, but audio novels were a different story.

His investment in stories that could generously be described as tawdry was beyond Tech’s understanding, but understanding wasn’t necessary. They made his brother happy, so he would fight his way through as many layers of Kaminoan security as necessary in order to provide a continuous supply.

Instantly, the tone changed and brightened, Wrecker’s false whisper dropping and voice rising as eagerness overwhelmed any restraint. At first it made Tech wince to hear the sudden increase, but he adjusted quickly and soon enough the words became a comforting backdrop of their own.

Eventually, the clouds would gather and force him back inside, Wrecker would run out of Twi’lek pirate adventures to poorly relay back to him, and the moment would pass. But, for now, it was peaceful.

Perhaps he would even finish his work in time to record some of it.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 49

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 19.7k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, talks of abuse & violence, minor violence, smut ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

act seven ➻ part one

​​​

What rots away at your insides in the days that follow is nothing pretty — a deep profound obsession that drives your hatred towards a particular man into the skin until it sits engraved there, with wounds oozing blood all the while.

“Have you seen Nightingale around?”

Soojin jerks her chin up at the sudden interruption of your voice cutting through whatever pretty silence she constructed for herself. You feel bad, though only mildly, for disturbing her without warning. It’s become somewhat common to find her in the mess hall these days, with Luca off to the side with the two resident Berserkers. Your stare lingers on Mingi for a few more seconds than necessary. The last conversation you shared with the man rings in your ears like it was mere minutes ago and not several days.

“Um, training room I think? That’s where he’s been hanging around at least.” Soojin passes you a little half-hearted smile. You don’t doubt that your discomfort and likely unabashed anger is on full display to her; however, she opts not to ask further about your reasons for asking, so you deign not to say anything other than a quiet ‘thank you’ and nod your head.

Mingi shifts where he’s kneeling close to the child. His gaze finds yours the second you turn to head out, stopping you in your tracks and forcing you to return the fierce eye contact for several seconds. You let it stagnate for too long, apparently, because the Berserker stands without warning and moves in your direction. You don’t consider your next move to be one of avoidance, though it must look like that to anyone else aside from you with how you retreat the way you came and head for the arched doorway leading out. Mingi persists still.

“Ghost.”

“Yes?” You only stop to turn when the two of you are far enough away from both Soojin and Jongho.

“I hope what I said to you the other night hasn’t been on your mind too much.”

“…Hardly.” Something else has been in its place — a messy conglomeration of anger, frustration, and other emotions you haven’t paused to address internally yet. You got to see the full picture Mingi had been painting for you that night days later in any case.

“That’s—” he inhales sharply and goes rigid for a moment, so still that you almost think someone has crept up behind you to interrupt the conversation but it’s still just the two of you near the edge of the room. A noise of realization slips from your lips. How hard is it to lie to a man who can feel every bit of the emotions radiating off you in waves?

“I understand what you meant now. I do.”

“I had wished to apologize and to… to let you know that what I said was untrue. I apologize for misleading you.” Mingi’s expression is surprisingly genuine in comparison to his words, though you know you won’t find whatever sincerity you seek in his tone regardless.

“I don’t believe that,” you start in a whisper, “and I doubt you do either.”

Mingi’s full lips twitch into what seems to be a fight against a smile.

“Ever so perceptive.”

“Were you ordered to apologize?”

“No.” Mingi smiles truly now. Without showing his teeth in any fashion, the gesture comes across as more terrifying than reassuring. “What I said to you was my personal opinion. I cannot be crucified for an opinion. I’m telling you that I was wrong because my opinion has changed. Although, perhaps there is nothing and no one more dangerous than a woman scorned.” You duck your chin as you laugh, trying to hide the noise behind your hand, though when you look back up at Mingi, he is chuckling too. “Yunho told me that once, you can blame him.”

“Noted. I’ll be sure to file a complaint. In the meantime—” Mingi raises his eyebrows at you as though echoing a silent question “—thank you for looking out for me. All is well between San and myself now.”

“But not you and the captain.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You get this certain look about you when you’re pissed at him in particular.” When Mingi grins at you next, you can’t keep your laughter in any longer. “I don’t know if it’s of any consolation to you, but if you do wish to speak with the captain, he has not been inviting any guests to the bridge these days aside from myself. So while there wouldn’t be total privacy, there would be some level of it at least with the lieutenant’s absence.”

“If I didn’t know better, Mingi, I might say you are trying to start a fight.” You keep your tone above the belt so to speak — kind enough to imply simple jokes if Mingi chooses to read it as such. The Berserker glances over his shoulder then over at you briefly.

“It might amuse me thoroughly to see you swing a few punches at him before having to intervene,” he says under his breath, and as surprise starts to hit and drag through your body, the man turns his back to you to walk back the way he came. Mingi at least seems to understand you on a fundamental level; in a regard to how you expunge your feelings with some form of confrontation, and perhaps you and the Berserker share overlap in such areas. He has been no stranger to confrontation himself in the past. The arena itself is the perfect example of such a thing, where he was driven by a simple desire to do something. Feel something, do something in return. Eye for an eye in a strange sense — you made me feel this way so I am doing this to you as a response to those feelings. He’s far from unintelligent by any means; if anything, Mingi is a lot smarter than all of the people you share the ship with.

Rather than complicating matters with seedy lies and interweaving half-truths to make things seem more honest than they are, Mingi allows for the perspective of “one plus one equals two, so why complicate it beyond that?”, and he pushes a compelling argument into your hands. The temptation of whacking your captain across the face is a delightful one. Even if there wasn’t an abundance of anger stirring in your gut because of his actions, you think he has fully warranted several punches just on account of his existence.

Simplifying things in such ways, however, is far from your forte.

And there is still the desire to address the sea of lies and half-truths Nightingale presented to you when you asked rather straightforward questions upon first meeting him. You could gain absolutely nothing from this confrontation or you could garner more ammunition to fire into Hongjoong when you inevitably seek out that fight.

Finding the man you’re after is indeed as simple as going to the training room, though the sight that awaits you beyond the door is not at all what you were anticipating. You’ve been in the room several times by now, becoming quite familiar with the layout of everything inside, and even though you have been slacking since you got back from Rathmos, you cannot imagine the room to have changed so much in such little time. Nightingale finds you, instead, frozen by the door with what can only be rampant confusion on your expression.

“Don’t give me that look, it’s only temporary. Need a firing range somewhere to keep sharp.” He motions behind him with his prosthetic arm, tilting his chin in a way that makes the choppy pink strands of hair atop his head flop around. “You’re welcome to use it as you see fit while it’s up though.”

With the explanation, the sight before your eyes makes much more sense. Haphazard targets that look to be crude metal cut-outs of vaguely human form now occupy the far end of the training room, where the (albeit very minimal) row of training dummies used to sit against the wall. Those have been moved as well, brought forward some to spread throughout what Nightingale has added.

“Is anyone aware of your interior decorating skills?” you ask as you push further into the room.

“Ha ha, no one mentioned that you’re the funny one around here. And yes, I was given permission to do as I please while I’m here. Thus—” the man waves a hand through the air in a rather dismissive fashion, tacking on a forced smile at the end of his response. Pressing your lips into a thin line, you return the gesture. “If you’re gonna just stand there, get over here and join me. Clearly you have some reason for being here.”

The bounty hunter extends a hand in your direction, fingers clasped around the barrel of a pistol, and he presents the grip to you without waiting for your agreement one way or another.

“I do want to ask you a few questions, yes.” He doesn’t let go of the weapon immediately, even after you try to take it from him. You still find it wildly unsettling to look at that fake eye so you dip your chin and clear your throat. He lets go seconds later without pushing the topic further, passing the metaphorical ball back into your side of the court for the next play to come. “Starting with an explanation of what your relationship towards Hongjoong truly is.” Part of you is nervous to ask such a thing because the man is full of so many unknowns, and in your mind’s eye, you could be traversing into very dangerous territory. Without knowing for certain that your safety is guaranteed in his hands, you’re left to eye the pistol that he takes into his hands and weighs carefully.

As though offering up a warning of your own, you take aim at one of the mangled metal targets and press your finger over the trigger, letting the gun fire its bullet forward. It hits as intended, and if the head had features attached to it, your bullet would have landed between its eyes. Nightingale huffs out a laugh through his nose.

“Now you know, huh?”

Again, you fire; this time at a different target though with the same intention. When your bullet lands again, you lower the pistol to your side and look over at the bounty hunter.

“Why did you lie?”

“Why are you believing every word out of San’s mouth?” he counters just as quickly, but it doesn’t catch you off-guard the way he clearly intends for it to. “He’s the one who talked to you, no? I doubt it was Seonghwa given how much he wants to avoid what Hongjoong and San both did back then, and it certainly wasn’t the man of the hour himself. So why are you hanging onto every word, taking every little thing San is telling you at face value?” Nightingale’s fake eye is oddly expressive for all the tech and hardware glowing through the sclera. “Did he not tell you how he manipulated me? What game did he play to do so, I truly wonder, Ghost? How did he tell you? Were you in bed? Were his hands on you, telling you foul and hideous words with his lips but touching you so gently with his fingertips?”

He succeeds now in pushing discomfort far into your veins. You lift the gun in your hand a second time if only to distract yourself from his words but he’s already accomplished his goal.

“He explained very gruesome details about it all,” you say through gritted teeth, “but it would be odd to lie about that.”

“But not impossible, no?”

You draw your lips together until your teeth start to ache from the pressure you’re putting against them.

“My eye was taken by your captain, Ghost, but my arm — my arm was taken by your captain’s dog.”

Your finger fumbles on the trigger at the shock revelation, and you don’t have the mind to correct your angle before the gun is firing off a shot into the wall adjacent to one of the targets. Nightingale lurches forward, artificial fingers pressing down hard on the barrel of the gun to lower it once more.

“Try not to go blowing holes in your captain’s ship unless you want the same done to you,” he offers. His hand stays attached to your gun, and now you can’t rip your gaze off the prosthetic. When your gaze flits up to his face, you take in the sight of his wry smile and that glowing eye. “Though I suspect San would sooner die than harm you. Suppose that’s where we differ.”

“Why do you still willingly work with Hongjoong? He takes your eye and your arm, but you still do favors for him?” If it were you, you would either swear to kill the man with your bare hands or put as much distance between you and him as possible.

“There’s more I need out of him yet, and he’s willing to make deals according to his needs. No one aboard this ship can compete with the services I offer.”

“What if he asks San to kill next time? Then what?” It seems bizarre that Hongjoong would allow a person whom he clearly considered an enemy at one point to lie so comfortably amongst his crew. That is, if Hongjoong’s claims about how desperately he wishes to protect his crew are true, and you think you can at least find credibility in that. If nothing else.

Nightingale flicks his bangs to the side as he jerks his chin upwards and grins in full at you.

“That’ll be the fun part.”

“Fun. You have a sick definition of fun!”

What you get in return is a half-hearted shrug that tells you the man does not truly care in the slightest.

“San pretends to be torn up about the things that happened between us,” he continues, and this at least doesn’t come as a surprise. “I think there is some sliver of the man that does feel guilty about it but maybe that’s hopeful thinking on my part. I’m not sure he’s capable of guilt at all.”

“He is. He is, he’s not—”

When your words falter, Nightingale looks towards you with raised brows and wide eyes, but the smile on his lips persists still. It makes your skin itch and burn with discomfort.

“He’s no monster. He’s capable of feeling things, and guilt is among those things.”

“He knows that the order to kill could come any day,” Nightingale speaks as though you didn’t interrupt in the slightest. “So he doesn’t let himself feel that bad. Pretending is easier anyway, no?”

In a stroke of what might be pure foolishness, you allow yourself to be vulnerable before this man here and now.

“How much of a hand does Hongjoong have in the things San does?”

“What do you think?” he asks in turn, and that grin finally drops.

“He’s admitted to me that he wishes to be Hongjoong’s weapon and nothing else,” you whisper.

“Do you feel safe with San?”

“I do. Doubtlessly.”

The corner of the hunter’s mouth twitches a bit at that. “I did too, at one point. Until San asked to take me to the brig one day. Even when I was fully in the mouth of a monster, I did not feel it. Not until he clamped his jaw down around me.”

“I run the risk of sounding delusional, but that’s different from the position I’m in now. I’m part of the crew. You said you aren’t and never were, so you were someone on the outside, someone with a rival crew, someone who posed a threat to this crew.” You gleaned that much from San’s distorted story and can only hope that it’s the truth. “I’m not like that nor am I in that position. My loyalty is already set in stone.”

“You’ve been taught well already,” Nightingale all but sneers back at you, but it devolves into a laugh seconds later. He doesn’t allow you the chance to ask what that means either. “Your loyalty is to San, but you have to realize by now that by dedicating yourself to him, you are dedicating yourself to Hongjoong too.”

“Truth, respect, and loyalty,” you throw out. “That’s what Hongjoong demands, but that doesn’t mean he should be allowed to get away with heinous things.” Nightingale hums.

“It’s easy to mistake leadership for coercion if you do not believe in the man leading you. Do not forget the company you’re keeping here, Ghost, or what marks have stained your ledger red with blood.”

“I would be first to admit that my morals aren’t all there.” Taking a deep breath, you do your best to put to words what it is that has been irking you so much about the man in command. “But doing these things to people he claims to care about — that’s not an issue of morality. He keeps telling me that every little thing he does is for our sake, that all his misdemeanors against me have been to protect his crew, so it seems like a contradiction to let him harm them just as much.”

For all your passion in saying that, Nightingale just shrugs.

“Could you at least tell me your real name?” Your ploy to fish for more information ends in disappointment.

“No. I won’t give it to you.”

“Why not?” The unfortunate side effect of pushing more feeling into your tone is that you end up sounding like little more than a petulant child who isn’t getting her way.

“I’m certain you can figure out why I’m not quick to trust others, especially those close to Hongjoong.”

“Hongjoong already knows these things about you though, I’m sure! What’s the harm in telling me now?”

“It’s about the concept of trust, and you don’t have mine.” As you scowl, Nightingale pulls the pistol fully from your hands. “I don’t have a crew now because of what your captain did to mine in the past. Every last one of them became fragments of debris in space. My trust is hard to come by and even harder to earn.” He waves his free hand towards the exit. “Now shoo so I can focus alone.”

There’s the distinct feeling sticking to your gut as you leave that you have upset the man in some way, whether on account of your questions or your answers to his own questions, but it’s also paired with the sick churn as you feel his eyes on you as you go. You wonder with which hand Hongjoong had taken his eye, and in what manner he went about doing so. Further, imagination takes over to wonder how San took his arm — what they talked about, what they did beforehand, how it all went down — and fills you with sick curiosity. You wish to know the ins and outs of how things turned out the way they did if only to know how to avoid the same fate for yourself later down the line.

That is not a privilege you get to have, however. Aware of that fact, you move on to other, much less pleasant business by your standards. It takes you to Minho’s door, and you barely get the chance to knock even once before it’s sliding open before your eyes to reveal the doctor on the other side.

“I was about to come get you myself. Here I thought you were being difficult again.”

“Justifiably, I’d say,” you mutter, stepping past him to get in the room. You certainly have no desire to do this presently, but Minho cornered you last night after dinner and all but demanded that you see him for another session.

“Hm, how has your day been so far?”

You hum as your head tilts from side to side in a nonverbal response to his question. He moves for that cursed table with the chessboard atop it immediately, but you choose to hang back and glance around the room as though anything will have changed since you were last here. And truly, nothing is inherently different about the décor of the room. What does catch your eye is a thing much more insignificant by all means — the bottle of pills sitting atop his bedside table. You have seen him with it before, seen him take pills from the very same bottle, and that alone should not be cause for concern.

“Ghost.”

Your gaze lingers in place even as your body twists to face the doctor. It’s the exact same bottle, and the pills must surely be the same inside as well, except when you saw him days ago, it was barely used. There had to be only a few taken out at that point. Now the bottle sits close to empty, with another identical container filled to the brim with more capsules right beside it on the table. Feasibly, there’s no way that he could have taken all those pills in such a short amount of time.

“Y/n, the sooner we talk, the sooner you can take your leave.” When you finally rip your gaze off the bottles and turn to Minho, it’s just to find that he’s looking back at you with such an intensely heated glare that you almost feel like a child being caught doing something wrong. “Come sit. We will not play today.”

“Um, have you been well too?” you inquire through the sudden tension hanging in the air. Minho offers nothing but a sigh, leaning back in his chair as you sit down across from him. “Or… I mean, your day, has your day been okay too?”

“It’s been fine, thank you.” The man smiles at last, and that gesture provides some relief for you. Not enough, it seems, because your gaze flicks back over to that nightstand and what sits atop it within seconds. “Are you distracted today, Ghost?”

“A bit.” It’s said through a whisper, and Minho’s stare makes you want to challenge him further but you decide against it. “What is it you wanted to talk about today?”

“You seem to suffer from PTSD,” he states almost out of nowhere. Something about both the suddenness and the bluntness in his tone makes you scoff. It’s akin to one of the very first things he said to you though, and the sense of familiarity with what he’s said makes you recall that now.

“Of course I do.”

“What do you mean by that?” He has that pad out once again, opened over his knee where he crosses his legs, and you see his pen move down to the tablet before you can even offer up a response.

“Looking at my history, wouldn’t it be a bit obvious for me to have PTSD?” Something about how methodical the man is in writing down words unbeknownst to you makes you violently insecure all of the sudden. You feel seen in an uncomfortable way, in a way you do not want to be seen, though he perpetuates the discomfort by shifting to look you in the eye.

“Only depending on who you are. There are those who wouldn’t, though they would fall under a different umbrella.”

“Something worse…?” you trail off without being able to finish the thought, mostly because you fear falling into that category yourself.

“Nothing worse. Nothing worse. We don’t use terms like that. While symptoms can have levels, the disorders themselves differ in severity. It is better to address them in tentative terms. Nothing is worse in this room. We are talking about you and you alone. No comparisons, no parallels, no odd faux psychology test meant to tell you whether you have the same mental disorder as some planetary celebrity.” Minho looks down at the screen below him, eyes scanning over the contents of whatever sits there, and you find yourself grossly curious about what he’s writing about you. “Yunho made heavy note of your trauma response and the symptoms you struggle with on a day-to-day basis. I’d like to hear it from your lips. Can you look back and pinpoint a particularly traumatic event in your life?”

In retrospect, there are plenty of moments you could bring to light now. Starting all the way from childhood and moving up until recently, for that matter, you find it difficult to count the memories of your childhood that you do not have. Even so, in the military, you have clear and distinct memories that jump out to you; however, the fog of not being able to distinguish the minute details of what’s accurate and what was fabricated by two men who suffered the same fate.

“I was a slave before joining the military. I imagine that would be a rather traumatic experience.”

“You imagine? That time has not been recovered in your memory yet, is that correct?”

“I have yet to remember it, yeah, but I’m sure that caused some extent of damage to my brain along the way.”

“If I may be so bold,” Minho starts, leaning forward in his seat and over his knees in a way that forces you to make eye contact with him, “I am of the belief that the most prominent event was the night you killed the King of Eros. Would it be alright if I asked you to recount what happened then?”

Your fingers clench and unclench against your thighs and releasing that grip feels close to an impossible feat. Minho notices the sudden increase in your breathing patterns, along with your frantic blinking as you entertain the mere idea of telling him such horrors.

“There are many ways in which I can offer you support, should you need it. Encouraging words, eye contact, I can even put a hand on your knee or hold your hand if need be — and you can allow yourself to be emotional here. This is a safe space.”

“Can you not speak down to me in such a way?” It’s an inaccurate judgment of his actions, and you are well aware of that fact. The words push their way out of you before you can stop them, even though you don’t believe them either — at least not fully. He is simply a man doing his job: the offer to assist you is part of the work asked of him.

“Why do you feel as though I am speaking down to you?”

You gnaw at the inside of your lip.

“Is it because of our last session?” Minho unfolds his legs and lays his tablet down atop the table between you two. “I will not bring that into conversation today, you need not worry about that.”

“It makes me nervous,” you admit through your teeth.

“Yes, I gathered as much. To put it bluntly and risk your ire further, you tend towards lashing out when you start to feel anxious. A completely normal, human reaction! Don’t get me wrong; nearly every person in the universe does so as well. I am genuinely trying to help you here, Ghost, but I can only do so if you let me in to some extent.” The doctor extends a hand across the gap between the two of you, palm up to the ceiling, and you blink between him and his hand several times before finding your voice again.

