#when you take something just beginning a small flame and try to build it and and stoke it into something that can survive and last and burn

[jemmo]

that final scene in this ep of utsukushii kare. it feels like someone just ripped out my gut, slashed it open and trampled over the bloody remains. i want to sob. I want to out loud, fat tears, shaking my body sob. but all im stuck on is hira’s brokenly confused face, kiyoi on top of him grabbing onto his clothes and crying, an absolute tornado of emotion the likes of which he’s never shown, all to hira, all because of hira, and yet hira sits there and it’s like the storm covers him but he’s inside this impenetrable building and not a single drop of rain hits him. he knows it’s raining, he can hear it battering down on the roof, but it’s just rain. he doesn’t understand the full extent, doesn’t know the wind is ripping down trees and lightening is cracking the sky in two. and because he’s inside, he doesn’t need to know, doesn’t care to know, doesn’t want to know. hira will happily stay inside, in his bubble, in his constructed world, and he will be alone, and he will suffer, but that’s alright bc he’s not out there.

it’s like he’s gotten used to the internalized problems he faces, and they stick with him, almost a comfort to him now, in that he’ll see them when they’re not there. the external things that make him worried and anxious now, they’re less so, but hira still is that high school kid, getting picked on for his stutter, that faded into the background. he’s stuck there, and he’s never grown past it, and there’s almost a security in not growing, not changing, even if the thing you’re stuck as is worry and anxiety and invisibility and self doubt and constant internal doubt and criticism and lack of confidence. at least he’s used to it. at least there isn’t anything new to challenge him. and it shows, bc whenever he is challenged, in the sense that something that doesn’t fit he’s established world and role happens, he puts himself down and apologizes, like it’s a practiced, default reaction. that’s how he got through before, it’s how he learned to get through. but now, in the place he finds himself, in the situation and relationship he’s in, this is not a place for that reaction. the people he’s around, kiyoi, he doesn’t need hira to put himself down. he doesn’t need apologies. he wants understanding. and hira just resolutely refused that, said that he not only doesn’t understand hira, but that he doesn’t want to, and he’s not going to attempt to. and I don’t think he could have said anything more heartbreaking to kiyoi. all he has ever wanted was for someone to see him and understand him and love him for it. hira gives him love, unendingly and uncritically. he’s love is irrespective of anything kiyoi does or says or feels. it’s love of an idea, of a theory, of a concept in a pretty shell. it’s not love of the human inside, it can’t be, bc he just said he doesn’t want to understand that person, and without that there can’t be love. you can’t love something you can’t see or comprehend, that there’s a person kiyoi that isn’t the god kiyoi there is in his universe.

and the thing is, I think hira could’ve understood kiyoi, back when he saw a side of kiyoi that no one else did and still showed him love. I think down the line he could’ve gotten to know that person more and liked him, but the thing is, it’s different bc of kiyoi’s feelings. bc kiyoi’s feelings contradict so much what hira believes about himself that he can’t understand him. it’s easier to not know kiyoi that way and stick to his established universe, rather than understand kiyoi fully, bc in that he has to reevaluate everything, about himself and his place in the world and kiyoi’s place too. that is not an easy task. and it’s not that hira wouldn’t, I don’t think. I think there is a feasible future where hira recognizes that choice he can make and chooses kiyoi, chooses to challenge himself out of love for kiyoi and a want to understand him, and maybe even a want to understand and love himself. but bc he doesn’t recognize that as a choice he can make, he can’t do it. and I think that’s what hira needs to face, which I think is more than kiyoi and his feelings and care for hira can manage to accomplish. hira’s mental dissonance is gonna be a work in progress, it’s just a matter or him realizing it and getting to a point of actually working on it. the only thing is, in the meantime, can kiyoi be patient with hira, and the hurt he makes him feel? should he? bc when hira outright refuses to understand, when it feels that rigid and definite, when there’s no feasible future where he will understand, what’s the point? that’s the heartbreak. that hira is constantly worrying about forever, but he just denied a forever with kiyoi. and the problem is him, just not for the reasons he thinks he is. he needs to realize there is no forever with kiyoi the god, bc gods don’t last forever, they’re ephemeral, they’re fleeting. there can be a forever with kiyoi though, the man, the person, the human being, he just needs to step outside, into the storm, and let it soak him. bc when he gets to stand with kiyoi in the rain, he’ll see it’s worth it.

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (1)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »» 

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final]: 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tagin following parts

[AN]: thank you so much to @highvern for betaing for me and helping out with the plot so much, this fic would not exist if it weren't for her!!!! and thank you reader!!! for clicking on this and reading it, this one's been about 7 months in the works and I would love to hear what your thoughts are when you're done, plsplspls leave a rb or a reply with your brainrot lol <3 happy reading

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground. 

No, that’s a branch. 

Or is it a plank? 