“That night, I waited until my team was asleep, pretending to be so myself, and when I thought the coast was clear, I got up and left our cabin. Jisung followed me out. I told him I would finish the job he started so that no one else would… fall victim to whatever it was he wanted. I asked him to take responsibility, to do it himself and stop me, but he didn’t. Instead, he told me that I could do it myself if I wanted to save Hyu—our team so badly. I went to the king’s quarters myself, alone, killing any and every guard I saw along the way. When I reached the king’s chambers, I slit his queen’s throat in her bed right beside him and then I waited. And waited.” Minho’s hand doesn’t waver where it remains above the chessboard. You hone your gaze in on his fingers rather than his face, solely because of the overwhelming sense of dread swarming your gut as you pour yourself out to this man. “And I waited until her blood soaked the sheets enough to wake him. Then when he finally woke, I climbed over her dead body and I reached into that man’s chest to break it open and squeeze the life of his heart. Once I had done that, I gathered what documents I could and what I thought was important at the time before going back to the cabin I shared with my team. Soojin took me to the bath and tried to get the blood off my skin and out of my clothes. Jisung stood above me and lied to them, claiming he told me not to do anything, that he had nothing to do with it, and that I ruined his plans. He put his hands around my throat and pushed me under the water with the intent to kill me.”

“Do you remember how you felt the exact moment you killed that man and his wife?”

“I felt powerful.” Perhaps such an admission makes you sick and deranged in the head but it does come from a place of honesty. “I felt afraid at the same time. I think I’ve only ever felt that once before, and it came long after that night.” You have a clearer memory of that instance — a day when everything that could go wrong happened to shatter around you all at once. San getting shot, Hongjoong pushing your hand through a door, saving Soojin and Luca, San almost dying, your hand going through a man’s chest and squeezing around his still beating heart.

“Power and fear have more in common than you might imagine,” Minho whispers as he finally pulls his hand back into his lap.

“All my time in the military, I was heralded as some sort of prodigy thanks to my skill with guns. Be it pistols or rifles or snipers, I understand them on a fundamental and mechanical level, to the point where I could tell you how far a bullet will travel before it begins to drop. I could tell you in numbers how much force is behind the recoil on a sniper or how a silencer affects the handling of a gun. I never felt powerful with that knowledge though. Not enough to feel fear in the same breath at least. But for the life of me…” your breath stutters momentarily, just enough to let you think over what you’re trying to get at, “I cannot explain how I can do such a horrific thing with apparent ease.”

“Does that make you afraid of hurting those closest to you? Those you care about, those who trust you, who put their faith in you and hope their survival is guaranteed in their hands?”

“No, I know I wouldn’t hurt them in any way.” You push force into your tone intentionally, with the hope to squash what it was he was implying you would do the last time you sat in this chair across from him. He does not give the reaction you hoped for, however — an acknowledgment of your forced honesty — and rather, you get a cat-like grin that pulls the corners of his lips upwards until it’s unsettling to look at.

“Do you fear yourself, Y/n?”

“Not in the sense that — I don’t fear that I will physically hurt the people close to me because I have a power I don’t fully understand. But sometimes I can’t shake the feeling of a heartbeat that is not mine on my fingertips, or I can’t unhear the sound of a thumping heart beating in my eardrums.”

“You fear becoming a slave to your own capabilities,” Minho concludes for you. Part of you is wildly grateful he took it upon himself to finish the thought because admitting it would only add to the weight bearing down on your shoulders now. “You fear becoming a monster.”

Pressing your lips into the thinnest line you can manage, all you can do is offer a series of meager little nods to confirm his suspicions.

“Y/n, tell me, when something you consider to be bad happens, do you hear and feel that heartbeat?”

“I imagine I do, but I’m certain I mistake it for my own from time to time.” Your fingers draw the fabric of your pants into your palms again, squeezing tight until you can feel your nails biting skin through the material. “Is there a word for that? Some diagnosis out of one of your long books and manuals?” You did not intend for so much sarcasm to push through your tone but it slips in nonetheless. Minho doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the attitude you send his way and instead pauses as though he is truly mulling over your senseless question.

“We in psychiatry ought to aim to help patients adjust to their current mental states. If the bad outweighs the good, then we determine treatments accordingly. If there are goods that cannot be had outside of that mental state, then we ask the patient to determine what’s best. Within reason, of course, we ought not to let anyone harm themselves with their own decisions, intentionally or otherwise. However, more often than not, the patient is the one best suited to figure out the right dosage of medications or treatments or therapies needed in order to maintain a good and healthy life. In my seat, from where I stand on this side of the dilemma, it is easy to preach to you, the patient, about how you should choose. How you lead your life, what medication you should take, to slap labels on you and tell you that definitively this — whatever the diagnosis we find is, I mean — is what is wrong in your head. Manual after manual, book after book, the list of articles grows day by day with new names for things that perhaps do not even need a name. Y/n, I will not place a name to whatever it is you are suffering with on any given day. Each individual case, patient, person should be treated separately, without a manual or an article or some doctor halfway across the universe telling me that there’s some title to slap on you. What you are is a human being who deserves the respect of being treated as such, not just another tick mark against the name of a disorder that may encompass your symptoms at a given point in time. Is that agreeable to you?”

This time the sigh you let out is one of pure relief, and the lingering discomfort you felt from being in this position with the doctor dwindles further.

“Refreshingly agreeable, yes.”

Minho dips his ear to his shoulder as he smiles less crudely than before. “Then, shall we dive deeper into that head of yours now?”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“I don’t want to go back after this.”

You look up from your bag to face the man who’s just spoken, and when you lay your sight on him, he’s sitting at the edge of one of the beds.

“Sorry?” you echo mostly out of confusion.

He lifts his chin and finds your gaze with wide brown eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you would resort to saying that he looks innocent of all wrongdoings in life.

“I don’t want to go back to Eros. Don’t want to report to some stuffy military official, don’t want Hyunwoo to give us a lecture about how we weren’t the perfect little soldiers, don’t want to keep doing things for people I don’t give a fuck about.”

Setting your bag aside, you move to sit on your own bed and face Jisung only after curling your fingers around the edge of the mattress to ground yourself. What version of Jisung will come out of this conversation is an absolute mystery to you as of yet.

“Aren’t you sick of it, Y/n?”

Despite the urge to shrug and wave off the question, you at least know better than to risk upsetting him this early.

“Defecting would be worse for us.”

“Us? So you feel the same?”

“I’m entertaining the idea for the sake of this conversation, Jisung,” you state in a rather flat tone. The mattress dips a bit further under your grip. “I’m content with the way things are. Who else is there for me to be loyal to? I’m well fed, taken care of, have protection—”

“All of that is only guaranteed if you give your loyalty and freedom in return.”

Your lips draw into a frown.

“Deserting is a good way to make sure freedom is never an option for you, Jisung. We have to stay until we’re twenty-one, those were the rules when we entered this line of work.”

“Letting fourteen-year-olds decide their own fates for the next seven years is bullshit too!”

“But it was a stipulation you knew upfront,” you counter. In a twist of irony, you’re the one losing patience here first. “I’m not saying that it’s ideal or fair, but risking the rest of your life because you’re tired now isn’t ideal either. We could wait, Ji… wait until we’re of age and can leave freely. I don’t want to be in the military forever either but I don’t want to lose the rest of my life because of a lack of judgment as a teenager.”

“You willingly lost the first fourteen years of your life because of the military too, Y/n!” Jisung gets to his feet now, in a flash of anger, and you glare his way with waning amusement. “You’re gonna give them more of those years too? Risk dying for them? Just to possibly guarantee some shred of faux freedom that they dangle in front of your nose?”

“Ji—”

“They make you stay on Eros after you leave, you know that right? You can’t even leave the system, let alone the fucking planet! That’s freedom to you? You don’t have to work for them anymore, sure, but you’re stuck under their noses so they can keep you pressed right under their thumbs for the rest of your life anyway.”

“Hyunwoo would throw you to those so-called rats for even entertaining the thought of treason! Do you think I want to see that happen? You’re one of us too, Ji, you are part of our team. Our team is our family. This is who we have. We agreed to stick together, we decided this for ourselves, and we committed to this together. I’m not doing all this shit because I love the man we have to call king, but I am doing it because it’s for the good of the people I care about. I had imagined you thought the same?”

“Those people would sell you out for a paycheck, Y/n. If I commit treason, then they’re throwing you in my court. We don’t have the golden ticket as they do — I’ve killed too many innocent people, and you’ve been a complicit player in my crimes for too long.”

You move to get up from your seat as well but Jisung crosses the short distance between the two beds before you have a chance to get balanced. It doesn’t keep you from being the one to make the first move, however, and you swing the back of your hand across his face without hesitation. Still, you knock yourself right back to where you were seconds before, pushing a wave of shock through your system in the same breath. Jisung remains frozen in place, no doubt out of disbelief.

“You want me to martyr myself for you so desperately that it’s made you beyond delusional. I’ve been loyal to you partly out of pity, you idiot, because without me, you would have been strung up in the streets by now. I know my place in our team and in our department. You play with your little toys, and I make the kill shots. Part of me believes that you only kill those innocent people in my name because you have somehow deluded yourself into thinking that I need to be protected. I protect you. I protect myself. And I will protect our family when the time comes. You decide now whether you’re included in that group of people or not.”

“And I will do whatever must be done to get us both out. You’re the coward. You’ve let them taint your mind and make you believe that leaving is a crime.” He drags his fingers across your cheek, pulling your chin up to look at him better, but all it does is earn him a glare. “You’ll see it one day, little lady. I promise you that much.”

The man before you has never taken responsibility for a thing in his life, though. Asking him to do so now would be an impossible feat at best. In fact, if you were in the business of making wagers, you would bet that Jisung would only admit fault at death’s doorstep.

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“I can’t believe we’re losing so badly to a child,” you say under your breath even though said child is staring right at you from across the table. Jongho shakes his head almost imperceptibly as he looks over the cards in his hands before placing them face down on the metal with a shaky sigh.

“This is the fourteenth time in a row, and I’m not even trying to let him win against me.”

“Fourteenth?” You glance down at your own hand but the sight is dismal at best. There is much on the line, however, and it sits in the center of the table between the three of you now. The last handful of gourmet chocolates that Jongho had been stashing in his room all this time without even mentioning their existence to you. You’ll be damned if you lose out on some fucking chocolates to a child, even if he is a master at the art of poker. “My hand is terrible. I can’t even lie about it, it’s so fucking bad.”

“Be glad you can’t see mine because I don’t think either one of us is walking out of here with even a tin foil wrapper.”

Luca raps his knuckles against the metal table and drags your focus back over to him. He lays his own cards down on the table with a growing smile, gesturing to Jongho in a way you still don’t fully understand or know how to read yet.

“He said we can team up against him and split the chocolates if that gives us a better chance,” Jongho translates to you moments later.

“Oh my god, he’s gotta have a flush of some sort in that hand.”

“I’m not splitting the chocolates. They’re my chocolates!”

You sputter over air at the adamant defiance coming from the man and whip your head in his direction to stare him down. He’s insistent on not looking back at you, much like a child acting as though what he cannot see cannot hurt him. You’re of half a mind to whack him upside the head but you also don’t need to be giving Luca any bright ideas either.

“You’re about to lose all of them! Why not just settle for losing half!?”

“I have some pride, Y/n, there’s still pride left in me even after all this!”

“You’ve lost fourteen times in a row to someone who is less than half your age. There is no dignity or pride or anything left! This is about getting even just one chocolate!”

“I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”

“When he pulls out a straight flush—”

Luca grins from ear to ear as he turns his cards over, and one by one you watch your hopes of getting even a bite of the sweet treat sitting in the middle of the table dwindle into nothingness.

“—and look at that, it’s even worse. A royal flush! How’s that pride now, asswipe?” You reach over to pinch Jongho’s earlobe between your fingers, yanking him down a bit as you tug on the skin.

“In one piece because I didn’t split shit with you!” comes his equally immature retort. You’re only interrupted by Luca knocking on the table once again. Except when you both look up from whatever petulant fight it is you’re having, it’s to witness an almost pitiful scene of Luca placing a chocolate between the two of you. He makes a few gestures in sign language that you vaguely recognize but still wait for Jongho’s confirmation to come through. “…he said we can split the chocolate.”

“This is so embarrassing. Where did you learn how to play poker this well?”

Luca offers up a shrug and nothing else. He’s quick to take the bowl of remaining chocolates into his little hands, however, and hops up from the bench seconds later. Before completely turning away from the two of you he bows at the waist, smiling with both rows of teeth on full display.

“Thank you,” he says with one hand before using the same one to wave goodbye. “See you at dinner.”

You aren’t cruel enough to not return the kindness to him, but you do keep Jongho’s ear firmly pinched the whole time.

You release your grip on him at last once Luca is fully out of sight, letting him finally sit back on the bench more comfortably.

“It’s about time for his meeting with the good doctor,” Jongho explains as he rubs at the reddened skin you left behind. “They’ve been meeting every day since Minho got here I think.”

“When you said he steamrolled you in cards, I didn’t think you meant he was good.”

“Yeah, well,” Jongho sweeps the wrapped chocolate over to your side of the table, “I warned you.”

You scoff at nothing in particular as you do your best to delicately open the sweet, pressing down on it with your thumbs until it snaps down the middle.

“You shouldn’t have bet every bit of your good chocolate if you knew we would lose that spectacularly.” With a sigh, you pass over half of it to Jongho before popping the other into your mouth. “We can get more once we land though, right?”

“Yeah, but god knows what they sell down on Gorgon… I’ve never been myself.” The Berserker nudges you in the side with his elbow as he chews. “Have you?”

“Been to Gorgon? Can’t say that I have either. Nothing I’ve heard about the planet is particularly—” you wave a hand through the air to accentuate your point as your expression turns into a grimace “—pleasant, I suppose?”

“No, but Vida in general is nothing pleasant.” Jongho frowns when he looks down at the table with cards strewn across the surface. You press your lips into a thin line. It isn’t all too difficult to realize why he’s saying such a thing — not when Auriga lies within the same system and several thousand kilometers away from where the ship is drifting onward to its target. Even at such a distance, it’s enough for discomfort: a concept you understand wholly because the mere thought of being in Aurum made you ill. Mingi, too, may understand this feeling on a fundamental level the way you do. It’s hard to forget the fallout that came from Wooyoung mentioning Kebos by word of mouth. “It’s uncomfortable but that goes without saying.” Jongho passes you a smile, one that comes as a result of sensing the pang going through your heart right at this moment.

“It brings back memories I’m sure,” you say under your breath. You reach a hand up over the table to lay it atop one of Jongho’s, pressing your fingers into the gaps between his fingers.

“Lots of unpleasant ones. But it’s funny to think that of all the people on this ship, all the criminals living side by side, the one who is probably wanted by the most amount of people there on Auriga is me. Every kind of person in my hometown probably remembers my title and remembers my name in some capacity. Captain has done a damn good job of avoiding Vida for so long. I know he wouldn’t bring us here without good reason, and I suppose that I can only be grateful that whatever he’s after isn’t on Auriga. Still. It’s tough being back here still.”

“How long has it been since you were last there?”

“Ten years. Actually probably eleven at this point.” Jongho exhales through his mouth. “I’ve been running from this for a decade, and it’s still not enough time to feel at peace with what happened. I thought that—”

It’s hard to look at his face, even the side profile that you’ve got an angle of, solely because of how deep his pain is etched into the features there.

“Everything is much louder here. It makes me think… I should’ve been gentler with Mingi when we were on Kebos, or even Seonghwa when we were on Dorado. Was it loud in Aurum?” His voice is barely audible by now. He turns his hand in your grip, shifting just enough for him to curl his fingers further around yours and cling to you in an act of desperation.

“Terribly so. Horrid, wretched, terrific loudness. It’s like deja vu but your body remembers the exact feelings of agony you felt when you were last there.”

“Yeah, I get it a lot more now that we’re so close to Auriga. And I know our reasons for being on Dorado were certainly not good ones — and nothing that happened there could even be considered close to decent — but at least there, I don’t know. Part of me felt happy to be back. I mean, I worked in some random dive bar there for two years after leaving Auriga, and that’s where I first heard of Hongjoong and his crew. That’s where Hongjoong found Seonghwa too. I was there the night Seonghwa approached Hongjoong and asked to join his crew, remember being in the back of the bar and watching it happen like it was yesterday. It felt like returning to the place where things started when I know in reality that place is home. I wonder if Seonghwa views the place solely as something tied to the worst parts of his past or the start of his future.”

“I think that one day… you can see Auriga as the place where your future started too.”

“What place is that for you?”

“In a cramped box in the cargo bay?” you offer, partly as a joke but also because you aren’t sure what else to choose. Jongho snorts.

“We would’ve started the same then.”

“When you joined — or I guess, snuck aboard rather — was it on Dorado?”

“Oh, yes, but probably not when you’re thinking. I didn’t try to follow them that time I saw them meet. And Hongjoong avoids going there unless absolutely necessary. We’ve been back maybe three times max in all my years of being here. It was several months later that they returned briefly for business to get a few more hands on the crew for an operation. Captain and Seonghwa came through the bar I worked at, and I overheard them talking about going to Aegos for a quick warehouse raid, so I smuggled myself into cargo and they brought me aboard. You’ve heard that fun bit though.”

“San was the one who found you too, right?”

You don’t get a response straight away; instead, Jongho inhales and puffs his cheeks full of air as he looks towards the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he says after the silence starts to drag, “yeah, but he was very different back then. I don’t think I mentioned that last time I told you about being a stowaway.”

“How so?”

“He knew I was there for a while, maybe three weeks? Rather than getting me out, he would come through the cargo bay and taunt me. For the first week, he would bring a gun down there and shoot into the boxes around me, threatening to kill me. He knew where I was but he would avoid shooting me because he — wanted to see me come out? I think that’s what it was. He wanted me to come out and beg for my life. He got in trouble for damaging the goods, but what’s even more strange is that when Hongjoong came down and confronted him about it, he had the chance to out me. Instead, he said he was bored and needed target practice. Week two, he would sneak into the cargo bay and at that point, I had gotten out of the box I crammed myself in and made myself a little cubby down there to stay hidden. San would come in silently and scratch at the walls of the boxes around my hiding place. Some days he would sit at the entrance and stare at me through the darkness without saying anything. It was fucking creepy as hell, but when he finally started trying to speak to me in week three, I realized that he just… didn’t know how to communicate well. I remember feeling almost nothing from him at the time like he had no emotional aura whatsoever, and that freaked me out more than anything. It was like dealing with someone who hadn’t had a normal human interaction in his life. He wanted to help me but he wanted to make sure that he could trust me first. So he would threaten me and try to scare me to see if I would snap.”

“He wanted to protect his crew…” you mutter, and Jongho shifts to nod several times.

“San was their first — Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s very first crewmember. As much as Seonghwa is so prominent in the decision-making and plans that Hongjoong makes, San is right there alongside both of them. He’s so much more crucial to so much of what we do as a crew than anyone likes to let on. San will deny it outright if you ask him, and Seonghwa will try to cover for him to keep scrutiny off San, but Hongjoong never fails to remind us that San has the same authority as Seonghwa does in many circumstances.”

“Were you the second then?”

“No, I was the fifth. But something happened one of those nights while I was down in the cargo bay, and the other three crewmates who were there at the time never showed up again. I’ve got no clue what happened to this day, and nine years have gone by without me even daring to ask. I do remember an awful smell wafting down the corridors, and I remember smelling it for a long time even after I officially joined the crew.”

“You never asked about it?” you inquire, but Jongho just throws up a shrug and shakes his head.

“I think the only reason Hongjoong didn’t kill me on the spot for being a fuckin’ stowaway is because something happened to those crewmates. I was never gonna push my luck asking about it.”

You hum, crossing your forearms on the table. Your thoughts are running wild with theories and questions about what could have happened that night Jongho speaks of as you rest your chin atop your arms.

“How did he find out you were there? Was it San?”

“I think he started to notice how often San was going down to the cargo bay, especially after those three disappeared. There was no one else for him to keep track of, and he had already warned San off going down there weeks prior, so it was pretty much inevitable that he would eventually come down at the wrong time. And he did. He saw San talking to what looked like a wall of boxes, and San scrambled to cover for me and say that it was nothing. By then, he’d agreed to help smuggle me off the ship at the next stop on Mensa. It was the day before landing that Hongjoong caught us, but it turns out he knew I was down there the entire time because San had told him I was there. Hongjoong didn’t give him any orders solely because he wanted to see how San would handle things himself. San almost killed me in a panic because he thought he did something wrong in Hongjoong’s eyes by sparing me, but Hongjoong said he never intended to hurt me. Even gave me credit for having the balls to sneak onto his ship, though he wasn’t very well known back then. I got an ultimatum similar to the one you got, I imagine. Carry my own, I could stay.”

“Yeah, that sounds quite familiar.”

“I didn’t want to stay though. Told him outright too.”

“Huh? What?” Jongho laughs as you reel on him. “You really did have balls back then. He throws a hissy fit and a half every time I so much as disagree with him.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to get to Mensa. Since that’s where Hongjoong was headed, I told him I’d be off at the next stop. And you know what he did?”

“Something stupid?”

“Changed course to fly to Yuki hours later and said that because I decided to smuggle myself onto the ship, I wouldn’t get what I wanted right away. I would have to either wait for the next chance to get to Mensa or I would get off at the next stop and find a way there myself. Funnily enough, I ended up sticking around. Only thanks to San! He still holds that over me too.”

“Has Hongjoong ever gone to Mensa since?”

“Not even once,” Jongho answers the question without having to think twice, and it does leave you to wonder how often that eats away at the corners of his thoughts. “As much as I harbored a nasty grudge towards him at first for changing course, it changed as time went on and I became actually rather grateful he did. I wasn’t even close to ready to face what I was after on Mensa, and even now I don’t want to. Maybe after I’ve made peace with what happened on Auriga, I’ll be able and ready to go there.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to set foot on Eros again. Bounty not included.” Jongho cracks a smile at that, leaning over to nudge you in the side with his elbow. Granted, Ghost of Eros doesn’t hold nearly as much vitriol as Traitor of Auriga, and you aren’t dense enough to ask what he did to earn such a title right now anyway. If anything, you hope he can find some ounce of comfort in the knowledge that he isn’t alone in feeling the way he does, and that not being ready to face such a massive part of his past is nothing to be ashamed of. “It sounds like things were a lot different back then.”

“They were. San has gotten softer over the years, Seonghwa has gotten a lot colder. From the start, his emotional aura was so hectic in ways I’d never experienced with Elitists. As time went on, he gradually mellowed it out and got it under control. I can’t tell if he simply learned how to play the part so well that it’s indistinguishable now or not.”

“Has Hongjoong been this way forever then?”

Jongho purses his lips. He’s quick to busy himself with the cards on the table, pulling them all into a pile to organize nicely, and it implies that you may be toeing an unspoken line here.

“Hongjoong is Hongjoong. That’s all there’s to say about it really. Everyone’s changed in some way over the years. Mingi and Seonghwa the most, I think. Wooyoung and Hongjoong the least.”

You wish you could know who Seonghwa was before Hongjoong in many ways, but that is simply asking for the impossible. With a sigh, you push yourself up and away from the bench to get to your feet.

“I gotta wash dinner dishes, so I’ll see you later?” Jongho hums without looking back at you, and you lean over to pinch the underside of his bicep in retaliation.

“Ow! Hey, would you quit abusing me?!”

“Would you quit ignoring me?!” You pinch harder just to prove your point, earning a firm whack across the thigh as Jongho swings an arm back at you to counter your childish attacks.

“Yes, I’ll see you later, woman! We fuckin’ live together, it’s not like you’re going off to war,” he grumbles. You let out a dramatic gasp, one far from needed but very much so worse egging Jongho on a wee bit further.

“I’ll start one with you if you’re not careful, you little shithead!”

He fully turns to smack you now but you’re almost just out of reach, leaving his hand to glance across your ass instead of your thigh this time, but you severely underestimated the amount of force behind his swing because it stings.

“If you get an earful from San tomorrow because you hit my ass too hard, I’m gonna have no sympathy!” you shout over your shoulder, and Jongho returns your quip with an audible gag.

You aren’t expecting anyone in the kitchen when you walk in, which is partly why you’re still laughing to yourself as you cross the threshold, so finding the silhouette of another person in there already when you arrive is nothing short of shocking. You cut your laughter short with an inhale as you take the figure in, a quiet apology falling from your lips before you can contain it.

“No need to apologize.” Seonghwa’s hair is neat today, parted down the middle and longer strands pushed to sit behind his ears, but those dark purple, almost bruise-like circles still remain under his eyes. “I slipped in earlier, I’m sorry for not making myself known — I didn’t want to interrupt your time with Jongho and the child.”

“Ah…” you exhale, unsure of what else to say to the man.

“I already took care of the dishes, so you’re off the hook for today. I came to prep breakfast for tomorrow.”

“You’re cooking in the morning?”

“Yes, with Wooyoung. He asked to help.”

Even with the easy out, you don’t move from your spot by the sink. Seonghwa doesn’t budge either, clearly waiting for you to make the next move or say anything that might dispel the awkwardness now hanging in the air. It hasn’t changed, you note, that tension lingering between you two. Talking through what happened, discussing his mother, fucking each other in the presence of your own lover — it resulted in a cold shoulder and the same icy air as before. So what good was it all for besides fulfilling some cheap desires of the flesh?

“I spoke with Nightingale a couple days back,” you blurt. Seonghwa pauses with his hand flat against the cutting board.

“What about?”

“He told me that Hongjoong took his eye. That San took his arm.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flash with thinly veiled anger, and through the exhaustion, you’re able to catch the glimpse of frustration on his features.

“Some would say that it was San who did both.”

“Some,” you echo, and that’s when Seonghwa catches himself in the midst of his rage and pulls his focus away from your face. “Hongjoong, then.”

Seonghwa scoffs, “Don’t overanalyze what I’m saying, princess. I’m shocked Yeon—Nightingale was willing to pass any blame onto our captain’s shoulders.”

“Am I knocking on a door I shouldn’t even be in front of, pretty boy?” you ask next. The man waits for the words to seep into his skin and settle there before deigning to respond.

“You’re making a home in a house that does not belong to you, though that is not entirely your fault. San has let you in. Now Nightingale has pulled up a chair for you at the table. I suppose all that’s left is for either Hongjoong or myself to open all the closet doors so that the skeletons can fall out.” He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that it’s painful to even look at. When they snap open again, there is far more ferocity behind his gaze than before. “But yes, this is one of those things I would not wish for anyone to know. Yet if not for those things, how would he have become the Scourge of the Black Sea? Where would his Lieutenant of Death be?” Disgust on his tongue and in his words, you find yet another version of Seonghwa that you’ve not laid eyes on before.

One that despises the man he loves.

“Seonghwa…” A simple utterance of his name nearly breaks his shaky composure. His next smile is a pained one. “Please talk to me, please tell me what’s going on with you these days. Every day you seem worse than before…? Are you not sleeping well? If you truly can’t speak to Yunho, then at the very least I can. Or Minho can. Someone else can if you are in need of help, Seonghwa, you’re—”

“It’s all catching up to me.” His tone cuts through yours, and you’re almost grateful because you weren’t wholly sure where your train of thought was even headed. “All at once. I thought — that I was already past the limit, that I already broke enough. At no fault of yours, Y/n, there are things I had thought that I came to terms with that are now rushing back in ways I am not ready for. I am uncertain if I will ever be able to mend my relationship with Yunho, Nightingale being among us is bringing back wretched ghosts of the past, and Hongjoong is so sickly engrossed in a game that I can’t stomach watching him play any longer. It used to be that I thought Hongjoong was draining me of my life in a twisted way because he wanted me dead but now I—” when his breath catches in his throat, a tear rolls from the corner of his eye and down the slope of his cheek, “—I must truly be a fool. I must truly have lost my mind after all this time. Whether the man I see in the mirror is a monster of my own creation or the expectations I fought to meet to be my captain’s lieutenant, it does not matter. Because regardless, I can’t distinguish Seonghwa from the Lieutenant of Death anymore. I’ve played this role for so long that it’s consumed me. How am I supposed to come to terms with that?”

“Hwa…”

“Y/n, I do not need anything from you, I promise. I will not try to take more than what I’m given again. And I-I am so deeply sorry for pushing myself to accept San’s offer because it was — it was something I wanted so desperately, please do not take my words for anything else because I did want to be there. I was happy to even be considered for such a thing and yet I could not take my mind away from a past that is long gone.”

When your expression contorts, Seonghwa reaches a hand in your direction. You disrupt his path to your arm by laying a hand down on the counter and squeezing it into a fist.

“Whenever we speak, you say these sorts of things. That I’ve done nothing wrong but we can’t be close again. That you want me and it’s okay for us to want each other, but your want is only a result of chasing something from your past. You want to hold me at arm’s length so desperately but you agreed to fuck me? Knowing what happened the first time around? Did you only fuck me because it reminded you of Hongjoong?”

“Y/n, do—”

“Because you couldn’t keep his name out of your mouth when you were balls deep inside me, then had the audacity afterward to chastise me like I was a child for wanting to understand San better! You treated me no better than a warm hole to fuck, and I’m sorry but the adoration I felt from you that night did not feel directed at me in the slightest. I’m thrilled that I could be a fitting substitute for you, Seonghwa—” sarcasm drips from your tone like venom at that “—and I was never after anything more than pleasure but I cannot be faulted for feeling slighted when it was clear that I was a placeholder for someone else in your head. Perhaps the fool is me for hoping that being intimate again would do anything for us because whenever we try to talk through things, you put up a wall that’s impossible to climb and — and I’m still attached to you, I still care for you, part of me still loves you which is why it’s agonizing to watch you try to give your heart to a man who clearly does not have the same care in return!”

“You were never after anything more than sex but you hoped it would change things?” Seonghwa matches the fire in your tone with an anger of his own as he steps towards you. Brows drawing together quickly, you watch his face turn into a scowl before he continues speaking. “How fucking hypocritical. I could tell you everything but even that wouldn’t make the slightest difference in the long run. You’ve planted yourself so deeply in hating Hongjoong that the moment anyone shows an ounce of care towards him, you consider them to be stupid fucking idiots. I’ve dedicated my life to this man, Y/n! I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like him! He gave each person on this crew a safe space and a home when they had nothing and no one to turn to. Yes, I’ll admit it if you truly wish to hear the words from my lips — the whole time I fucked you with San, I was thinking about Hongjoong. I was thinking of when San and I had Hongjoong in the same position you were in years ago, but you sat there above me and looked down at me with a hatred in your eyes that you reserve for Hongjoong alone. So don’t pretend to be some sort of saint when you were doing the exact same thing as I was. Only one of us had good reason to do so, what’s your fucking excuse?”

You push away from the counter to try to escape the conversation, stumbling over your own feet. All it does for you is corner you further, pressed up against the metal as Seonghwa closes in on you. It’s a sick game of chase that you can’t get away from thanks to both his height advantage and the ease with which he clears the space between you.

“I would tell you everything of the things Hongjoong has asked his two hands to do in his place over the years, and you would be horrified by every bit of it I’m sure. But I will not give you reasons to justify your disdain for him. You do that well enough yourself.” Seonghwa’s voice drops to a whisper as he traps you between his body and the metal counter. His hands come down on either side of you right as you try to move to the side, and your hopes of escaping now are hopelessly foiled. “I hope you hate him even more now, Y/n, knowing what he had San do to Nightingale. I hope Nightingale lied so nicely about his part in things, about his hand in his own destruction, that you’re blinded by your hatred. I pray that you fall apart at our captain’s feet so gloriously that no one can pick up the pieces because then… then maybe you would understand me. Hate him to the point of obsession as you’ve clearly already pushed yourself to that point. Did it feel good imagining his dick inside you instead of mine? When your hatred turns to infatuation, I’ll be sure to tell you all the ways in which Hongjoong has orchestrated the destruction of your psyche since your arrival here.”

“If your aim is to become a monster, Seonghwa, then you are doing a fine job at it,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Isolating yourself in San’s corner of this crew is a foolish and dangerous mistake too.” The words bring a scoff from your lips instantly.

“Why? Because he’s on your level? He has as much power as you do? Or because he’s known of your being a Siren all this time? Because that’s another tally of things you lied to me about! You wonder how things could possibly fall apart between us when so much of what we built ourselves on was a lie, when I poured my heart out to you about how I truly felt about San, you stood there and said nothing of any of this!”

“And I told you that I still loved Hongjoong.”

“After lying to me about it the first time we discussed it!”

“I guess we have that in fucking common then, don’t we? Lying about wanting our captain? Was it between your friends’ deaths that you were first dreaming of wetting the captain’s dick?”

Seonghwa’s body lurches as he’s thrown away from you, and he brings a hand to cradle his jaw almost immediately. Your knuckles burn from the impact you’ve just caused — a firmly planted uppercut to his face in a blind rage that you barely process. His words sit heavy at the forefront of your brain all the while, as your chest heaves with adrenaline that won’t settle. The first angry thought to arise is one that almost makes it past your lips. Something petty and nothing kind in the slightest, a dig at him aiming to accuse him of jealousy, but you withhold it now.

“As much as I am angry with you, trust and believe that I am far more disgusted by myself, Seonghwa.” With a flick of your wrist, you shake out your aching fingers by your side. “To taunt me for it is a new low for you, however.”

“And I hate myself for many things, Y/n, but I would not have you hate me for those same reasons. That is why I do not wish to share those things with you.” He pulls his hand away from his face, brushing over one corner of his lips that now sits split and glistening with blood from your thrashing. “I do love you though, for whatever that’s worth. I’m sorry that’s… I’m sorry.”

Unspoken words, empty promises. You wish he would choose some level of honesty about why he’s feeling this type of way towards you now. Whether it comes from a place of bitterness or jealousy or that disdain for himself that he just mentioned to you. You don’t care which it is; having some fraction of truth from him would be better than what he’s presenting to you now.

You feel violent again. The crawling urge to hit something or ram your head into a wall — whichever will hurt you enough to push the thoughts right out of your brain.

“I’m sorry too,” you say instead, quiet and reserved in comparison to what you just did not too long ago. Seonghwa lets you pass without issue this time as he settles back against the closest solid surface and nurses his lip further. You wonder if he will add this to the list of reasons as to why he loathes himself so wholly and completely.

There’s one thought on your mind as you leave the mess hall, heading in a direction that is opposite to initial instinct. Perhaps a bit predictable in the route you’re now taking to reach the bridge, it doesn’t stop you from continuing on said path. Alongside that, you have the intent to put your lingering anger to use, along with the concern that if you go back to your room and see San there now, you might unintentionally sling your anger in his face without him doing anything to warrant it. You can only hope to find the man you’re after there, and the mere realization that you’re chasing him down with Seonghwa’s accusations burning hot at your heels only serves to deeper your rage to a point of no return.

Hongjoong is both right where you expect him to be and where you want him. Your steps are slow as you approach his makeshift throne at the center of the bridge.

“I know what you did to Nightingale.” There is no use in announcing yourself in any other way; the sooner you address this and hurl your disdain at the man, the sooner you can return to the pleasantness that is your room. But Hongjoong simply turns his head towards you and stares. “Everything Seonghwa said about you was the truth. You aren’t capable of any sort of remorse.”

When the man doesn’t respond, you let your gaze flit to the figure at his side. Tall form, lanky build, kind features, and a gentle expression of confusion on his face, but not an ally right now. This is not Seonghwa (though you aren’t even sure he would be an ally to you at this moment either); this is Mingi, and should you earn the ire of your captain here and now, it might reward you an early grave. If it were San by his side, you wonder how different things might be.

“I believe you are recalling what San did to Nightingale.”

“What you ordered him to do.”

Hongjoong’s lips twitch in amusement. He shifts in his chair and folds one leg over the other while regarding you with the same humiliating expression, one that tells you he finds your outburst more humorous than serious. If not for the Berserker by his side currently, you aren’t sure you would be able to keep yourself from stepping up there to deck the man in the throat.

“I told him to keep Nightingale occupied. How he chose to exercise that order was up to him.”

“You murdered the man’s entire crew before taking his arm and eye. After subjecting him to psychological torture for months!”

Hongjoong stands abruptly, bringing your thoughts to a stutter that reads in the way you step backward once.

“Tell me you were so disillusioned by my hand of kindness, Y/n. Tell me you truly believed I was a gracious man. Tell me you painted an image of me in your mind that was benevolent, so that I may bask in that glorious misconception while I pleasure myself by my own hand at night.” The words revolt you so much that your face contorts and nausea creeps into your gut. You can’t bring yourself to conceal the emotions either, and Hongjoong takes them into his palm instantly with glee. His lips twist into a sadistic grin that showcases a row of white teeth. It twists instantly into something horribly childlike: a pout that pulls the corners of his mouth down and makes his eyes turn doe-like. “You do this to yourself, resisting and playing games like this with me. Submit to me, Y/n, so that this may be easier for everyone involved. San told me he warned you, told me you now know that he has gone to great lengths to defend you from my ire, but what more can I forgive? I have demanded respect from you—” his arm shoots out to point one finger towards your face “—respect that you swore you would give! Yet here comes our righteous savior with her sword of mercy intent on murdering me atop this hill I stand on, for what?”

This is far from the first time Hongjoong has been angry with you. Yet this time his rage takes a different tone: a calm storm that sweeps up everything in its path without cease. His tone carries weight to it too, and a loudness that makes your ears ring. His hand remains stagnant and extended as he continues with his tirade.

“For what? So that you can save these people? Rescue them from me, Y/n, I beg of you, see what good you can do for them. When you return to me in two days' time with blood on your hands, I will share no sympathy.” His hand careens toward his own chest, stabbing hard at his torso, yet even that doesn’t seem to phase him. “You come before me to spurn my name, to excuse the choices your beloved lover made, but that man is my dog! Do you wish to know how I made that of him?”

You shake your head, indignant in your silence. He does not accept your refusal.

“I made him kneel, Y/n! And I will do the same to you if you refuse to treat me as your captain.” Hongjoong turns back towards his seat and flops down on it rather unceremoniously. You only dare to lift your chin and look at him once you see one of his legs fold over the other in your peripherals. “Should I treat you like a dog too, Y/n? You sure do seem to love barking.”

The grin he gives you is borderline maniacal, and even though there usually isn’t much of a difference in your heights, he uses his leverage even while seated over you now to his utmost advantage. Leaning over the empty space between your bodies, Hongjoong reaches a hand towards your face — a sweet illusion that diverts his true intention of dipping that same hand down to clasp around your throat before you can think to act. His smile drops into a scowl in the blink of an eye.

“I do wonder — if I put a collar and leash on you, would you finally behave as intended?”

You can hardly breathe with the grip he’s got on your neck, and he only squeezes tighter as he continues his tirade against you. For every inch of flack you have given this man about his title as the Scourge of the Black Seas, you find yourself wrestling with a deeply seeded terror in your gut now. That he might actually have had enough, that even being a Siren is not valuable enough, that he will kill you where you stand now.

By the grace of whatever outer being is watching over you, Hongjoong decides to spare you and throws himself back in his seat once more.

“If she will not do so willingly, make her kneel, Mingi.”

It seems harsh to think of the man who has extended a hand of comfort and kindness towards you so often doing such a heinous thing. Mingi seems to agree with that sentiment judging by the look of horror that sweeps over his face.

“Insurrection is intolerable amongst this crew — I have warned you time and time again. Do you think I would so easily allow another mutiny to happen right under my nose? I will snuff out whatever flame you are trying to light with this pathetic show, Y/n. Whatever seeds you tried to plant in San’s mind will not take root.”

Mingi takes a step down from his spot on the platform, and your heart plummets to your toes.

“Mingi…” you trail off as you stare at the man’s face, desperate for any sort of reprieve from him.

“Do as asked, Ghost. I do not wish to use force on you.” He shakes his head slightly, as though a warning to stop things where they are now, but you cannot accept that defeat so easily. It is simply not in your nature.

“If Seonghwa were here—”

“Seonghwa would whisper pretty words in your ear as he pushed your face into the ground with his boot, princess!” Hongjoong hisses through his teeth. Fitting how he did something so similar not long ago. “You think these men have more loyalty to you than to me? That giving them your body is enough to martyr yourself for their faith?” Mingi lays a hand against your back and shoves you forward as gently as he can manage. It still manages to send you stumbling solely because of how distracted you are by Hongjoong’s words. “You have humiliated yourself enough before me. Consider this not a punishment but merely an extension of that kindness you believe I have.” Mingi’s presence at your back urges you to take steps forward until you run out of space before those steps leading up to Hongjoong’s seat at the helm. It appears that the Berserker is trying to make this pass as quickly as possible, either for your sake or for his own, because a sharp force hits the back of your knees and effectively sends you to the floor in front of your captain.

It is still humiliating, despite what Hongjoong says, and your retaliation is swift. You lean forward to angle your body over the stairs and hurl the saliva that has gathered in your mouth at his shoes. You consider yourself lucky to not receive the sharp steel toe of that boot on your jaw in the moments that follow. What he does do is almost worse, however.