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself. 

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix. 

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire. 

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute. 

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy. 

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp. 

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow. 

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.” 

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart. 

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water. 

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all. 

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean. 

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess). 

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze. 

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon. 

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances. 

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters. 

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door. 

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly. 

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward. 

“They’re handling the situation, your High–” 

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe. 

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares. 

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is. 

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?” 

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option. 

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself. 

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with  equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up. 

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father. 

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back. 

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.” 

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.” 

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain. 

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes. 

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold. 

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.” 

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.” 

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice. 

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here. 

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself. 

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?” 

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now. 

You wait with baited breath. 

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.” 

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle. 

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.” 

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends. 

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship. 

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.” 

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.” 

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi. 

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember. 

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen. 

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul. 

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one. 

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel. 

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold. 

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?” 

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you. 

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in. 

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did. 

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you. 

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake. 

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work. 

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things. 

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands. 

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away. 

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet. 

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself. 

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place. 

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters. 

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is. 

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you. 

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind. 

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation. 

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink. 

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!” 

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.” 

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.” 

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel. 

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.” 

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was. 

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?” 

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths. 

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word. 

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this. 

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all. 

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still. 

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument. 

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.” 

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause. 

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.” 

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway. 

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head. 

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience. 

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?” 

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull. 

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant. 

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?” 

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.” 

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?” 

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue. 

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?” 

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest. 

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit. 

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt. 

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long. 

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level. 

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?” 

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.” 

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard. 

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope. 

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.” 

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion. 

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

“Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line.” 

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed. 

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour. 

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it. 

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?” 

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising. 

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew. 

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime. 

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops. 

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another. 

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable. 

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support. 

“I did.” 

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.” 

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.” 

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip. 

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.” 

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it. 

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence. 

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship. 

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin. 

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water. 

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever. 

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table. 

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat. 

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men. 

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open. 

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong. 

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command. 

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.” 

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves. 

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map. 

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow. 

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.” 

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.  

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either. 

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker. 

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?” 

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile. 

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.” 

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face. 

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.” 

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs. 

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest. 

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock. 

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein. 

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long. 

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach. 

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted. 

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself. 

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing. 

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support. 

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch. 

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place 

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!” 

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet. 

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have. 

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet. 

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again. 

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel. 

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth. 

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back. 

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms. 

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline. 

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.” 

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room. 

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards. 

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs. 

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day. 

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such. 

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head. 

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye. 

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either. 

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan. 

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone. 

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside. 

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through. 

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study. 

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle. 

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment. 

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same. 

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this. 

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands. 

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over. 

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get. 

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats. 

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings. 

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash. 

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest. 

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes. 

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard. 

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed. 

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore. 

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone. 

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.” 

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons. 

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this. 

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17. 

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling. 

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy. 

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship. 

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him. 

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life. 

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face. 

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck. 

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot. 

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest. 

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly. 

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks. 

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.” 

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—” 

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks. 

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic. 

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts. 

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat. 

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself. 

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing. 

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding. 

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent. 

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation. 

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed. 

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature. 

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly. 

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says. 

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land. 

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself. 

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects. 

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies. 

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan. 

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause. 

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.” 

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy. 

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests. 

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?” 

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum. 

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall. 

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’. 

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway. 

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain. 

There was something you wanted from him. 

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight. 

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky. 

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face. 

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face. 

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.” 

A kid. He was a child. 

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever. 

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either. 

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person. 

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway. 

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head. 

So you pulled the trigger. 

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry. 

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway. 

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you. 

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly. 

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve. 

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.” 

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you. 

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back. 

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out. 

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks. 

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right. 

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher. 

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them. 

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized. 

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch. 

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said. 

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention. 

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging. 

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop. 

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused. 

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows. 

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices. 

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side. 

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand. 

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups. 

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer. 

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make. 

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size. 

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again. 

“I’ll do seven!” 

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp. 

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks. 

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm. 

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left. 

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits. 

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you. 

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here. 

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley. 

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet. 

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market. 

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father. 

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand. 

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall. 

“Are you alright?” 

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze. 

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own. 

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe. 

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas. 

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless. 

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean. 

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.” 

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market. 

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.” 

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality. 

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most. 

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market. 

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known. 

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to. 

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks. 

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air. 

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you. 

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it. 

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway. 

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him. 

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects. 

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts. 

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above. 

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand. 

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away. 

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it. 

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh. 

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand. 

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says. 

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck. 

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it. 

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse. 

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.” 

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right. 

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands. 

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent. 

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?” 

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck. 

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form. 