Sighing, Hongjoong props his elbow up on one of the armrests and lays his chin atop a closed fist. His pose exudes a nonchalance you know is merely a farce. Then he extends the shoe you just spat on towards your face and jerks his chin. The gesture seems not to be meant for you as it is Mingi who shoves you forward once more.

“I tire of playing these games with you, Y/n,” Hongjoong starts, pushing his boot into your cheek. The leather is warm on your skin in a way that disgusts you more than the feeling of having your spit wiped across your face. The wetness of your saliva lingers there and drags over your skin as the man wipes himself clean like that. You have never felt lower on the food chain than you do now, before this cruel and sadistic man who grins down at your agony with no sign of remorse. “How far one can go versus how far one should go… I do not see a difference between the two. Whatever I do, it is done for the sake of my crew. You have been given chance after chance to simply accept that. Was killing Hyunwoo not enough of an example? Or forcing you to let go of Jisung?”

Your hands tremble against your knees. He twists his unoccupied arm in a way that showcases the back of his hand to you. Rings adorn his fingers, but that isn’t anything out of the ordinary in your eyes. The gesture is nearly lost on you. Yet just as a retort is bubbling up inside your mouth, your gaze catches on a glint of one of the metal rings. One you recognize, one with a white gem inlaid at the center. It’s the same one that sat on his hand when he pushed your arm through a door.

“I can have you be treated the way Nightingale was when he refused my offer to join this crew and fall under my command. But for San’s sake, I wish to remind you that there are people other than yourself who will suffer on account of that decision. You are the one who came into the care of criminals and pirates, dear. You should have left your expectations in that seedy box of threads you were rotting away in.”

“You made me drop Jisung!” Your wail comes out strangled as the realization sinks beneath your skin and takes hold.

“I freed you of that leech of a man, and the sooner you see that the sooner you will be free of those unimportant figments of your past.” Hongjoong lunges forward all of a sudden, planting both his feet on the ground with a loud thud. When he bends at the waist, he leans between his legs to angle his face in a way that makes him look more insane. “I will dismantle you from the inside out if that is what it takes to demand your loyalty, but I suggest you not keep me waiting that long.”

“Do you even intend to stop at Kebos or was that another pretty lie meant to make me docile?” you spat out at the captain. He laughs in your face.

“What does it matter what my intentions are?”

“You’re — you’re a sick bastard.”

Hongjoong extends a hand to you, taking your cheek in his palm and dragging his thumb over the wet trail he just wiped onto it. His expression is almost fond for a moment, a sort of sympathy in his eyes as he takes in the fat tears welling up and threatening to spill over.

“Look at me.” Carefully, he twists your chin towards him. His thumb traces along the line of your jaw until it rests on the other side. It’s sick, how you find comfort in that subtle touch that holds nothing more than a faux mercy meant to appease you. He pulls you ever closer until you are forced to lay your hands on his seat, left with no choice but to grip the small fragment that he isn’t occupying between his spread legs. Your gaze flits down to the soft pink of his lips, the gentle curve to them now that they’re resting in a neutral expression, and how the tip of his tongue pokes out to wet them for only a second. “Listen to me.” You have no choice but to do as told. His fingers pinch inwards until they’re no longer resting against your jaw but now dipping into the flesh of your cheeks and gripping hard enough to make your mouth pucker. “Call me whatever pretty names you like. Curse me and spit on my feet if you so wish. Whatever hatred you harbor against me only pleases me further. You may hate me, Y/n, but you can not disrespect me. I have killed my own men for less. Siren or not, San’s lover or not — your timer ticks ever closer to zero so long as you continue with these charades. I will have you obey, and you will respect me all the while. Do I make myself clear?”

You swallow and nod roughly to the best of your ability, but it isn’t answer enough for your captain. He grips your face tighter.

“I will not hesitate to humiliate you further before the whole crew if I must, Y/n. We can make a spectacle out of it. I would quite enjoy it, in fact. Now, do you understand?”

Bile climbs up your throat.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” The syllables come out enunciated, and his underlying anger makes spit fly through his teeth.

“Yes sir.”

“How quaint,” Hongjoong laughs as he pulls his hand up from your cheeks to your hair, digging hard into the roots and yanking you back from your perch. “I was only looking for you to acknowledge your captain by his title. But sir? Don’t be fucking presumptuous.” He thrusts his hand against you hard enough to throw you back, and you land at Mingi’s feet where he still stands a little ways behind you. A flare of panic arises in your gut as you process his presence and the knowledge that he is hearing every word from Hongjoong’s lips. “Take a long hard look at yourself, Y/n. A woman who was just on her knees before me. Pliant, obedient, with no control to call her own. Isn’t that where you belong, Y/n? My pretty weapon, my pretty Siren, my pretty treasure.” Treasure. It feels wrong to hear him say that of you. It is not a title meant for you, after all, not in the slightest. “Now escort her out and fetch Yunho for me. I wish to have him in my room.”

Mingi answers the call without hesitation. His fingers close around your upper arm, and he hoists you to your feet in the same movement, gripping you with enough force to bruise. Somehow, it feels as though he is saving you in some odd and twisted way. He pulls you from the bridge with a sort of haste that doesn’t leave you any chance to look back over your shoulder at your captain. You are thankful for it. He only slows his steps once the two of you are far away from that room, yet his hand doesn’t leave your arm, grip only lessening slightly.

“Ghost.” His tone remains soft despite how it cuts through the palpable tension. “I apologize for being present for all of that.” A laugh escapes, one that sounds awfully dry.

“What can you do? Say no to your captain?”

“I will not speak a word of it to anyone. Nor will I share any of the contents of what he said to you.”

Ah, yes. The bit about you being a Siren, most likely. Unless Mingi has also been made privy to the ins and outs of who is what here on the ship too.

“He means w—”

“You do not need to defend him to me, Mingi. I understand your bond with him and what he means to you. I only ask that you understand that it is vastly different for me.”

“Why do you stay? If you do not wish to be under his command?”

“I made a promise to someone dear to me that I would not leave.” Wooyoung, Seonghwa, San. But why are you here? Solely to help a man you despise achieve his goals?

“And that is enough to subject yourself to something you do not feel good doing?” For a moment, you believe the man to be mocking you before you catch his tone and find genuine confusion in it. He is merely asking a question — nothing more, nothing less.

“That’s love, Mingi. Love and devotion both.” The Berserker stays quiet for a few more moments.

“…I see. Thank you for telling me.”

You let him guide you the rest of the way through the corridors, pausing as he does when he stops you both in front of a door that is not your own. His hand falls away from your arm as soon as he knocks, however, and the two of you nearly look normal standing outside waiting for Yunho to come greet you. The healer looks tired like you’d just woken him from slumber when you came calling for him. You opt to be the one to break the news to him.

“Captain wants to see you in his quarters.”

“He wishes to — what for?”

“He wishes to have you in his room, Healer,” Mingi clarifies for you, leaving you to roughly swallow around nothing and avert your eyes from the man’s face. “Promptly.”

“Ha… of course he does.” You hear the conflict in Yunho’s voice and glance up quickly to catch the tail end of his grimace. He nudges his way past you without bothering to even collect shoes from his room.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say through your teeth, as though it’ll have any impact. Yunho pauses.

“You of all people should know that that is quite impossible to do, Y/n. Would you deny San?”

Love, as it turns out, is the cruelest master of all.

“As strange as it may seem to you, I have been waiting for him to ask after me desperately,” Yunho continues, though his tone holds more shame than anything positive. “Maybe if only to prove that he still wants me in some capacity. Please do not tell me to leave him alone. Do not judge me or spurn me for going to him. You would do the same if you were in my shoes. If he needs me, then I wish to be there for him. Not because he is my captain but because… well, I’m sure you know why.”

She wields a knife so sharp that one slight cut would have you bleeding out across the floor in mere seconds.

Yunho steps away without another word and leaves you at Mingi’s side in the hallway.

Love and devotion both.

“Today… Ghost, today you made a very patient man angry.”

“That is what you consider a patient man?”

“Ask yourself what your defiance is really for, and why you find it necessary at all.”

“For the sake of the people I do care about, Mingi. I don't have to accept shitty leadership and the hand of a cruel and manipulative man when I know they’re suffering too.”

Mingi draws his lips into a delicate frown. He shakes his head.

“They are all happy under Hongjoong’s leadership, Ghost. What he does beyond being our captain… I cannot account for that, or for what suffering he has put Lieutenant and Healer through behind closed doors that do not involve him acting as Captain. But whenever he wears that mantle, everyone is content. It may seem egregious to you, I understand, but I am sorry to say that of everyone, you are the only one to be suffering.” Mingi buries his hands in his pockets and eyes you without saying anything for several seconds. You shift under his gaze, arms coming up to hug yourself. “What are you trying to save them from, Ghost? The suffering you’re inflicting on yourself? You saw what you did to Spectre that night you were arguing in the hallway — that was you, not Captain.”

“I know that. I know where his loyalties lie, it’s not that—”

“Then why are you trying to fight it?”

“I can’t just — j-just leave?” Your voice turns choked midway through the sentence, leaving you to fight the sudden tightness in your throat and chest.

“You could though. That love and devotion you speak of… I understand that I do not feel it in the same manner that you do, but if you are genuinely so miserable here under Captain’s command, would those people you love and who love you in return truly want you to remain in a place that makes you feel that way? Would they not wish for you to go find your happiness elsewhere? Even if it came at the cost of losing you, does love not beg for sacrifice?”

“I am too selfish for that, Mingi,” you whisper. Mingi pulls a hand free of his pockets and reaches out to lay it on your bicep, over the place where he gripped you so harshly earlier. His touch is gentle now, and he drags his thumb across the abused skin like he hopes to heal the damage he caused.

“I do not wish for you to leave either, Ghost. Our crew has changed in many ways since you arrived, and your fight to allow me my sense of freedom did not go unnoticed by me. I trust our captain with every fiber of my being, as does everyone here on this ship, and perhaps we have grown too complacent in allowing some of his more cruel acts of justice. That does not equate to us being miserable and suffering under his hand though. People make mistakes. Captain does feel guilt, and he does feel remorse over his actions. It’s just that he does not let you see that. Please do not judge him too harshly for the things that he does. Please understand that he is trying to protect the crew, his people, and his family all at once. The more you resist, the more you try to do what you did with Spectre that night, the more agony and strain you are placing on all of us. You do not have to agree with us, but please at least respect that this is our happiness.”

You offer up a series of rather pathetic nods but deep down you do understand every word he is saying. You cannot find the line between truth and a distortion of it for the sake of Hongjoong’s manipulation, but you decide (albeit questionably) to take Mingi’s words at face value. If he is lying to you now, or if it is all just a product of Hongjoong’s convoluted tactics, you will have to deal with those consequences later on down the line. Mingi squeezes your arm gently.

“I hope you are able to find your happiness too, Y/n.” In the back of your mind, you think perhaps Mingi is too kind, and he leaves you at the doorstep to your room without saying anything further.

It catches up to you the moment you lay your hand against the touchpad outside your door. Limiting the series of very unfortunate events to a simple… it is both generous and inaccurate on many levels.

San is where you expect him to be upon opening the door: propped up against the pillows with the lamp on and a tablet in his lap. You can’t see exactly what he’s doing but you do hear some residual noise coming from the speakers. He glances up to pass you a smile. Neither of you says a word. You wonder what emotion paints your features. You wonder what is going through San’s mind as he sees you. You wonder whether there will be a day when you wake up in the same bed as he and his loyalty will outweigh his feelings for you.

You wonder a lot of things it seems, and none of them are pleasant.

You take the fast track to the bathroom without bothering to wait around for San to speak. It’s as you’re splashing your face with freezing water and trying to rub away the lingering residue of both saliva and Hongjoong’s boot that he makes an appearance in the doorway.

“Is everything okay, love?”

Heaving a deep breath, you brace your hands on the counter and look up from the sink to find him in the reflection of the mirror. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest and dressed for bed as usual. Your gaze catches on yourself in the glass. Bloodshot eyes and tears rushing to join the water you splashed over yourself. The lie on your lips dies as you see yourself.

“I cannot bear to be humiliated by the captain any longer.”

When your lip wobbles, he shushes you and moves to join you by the sink. You don’t move as he twists the handle until the water stops or when he grabs for a towel. There aren’t any words exchanged while he pulls the towel over your face and sops up the mess you’ve made, but frankly, you aren’t sure what else you could say to drive your point home. San seems to be biting his words though, and it only takes one look at him to know that he has a great deal he wishes to say. He waits until he’s dried everything in sight that’s been touched by water to turn to you, setting the towel aside in favor of taking your face into his hands.

“I warned you so kindly, Y/n. Please do not do something that both of us may regret. Isn’t it easier to just do as asked?” His thumb glides over your cheek where he cradles you so gently.

“It’s pretty clear that I have a bad track record of doing that.”

San lets out the air from his lung and leans back to look to the ceiling.

“Back when you first joined us, back when we were in Echidna, you asked to be treated this way. You asked to be a weapon for Hongjoong. If that is not what you want any longer, then you only have to tell him as much. You have never asked to be anything different, have you?”

“There’s not one position on this crew that would see me getting treated fairly!”

He remains silent as he brings a hand down to clasp over yours and leads you out of the bathroom. You let him do as much without complaint mostly because you’re fighting to keep your breath from spiraling out of control and into hysteria.

“Come on, star, let’s lay down, yeah?”

It almost feels like any other night the way you crawl into bed with his hand resting at the small of your back before he slips in under the covers right behind you. He pulls the covers up over your body as you turn over to face him. The fight you’re trying so desperately to win slips through your fingers the second he pulls you into his chest and wraps a warm hand around the back of your head where your scalp is still stinging from the abuse Hongjoong put on it earlier. The tears come more freely then, and as your body shakes in San’s hold, you cry into the fabric of his shirt without relent. The comfort he offers is enough on its own, and you curse yourself for craving something more, something physical in place of kind and reassuring words.

“Please just try, my darling,” he whispers against your hair.

“I’m terrified of waking up one day to you asking to take me to the brig,” you choke out through sobs. Even though it’s muffled by his shirt, San still hears every bit of your words. You can tell that much by the way his grip tightens on you.

“I promise that won’t happen. I will fight that with all my might if I have to, I will not allow that to happen.” You can’t seem to find reassurance in the words at all though, and a burning pain sears its way through your chest as you choke on your cries.

“Why did you tell me that story? Why would you do that, why would you say that, why, San?”

“I wished for it to be — I didn’t want you to find out through someone else. I needed you to hear it from my lips before anyone else’s.”

“Why did you have to do that? Why, when he’s not even staying with us forever? You could have kept it a secret, you could have not told me, and I would never have known. Why did you have to m-make me—” a sob interrupts the thought, and you feel lips on your forehead, “—why did you have to make me doubt your feelings and intentions?”

“I’m sorry.” His breath is hot. When you try to lift your chin, he refuses to let you see his face. “I’m so sorry.”

His hands glide down from your head to your hips, and it’s with a gentle sort of coaxing that he maneuvers you onto your back. You cling to him desperately, leg pulling up to hook around his body so that he cannot even think to leave you now. The gesture urges him between your legs as you succumb to the desperation you’re feeling for something more. The tears fall more readily like this. You sling an arm up over your face to both shield yourself from view and to sop up the liquid with your sleeve.

“Star…”

“Please tell me you love me, even if it’s a lie.”

“I do love you,” he cries as he pushes hair from your eyes. “Are you sure you want me to…?”

“Please, San, I need you — I want t-to feel you.” Your hands can’t find a place to rest, jumping from his arms to his collar to clasp around the back of his neck like you’ve done so many times before by now. You know how San loves and how that love manifests; at least, you imagined that you knew all this time and now you’re faced with a crushing reality that that might not be the case, yet here he kneels, ever so desperate to prove his adoration to you now in the way he knows best. It makes you feel less torn about wanting him even while your heart is wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry, star,” San murmurs into your skin. He leaves a path of wet kisses along your arm, and when his cheek brushes along your skin, you feel a moisture there that is surely not from his lips. It pains your heart tremendously to have him crying above you like this, but deeper than that, there is some sick and twisted part of you that finds joy in the fact that he is feeling the pain you’re experiencing now, that he is tasting the bitter medicine of what he wrought on you. Perhaps you do understand Wooyoung better than you thought, perhaps you can feel the way Seonghwa ripped his own heart out to become a monster for the man he cherishes, why Yunho still chooses to walk into the lion’s den with his head held high — what kind of love hopes for suffering?

San moves down your body with kisses and tears both left in his wake. He whispers words into each bit of skin he can reach, tugging at your neckline to lay his tongue on your heated body before letting it snap back up into place.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

My darling, my star, my divine.

When he slips under the covers and takes your underwear to your ankles with him, his trembling fingers inch your legs apart to make space for himself there. He lays his tongue against you there too, at your most sensitive spot, and moans join the chorus of cries that won’t cease. Your body quivers at the stimulation like a chill passing through your whole system before he settles into a steady rhythm with his lips pressed into your sex and his tongue seeking something deeper. You feel his words again in his movements.

If he’s truly pretending, then you hope he acts the part for the rest of your life.

San pushes a finger against your walls alongside his tongue, and a second follows so quickly that you don’t have a chance to catch your breath. Desperate, you reach your unoccupied hand down through the sheets to find the top of his head. Your fingers tangle in his dark locks, and he moans into your cunt like a man possessed.

A moment of clarity pushes its way through the haze of arousal. San cannot be faulted for his loyalty, even if it pains you. You do not wish for him to suffer, not even for a second — if you did, then why would you have gone to such great lengths to keep him from doing exactly that time and time again? The man you truly wish to see suffer, the one you want to see in agony with his chest torn open, is none other than Hongjoong. At the end of the day, he is the cause of the cracks between you and San, the rift that grows too large to ignore now, and you wish to see him pay for it in full. A crueler thought enters your mind, but it cannot take a firmer root with San’s tongue pressing your further open to allow his fingers to curl deeper inside you.

Your nails bite at his scalp in ways that must sting and burn, but when you close your eyes, it’s Hongjoong’s face you see behind your lids and between your legs rather than your lover’s — a curling hatred that serves to deepen the pit already formed in your stomach. It disgusts you in many ways, makes you want to crawl out of your skin and scream, because as much as you despise him and everything he stands for, there will always be some part of you longing to satiate the curiosity for good.

Hongjoong was above you earlier, boot pressed into your cheek as you sat on your knees before him with no relief in sight. How much would it take to reverse the roles and have him in such a humiliating and debasing position? Beyond that, if he made good on his promise, what would that look like for you? And how deep are you willing to submerge yourself just to find out?

Isn’t that where you belong, Y/n? My pretty weapon—

He hums against you, and your thighs tremble around his head. Your fingers flex and curl in his hair like a heartbeat. It’s rampant, a speedy ba-dum ba-dum that matches the one beating in your chest right now. You wish to know how his sounds too.

—my pretty Siren—

His tongue leaves you, fingers remaining firm in their place along your walls as he rolls the pads over your sweet spot. You do not need to see his face to know that he is smiling; the curve of his lips is pressed to your clit.

“My treasure,” comes a breathy exhale from the man under you.

—my pretty treasure.

It’s enough to make you come undone, back curling up from the bed as an orgasm rocks you from head to toe. Disgust joins the euphoria just as quick, before you’ve even come down from your high, and the realization it brings with it makes you want to vomit so badly that you gag around nothing. San is quick to move with concern for your well-being no doubt, and it allows you the chance to roll onto your side until the spasms pass and you can breathe easily again. You don’t move from the fetal position you’ve taken, nor does San try to make you. He simply adjusts himself to lay at your back and molds his body around yours with an arm draped over your waist and fingers wrapped loosely around one of your wrists.

It’s as you’re falling asleep that you feel the soft pressure of lips against your head, and the words that follow make the lump in your throat swell to a point where you fear you might choke around it.

“I promise you that my love has never been and will never be a lie, Y/n.”

It leaves more questions unanswered than the opposite.

His love alone isn’t everything, and there is no confirmation that nothing he has done has been done with bad intentions. Or on account of external forces or voices telling him to do things outside of his control. You can only wonder which parts aren’t included under that umbrella and ask yourself if it’s worth ignoring for the sake of what happiness you have.

Mingi’s words ring loud in your ears.

Ask yourself what your defiance is really for, and why you find it necessary at all.

You think, as the room begins to fade into black and sleep settles in, that your will to fight is nothing more than a dull flame about to be snuffed out for good.