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass. 

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs. 

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip. 

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck. 

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing. 

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone. 

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again. 

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving. 

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again. 

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air. 

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all. 

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so. 

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing. 

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back. 

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth. 

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort. 

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of. 

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done. 

You just pushed Chan overboard. 

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs. 

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck. 

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know. 

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle. 

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense. 

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position. 

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well. 

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?” 

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water. 

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean. 

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice. 

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours. 

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day. 

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck. 

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat. 

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes. 

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters. 

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this. 

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress. 

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it. 

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes. 

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt  hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident. 

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?” 

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun. 

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away. 

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping. 

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it. 

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled. 

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab. 

“Make me what? you grind. 

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain. 

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise. 

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

[AN]: congrats you made it to the end of part 1!!!!! reblog ur thots and opinions or send me an ask, id love to hear the turmoil in ur minds lol

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n- 3.5k: boothill comes back to you for a tune up, but instead of his body, it's his heart that needs tending to after you scare the hell out of him [minor boothill story spoilers if you're not caught up on that jazz, but nothing major!]

warning(s)!: boothill is implied to have an artificial tech!eye and he takes it out (not descriptive tho!)

the last time boothill saw you, he was in for a cooling agent refill. it was also during that last visit when he saw that you had fixed up the small robot he had picked up on a distant planet and brought back as a gift. with your affinity for tinkering with things, he knew you'd like it. and he wasn't wrong.

it's been a month, maybe, and while that shouldn't be considered a very long time away considering his goal steeped in revenge would eventually require him to be gone for far longer- or even not come back at all- he damn missed you.

that, and the censor inside his eye has been on the fritz and well... if he can't see, he can't exactly shoot straight. he didn't need to be discharging bullets like a psychopath- he's a galaxy ranger, not some low-ringed IPC lacky who's a bit too trigger happy.

luckily, his eye wasn’t so fudged up that he couldn't see at all. the world around him was all blurs if he moves to quickly, but given the time to adjust, he's able to more or less make out what was in front of him. just don’t ask him to read anything... not that he was stellar in that department to begin with. it's like the crosshair infused with his artificial eye was out of focus or something.

boothill knows the path to your shop- that acts also as your home- like the back of his hand. someone could pluck his eye right out of his head, yet he'd still navigate his way to where you are. it was one of the few roads he has taken time and time again. he hope's it'll stay a place he can keep coming back to in health or otherwise.

stepping off his small, single-man ship after landing it near the junkyard you usually dig around in, he stumbles out of it onto the ground with a censored curse. he wishes he could land the thing closer to your shop, but he had once come in with too much a gusto and scorched a section of your lawn. once was all you needed to prohibit him from landing anywhere near the building again.

the walk from junkyard to the shop wasn't a treacherous one, hardly even a workout. still, the back of his neck just at his hair line breaks out into a cold sweat. it isn't brought on by exertion, but by the engraved instinct that something... wasn't right. something in his gut was telling him something was wrong.

boothill's learned to trust his gut.

his leisurely pace picks up to a more urgent gait and he can smell the 'something wrong' before his unfocused eye can try and see it.

it smells like smoke.

his steps falter at the disgustingly familiar scent- the smell that brings back memories he forces himself remember. memories that push him towards his goal of revenge- his goal in finding oswaldo. memories of his ruined home. he swallows thickly but it does nothing for his throat that's sudden too dry.

boothill hated fire. he's hated fire since his original name died with his family... with his daughter. since he chose to become "boothill" altogether he's abhorred fire.

he's familiar with fire. with its destruction. with its color. with its smell and heat and ruthlessness. its lack of mercy and greedy nature to swallow up anything in its path that can scorch.

the billows of smoke he could barely make out once his long, mechanical legs took him running to your shop could only be explained by fire. where was it? was it large? contained? were you inside? were you hurt? the cowboy didn't see any flames from outside, so it must not be that bad yet. you're fine. you're fine. you have to be.

all formality is left at his heels when he barges through your shop's doors. there's not much smoke in front of the shop when he enters.

"y/n! are you in here!" you don't respond to his shouts. "fudge!" god, boothill wishes he could properly curse right now. screw his synthesia beacon to hell.

the dim lights make it harder to navigate the area around him with the addition of his already busted vision, but just like the path leading him here- boothill is familiar with the inside of your home. he could walk it blindfolded and deaf.

boothill follows his nose. the smell of smoke got stronger the further back into the shop he goes. the ranger starts hearing commotion along with his narrowing down of where the fire was coming from.

clanging. some bangs. you're coughing. you're cursing.

boothill pushes open the metal door that leads into the main workshop with his shoulder. the room is always filled with all sorts of scrap metals, wiring, wielding tools, normal tools, and all sorts of other gadgets and knobs that he's sure you keep cluttered in different drawers and corners.

the smoke he saw outside floods the workshop, filtering out through the windows you had thrown open and up the chimney you don't ever use unless you need to melt down metal. the grey, sooty gas lingers high towards the ceiling. wafting around his head as soon as he enters the workshop, causing him to choke on it before his mechanical insides whirl into filtering it all out of his system.

sometimes being mostly robotic had it's perks. not choking to death on smog was always a plus.

"sugar!" he calls that familiar endearment over all the noise you're causing. the normally sweet, yet playful, nickname he's been calling you since he discovered your unbelievable sweet tooth feels sour coming out of his mouth this time. your coughing is muffled, and he can only assume it's because you're covering your mouth with a cloth or something. you better be, he hisses internally to himself.

"boothill?!" your shock is as muffled as your cough. "hold- gahk! son of a- hold on a second!" he can hear you rushing around the shop's concrete floor. "ore, did you get to the switch!" you direct your attention away from the unanticipated arrival of boothill. instead, you steer it towards the aforementioned, small robot you refurbished into new, mech-life. you had named it ore after the piece of unknown gem used as his power source.

small beeps of affirmation filter through the soot and smoke and you cough three more times into the cloth you're holding over your mouth and nose.

"flick it left!" you instruct ore. another set of beeps before the shop is bombarded with a force that's almost enough to knock boothill off his feet. the smoke was gathered quickly into a vacuum of air that soon collected all of it up then sequency shot it up and out the of chimney.

the room was basically clear now. all that's left after ore flips the switch back to the right to halt at vacuum assault is the mist of remnants that would soon find their way out the windows you intend to keep open for a good, long while.

you lower the rag from your mouth that had been used to keep smoke from invading your lungs and grimace at it. you had been previously using that rag to wipe oil from a machine you were working on. the very same machine that you had kicked a bit too roughly, causing some faulty wiring inside to shift and ignite. that bucket of broken bits was what led to this predicament in the first place!

finally, you look towards boothill. you hardly get a chance to acknowledge him properly since the moment you turn towards the doors he had come through; he was already at you.

crossing the room with urgent, quick strides, his metal arms clad in his cropped jacket and hanging red scarf wrap around your shoulders. one of his hands push against the back of your head and he doesn't care if the threads of your hair tangle into the groves of his fingers. his chin drips to rest his cheek against your crown.

his head dips so low, cheek and face pushing against your head so closely that the brim of his cowboy hat dents against your skull before falling off to the floor. it falls upside down with a soft thwomp and he can't seem to care.

"hey," you whisper in shock as you curl your arms upwards, bringing your hands to rest concerningly against his shoulders. his scarf was soft against your palm. your fingers thread through parts of his long, white and black hair that rest over his hunched back.

you've never seen him like this. not ever. you were certain that if he were completely human with a full body of flesh and blood, he'd be shaking like a leave. "boothill," you call, trying to get him to hear you.

he doesn't answer you. not verbally.

boothill shakes his head in two small shakes, somehow pushing his cheek further against the top of your head. he was taking deep breaths, taking in the smell of oil and rust and work that you always seem to be coated in. the arm around your shoulders holds you hostage and the one behind your head doesn't let your face pull even a single inch away from his neck where he keeps you.

his eye is still blurry and he still can't see properly. he needs to keep you against his body so his censors can make sure you're alive.

boothill can't 'feel' anything anymore from the neck down. the metal frame he calls his body is just that- metal. a shell that doesn't allow him to feel pain externally. so, he needs to anchor your body to him, so that all his internal do-dads can verify to his malfunction vision that you were okay.

you don't know how long boothill keeps you still like this. you don't keep track of the time. ore beeps confused and concerned once it finds its way back to the nearest tabletop closest to both of you. it's digital face with two oval, pixeled eyes that slice in half like a cartoon character's paint the expression clearly. there's even a small dash of pixeled sweat at the corner of it's 'face' that shows just how distressed it is.

eventually, boothill uncurls his arms from you, and you wince at the small strands of your hair that do end up snagged in his hands and knuckles. when you finally get away enough, you look up at him.

his face is down turned and anxious. there's a cold sweat on his cheek that's come from his hairline and slides past his ear (did he still have sweat glands?). he looks empty without his hat on, even though you should be good and well used to the sight. he often gives it to you to wear when he comes by- for whatever reason.

looking at him longer, you notice something off. with squinted eyes, you reach up and touch his cheek.

"hey, is your eye-" the cowboy jolts at the feel of your hand against his flesh and you wonder if he's sensitive to skin-to-skin contact since this small space is all he has left to experience the sensation. you go to pull your hand away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

boothill feels you pull away and quickly stops you. his metal palm that's still warm with the heat of your body pushes against the back of your hand as he leans his face into your warm, soft palm. his bullet earring is cool against the tip of your fingers that he isn't engulfing with his hand. the eye you're so used to looking at shuts at the sensation.