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“Now, we will be here for quite some time regardless of how long the mission takes. This is vacation time, free time, time to rest and relax off the ship before we head back out into the thick of things.” Hongjoong speaks from in front of the airlock, dressed in his more formal captain’s attire down to his steel-toed boots. “We’re offloading cargo as usual, and we’ll be staying in the city across the gorge for our entire stay, but you all are more than welcome to pick up goods as you see fit. It would be quite hard to run us totally dry of funds. As for the mission, I’ll be taking a few of you with me, and it may require us to spread our time dedicated to the mission across several days. We won’t begin until two days from now, however, and you all will still have ample time to relax like everyone else. Mingi, of course, I would like you to join me.”

The Berserker in question passes his captain a nod from where he stands at Hongjoong’s side.

“Jongho, you as well, I wouldn’t dream of doing this without you. And Yunho, you. You’ll be my right hand for this mission.”

Seonghwa is staring at the back of Yunho’s head so intensely that you think Yunho’s head would catch fire if possible.

The airlock rolls to the side, and for the first time in weeks, you see and feel the fresh air. Hongjoong moves to the side and motions to the door, lips still pulled tight into a smile that leaves you thoroughly unsettled. Seonghwa is the first to step out of the ship, with Nightingale close behind him, and everyone else is quick to follow. You remain rooted to the spot not by choice but on account of San’s hold on your hand as he stays put until the other crew members have made their way out onto the planet. You take it as an act of politeness until your gaze shifts to settle on both Mingi and Hongjoong, who have not moved from their spots either.

“And you, Y/n,” Hongjoong calls out through his ever-present smile.

You jerk your head in San’s direction in the hopes that you will see some sort of shock present on his features. Instead, you receive a squeeze around your hand and a nod that seems to be encouraging you.

“You will be my left hand for this mission. Let’s see how tight I need to keep your collar, shall we?”

You do not reward him with a retort today. San guides you out of the airlock and into the new air, both your gazes stuck to the scenery around you the second you step out.

The gorge ahead is beautiful beyond belief, and in the distance, you catch sight of your destination across the chasm. It’s a city built into the side of the cliffs with buildings of reds and gold that stick out starkly against the endless green around it. Green water pours from the sides of the rock in many places, filling the air with the noise of rain, and it cascades down into the lake of green far below where The Horizon is now docked. Your transport is not far from the station though it is surrounded by the hustle and bustle of workers and visitors alike who have docked just like you have.

Hongjoong’s voice rises once again from behind you, loud and clear to address the whole crew.

“And remember… gas masks stay on at night.”

────────────

a/n: i sat and stared at this for like 17 minutes trying to figure out what in the world to say after this doozy of a chapter! first, hi. hello. how are you. welcome to act seven. it’s pretty unreal to be at this point honestly.. i’m so excited though i hope you guys are just as excited!! let me know your thoughts feelings and etcetc the one question i have for you all: was san calling her ‘my treasure’ something fully intentional or just happenstance?

but also just from me to you.. i want to say thank you to everyone who still reads and sticks around and is willing to be patient with me as i write. that means so much to me, i’m so so thankful, and there aren’t words for how thankful i am that people are willing to still read my story!! so thank you!! 

next up on the docket is actually an interim :3 a hongjoong centered one :3 i know i said i was done with them but... brain worms win this time!

also! survey/questionnaire is still open here (of course not a requirement but it would be immensely helpful to me!)

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[lee-lucius]

A New Kind of Affection

Summary: Izzy Hands accidentally reveals how touch-starved he is to Stede, who is more than happy to help.

Word Count: 2,765

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year @aaaxolotl I was your Secret Santa! This was super fun to get to make, and I hope you enjoy! 💙

He still wasn't quite sure how Stede had dragged him into any of this. 

It hadn't been long, only a week or two, since Stede called him into his room, oddly similar to tonight. He'd asked for them to dine together, and well, Izzy didn't see much of a reason not to indulge his captain in his strange request.

They met in Stede's room for a surprisingly pleasant dinner, though Izzy felt unsurprisingly underdressed compared to his host's garish outfits, and he was well aware his table manners left much to be desired, but neither of those had been quite necessary for a pirate's life, and Stede didn't seem to mind, not when he was seemingly so enthralled by the company. 

Through Izzy teaching him how to fight, they'd grown fairly comfortable with each other, building up a rapport that was considerably less antagonistic than it had been before. They fell back into it over dinner with ease, perhaps more amiable than they'd ever been, and Izzy found himself even laughing at a few of Stede's jokes, though he hid it behind a strategic cough or two.

Neither of them realized, or cared, just how much they were drinking until they were stumbling around the room, hiccuping around their laughter, for once a genuine smile on Izzy's face.

Memories of that night were fuzzy, and what happened next wasn't entirely clear, but he crumbled under Stede's inquisitive gaze, his warm smile, his soft whispers, and he'd admitted something he shouldn't have.

Something he'd hoped that they'd both forget come morning, even when Stede squeezed his hand before he left, promising something about him being more included, more appreciated, before Izzy stumbled back to his own quarters, flushed from more than just the booze. 

He wished he hadn't admitted it. His jealousy when he watched his crewmates, or his captains, and saw the easy air around them, the casual touches and comfort; something about them made envy stir in his chest, thinking about the kind of relationship he hadn't let himself have for years, or maybe ever when he really thought about it.

Now, on The Revenge, it seemed more of a possibility than it ever had before. After breaking down, being vulnerable, Izzy was welcomed; something had shifted; whether it was in him or his surroundings, he didn't know, but it was a good change, no matter how uncomfortable it had been.

His relationship with the crew was different now. Friendly, because he'd finally allowed himself to be open to their friendship, and the change was more gratifying than he ever would've thought.

It was the most relaxed, most relieved Izzy had been in a long time, but he still wanted more, even if he felt he didn't deserve it.

He never would've pursued it ordinarily, admitted it to anyone besides himself, if his drunken self hadn't betrayed him entirely.

But that change, the change Stede brought on, was a good change too.

When they'd met again the next morning, Izzy more pissy than usual with his aching head, he thought Stede may have forgotten it based on his aimless ramblings filled with pleasantries that Izzy had to bite his tongue to sit through. 

Stede asked him again to meet him later in his room, and Izzy agreed; he hadn't expected what happened. 

He supposed it would be like the previous night, a pleasant conversation, perhaps a shared meal, a drink or two, though certainly not as much as they'd indulged it before.

And it had started that way. There was something about Stede, something that used to make Izzy's skin crawl, his anger, his annoyance overpowering everything else he felt about it, but now it only filled him with warmth, an easy, familiar feeling that allowed him to unwind. That must've been why he didn't suspect anything, certainly not when he and Stede shared a drink, casually picking at a tray of assorted snacks he'd prepared.

Maybe he should've; when Stede sat next to him this time, instead of sitting across from on the other side of his long table. It could still be ignored whenever they bumped shoulders or when one of them shifted slightly, their knees accidentally touching, or when they both reached forward at the same time, hands colliding for the briefest second before Izzy pulled back.

Until their food was finished, abs the conversation lulled, a not uncomfortable silence enveloping them as they nursed their drinks, and Stede, seeming to muster all of his courage, leaned into him, curling into Izzy's side and resting his glass on his shoulder with a content sigh.

Izzy stiffened, and his muscles didn't relax again for a long time, but they both kept the silence, and Stede didn't move.

His breath was steady, ghosting against Izzy's cheek and leaving a faint trace of Stede's wine, fruity and rich. While his hair was soft, delicate strands brushing against and tickling his ear, but he couldn't be bothered at the proximity, at his hair that was too lovely and soft and clean to ever belong to a pirate, yet here Stede was. Izzy wondered if it was Stede's pulse or his own that he felt, drumming violently against his skin, wondered if it mattered.

Not long afterwards, Izzy excused himself, and they parted ways; this time, he had no excuse for his blush.

-

He didn't know why Stede kept inviting him, or why he kept coming.

It wasn't something he was familiar with. His family had never been awfully affectionate. And as he got older, as he became a pirate, the opportunities became fewer and fewer.

Most contact came during a fight, in the form of a sword or gun or swinging fist, where the only pleasure that could be found came from the adrenaline coursing through his body, the satisfaction of winning, of surviving. There were few other means that arose on a ship aside from boyish tussling, accidentally knocking shoulders with his crewmates, or the rare moments of intimacy when he let someone else, let Ed, tend to his wounds after a particularly bad fight.

But Stede Bonnet came along with his eccentric, unpirate-like ideals and continued to confuse Izzy the same way he had since the first day he met. Bringing that unnecessary frivolity with him and introducing everyone to lavish comforts they didn't want to forgo. 

That, he supposed, was why he continued to join Stede; he didn't want to give it up just yet.

Which was why he was sitting on his couch, thumbing through a book from Stede's library, which was still a horrible idea, even if it made for interesting entertainment, with Stede next to him, hand holding Izzy's as he thumbed through his own novel.

It was one of the more relaxing ways he'd spent an evening in quite awhile, or it would've been, if there wasn't one thing nagging him, making his mouth twitch as the uncomfortable feeling spread. "Stop that?"

"What?"

"The hand," he murmured, gesturing with his neck as he struggled to insert his bookmark with only one hand.

"Oh," he let go, a slight frown tugging at his face as he leaned away a touch. "Sorry."

"Not you. Just tickled a bit."

Stede paused, the smile returning with a playful twist, "You're ticklish?"

He grunted, eyeing him warily. "Guess so. Never really been before."

"I've gotten into a few good-natured scuffles in my time. It can be quite fun!"

"You like it?" He couldn't help asking, surprised at the sudden admission. 

"Well, I've certainly always enjoyed it."

Izzy huffed out a laugh. He supposed it wasn't that surprising; Stede always had been odd, and it was just like him to like that kind of thing, something so strangely cute.

Leaning back, his eyes raked over Stede, cautiously debating in his head. It was clear as day that Stede was comfortable with him; the only limiting factor seemed to be Izzy's own hesitance, his lack of familiarity with the casual touches Stede so readily gave. He was being quite open about his fondness for tickling, almost suspiciously so. And while Izzy had never even dreamed of tickling someone before, had never even been the one to initiate contact between him and Stede in a non-violent manner, he supposed that here, now, wouldn't be a bad time to start.

"Let's see it then," he shifted, angling his body as he leaned closer to Stede, searching his eyes for any tinge of desire, of excitement.

"Go right ahead!"

His smile grew, eyes brightening at the prospect, but there was an undercurrent of shyness there, weighing down his cheerful expression, matching Izzy's own nerves. 

Slowly, he reached his hand out, touch and hesitant as he dragged in along Stede's arm, grazing his silken shirt. While Izzy had never been tickled directly, he'd experienced it plenty of times through accidental touches brushing against his own sensitive spots, so he had a fair idea where Stede would be ticklish; he just didn't know how much he could handle, yet.

Keeping his touch light, Izzy placed a hand in his stomach, unable to help a smile at his small gasp, and gently dug his fingers in, scratching at him through the cloth. 

At his deep breath, Izzy's eyes flitted back up to Stede's face, taking in his widening smile, perhaps brighter than he'd ever seen it before, as a giggle erupted from his lips, more pushing through in a steady stream of laughter as Izzy brought his other hand up to squeeze Stede's sides.

"Pretty sensitive, aren't you, Bonnet?"

"I suhuhppohose!" He huffed out, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, trying to stay still for Izzy.

"I wonder where else…" he hummed, fingers dragging up towards his ribs, lightly pinching the crevices as Stede huffed. He was less ticklish there, but it was worth it to see the way his eyes crinkled, squeezing shut with a whine at Izzy's relentless pokes and prods to the area.

He continued exploring, marveling at how his armpits made Stede shoot his arms down, his resolve not to impede Izzy crumbling at the overwhelming sensations, while his neck made him scrunch up, looking oddly reminiscent of a turtle. Even his ears were ticklish, and quite sensitive to gentle scratches and traces, even more so when Izzy blew gentle puffs of air on them, making him squeal.

But his knees were probably his favorite spot. If only for the fact that when he squeezed it, the most adorably obnoxious snort burst from Stede, forcing him to bury his face in Izzy's shoulder in shame, while the other desperately tried and succeeded to produce the noise again. 

Gentle tickling seemed to get to him worse, if the way he shrieked when Izzy's nails glided against the backs of knees were anything to go off of. Even if it only produced quieter giggles compared to the full-bellied laughter Izzy knew he could force, it was better for watching Stede, seeing the miniscule changes in his expression, in his voice, and for allowing Stede to focus on Izzy's occasional teasing.

"Still having fun, Bonnet?" 

"Of… cohohuhurse!" He exclaimed, a tired sheen to his eye at how long it'd been, but his joy was much more prominent. 

Izzy opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut, head swiveling around at the sound of the door opening,only to find Ed standing there, a confused grin hanging on his face.

"Is this what you two are always doing in here?" He laughed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

"Ed!" Stede breathed out, face brightening again at the sight of his as he sat up straight, trying to smooth out his clothes, his hair, all while keeping his eyes locked on his partner.

Izzy stood up, taking a step away from Stede as his gaze flickered between the two. Would Ed mind him touching Stede like this? Stede had said it was fine, but he wouldn't want to overstep more than he already had, wouldn't want to take anything more from Ed.

"Well come on, mate," Ed faced Izzy, smile shifting into something devious as he walked closer, "why stop now?"

"You… don't mind?" He couldn't help asking, still not sure how he fit into a situation like this.

"Stede, you mind?"

"Nahat at all… I was just showing Izzy how fun tickling could be. He was much better than I would've thought!"

"Is that so?" Ed smiled, walking past Izzy to sit down next to Stede. "Think he's shown you enough yet, Iz?"

"Not quite. I think he still has a bit more to show us," he sat down on the other side of Stede, accepting Ed's acceptance of his role there. If it didn't bother Ed, then he wouldn't let it bother him anymore, even if he was sure everything between them wasn't exactly resolved yet.

Stede laughed nervously, glancing between them, "What else is it you want to see?"

"Mostly…" Ed hummed, grabbing one of his arms to wrench it above his head, waiting for Stede's nod of approval before digging into his underarm, "to see you laugh your ass off."

"Ehehehed!" He cackled, helplessly flailing, and Izzy took that as his cue, bringing his hands back down to squeeze at his thighs and knees.

If Ed wanted to push him, he could do that. And, judging from looking at them, Izzy guessed this wasn't the first time something like this had transpired between Ed and Stede. He only wondered if Stede had realized how awfully ticklish Ed was too, a secret Izzy had long since learned and guarded, but didn't seem inappropriate to reveal later, after they'd finished with Stede.

"Ihihizzy!"

"C'mon Stede, you keep saying our names like that. Just spit it out. What's on your mind?" Ed cooed, lightening up on his tickling to give him a moment to breathe.

"Ihihit's a lohot," he panted, grinning from ear to ear, "buhut it's fuhuhun."

"'Course it is. We're just getting started," Ed purred, delighting in how Stede's flush grew at his words, heart skipping a beat.

Izzy watched Ed kiss Stede's forehead, an uncomfortable pang shooting through him, until Ed turned back to him with a grin and wink, and together they resumed tickling Ed to bits.

-

"Good time, love?" Ed smiled afterwards, helping Stede to his bed.

"Yes, it was all quite lovely," he sighed dreamily, pulling him into a quick kiss. "But I do like it more when you're the one under me."

Ed reddened at that, laughing away his nerves as he glanced back at Izzy, who was awkwardly trailing towards the door.

"Where are you going, mate?"

"I thought it was time to excuse myself," he cleared his throat, averting his eyes. 

"No, no. Come here," Stede beckoned, and Izzy supposed he never really could say no to him that easily, certainly not now, so he swallowed and stepped closer and closer until he was standing by Stede's bedside.

Stede took a breath, reaching out for him, cupping his face, bringing his own closer, as he whispered, "May I?"

Izzy's eyes flickered to Ed's face, seeing only a smile and the slightest nod, not a hint of jealousy or resentment to be found. And so, he allowed himself to once again indulge in the luxuries that came along with Stede Bonnet, closing the distance between them to capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

Stede beamed at him when they pulled back, and he could only wonder if his face was as hot as it felt, practically petrified until Ed grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. "Come on, Iz. Get comfortable," he said, shrugging off his own leather jacket and slipping off his boots before he slid into bed beside Stede.

Even Stede's large bed was a bit cramped with the three of them, but Izzy thought it may have just been the best sleep he'd ever had. 

It was only affirmed by what he considered the best morning of his life as he woke up in the early hours, watching the sun stream in through Stede's windows, illuminating the two beside him that made it all feel so divine.

A faint breeze blew in, the cold weather penetrating the peace of their haven as he curled further into bed, into Ed and Stede, suddenly reminded on what day it was. As he stared at them, he could only smile, feeling at peace. He didn't know what the future would hold, but as long as he had them, he could feel secure and welcome the new year, whatever it brought.

[dreadsuitsamus]

I have a request! Remember the scene in the movie where Paragus uses the shock collar on Broly? Well, can I request a short one shot where he uses the collar, & the reader comforts Broly when the two are alone? Maybe a timeskip to his battle with Goku, where he sees the reader & calms down upon remembering the kindness she showed him? Please??

author's note: i hope you've been enjoying these! i assume you're the same anon since my only requests have been broly lol i ended up feeling very lovey for broly as i wrote this, as you'll find out when you read! i'm not sorry for being a romantic sometimes :p i created a bit of a new species in this and may expand on it in the future! i didn't expand on it very much so i apologize! i also have changed the prompt just a tad, as far as the timing goes when Broly calms down. also i'm very tired but wanted to write this story so if things don't make sense i am very sorry

pairing: broly x fem!reader

warnings: parental abuse, shock torture (as it is in canon)

Solace | Broly x Reader |

Broly sits by himself in an empty room, having managed to get away from his father and his new acquaintances. His father had shocked him again, but he couldn't understand why his father couldn't see what that awful man was trying to do. Broly had never voiced it to Paragus, he hardly ever even wanted to think of it in his own mind, but he hated how his father used that collar on him, and in his heart he harbored those deep feelings of hatred.

He looks up when the door to the room opens, the light flicking on. He immediately looks away from the person at the door, but even in his sadness from being electrocuted again, he takes note of the attractiveness of the stranger.

"This is new." You murmur and step in, setting your chestplate down. "Ah... You're the guy from the cafeteria, right?"

"My name is Broly." He murmurs softly. "Is... This your room?"

"Mhm." You slip off your boots. "You can hide out here though. After what the old guy did, I don't blame you for finding a quiet place to yourself."

Broly's lips quirk to the side. He's not sure what to make of you. You seem to... Be on his side and not agree with his father's actions. Cheelai had also seemed to feel that way. Perhaps... His father was the one in the wrong?

It felt like a sin to think of his father like that.

"Thank you very much." He says after a beat, remembering to mind his manners on his own, for once.

"Don't mention it." You're in your blue under-armor now as you sit at your small round table with him. "You're the only company I've ever had in here."

"How come?" As far as Broly is concerned, you're kind and beautiful, and he would visit you all the time if he were someone living on this ship.

You chuckle to yourself, tapping your nails absentmindedly on the mahogany table. "Because I hate everyone on this damn ship."

"Oh." Broly frowns.

"Not to trauma-dump, but I was sold about ten years ago by my own father and haven't been home since."

"Your father? He... Sold you?"

"Mhm. I didn't even know you could sell a thirty-year-old that doesn't live with you, but he did it anyway."

"I'm sorry he did that." Broly's brows come together in a deep frown.

You laugh a little, and even with his lack of social interaction, Broly knows it's not because you find anything humorous. "It was that or be pillaged by the pirates that invaded us. They were eventually killed by Frieza and that's how I ended up working under him. I only wish to go home."

"... My father told me about my species growing up. He says we're a proud race of warriors."

You nod your head. "What are you?"

"A Saiyan."

Your eyes widen. "Wow. I can't believe there's more of you besides Goku and Vegeta."

Broly looks down at the table. "My father and I were told about... that... when we were discovered..."

"Ah, man... I can't say much about the Saiyans since I was so young when Frieza blew up Planet Vegeta, but I'm sure you would've been a good fit. You look every bit a warrior."

"Really?" He looks into your eyes.

"Sure. Big, tall, with muscles that could break anyone in two... You don't got the scary, pillaging personality though." You wink. "So as far as I can tell... You're a pretty perfect guy."

Broly's cheeks heat up and he could never explain why, but his eyes dart to your chest for just a split second, and you can see just a bit of red on his tanned cheeks. You laugh softly and lean forward a little. "Now that I think about it, have you ever seen a woman until today?"

"I... N-No." Broly mumbles, looking away.

"Hmm. You're an interesting fella, Broly."