"boothill?" you try again now that you've both had time to calm down. you really have never seen him act like this way. was this really the same haughty, galaxy ranger who waltzes in every few months or so because he keeps jamming his arm gun, or running low on coolant, or just to bug you?

"the fire," he says. you look behind you at the scorched pile of metal that was the sole perpetrator for the whole kit and caboodle. "are you hurt?" the synthetic twinge to his voice is more noticeable when he speaks lowly you notice.

you shake your head before answering. "no. i'm okay."

"swear it." he doesn't ask.

"i swear i'm not hurt. i didn't even inhale all that much smoke." your thumb skates under his eye as he reopens it. you almost go to your toes to look closer at it. it looks different than usual. like something about it is... wrong? "is your eye okay?"

"what caused the fire?" he completely ignores your question in lieu of his own and if he wasn't so distraught right now, you would've let him have a piece of your mind. but you don't. you can circle back around to his eye once he feels satisfied.

"an old rig i found in the junk yard. i thought if i could fix it up, it'd make a decent heater for the winter months. but, i messed it up and it blew up in my face." you pout at the loss of a project since you weren't willing to go through another fire 101 lesson any time soon. you'd dissembled the hunk of junk and place it back in the junkyard where you found it.

"so that's what is was," he sighs. hearing your explanation, his shoulders deflate, and you swear you hear his body hiss out tension. "dadgummit," he curses. "scared me shirtless. don't do that, sugar." he was calming down. thank goodness.

"sorry about that," you chuckle humorlessly, "i wasn't expecting you, so i'm sorry you had to see that."

you don't know much about boothill's past. he's told you bits and pieces, but you've never take the initiative to actively pry into it. you can tell it hurts him to recall, so you just leave it be. you know he doesn't like fire. he hates the ipc- some guy named oswaldo you think it was? he lost his family on his home planet. that's the extent of the man before 'boothill' you know for the most part.

but you were able to put two and two together. the idea of someone dying and homes being scorched must scare him.

you pull you hand from his cheek and raise it so your fingers invade the right side of his hairline. the black curtain of bangs shift with your movement as you comb through the treases once, then twice before dropping your hand again. his bangs return to their black cloaking nature to his face's right side.

"it's all okay now. isn't that right, ore?" you look over your shoulder to your small assistant robot. its concerned expression it has been favoring shifts into jolted delight as its square head nods with a series of affirmative beeps. a bright green, pixelated thumbs-up pops up on its face before disappearing into curved eyes that blink open reassuringly.

you take both of boothill's arms gently and lead him to the small sofa that's full of mismatched patches of fabric from all the patching up and repairing it's needed over the years. you let him sink into the cushions first before following, you knee touching his.

your hands find themselves in your lap, finally disconnected from boothill and he's just about sad over it. but, he was calming down. and he didn't need to cling to you like that- honestly, he's almost embarrassed over it. acting like a scared dog like that? god, he wishes he could overheat into a full system meltdown.

"feeling better?" you ask. he takes a deep breath and can taste the lingering smoke in the air. still, he nods.

"yeah," he sighs. "yeah, i am." the sound of small metal taps rush around before coming closer. looking down, ore had taken it upon itself to jump from the worktable to the floor. grabbing the brim of boothill's fallen hat, it began the mission of dragging it all the way back to its rightful owner. ore's digital eyes curve up again when boothill and you look down at it from the sofa.

you chuckle before leaning down and offering your hand with your palm up. ore steps backwards up your fingers, dragging the hat that is five times its size and hanging onto the brim as you lift it and the hat into the air. ore offers the hat back to boothill with a smile he can see better now that the little guy is closer to eye level.

the galaxy ranger accepts his hat back, flipping it over and dusting the top of it off. he didn't need his eye to work to know it was probably covered in dust from ore dragging it across the concrete floor you most certainly haven't swept yet.

"thanks, lil buddy." ore chirps happily at the praise.

you lift your arm to let ore rest on your shoulder where it takes the small carabiner you fashioned onto a small guard you wear in the shop and clasps it to his back. you made this so the robot wouldn't constantly be falling off your shoulder since it often makes itself comfortable there.

"so," you clear your throat, "about your eye." you try and get down to business now that the situation has passed. "does it need refocused?"

"sure does." if memory serves, you have a machine for autofocusing equipment around here somewhere. you lean over the back of the sofa, snagging your laptop you keep behind it on a roll away desk that way it doesn't get harmed by all your other tools or dirty by a strong pump of oil or something.

you unclasp ore from your shoulder carabiner. "could you go and find the adjustment scanner? i think it's in the toolbox drawer, top right. if not there, try two rows over." ore chirps and slides down your arm to your lap, then down your leg to the floor.

boothill can't see but can hear the little metal steps run off across the room.

"how does it get onto your tables?" he's asking partially to fill the silence, but also because he's genuinely curious. "figured you'd be cartin' the fella around everywhere."

"i usually do," you admit. "but, i did install small pully lifts with extra wiring and metal pieces i had laying around." you open your laptop and open the screen to unlock the device. "once on one of the metal pieces, ore can pull himself up manually with the designated wire."

the man chuckles at the image of you macgyvering something like that up. "you're dang cute," he chides. he can imagine you sitting on the floor, eyes squinted and leaning in so far, your spine would scream while installing those things. you don't respond. you usually don't to his passing words of flirtatious intention. whether deliberately or obliviously, he doesn't know.

soon, ore returns and hands you the piece of tech you need. hooking the scanner into your laptop, boothill can hear it whirring as the fan of your laptop kicks on to prevent any overheated crashes.

"alright," you let ore back on your shoulder and the robot hooks itself on safely via that carabiner. "let's see what's wrong."

you stare at boothill's unfocused eye. boothill looks back at the blurry image of you. you huff after a solid fifteen seconds of still silence.

"if you expect me to pop your eye out myself, guess again cowboy."

for the first time since he got there, boothill barks in laughter. oh what a mental sight that would be! it's slightly horrifying to picture having the person he's so infatuated with pluck out his eyeball thought.

boothill turns his back, a series of hisses and deep breaths later, he turns around and with his empty eye socket closed, offers you the tech eye he was installed with when he underwent his initial cyborg transformation.

it took 20 minutes and some light jabs from you- 'how did you uncalibrate it this badly?'- before the scans show a recalibrated and refocused eye. you hand it back to him before he's reconnecting it with his socket. the wires hiss and attach into place nicely.

"now that's better!" he cheers when he blinks and is able to see clearly again. he looks at you for the first real time in a month and he's never been happier to see the soot covering your nose and cheeks. oh, you're too cute.

the hat he's kept on his lap the whole process is relocated to your head the moment he could see your face and recognize it again. it plops over your skull and you sigh as- once again, he's making you wear his oh so precious hat.

"if i ask," -you flick the brim of his hat on your head- "will you tell me why you insist i wear this thing every time you're here?"

"nope," he pops his p before lifting his arms to rest his elbows on the back of your sofa. finally getting comfortable. he stares up at your ceiling. "it's a secret."

the fire made a sooty mess up there. it'll be a bitch to clean no doubt.

the hatless cowboy chuckles to himself as he hears you huff with an eyeroll. "naturally."

a/n pt.2: okay wow. this got a bit outta control. whoops? also, i didn't want to gender Ore so hopefully reading the lil guy as 'it' isn't as confusing as i think lol

[revelboo]

Not me about to impulsively splurge on some familiar gen 1 figures (cough cough starscream cough cough) thanks to this lovely brainrot I’ve been nursing with these nuggets of your stories ❤️

Do it!

Everything is Alright pt 15

Starscream x Reader-MIA

• Gone. Venting sharply, Starscream stares at his desk and its complete lack of one small, helpless human. Moving slowly, he checks around the desk, spark constricting. As angry as you were with him, surely you wouldn’t have jumped just to spite him. Not finding any trace of you should have been a relief, instead it just spins that panic tighter.

• Because that means someone took you. Skywarp, Thundercracker, and Soundwave are the only three who know about you and he’s sure his trine wouldn’t dare. Not after he’d explained in very clear terms how displeased he’d be if you’re touched again. Soundwave then. The mostly silent mech is unusually interested in his pet’s well-being. It has to be Soundwave. Any other Decepticon and it’s already too late. Moving quickly, he strides down the hall as a very real fear he doesn’t want to touch begins to build.

• While Soundwave is easy enough to track down, the mech just stares at him when he hisses under his breath, demanding to know where the human is. And then spreads his arms, palms up as if to ask why did he think he’d know. It’s like being sucker punched in the denta. Soundwave doesn’t have you. Neither does his trine.

• Now his processor runs wild. A lot of the Decepticon ranks would squash you on sight. Some would toy with you first. A few might dissect you out of scientific curiosity or boredom. He catches the side of the console, startling Soundwave as his wings flick with faint tremors and his servos dig into the metal he’s bracing against, warping it. Just one thing. That’s all he’d wanted. One little thing that was his. Someone glad to see him.

• And he can’t stop that awful, betraying trembling in his wings. Hates that Soundwave is seeing it as he grits his denta. Because whoever took what’s his is going to pay so very dearly.

• They’re absolute gremlins, you decide as you run along with Soundwave’s cassettes through the huge halls. Or maybe they’re more bored teenagers, because their chief source of entertainment seems to be pranks. At least Frenzy and Rumble’s. The other two seem content to watch whatever chaos the disaster twins, as you’ve privately dubbed them, come up with. Including industrial strength adhesives, paint bombs, and stealing energon cubes.