"Thank... You?" He's really not sure if that's a good or bad thing, so he figures that erring on the side of using his manners will be best.

"Tell me about you. What's that green pelt you're wearing?"

Broly quietly launches into the story of Ba, of how he was his only friend and how his father ruined it for him. In fact, every story he tells seems to end with Paragus somehow destroying happiness for Broly. At forty-one years of age, it doesn't sound to you like he's ever had one day to enjoy life. And with how horrible that planet he was stuck on was, you weren't surprised. He'd been attacked every day!

Your heart feels a pang of sadness at his story. Oh how you wish to bathe him in the love of your home planet...

You smile a little and stand up, heading to your small chest of drawers and pulling out a small pendant. "I doubt you're gonna be on the ship long, I may not even see you again, so... Here. To remember me." You bring it to him, setting the small thing onto his large palm.

Broly looks up at you for just a few seconds, taking in your smile and sparkling eyes and wondering how someone could be so charming, before looking at what you've gifted to him. It's a small, golden, diamond-shaped pendant on a golden chain, an engraving in the center of what looked like an elegant flower.

Broly rubs his thumb over it. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you. The flower is the one of my people. It can only be found on my planet. I'm sure if I could ever go back home that they'd be everywhere, just waiting to be picked and used for decoration, cooking, medicine..." You look out the window, Broly studying how wistful you look. He wonders what it's like to have a home worth missing, that wasn't uninhabitable and didn't attempt to kill him every day.

Broly holds the pendant back out to you, but you gently close his fist around it and push it to his chest. "Keep it. I'll always have home with me in my memories. And my body." You chuckle softly and pull your undersuit down enough to show him a tattoo at your collarbone of the same flower. "The zantedeschia stays with me always."

Broly reaches his hand out, and you allow him to touch your tattoo. He gently traces the elegant, black outline. "You're warm." He mumbles.

"So are you." You murmur, looking into Broly's curious eyes as he traces the zantedeschia tattoo. "So is Albomaculata."

"Is that your home?"

You nod, putting your hand on top of his. "We're a beautiful species. Home is so lovely, so nurturing, so gentle and romantic and different from anywhere else... We're not fighters." You mutter. "I suppose we're the opposite of Saiyans. We're lovers."

"Saiyans love too." Broly counters gently.

You smile and brush some hair out of his face. "Hmm... That's an interesting thought."

There's a sudden commotion outside, and you hear the voice of the old man from earlier, who you've assumed is Broly's father. You look back at Broly and swipe your finger down his nose playfully. "Guess you'd better go, huh?"

Broly scrunches his nose cutely, but does stand and gently remove his hand from your chest, instead moving it to the shock collar on him. Fear strikes in his eyes. "I.. I should."

"Goodbye, Broly. I hope we meet again."

He moves for the door, and when he turns around one last time, all he sees is your naked silhouette bathed in the light of the bathroom. He blinks slowly, committing the beauty to his memory before stepping out of the room and finding his father.

Broly's been thrust into battle sometime after he parted ways with you, and he's lost himself in his rage. His father is dead now, and it's probably all his fault. Before him is Gogeta, the fusion of the only other full-blooded Saiyans left.

You watch from the ship, scared for your friend as he faces off against the new challenger. He's losing badly, and it's looking like they'll kill him. And god dammit he doesn't deserve to die like this.

You push the two lower-ranking soldiers away from the Dragon Balls, ignoring their protests as you make your wish to the giant green dragon.

"Save Broly and send us to Albomaculata!"

You close your eyes, and within a flash, you feel yourself surrounded by the warm air of home. You open your eyes and look around for Broly, praying you weren't too late. You then see the glowing form of your new friend, his body smaller now and close to his normal size.

"Broly?" You whisper.

Broly turns with a shout, in between the beast within and his normal, gentle self. You hold your hands up and he pauses, the glowing fluctuating. You take a shaky breath and carefully ease down the undersuit, revealing your tattoo to Broly once again. "Broly... The zantedeschia stays with me always. And it can be with you too... We're on my home planet."

Broly's wide eyes look around and he realizes he's surrounded by several zantedeschia of many colors, ones he's never even seen before in his life. The planet is vibrant and the air around him is so clean and lovely it's intoxicating. He finally relaxes into his base form, falling onto the field of flowers, breathing heavily and still looking around.

"How...?"

You kneel between his legs and hug him tightly. "I made a wish. Those Dragon Balls are pretty handy... But we're here, Broly. My home." You smile, tears in your eyes. "We're safe here."

"You saved me?" Broly whispers, his hand coming to rest on your tattoo again. It's a comfort to him, your warm skin underneath his palm.

"Of course." You murmur. "You deserved so much more... I could only imagine showing you life on Albomaculata. No pain, no suffering... Just beautiful things."

"You are beautiful."

You smile at him and place a blue and white zantedeschia in his hair. He feels hazy and blinks slowly, drunk at the effects of the flowers and the air, not yet used to the romantic aura of the planet. He looks at you and smiles with hooded eyes. "The... zantedeschia is... with me?"

"Yes. And I'm with you too." You whisper, rubbing his chest and coaxing him to sleep. And when he wakes, you'll show him all of the love and life and colors he's missed out on. Your heart is already giddy at the thought of being home again and sharing it with Broly, giving him everything he's missed out on throughout his life.

[hierophant-meme]

Masquerading Hearts

Corazón x Reader

Part 1- A Mystery Beneath the Makeup

Read part 2 here | Masterlist

Notes

I started writing this as a bigger piece but I need to figure out some lore first. Some of the snippets I am publishing have been edited to make sense as standalone pieces but there is still a story going on overall.

Once I get everything sorted out, I will post it as one whole piece on AO3 once I figure out how to use it.

Content contains: first-person POV, no y/n, slowburn

Reader is: Short, plus-sized, insecure

Summary: After a distressful day, you seek out your favorite hiding spot only to have it discovered by none other than your bully (and your favorite person to bully), Corazón. However, that may change soon after.

A year had passed since the day I became a member of the Donquixote Pirates. Corazón, my commander, was still as clumsy and mysterious as ever. And as annoying as ever. Even though I wasn’t a child, he kept throwing me around like one, but with the help of Baby 5 & Buffalo, I’d always gotten back at him for it. Doflamingo, my captain, had taken me in because I had nowhere else to go. He also wanted to help me train my devil fruit powers. I had eaten it not knowing what a devil fruit was. I just stole it from some pirates because I was starving. 

When I first met Doffy, I activated my powers in sheer fright, but haven’t been able to do so since. We hadn’t found a breakthrough yet, but he was persistent. He wouldn’t even tell me what its name was cause it would supposedly compromise our location and its abilities could be misused. He was beginning to grow frustrated with me, but felt I still had potential. That’s why he unofficially appointed me as the babysitter, which I didn’t mind. I liked it better than doing the captain’s dirty work, but I still felt like a failure. 

I’m glad that I found a family that didn’t try to get rid of me, but my self-esteem here got way worse. Being surrounded by so many cool people with amazing powers they could improve over time made me feel worthless. I felt like I had to work ten times harder to feel like I’d made any progress. When everyone was asleep or doing their own thing, I would sometimes sneak off and do some of my own training. I couldn’t stop until I had perfected my moves which took months most of the time. 

While I still held a grudge against Cora for treating me like he did, I couldn’t help but admire him. He was the only family member who didn’t have powers and was an uncoordinated mess but he still accomplished his tasks despite that.

Being overweight and short was not ideal, although at least not being as tall gave me some advantages. Even if I would never be able to look intimidating, when we couldn’t take the kids on missions I would be the one to slip through security without anyone noticing. I could also hide behind things a lot easier than the others. Yet, even with all the reassurance from the other members and what I could help with, I still felt like a hindrance to them.

I also couldn’t help but feel connected to him. We would be the only two who would make mistakes during missions. Doffy would scold us, as one would expect, yet Cora always seemed to move on from it. Perhaps it was because he didn’t talk, but it looks like he didn’t let things get to him. I wanted to be like that, too, but I had no idea where to begin. One small mistake I made would replay in my mind for weeks. It was difficult, but whenever I had the chance, I would sneak off and find a place where no one could hear me cry. 

Today would be different, however. Doflamingo hadn’t sent me on any missions and Giolla was taking care of the children today. She noticed how distressed I’d become and suggested that I go on a walk. Immediately, I knew what I set off to my small little cave at the island’s eastern edge. It was hidden by many trees but had a clear view of the ocean. I found this spot about 6 months ago when I was planning to escape, but couldn’t bring myself to do so because I didn’t want to leave the kids. I found the cave, cried it out, then returned to the hideout. I was sure no one else would ever know of its existence. 

I sat down, buried my head in my knees, and all my tears gushed out. I decided to shift my position about five minutes later to a more comfortable one when I was startled by the presence of another human.

“AH!!!” I calmed down when I saw who it was. “My gods, Cora. You scared the shit out of me! And what the hell’re doing here? I thought you went on a mission with the others.”

He takes out his notebook and writes:

“Finished early. Was gonna take a walk then saw u.”

“Is anyone else with you?”

He shakes his head.

“So much for my secret hideout. How long were you standing there?”

“3 minutes” Corazón signs which is rare as no one in the family knew sign language. He would, however, teach us common words and phrases whenever he got the chance.

“Dammit, Cora. You shoulda said something. Now you know how much of a crybaby I am.” I say with a slight chuckle while rubbing my eyes.

He shrugs and mouths out the word “sorry” and then points to the spot next to me.

“You wanna sit here?”

He nods, I invite him in, and he walks over. Before he can sit down, he naturally takes his mandatory tumble. I usually laugh and call him names, but not this time.

“You okay? Ya need help?”

He shakes his head and composes himself. The tall, blond goofball takes a lighter and cigarette out. Before he lights it, he brings it to his lips and mouths out, “Are you okay?”

I shake my head and point to his burning feather coat. I laugh as he tries to put it out with his hand but then winces at how hot it is. He takes it off, sets it on the damp ground, and finally stamps out the flames. I watch intently as he shakes it off and then kneels beside me. The black-feathered coat that should’ve been reduced to ashes by now was gently placed on my shoulders.

Bewildered, I look over at him. He successfully sits down and removes his signature dark red hat. The sunset shines a shred of light into the cave and onto his face. It made his hair look shinier than any piece of gold in a pirate’s treasure chest. With his first cigarette lost to the dark floor of the cave, he reaches into his pockets for another one. The cigarette is carefully placed between his teeth with one hand and then uses the other to bring the flame of his lighter to it. A puff of smoke fills the small space. Usually, I’d be exaggeratingly coughing to let him know how much I hate the smell of cigarette smoke, but the sunshine highlighting his face had me in a trance. The way the colors of the blue face paint and red lipstick extended to his cheek blended together in the presence of the sun’s rays made him look like some kind of painting displayed on the walls of an ultra-classy museum. He was always quite frightening to look at, but at this moment, he looked inviting. 

As expected, he didn’t say a word, but neither did I. We just looked out at the crashing waves in silence. My thoughts were silent, too. No words were exchanged, but we had a mutual understanding. I knew at that instant that I could trust him. My worries disappeared knowing that I probably wasn’t completely alone in how I felt.

We sat there for almost half an hour before he put his hat back on and got up. Corazón took his coat off my back and held out a hand to help me up. He signaled for me to follow him and we headed to the hideout. My thoughts focused on the tall klutz next to me. After almost a year of using me as one of his three human dodgeballs (I’m surprised he didn’t do the same to little Dellinger) and not giving me much attention, why would he perform such a gesture now? Was there more going on in his brain than everyone thought? I think he might just be more mysterious than my devil fruit.

[ambazaar]

The Bitter Tase of Hibiscus 🌺

Shanks x oc

Synopsis: Tessa, due to a complicated past, has an opinion about pirates. An opinion that's become a bit muddled since he came to the village for the first time. It's all inconvenient, really. Falling in love.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Use, Fluff (may be subject to change)

A/N: I've barely read or seen ANY of the manga or anime so pls don't mrder me about inaccuracies. Im in love with OPLA Shanks and needed to get my frustrations out in writing. So have a fun, angsty short story filled with fluffy goodness. Will be updating as I can.

\\\

Tessa could tally the number of times he'd cast his gaze on her with two hands. The occasions he had spoken to her directly were even scarcer, a mere handful. And once, just once, amidst the jubilant atmosphere inside Party's Bar, as she set a tray of drinks at his table, he unexpectedly reached out and gently squeezed her hand, wordlessly expressing his gratitude with a smile and a nod before diverting his attention back to his comrades. It had only been for a moment, but it was enough to make the world around her just a bit blurrier. She remembered standing at the bar counter after everyone had left, ghosting her fingers over her hand where his touch left a tingling sensation that still remained. Tessa had known him only a few months altogether and yet in her heart she knew she had fallen utterly and completely in love with Red-Haired Shanks.

Makino, Tessa's dearest friend, teased her relentlessly about it. She knew full well the only reason Tessa picked up extra work at Party's was in hope that she'd catch glimpses of Shanks walking back and forth from the docks, despite never putting any effort to actually engage with him. With a playful glare, Makino warned Tessa, "If you ever vanish off on romantic escapades and leave me to single-handedly manage this place, I'll never forgive you."

Tessa seemed appalled by the very idea. "You know I could never," She assured her friend, "Not even for someone as alluring as Red-Haired Shanks. Windmill Village is where I belong." And Tessa tried every day to prove to Makino that she meant it, but whenever the pirate captain sauntered into the shade of their roof, Tessa's heart ached.

But, Tessa was not the only one who admired Red-Haired Shanks so fervently. Luffy, a young boy whom she and Makino had watched over for most of his life, was perhaps even more spellbound by the captain’s presence than she was. The young boy looked up to him, trailing behind Shanks with unwavering enthusiasm at every opportunity he could. And contrary to Tessa’s initial expectations of him, having known him only by reputation, Shanks consistently exhibited an astonishing level of patience and kindness when it came to Luffy, though perhaps occationally poking fun at the lads urgency to join his crew.

In fact, Tessa's infatuation with Shanks began the first time she saw him and the young boy interact. Each time after simply added to the depths of her affections. She lingered on her duties at Party's, completely engrossed in the tales he wove for Luffy and the other attendees, painting vivid pictures of sea monsters and nefarious villains. She adored the way Luffy hung onto his every word, understanding wholeheartedly how captivating his stories could be. And when he laughed, his voice bolstered above all others without a care in the world how many eyes fell on him.

When the pirates were away, she would catch Luffy swinging wooden swords at Makino's barstools, shouting at invisible foes and claiming himself a pirate. “If you break anything, I’m adding it to your Treasure Tab,” Tessa would say, a running joke between her and Makino and him. 

“I’m good for it,” Luffy always reassured her, exclaiming that one day he would be the mightiest pirate captain, with enough gold to keep Party's open forever. He truly was the sweetest lad she knew, with a determination that would shake the foundation of Mount Colubo one day, she was sure of it. 

Though, in part, Luffy’s enthusiasm to become a notorious pirate did bring about a cloud of worry over Tessa and she felt comfortable enough in Makino's discretion to share these troubles with her, but only during times when the Red-Haired Pirates were out at sea and their influence over the young boy held less weight. In addition, the grip Shanks’ presence held over her heart was also loosened by his absence and she felt more inclined to talk about him without sounding entirely like a love-sick fool. 

But Makino knew Shanks far better than Tessa did. More accurately, Makino knew everyone better than Tessa did. Even Luffy. She knew how to talk to people in a way that entranced Tessa. And if she trusted someone, there wasn't a soul living or dead who could sway her loyalty to them.  

“He may be a pirate, Tess, but you can take my word for it: Shanks is a good man," she told the older woman, on more than one occasion. 

When they'd both stayed up past the wee hours of the early morning recovering Party's from the previous evening, Makino felt especially daring in her tired haze and asked Tessa, "Would you love him if he weren't?" 

Tessa nearly dropped the glass in her hands and snapped around to glare at her friend, her amber eyes practically ablaze. “I do not love him, Makino. Don’t be ridiculous,” she scorned, turning away immediately to hide the color washing the pale from her face. “It’s just an infatuation. Nothing more," she said, scrubbing the glass dry a little more aggressively. "One day, Shanks and his crew will come to this island for the last time. They'll have their last drinks, tell their last tales under this roof - and then they'll leave." 

Makino stared at the back of Tessa's head, the laughter in her lungs knocked from her breath when she heard the shake in the other woman's voice. 

Blood surged back into Tessa's knuckles as she loosened her grip on the bar rag. She set the cup on the counter and let out a shuddering sigh. Quietly she added, "Like all pirates do," and placed the glass beside the others before reaching for the next.

The tension in Makino's shoulders faded in the silence that followed. She sighed in a 'knowing' sort of way and suddenly wrapped her arms around Tessa's neck, taking her by surprise. Makino brushed her thumb back and forth over her friend's shoulder as she trembled beneath her weight. Neither of them spoke for a while. 

They both watched from their place behind the bar as soft waves cascaded against the sturdy docks, causing the fishing boats to sway and bob in place. The darkness that cloaked the sky was already fading into a gradient of deep purples, then shifting to an array of pinks and reds as the sun climbed higher toward the horizon. 

When the first rays finally hit the water, reflecting its warmth to caress their faces, Makino breathed a heavy sigh into the softs curls of Tessa's auburn hair, her sad smile hidden from view. "You and me, Tess, we're all each other needs, ey?" She said, finally.

Tessa's lips trembled. She closed her eyes and desperately reached for the other woman's wrist. "Of course, Kino," she agreed, leaning back into her.

Makino squeezed her arms around her just a bit tighter and then loosened them completely, stepping away to pick up the rag she'd abandoned. "You've always been a terrible liar," she chuckled. 

Tessa spun on her heel with a mind to assure Makino she'd meant it, but there was a sound on the distant waves that trapped the words in the back of her throat. The faint, haunting chime of a bell echoed through the air, resonating  four, five, six times. And then, silence.

Makino only looked back when the other woman let out a quiet gasp, but Tessa's gaze had already moved to the distant horizon, her eyes locked onto a shape materializing from the early morning fog. A ship, by the looks of it. Makino sighed, knowing very well there would be no sleep for her now. She could pay Luffy to run ahead to the traders and that would certainly give her time to prepare for visiters. "Get some rest, Tess. If they plan to stay, I'll need you for the evening rush," she said in her hurry.

But Tessa remained, her heart pounding against her ribs as she watched the ship come to port.

A ship with a dragon figurehead.  

Shanks.

---

Part 2

[sinisterexaggerator]

Since you are in a Hondo mood may I request headcanons for Hondo x pirate reader (not part of his crew) /both NSFW and SFW if you are up to it if not thats completely ok/

Hmm, slightly vague, but I will do my best. And since you did not specify, I will try to make this gender neutral.

SFW:

Your boss is a threat to the Ohnaka gang. Hondo meets you for the first time on the field. You are the one thing to catch his eye. He cannot begin to understand why you work for this scoundrel who is causing him such grief.

He finds your skills in battle to be impressive. Your wit and abilities at improvisation in tough situations is just the type of help he needs, and you are exceptional eye candy to boot.

Perhaps he openly flirts with you. Fraternizing with the enemy is not beneath him as we all know. He has a purpose, however: coax you away from your current employer-er, captain.

To your bosses chagrin, it works. You are labeled a deserter. Hondo is none the happier to have gotten one over on him, while at the same time gaining a new addition to his crew – and a most attractive one at that.

He finesses you with the grand tour of Florrum, talks up his wealth, and shows off his holdings. Of course, he also warns should you try to steal from him, or double-cross him, no matter how attractive you may be, your punishment will be tantamount to your offense.

Of course, he mostly says this for dramatic effect. But he also wants you to know he is not a push over, though a generous Pirate King he may be. Do not take Hondo Ohnaka for granted, for he will notice, and quite possibly applaud you, but from then on do not be mistaken, you are on his shit list.

NSFW:

Hondo had his eye on you from the start. He would be quick to work his magic. It does not take much for you to be convinced to join him for a bit of afterhours entertainment.

Should he desire to be alone, yet have access to booze and music, he clears his extravagant hall and forbids anyone to step foot inside until the morning.

Here you may dance, drink, and sing songs together or act a fool. He would be curious about your personality, how you behave outside an audience, or how you might find him once you are by yourselves.

Do not be surprised he lays his charms on thick. He is an excellent storyteller, and his jokes are on point nearly every time. He regales you with tales of his past. You drink in everything he has to offer, including alcohol.

One thing leads to another, and before you know it, you are flat on your back and Hondo is fucking you against one of the many large tables in his fortress.

Oh, it is sloppy. He says dirty little nothings in your ear, slathered with compliments and romantic notions, putting you high on a pedestal.