• There’s something so freeing about being turned loose. Even if you’re sure that if you try to sneak off, you’ll be stopped. But for now, you can just, well not forget, but allow yourself to be distracted. The hall your happy little group has wandered down is quiet and they take turns devouring smaller energon cubes they’d thieved. Snacks maybe? “What happens to a squishy if you ingest energon?” Rumble asks, visor glinting as he studies his cube.

• “A horrific, agonizing death?” You venture, shying away from the brightly colored cube as big as your head that he’s holding out, the contents sloshing. Because finding out the answer to this particular mystery? No, thank you. Anything that pretty was probably very poisonous.

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Might I suggest the Flame Toys Starscream if you don’t mind assembling models, because their builds are lovely.

[just-some-user-hunny]

The Cannibal dragon headcanons ...

(art credit for middle image, ig: dracalyss)

. Cannibal is a huge dragon, the largest of all wild-dragons, but I can't see him being any larger than Vhagar- let alone Balerian the black dread. I imagine he'd be a tad bit smaller than Vhagar- just about. His build is bulky and scarred, a thick neck of scarred obsidian scales, a set of jagged jet-black spikes that run along his spine, and covered in thick taut muscle and hardened flesh. His eyes are a blazing emerald green, teeth sharp and jagged like a shark.

. I also love the idea of him having this 'grinning' look on his face, like a crocodile or the indoraptor from Jurassic world. (His personality screams indoraptor to me, just a mean guy with a nasty lil goblin grin). And with his torn jaw and exposed teeth, it makes him look even creepier and menacing. There's something way too...human about it. Expressive in both his grin and mannerisms.

He's definitely a stare-er too. Something about a monstrously big dragon being unnervingly quiet and observing is uncomfortable, which is exactly the vibes he gives off.

. I like to visualize him as a very 'wild' looking dragon, like how'd you imagine a stray feral cat. His scales are rough and weather-worn, covered in large claw-like scars from fighting and hunting other dragons throughout his life. There's also fanart of him missing a huge chunk of flesh around his jaw and mouth, baring his teeth, which I think looks really cool :) as a young dragon he probably picked off the small and easy dragons, ones that wouldn't put up much of a fight. But as he grew in age and size, he would probably grow cocky and try his luck with larger prey. Due to him being an absolute monster, I'd imagine he'd often come up on top- but not without earning a few disfiguring scars in return.

. Despite never being bonded to a rider before, nor being ridden before in his life (he'd scoff at the mere thought of some little measly human thinking that they could climb upon his back and treat him like a pony), once he bonded with you it was like an instant connection. He is still a little edgy and unpredictable, but there is one thing for certain and that is he is always as gentle as possible with you. He'll press his body into the dirt if it allows you to climb on and off safely, craning his claws and jaw for you to step upon.

. He wouldn't wear a saddle, so you'd have to learn to ride him bareback. Thankfully he has many jagged scales and spikes to cling onto, but to be on the safe side, you'd have special riding gear to wear to help cling on. Rougher gloves and boots and trousers, it certainly helps, even if it's just a little. If anything the fact you ride bareback is a testament of your bond, showing how close and in sync you both are.

. The biggest issue with him would be his... diet, and how he'd have to adapt once he begins to hang around dragonstone more often. I'd imagine he wouldn't eat much, adding to the unpredictability of him and when he would hunt, but as his rider you'd have to supply him at least livestock every week to keep him happy and saturated. Cows, horses, large livestock due to his sheer size.

. He flies quite similar to Vhagar. His form is heavy, and although strong, he is lumbering.

Although at his age now he'd be a rather ancient dragon, he wouldn't really show his age besides a few moments where he just wants to curl up in his little cave upon his ✨private island ✨ to take a nap. In his youth he was most likely a very quick dragon, like a stalking panther striking upon his food. (Being younger dragons and hatchlings). I've seen someone write about him being a silent hunter (I'll reblog and credit once I find them), but that's such a neat idea for his character! He's survived from hunting his own kind, so he's going to hunt differently. Smarter.

. His fire in the books is described as green, and that's just too cool to swap it out with normal fire. Blazing emerald flames that engulf earth and prey, unnatural and mystical. It'd be very distinctive as well, whoever finds their fields or flocks of trees burning and crackling in a blaze of green fire, they'd know that the cannibal had just been there.

. Personality wise, I feel like he'd be cruel and sadistic, but wise and grumpy. Probably cocky as well, for having survived on his for so long and through unconventional means.

He's not a hardheaded bully, he's very tactical when it comes to facing challenges, but at this point he's such a huge threat he may be blinded by his own ego and emotions. If something were to happen to his rider, he'd make sure you'd get avenged. He's ride or die, quite literally. He'll burn everything down for you, because he feels strongly for the one human he feels he can trust. His grief is not silent or tearful, it's angry.