His touch is temperate. Gentle. Although, this man is a switch and can change his tactics at a moment’s notice should you ask for or require it. He tests the waters, should he not be so far gone he still has hold of all his senses, treating you as royalty though he is considered to be king.

Kisses pummel your flesh, his lips soft and luxurious against your skin. His deeply resonate voice is like music to your ears. He is wholly attentive to your every need.

You have never been treated so well in your life, Hondo making you climax over and over. Should you have any difficulty reaching your peak, Hondo focuses all his efforts in such a way that it is reminiscent of solving a puzzle or diagnosing a problem until a solution can be found.

This moment is about you. Hondo will drive you to the edge and have you begging for more. He is an incredible lover, and it will be hard for any to compare once you have had a taste.

It is suffice to say you will not be going anywhere anytime soon. You are his, and happy to follow in his footsteps.  

[mrsportgas]

Ghost ridders Chapter. 8

#Summary: Eight years ago, you were taken against your Will to Mary Goise to become the new slave of Saint Roswald, or rather, to living a hell on earth. One day, while you go with  him on a visit to a New World´s  island a familiar face appears. This creates the perfect opportunity for you to escape, join the Whitebeard Pirates, and discover more about your past, your abilities, and who you really are. All  while you try to endure your new crewmate, Portgas D. Ace, who is incredibly annoying... or perhaps incredibly irresistible? You haven't decided yet.

This story is based in the world of One Piece, with the same characters and timeline. Of course, this story is fiction created by me. Some of the timelines, names, and characters might be the same, also some names, characters, stories, or even personalities may be altered. The story is happening pre-time skip, while strawhats are in sabaody for the first time.

The first chapter is an introduction to the current story, which begins with Ace as your central romance. (This romance may shift to other characters as the story progresses, but don't worry, there's still plenty of Ace to come.) The story is written in first person. Female gender, Y/N, but feel free to change the gender, name, or anything else that makes you more comfortable.♡

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"Yes… we are… friends…" I said hesitantly, trying to convince myself more than I was trying to convince Ace.

"That didn’t sound very convincing…"

All I could focus on was the article in the newspaper. The picture of Law brought back memories, memories of a promise and where I should actually be right now.

"Y/N… are you okay?" Ace asked, noticing my fixation on the paper.

"Yeah… I…" I replied, not really knowing what to say. It was all overwhelming—too many emotions, too many feelings all at once.

"It's fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but calm down."

"Ace, I… I shouldn’t be here, I need to leave, right now," I said, suddenly looking up, ready to leave that very instant.

"You're not going anywhere, especially not at this hour. Marco would kill me."

I started to cry, and Ace pulled me into his arms. "What’s wrong, rookie? Everything’s going to be fine. I'll help you with whatever it is."

"No one knows about this… it happened too long ago. Right now, I don’t know what to do, Ace. I have to go, but at the same time, I don’t want to."

"Then don’t go, simple as that. Stay here with me," Ace responded with a big smile, as if the answer was that easy. When he saw the look on my face, he continued, "What happened, Y/N? What did that Law guy do to you?"

-------------------- 14 years earlier --------------------

YOUR POV:

It had been exactly five years since my mother had left me here, in the most insipid and cold land this world could offer. Winter lasted forever, and I still wasn’t used to it—I never had been, and I never would be. Despite living in a house that was practically a castle, my days were unbearably dull, stuck inside without being able to step out for even a minute (all by my mother’s orders). Marco was the only one who ever spoke to me in that house. His father still couldn’t understand how my mother had the audacity to leave me here until she "sorted some things out." The servants were always too busy to "play," talk, or pay attention to a child.

Marco had left home years ago, tired of living under his father's orders, setting off in search of adventure. We were very close when we were younger, but over the years, I had only received news from him through letters and the occasional quick phone call.

Today was my 17th birthday, and judging by the way things were going, my life was continuing without any excitement. The special meal they had prepared for me tasted bland, and the decorations they had set up in the grand hall didn’t stir any emotion in me. My only wish was to escape. Even though I was no longer a little girl, I still felt like a prisoner in that huge, freezing house, filled with ghosts of the past and broken promises.

The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound breaking the silence as I watched the shadows cast by the flames on the walls. As night fell, the cold became even more intense, and a sense of dread washed over me. I couldn’t stay there, not one more day. So, with my heart racing, I decided it was time to do something drastic. I snuck upstairs to my room, where I had stashed a thick coat and boots.

"It’ll just be a walk," I told myself, trying to calm my nerves. I didn’t have a plan, but the mere act of leaving gave me a strange sense of freedom.

I waited until everyone in the house was asleep, and when the last servant turned off the lights, I opened the window in my room, which led to a small garden, and slipped out. The cold air hit my face, but I didn’t care. My feet moved quickly across the snow, taking me further away from the house, from the castle that had been my prison for so long.

I wandered aimlessly through the empty streets of the town. The night was dark, and the streetlamps cast flickering light on the snow-covered pavement. No one was around. Everything was quiet, until I heard a noise.

There were voices, several of them. At first, I didn’t pay much attention, but then the sound of something hitting the snow caught my ear. I cautiously approached, hiding behind a corner, and that’s when I saw it.

A group of boys, not much older than me, were surrounding an animal lying on the ground. They were pushing it, kicking it, and mocking it. One of the boys seemed to be leading the attack—a young man with light hair and cold eyes who kept laughing as he struck the poor animal.

My hands started trembling. Fear and adrenaline surged through me, but so did something deeper: anger. I couldn’t just stand there and watch. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew what it felt like to be trapped, helpless. I felt an inexplicable connection with it.

I took a deep breath, scooped up a handful of snow, and packed it tightly in my hands. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all I had. I stepped out from my hiding spot without thinking too much, and before they could realize what was happening, I hurled the snowball directly at the leader’s face. It hit the mark.

The boys turned around, surprised. The leader brought a hand to his face, furious. The animal lying on the ground looked up at me, incredulous. As for me, I wasn’t sure what to do next. The group started walking toward me, but I didn’t move. My legs were shaking, but I tried to hold my head high.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the leader said, approaching with a malicious grin.

“Leave him alone,” I responded, trying to make my voice sound firm.

The boy laughed, and the others followed suit. He seemed confident, used to intimidating others.

They kept getting closer and closer until they were just a few feet away from me. Almost instinctively, my fist turned black, and I landed a solid punch on the boy’s cheek. Everyone froze, stunned. The boy, catching his breath, quickly retreated.

“This isn’t over. Come on, guys,” he spat as he delivered one last kick to the animal curled up on the ground. “If I see you around here again, you’ll regret it,” he added, disappearing into the shadows.

I ran quickly to the animal, scooping it into my arms. It was a bear—a polar bear. Given the island’s climate, I wasn’t too surprised, until it started making small sounds of pain at my touch.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” it said.

“Are you… are you a Mink?” I asked, curious.

“Yes,” it replied weakly.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes,” it said again, looking down, blushing slightly.

“Come with me to my house,” I responded instinctively.

“I’m scared.” The polar bear kept trembling. After a moment, it paused, as if considering something. “I’m sorry, I’ve caused you trouble. Now those kids will come after you.”

“I don’t care,” I said with a big smile. “You’ll never be alone again.”

With that, I picked up the polar bear in my arms and quickly made my way back to the house.

“I’m not supposed to have friends… so don’t make any noise,” I told the large polar bear, not realizing how impossible it would be to hide him for long.

Though injured and exhausted, the polar bear nodded, its large eyes filled with both gratitude and fear. I could feel its weight, but the impulse to protect it gave me strength. We made our way back to the house cautiously, my thoughts racing as I planned how to keep him hidden.

When we reached the garden, I carefully opened the window, hoping not to make any noise. I helped the polar bear inside, though his back legs got momentarily stuck in the small frame. Once inside, I assisted him in standing, though his body trembled from the pain.

"What’s your name?" I asked, motioning for him to sit in a dark corner of the room.

"My name is Bepo," he replied softly, his eyes now shining with a mix of sadness and relief. His voice was gentle, but weighed down with something I couldn’t quite identify, as if each word carried a heavy burden.

I turned, trying to find something to help him heal. I knew there were old blankets and bandages in my closet that I used to treat my own injuries from climbing trees or playing in the garden during my childhood. I knelt beside him and began bandaging the worst of his wounds.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

"You don’t have to thank me. I just… couldn’t let them hurt you." Even though my tone sounded confident, the truth was, I was scared—scared they’d catch us, and that the boy would come back seeking revenge. "When I grow up, I want to be a doctor, like my brother, so this is good practice for me."

Once I finished bandaging him, I sat down on the floor in front of him. The silence of the house enveloped us, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the downstairs fireplace and the whisper of the wind against the windows.

"Bepo, what were you doing here? How did you end up in this place?"

He lowered his gaze, nervously fiddling with his paws.

"I ran away," he finally said. "I lived on a faraway island. I left to look for my brother. I came here searching for him, but I haven’t had any luck."

I could see the pain in his eyes.

"Well," I said with a smile, trying to be reassuring, "you’re not alone anymore. And neither am I now, right?"

He nodded, though he still seemed a bit wary. I knew the safety I offered was fragile. I couldn’t keep him hidden for long. My family, the servants… someone would find out sooner or later. But for now, the important thing was that he was safe.

Suddenly, we heard a sound—footsteps. My heart started racing. It was late, much later than I thought. Had someone woken up?

"Quick," I whispered, pointing to the wardrobe on the other side of the room. "Hide in there."

Bepo moved clumsily, but managed to hide just in time before my bedroom door opened. It was one of the servants, an older man with a stern expression. He looked at me suspiciously.

"Are you alright, miss? I heard strange noises."

"Yes, I’m fine. I just… couldn’t sleep. Nothing to worry about."

The servant watched me for a moment, as if deciding whether to say more. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"Very well. Try to rest, young lady. Tomorrow is an important day."

After he closed the door, I stood frozen for a few seconds, listening to his footsteps fade away. When I was sure he was gone, I approached the wardrobe and opened the door. Bepo looked at me with nervous eyes, his large body crammed between the blankets.

"An important day?" he repeated curiously.

I sighed, sitting on the bed. "It’s my birthday. But honestly, it doesn’t mean much to me."

The polar bear watched me in silence, and for the first time since I found him, he smiled a little. "Maybe this birthday will be different."

I looked at him, and although I didn’t want to admit it, something in his words gave me hope.

The night dragged on slowly, and although I had managed to hide Bepo from the servants, I knew I couldn’t keep him hidden forever. He couldn’t stay in my room for long. He needed a safe place, but more importantly, I needed answers. How had he ended up here, so far from his home? I remembered something: the village library. Perhaps, among the old books, I could find information about the Minks, about how to help him return, or at least how to keep him safe.

"Bepo," I whispered, leaning toward him. "We’re going to the library. We have to leave now, before dawn."

The polar bear nodded with a determined look in his eyes. He was clearly still in pain, but he stood up with effort and followed me. We opened the window again, and more carefully than the first time, slipped into the garden and headed toward the village. The streets were deserted, and the streetlights flickered eerily, but the cold air and the silence wrapped around us like a cloak, hiding our steps.

We arrived at the library, an old, dusty building that barely stood upright. The wooden door creaked as I opened it, but it didn’t seem like anyone was watching. We entered quietly and headed to the history section, where I knew the books we needed might be. While Bepo searched through the shelves, I flipped through the old, worn volumes.

Suddenly, a loud noise interrupted the silence. I turned my head quickly, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw someone at the door.

It was the bully. The same boy with light hair and cold eyes, accompanied by some of his friends. They seemed to have followed us, and now, with a malicious smile, the leader walked toward us, with slow but deliberate steps.

"Well, well. Where do you think you’re going with your little friend?" the boy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

My body tensed, and I stood in front of Bepo, trying to protect him. My heart was pounding, but this time, I didn’t feel afraid. I felt the same anger as before, but also a clear sense of injustice.

"Leave us alone," I said, trying to sound firm even though I was terrified inside.

The boy laughed, and his friends copied him. "Do you really think I’m going to let you go after what you did? You humiliated me in front of my friends, and now you think you can just walk away."

He took a step toward me, and his expression was one of someone who enjoyed having control. My hands trembled, and I felt the helplessness creeping back, the fear that there was nothing I could do to stop him. But just as the boy raised his fist, ready to hit me, something unexpected happened.

A whisper, barely a movement in the air, and suddenly, the boy froze. His arm hung in the air, unable to move forward. In the dim light of the library, a tall, slender figure appeared, dressed in black, with a cold and calculated look. His dark hair fell over his sharp eyes, and a fine, sharp sword was stabbed into the ground in front of him.

"That would be a mistake," said the newcomer, his voice deep and calm.

The boy turned quickly, his eyes filled with surprise and fear. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, trying to sound defiant, but his voice shook.

"My name is Trafalgar Law," said the young man with dark hair, not moving a muscle. "And I suggest you back off. You have no idea who you’re messing with."

The bully’s friends took a step back, uncertain, but the leader, maybe out of pride or not wanting to lose control in front of his followers, tried to maintain his composure.

"And what are you going to do? Cut—?"

Before he could finish the sentence, Law made a quick motion with his hand, and the boy collapsed to his knees, unable to move. It happened so fast, I barely saw it. It was like he had lost control of his body, and for the first time, instead of arrogance, I saw fear in his eyes.

"I warned you," said Law, his gaze fixed on the boy. "Leave now, or I won’t be so kind next time."

The boy didn’t need more warnings. He muttered something unintelligible, and along with his friends, scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the library, leaving us in silence once again.

Bepo, who had been still during the whole encounter, relaxed slightly. I let out a sigh of relief, though my heart was still racing. I turned to the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere to save us.

"Thank you," I said, not really knowing what else to say. "I don’t know who you are, but thank you."

He looked at me, and for a second, I thought he wasn’t going to respond. But then he nodded slightly.

"It’s nothing. I’ve seen those idiots causing trouble before, and I couldn’t let them get away with it." His eyes shifted toward Bepo, and a faint smile appeared on his face. "A Mink, huh? I didn’t expect to see one around here."

Bepo looked at him cautiously but nodded slowly. I stepped in front of him, still trying to protect him. Law had saved us, but I wasn’t sure if we could trust him.

"I’m… I’m looking for a place to be safe," Bepo murmured, lowering his head.

The boy crouched down to Bepo’s level, and ignoring my arm, gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. From now on, you’ll be safe. I’ll take care of it. My name is Law"

I didn’t know who Law was or why he had decided to help us, but something about his presence made me feel safe. It was as if he knew much more than he was letting on, and even though I barely knew him, I trusted him.

“Come with me,” Law finally said, standing up. “I know a place where you can stay out of trouble… and away from bullies.”

I nodded, and together with Bepo, we followed Law into the cold night.

Law suddenly stopped and raised his arm to halt me, his voice firm. “Not you. You go.”

“What? I’m not letting Bepo leave with you just like that. I don’t even know you.” I replied.

“Bepo will be safer with me. Now go and forget about us.”

Dawn was starting to light up the village, and I knew I had to get back home before anyone noticed I wasn’t in bed. I responded with a huff.

“Y/N…” said Bepo, worried.

“I’ll never abandon you. Stay with him. Tomorrow night, I’ll come for you.”

Bepo seemed calmer, and Law looked skeptical, rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t following his orders.

The next night came faster than I had anticipated. My day had passed in a sort of fog, trying to hide my exhaustion and the nervous excitement of knowing I would see Bepo again that night. No one at home seemed to have suspected anything, or at least, no one had said anything. The birthday feast had been held as if everything was fine, but I couldn’t focus on the gifts or the formal speeches. All I could think about was the little polar bear I had left the previous night.

When night finally fell and the castle was silent, I repeated the ritual: coat, boots, and the garden window. But this time, my steps were filled with determination. I knew what I was doing, and nothing would stop me.

I arrived at the same place where Law had told me I would find Bepo. It was a small cabin tucked away on the outskirts of the village, hidden among trees and snow. I approached cautiously, but before I could knock, the door opened, and a large, furry figure threw itself at me.

“Y/N!” exclaimed Bepo, a mix of joy and relief in his big eyes shining in the dim light.

I smiled and hugged him, though I could barely wrap my arms around his huge body. “Are you okay?” I asked, quickly checking him over. He seemed less hurt than the night before, which reassured me.

“Yes, Law has helped me a lot,” Bepo replied, bowing his head shyly. “And… I wanted to give you this.”

Suddenly, Bepo pulled out a small box from his bag, extending it to me with trembling hands. It was a simple package, wrapped in brown paper with a modest ribbon, but his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Happy birthday,” he said, his voice trembling slightly with nervousness.

My eyes widened, and I felt a lump in my throat. I carefully opened the package, and inside was a small pendant, a medallion with a blue stone in the center. It was simple but beautiful, and I felt warmth in my chest as I looked at the gift.

“Bepo, it’s beautiful,” I murmured, holding it in my hands. “Thank you.”

Bepo blushed under his fur and lowered his gaze. “It’s not just from me… Law bought you something too, but… but he’s too embarrassed to give it to you,” he added in a whisper. “He said he’s not good at this kind of thing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly at the thought of Law, with all his coldness and confidence, being too shy to give me a gift.

“Well, when I see him, I’ll thank him… even if he’s a bit shy,” I said with a mischievous smile. Bepo laughed nervously, and I was glad to see that he seemed more relaxed than the night before.

“Oh! Law told me to take you somewhere tonight to celebrate,” Bepo said suddenly. “He said there’s a bar in the village where we could blend in. Would you like to go?”

I was surprised. The idea of going to a bar with a Mink and a mysterious swordsman wasn’t something I had ever imagined as part of my life, but it sounded exciting. “Why not?” I replied with a smile. “Let’s go.”

We walked together through the deserted streets, the night air crisp and clean. Bepo walked beside me, still a bit shy, but his steps were more confident than before. I was relieved to see him like this, more at peace with himself.

We arrived at the bar, a small wooden tavern on the outskirts of the village, hidden among some trees with a half-fallen sign. It didn’t seem very crowded, but when we entered, the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. The lights were dim, and the air was filled with soft laughter and quiet conversations.

However, we had barely settled at a table when the noise of a fight caught our attention. Across the bar, a group of pirates was surrounding two figures, and the atmosphere had quickly become tense. The two figures seemed to be at a disadvantage.

Without thinking, we rushed toward them. A orange-haired boy with a cap was covering himself from a punch, while the other, also wearing a cap that read “Penguin,” was struggling with another man. The group surrounding them didn’t seem willing to let them escape easily.

“Leave them alone!” I shouted, stepping in front of Shachi while Bepo pushed one of the men back with his great strength.

The entire bar froze for a second. The men attacking the boys looked at Bepo, surprised to see a huge polar bear in the middle of the fight, and then at me, as if unsure of what to do.

But I didn’t care. I felt the same anger as the night before, the desire not to let anyone else suffer at the hands of bullies. I threw myself at one of the men attacking the boys, punching him in the stomach with all my strength, remembering everything I had been taught.

Bepo, for his part, used his imposing figure to intimidate the rest, and within minutes, the men began to disperse, retreating one by one. Law appeared out of nowhere like a shadow, with his huge sword.

The air in the bar was filled with tension the moment Law appeared, his imposing figure and icy gaze leaving the pirates breathless. The huge sword in his hand seemed to float around him with lethal confidence. The men surrounding Shachi and Penguin froze completely, their bodies paralyzed by the presence of the swordsman.

“Room,” Law murmured, and immediately, a glowing blue field of energy covered the tavern.

In the blink of an eye, the pirates’ weapons were ripped from their hands, and their bodies were swapped places, disorienting them. Before they could react, Law had already slashed the air with his sword. No one was physically hurt, but the absolute power of his Ope Ope no Mi was clear. The men fell to the ground, gasping and trembling, completely defeated.

“Get out of here before I regret not killing you,” Law said coldly, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

The pirates didn’t need to be told twice. They quickly scrambled to their feet, stumbling over each other as they ran for the exit, leaving only the echo of their footsteps and the awkward silence that remained in the bar.

Shachi and Penguin exchanged relieved, though slightly embarrassed, glances at having been rescued. Bepo approached them and gave them friendly pats on the back. “Good thing you arrived in time! They would’ve crushed us,” Shachi said, catching his breath.

“It was nothing,” I said, smiling as I made sure they weren’t hurt. “Want to join us for a drink? I think after that fight, we could all use one. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Both of them laughed, scratching their heads sheepishly. “Sure! We never turn down an invitation to drink. And if it’s from a cute girl like you, even less. I’m Penguin, and this is Shachi.”

Shachi nodded quickly, giving me a cheeky grin. “Yeah, thanks, Y/N. It’d be an honor to join you.”

I laughed at their comments, though I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned to Law, who was leaning against one of the nearby walls, silently observing the scene. Though his expression was impassive, I noticed a slight stiffness in his shoulders and how his eyes narrowed whenever Shachi or Penguin threw me a compliment.

We settled at a table, and the drinks arrived soon after. The atmosphere in the tavern returned to its warm and lively state, but this time, with us at the center. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin were animated, joking and laughing among themselves, while I joined in the conversation now and then.

However, as the night went on, the boys’ attempts at flirting began to intensify. Shachi would wink at me every time I spoke to him, and Penguin kept finding excuses to get closer. Both kept making comments about how lucky I must feel to be with “two such handsome guys.”

While they laughed, I could feel the shift in the air beside me. Law, who had maintained a cool composure until then, was growing more and more tense. Though he tried to keep his expression neutral, it was clear he didn’t like the way the boys were addressing me. I noticed it in the way his fingers drummed softly on the table, in how his eyes darkened whenever one of them leaned too close.

Finally, when Shachi made a suggestive joke, something in Law snapped. “You should calm down,” he said in a low voice, but it was loaded with authority. His gaze focused directly on the two. “Cut the nonsense.” After a pause, he continued, “Join me. I’m looking for new members to form a pirate crew. Join me.”

The table fell silent for a moment. Shachi and Penguin exchanged slightly uncomfortable glances before quickly nodding. “Y-Yeah, we’ll do it!” they exclaimed with enthusiasm.

I smiled softly and leaned toward Law, whispering low enough for only him to hear. “ You jealous, Law?”

------------TO BE CONTINUED--------------

[fruit-salad-ship]

other Pirate AU bits

I was discussing this with friend and they have ideas that make brain go brrrr, so.

-Peach LAUGHS. like a lot, when shes happy, angry, nervous, all the time, shes just one of those people.

-pre monster plum death peach is able to find out more of the supernatrual world, and discovers you can learn magic if you find the right monsters.

-Monster plum early on gives Peach an ultimatum, figure out how to change her form, prove she's capable of learning how to be like plum, a creature of magic. If she can master how to shapeshift a little, she's got a shot with this thing in the bedroom. Plum does NOT beat around the bush about it,says exactly that. Peach is completly thrown.

-immediatly goes to hunt for this thing, this skill, anything at all, a witch, a monster, whatever it takes. Shes immortal, she's got forever to figure it out.

-So that turns out to be a skill Peach picks up, though she ONLY learnt how to use it on herself, and only in a more promiscuous/sexual way. so its completly useless elsewhere.

-plums very amused. maybe they destroyed a village one time, whos to say.

-peach aquires many new ships full of willing men wanting to hunt the monster, takes them out to foggy waters, and lets plum demolish the ship and devour the people, sabotages their efforts to kill her. All to see her darling wife happy.

-the death of her wife changes Peach's whole personlaity, that loss was so great she never really laughed again, not genuinly, only in malice or rage.

-peach joins this motley crew of kind of useless pirates, and whips them into shape, but for the most part shes fighting for them a lot.

-during this time she develops bond with each one, notably Grey, a man she torments but finds respect for, hes about the only one with any skill with a blade, clearly older and experienced in comparison.

-the ship doctor is HORRIFIED with her inability to die, endlessly runs tests on her, which are barbaric at best. Peach dont mind, her nerves still work but the body heals, she will recover.

-he opens her up to see whats going on in there, only to discover her heart is a knot of tentacle like muscles with these shimmering seagreen scales covering it. It does not beat, it is ice cold, and any attempt to damage it is useless. Peach is fully awake for this process, and is fine with it thanks to an inhumane amount of morphine and her immortality.

-the crew become use to her antics, she's unkillable, better to just be thankful shes on their side.

-plums drifting closer to this woman whos kept her at arms lenghts, the crew start taking bets on how long before those two end up having an intimate moment.

-Peach obviously sees her dead wife in this woman, and so, to try to extend her lifespan, she helps her with sword practice, she could use a lot of work, but has the basics in place. Queue homoerotic swordplay in lantern light when they catch a quiet moment together.

-Grey still wary, watches her actually help not hinder, and perhaps misjudged her. The two drink, console each other, and he learns her story. Regrets his initial judgement.

-these drinking sessions expose her true story to the crew, all of them EXCEPT plum learn of what happened. She asks them not to tell Plum specifically.

-she never tells the stories to the captain to spare her the history lesson, and any odd feelings it may bring about. She is not her wife, no matter how symilar they may look, and sometimes behave.

-Plum doesnt realise she does little things for Peach that Peach use to do for her wife, memories she burried due to the pain of them, until theyre dragged back out thanks to this young captain. Peach says nothing, sits on that rekindled memory and the heartache.

-the crew get impatient and strand the captain and second in command in a port, sailing off just to see if these two will finally get together once and for all. By this point theyre rooting for it, but also a lot of moneys on the line in bets.

-they do. With little else going on in a small landing without more than drinking money, the two do get together, despite all of peach's intentions to stay away, she just...looks so much like her old love. Has a moment of weakness.

-peach cant gain new scars, but retains one on her shoulder from before becoming imortal that was caused by her wife, monster plum, who held her too tight and left a lasting mark. To touch it feels...different, not painful, just very sensitive, but she all but forgets about it until the captain runs her hand over it in the heat of the moment. IMMEDIATE GUILT creeps in.

-plums beet red face upon asking if they got to it was the tell all the crew needed. Peach was playing it SO cool, yuo cant read her, but the captain gave it away.

-bets are won and lost, money is exchanged, the women are just...so done with their weird ship family. It is oddly entertaining however, so much so, peach laughs. genuinly. for the first time in a VERY long time.

-plum hears it and is hooked, needs way more of that in her life.

[zivliveblogsop]

One Piece Reread Chapter 2: They Call Him "Straw Hat Luffy"

(prev | index | next)

We open on a delightfully pink Miss Love Duck - for all the lovely details it provides, the colour manga regrettably suffers from the very Oda art-typical problem of everyone having the same (pale) skin tone.

On the topic of adaptations, once again, each of them has moved the action from the island Alvida uses as her base to aboard the Miss Love Duck itself, at sea - both Toei's anime and Netflix's show (which I'm beginning to suspect may be more of an adaptation of the anime, rather than the manga) insert another ship being pillaged by Alvida's crew. Perhaps to make things more piratey? I'm not sure. It seems like a fairly innocuous change on paper, but put a pin in this - I'll be coming back around to it later.

This chapter, notably, also gives us Koby, and foreshadows Zoro's introduction via the pirates speaking fearfully of how they hear the Marines have him locked up (word must travel fast, since we know Zoro only spent nine days in the yard).

For now, though, we have Koby, who arrives to the narrative in an already-interesting predicament. He's kind, clearly terrified of Alvida, and quite resigned to his fate - he immediately offers up the boat he's spent two years fashioning for Luffy's escape, having resigned himself to spending the rest of her life under her thumb. Two years is the length of time he's spent as a captive of the pirates, meaning he began plans for an escape immediately after his capture. The boat is in a finished state, clearly, if he's offering it to Luffy, which means that, for an unknown length of time, Koby had a perfectly serviceable way out that he just... didn't take. Perhaps he continued to fine-tune it, to rework it, anything to have an excuse not to take that final step.

Luffy even points this out, asking quite literally "Why don't you just escape?" His ensuing estimation of Koby's character is, as he says, quite blunt, but there's quite a bit of truth to it. If there wasn't, Koby could have called him cruel instead of frank. The way that Luffy speaks to him here, though more good-natured, mirrors the things that Alvida says to him. The tone differs, as does the intent (Luffy is simply making an observation, he has no desire to own Koby), but the similarity of the words, coupled with Koby's lack of disagreement and what we can infer about him based upon this exchange, paints quite an unfortunate picture. Koby, at least on some level, has stayed where he is because there's a part of him that agrees with how Alvida sees him. He has no self-esteem, no belief in his own ability or worth, and lingers in a terrible situation for no other reason than the fact that it's familiar.

This is why I think the adaptations make a mistake by moving the action from Alvida's island base to the Miss Love Duck. This telling exchange is centred around Koby's makeshift boat, his escape route that he's just been sitting on, and the fact is that he could only hide such a thing on an island. By removing the action to a setting where he wouldn't be able to hide an entire boat (and in Netflix's case, by reworking Luffy's friendly, but rather scathing estimation into a nicer pep talk), there's a lot of characterization that gets lost. (On a more minor note, being on a ship requires Luffy and Koby to lower their voices to escape notice, which detracts from the emotion of the following sequence.)

Koby isn't the first one to hear from Luffy that he's going to be the king of the pirates - he first declared it in Chapter 1, as the Red-Hair Pirates were packing up to leave (it specifically, in fact, immediately preceded Shanks handing over his hat). What differs here is Koby's reaction - his immediate response, "You'd have to make the whole world kneel to you!", speaks to a point of view that hinges on the idea of subjugator and subjugated, something which could reflect his last two years under Alvida, or which could, potentially, have a deeper, older root.

Oda's ability to play characters off one another in very telling ways continues in this exchange - where Chapter 1 shows us Shanks, someone Luffy is more alike than not, Chapter 2 establishes Koby as a kind of anti-Luffy in many ways. Not in the sense that Koby is necessarily antagonistic (though on the very next page, he does acknowledge that his dream of becoming a Marine would make Luffy and himself enemies), but in a way where it's very clear that Koby has a very hierarchical view of the world. He talks about the likeliness of making the world kneel to a single person, weighs things in odds, tries to take his feelings out of things, all to avoid the fact that he is motivated by fear.

Luffy turns all of this upside down when he states, simply, "I'm not afraid to die." He's not unaware of the risks, but to him, not trying would be of greater personal cost than playing it safe. For the first time, it seems like Koby seems to realise that living out the rest of his life safely will mean living the rest of his life wondering about what might have been - he twigs, in that moment, to this facet of Luffy's life philosophy, which shuns regrets above all (remember that).

The first panel on this page shows a rare moment of uncertainty from Luffy, as he states his belief that he'll succeed (hat held to his chest), before he wonders, briefly, if he's deluding himself. It's a fascinatingly rare and telling moment of introspection - this is a very young Luffy, just starting out, with no crew yet to stand behind him, having a moment of doubt. Still, he immediately proves his statement from just a few moments earlier - he puts the hat back on. If he dies trying, at least he tried.

In the same moment, Koby is rapidly seeing the appeal of Luffy's "no regrets" lifestyle, and shares his own dream - to join the Marines and fight "the bad guys". Luffy's surprise is a bit palpable here, and I think this speaks, again, to the difference in their outlooks. Luffy is, as we well know, someone who values freedom in all respects. One of the main ways this shows itself is his refusal to let anyone else define, control, or intentionally influence him, even if they want to do so out of a desire to be helpful. Koby, meanwhile, is clearly looking for an element of belonging - his offhand mention of "the bad guys" makes it clear that he wants to be one of "the good guys", he wants to be one of these helpful, protective types that Luffy finds annoying.

Not that he thinks there isn't any use to them - he doesn't shoot down Koby's dream. I think there are probably elements of differing experience at play here, as well; Luffy has hung around pirates, bandits, and other ne'er-do-wells, and has already attained a pretty nuanced view of what constitutes good vs evil that Koby (who has spent two years as the prisoner of the fairly stereotypical pirate) has clearly not had. It speaks well to Luffy's emotional intelligence (and his tendency to let people steer their own course and figure shit out on their own) that he seems to recognize this.

Despite all this bravado in their moment alone, Koby is still unable to defy Alvida until Luffy does so first. Koby's defining characteristic early on, aside from his own fear, perhaps, is his awareness of his own weakness. His desire to join the Marines is borne not simply out of a sense of justice, but of a desire to be part of something that will make him stronger.

In this sense, he and Luffy aren't that different. Luffy, too, is looking for a group to make him stronger, but he has both a desire to choose his companions, as well as faith in himself to make the right choice - he's not locked to the comforting idea of an institution the way that Koby is. Their differing world views are on display once more as Luffy throws the idea of the demon pirate hunter being a "good guy", and Koby dismissing the idea outright.

We aren't done with Koby yet, though. Next stop, Shells...

[lutethebodies]

LTB Worldbuilding Wednesdays: The Kingdom of Kronvaal

A weekly series in which two of my BG3 Tavs describe the original homebrew 5e world they live in.

Cannor’s Guide

“The Kronvaal is worlds away from what it once was—a proud homeland of Kalen civilization, and before that a venerable Erynnathi bastion of ancient prosperity. The latter was eroded by centuries, but it only took sixty years of selfish Kalen disunity and careless Vaali rule to almost completely destroy Ryvell’s united Kalen kingdom. The Vaali who came this far east took over farms and villages with uncouth enthusiasm. They weren’t the social cream of the crop (those stayed in Seven Harbors), but their hardy gumption hasn’t survived wealth and power. The seven great Vaali houses all carry the paranoia of frontier conquerors—that constant fear of someone taking back what you rightfully stole—but outside the lordly strongholds, other Vaali resent the cross-cultural animus their rulers provoke.”

“Ironically, until recently few remaining Kalen have resisted much in the rare idle moments of their beaten-down lives. Descendants of the conquered live on the fringes—the poverty-stricken villages, the piracy-vulnerable coasts, and the dangerous wilderness between the fertile Crown Valley proper and the vast Crownwood. The Broken Hand’s grip is looser here in the East, so Kalen beliefs persist beyond Vaali settlements, but with a weakness not unlike the countryside’s deteriorating megalithic rubble. Most Kalen keep their heads down—believing risky, violent rebellion is a tool of ruthless pirates in the islands, or maniacal druids in the deep dark forest—but I myself heard rumblings of discontent the last time I passed through, so times may be changing yet again.”

“Another big difference between Kalen and Vaali here is how each perceives the sea. The same ocean washes the Vaali nations and the free Kalen islands, but the conquerors call the sea ‘wild’ while the conquered simply call it ‘wide.’ Unlike their western kinsmen, Vaali fear the sea here, only living nearby when they must, and fortifying every coastal hamlet to the last stone. The Vaali capital at Reigamond may be an island fortress, but it lies on a lake far from the sea. Many Vaali are passable sailors, but they can’t compete with Kalen fisherfolk or Klasi pirates, and the only naval victories they’ve had came by treachery. There is little salt shaken at any Vaali meal.”

“As for the countryside, much of Kronvaal is rugged, green land cut through with chilly, fast-flowing streams, and dotted with ancient Kalen standing stones. What’s not moorland is thick primeval woodland rarely visited by Vaali or Kalen, and most of that woodland belongs to the Unseen of Anuelidath. While officially ruled by King Kaspar and his Ravenwitch in Reigamond, the elves have governed themselves for millennia, and rarely acknowledge his control. They’ve fallen far, but still evoke superstition among the Kalen, and are reclusive neighbors. In my experience, they’re even older, wiser, and more powerful than the most fanciful legends. I’ll leave it at that, though—they deserve the right to speak for themselves, and perhaps soon they shall once again.”

Ruy’s Reckoning

“Crown Valley and its dependent lands are the easternmost limit, to date, of the centuries-long Vaali migration. A peripheral power at best, the Kronvaal has been a Vaali kingdom for only thirty years. It’s ruled by a royal house in Reigamond just one generation removed from the soldier of fortune who conquered it in 507 AD by defeating a bitterly divided Kalen rump state. That’s an almost complete reversal of fortune from earlier times, when this area was the Kalen heartland for 185 years. Those old united provinces of Kalva, Kemra, and Kerna still exist in living memory, but their most prosperous days are long gone. With the countryside substantially depopulated, most Kronvaali rarely venture beyond the remaining settlements, and the core of old Kemra—the lands encircling the Crownrock in its great lake-moat—is the only safe place for seven Vaali ruling houses, and their subordinate Viceroys of the Valley, to practice the most basic arts of peace. Beyond that, Kronvaal is beset by vengeful Klasi pirates from the east and ambitious Nevelese oligarchs from the south, with only the barest pledge of fealty from the ancient and reclusive Crownwood elves.”

Area: 136,520 square miles. Population: 2,248,097; about 10-15 people per square mile. Capital: Reigamond. Main settlements: Reigamond (King’s Mountain; large stronghold-town) Leucaric (Lionstone; village), Kaamvei (The Stairway; town), Dronnin (Queen’s Cape; town). Fortresses: Lisuul (The Torch), Aiklind (Chalkcliff), Eskilendt (Exile’s End). Woodrealms: Anuelidath (The Unseen). Rulers: King Kaspar of House Ulvuunde, in Reigamond. Languages: Vaali, Kalen, Erynnath. Economy: Open mercantile, producing coal, copper, herring, timber, tin, wheat, and wool; trading for alum, cottons, furs, iron, linens, paper, silks, silver, spices, steel, sugar, and wax.

All text and imagery taken from "The Nua Gazetteer, Volume 1" by Keir DuBois (2022).

[rah10corez]

FaucetGamers

Like many things in life, we all have preferences for certain reasons; someone rubs you wrong, tastes bad, etc. As for myself, I like Cointiply for many reasons and the same goes for FaucetGamers.

I wasn’t immediately turned on by it. It was just another faucet site with ways to earn. After a few weeks of visiting and getting some GTs (one of the native digital currencies for their site), I finally tried the passive income game: Crypto Pirates. I could likely write an article on it alone, there are many features but I’ll keep it mildly short (yeah right).

Crypto Pirates Game Faucetgamers.com

The picture just shows part of my fleet. From that page, I can buy new ships and repair my own. Depending on their price or how many GTs you have, they will last a short period with a lower yield or the opposite. You need to log in once a day at least to get your LP Tokens to receive the bonuses. No loyalty then bum luck on your passive that day. Good incentive to come back right?

You gain GTs and/or GCs depending on how you sail. It will equal more than repair costs it just takes patience, or a bunch of coins in a day. Your earnings are based on your Naval Power, which once a day you get a free chance at getting a 5–30% boost by “hoisting your colors.” If you want to reroll it will cost LP points.

I’ve been on a steady increase but am pretty fresh to the game. So, I’m on the last page of the “bounties” list. You can set the sailing mode in “captains orders” to Pool Bonus Mode or Gold Coins Mode. I’m usually in pool mode so I get a cut of the other pirate’s booty Rahrg. You get both coin types as well. You may have mutiny from your crew, lose ships, and much more. Very interesting game and if you pay attention, you can keep increasing your value and maximizing your profit by getting better ships.

Other things stick out other than that game. There are arcade games like PacMan, tournaments, offer walls, an LP faucet, and much more you can do to stack your coins. There’s a new game added called Sorcerer Games, which I keep meaning to try, but I’ve been meaning to write this for a while too. Looks cool, my LP points are low due to my lack of activity lately, but that will change soon enough.

A couple of games from the Game Page by Faucetgamers.com

I’ve been through many sites trying to find some golden goose egg or a get-rich-quick scheme. Those are the ones that will get you for your money if not wise enough. I’ve been suckered a couple of times myself.. perhaps a few :) I learn the hard way as usual hopefully, I’m wiser. I list the ones I’ve tested and have had a good experience with on my site and this is one of them.

After searching through all of those sites and dedicating my time I found that there are many bots, stingy or nonexistent owners. This is the ONLY site of many that I’ve received a detailed response to some questions I had and I was trying to find answers forever. Very helpful owner and/or staff and after that, I got a really good vibe about the people that played on the site. I’ve received some short responses I’m not saying help doesn’t exist, but the owner I believe heard what I was saying. The others that respond avoid the question or go around in a loop, unless you’re reporting abuse or something.

On top of being an original site compared to others in the same category, they have awesome leadership and a good playbook. Not many people mention their site that I have seen (my eyes are pretty bad though), but I’ve seen the site grow and it seems to be headed up the list. Definitely on my list and I hope people will see what I see once they give it a shot. If you like faucet-type sites, I’d put this one on your list to visit daily. Good vibes and good times!

Earn Page, get some more coins for different activities. More utility on page news, recommendations, and other helpful information.

I’m grateful for the kindness shown and the wisdom shared when I felt like I was done asking. Honesty and loyalty are a big portion of my values, I’m showing love for a site that in my opinion should be on more top faucet lists for 2022. I had to give a shot out to the family over at faucetgamers.com they’re awesome! Now, I’ve mentioned the link enough so all of you are now brainwashed... GO NOW and give them a shot! Playing, but here’s one more and hope everyone is as well as these times can permit! Faucet Gamers Site

Citation: Medium

Get paid to read on Pub0x

Best wishes all,

Rahlly

rah10corez.io