[kaiser1ns]

KIKI'S CHARACTER ANALYSIS ON TAKIISHI CHIKA

BEFORE PROCEEDING TO READ i want to clarify that this is my opinion and my take on his character before we get to know more about him in the manga. i know that the way i write about him is not what he really is, and that can cause conflicts but i am trying my best! contains small spoilers ahead! anyway hope you will enjoy!

Written on August 9th 2024. Posted on August 10th 2024. Edited on

Takiishi Chika is expressive only when he wants to be, but most of the time he is with that bored expression making it look like he is some kind of robot or haunted doll. As already known his face changes when he feels anger or when he fights with someone at his level or higher, it's when he gets happy and excited, because there is someone who will not bore him and keep up with the adrenaline.

He will not listen to anyone in whom he finds no interest. People can talk to him, but he will pay no attention to them. He will listen, catch a sentence here and there, and when someone mentions something that intrudes on him, he will listen without hesitation wanting to know more.

Strikes me as a type who is also very observant. Not only in a fight but when around people in a calm setting. Also intelligent, may not show it because he acts on impulse but everything is calculated.

Likes to light up fireworks when there's nothing better to do or people to fight. It's nice and something he can do on his own.

He likes to sit on the rooftop of buildings and look down on everything and everyone, either enjoying the view or the feeling of power. We again don't know why. But in Chapter 134: The Moment Longed For, when Endo Yamato receives a punch to his face because he stopped Chika's sudden charge at Umeniya, the conversation goes as such "But hey, Umemiya told us to go to the roof with him. It's been ages since we have been there. You like the roof don't you?" and then Chika freezes agreeing with what Edno said "Right. That's true." Then he walks past Umemiya telling him to go there, leaving everyone behind.

The question here is why Chika likes roofs so much, and what exactly does Furin's rooftop that Umemiya wants to show him? My mind directly goes to the garden. Is it to see one's growth despite its roots? What if Chika used to take care of the garden too? I know, it's a laughable idea and seems impossible but what if? So many questions, but not many answers. This is normal, seeing as how their battle is just beginning and the characters' internal and external conflicts are yet to emerge.

As stated, he is violent and short-tempered, he would never let anyone or anything block him from doing what he wants, it doesn't matter if it was a friend or an enemy. He is capable of destroying everything in his path. But personally, I think he won't hit someone if there's no reason to or if he isn't provoked in some way.

He doesn't care about the others, he only cares for himself and his enjoyment.

Of course, he knows many people and many people know him. But he isn't close with anyone besides Endo Yamato, even if they are childhood friends and their friendship is weird, Chika just lets Endo do whatever he wants — buy him clothes, paint his nails, find him opponents. He probably never asked for him to do such things but Chika knows how devoted the tattooed fool is to him, and so he played along. That leads me to a theory that he was spoiled as a child, that's why he doesn't question Endo, because he is used to getting what he wants and if something goes in his way, he will eliminate it.

Endo stated that Takiishi "began to fizzle out when he left Furin" meaning he was slowly losing his spark and maybe fighting out of boredom and not excitement. Chika is "The Strongest Man in Furin History". Probably in his first year, there wasn't anyone worthy enough to keep up with his pace and cause that fervor to ignite his flames.

Two years later when he dropped out of Furin Highschool he became a shadow and it was a few in the school who knew the truth about him, including Umemiya, the person Chika probably wanted to fight from the start.

In Chapter 142: Revelation, we see Takiishi in Endo's memories, and he has always been so aggressive towards the world, but unfortunately, we still don't know the reason why — perhaps a family conflict that indicates him being abused as a child; himself being bullied and then turning into a bully, or he was a prodigy too doing everything before other kids his age making him develop faster and he took advantage of that. So many theories. Hope we know in the future! [this part will be edited once his backstory is out]

God complex which may also be associated with mania or a superiority complex. Someone with a god complex may exhibit no regard for the conventions and demands of society and may request special consideration or privileges. GD is linked to Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) with a diminished ability to empathize with other people's feelings. Even tho we don't see Takiishi being 'in love' with himself, he only cares about himself, and thus I will say he is probably narcissistic but not to such an extent.

But here I think the right word which should be used is Egoist — a self-centered, selfish person or arrogantly conceited person. Egoism comes in different forms as there are several reasons as to why someone may act in their own self-interest, such as ethics or rationality. The three main types of egoism are physical egoism, ethical egoism and rational egoism.

1. Physical Egoism

This type of egoism refers to the basic, instinctual drive for self-preservation and personal survival. It is often associated with natural instincts and physical needs, such as hunger, thirst, and the avoidance of pain. Physical egoism emphasizes the inherent tendency of living beings to prioritize their own physical well-being and survival above all else. In this view, self-interest is rooted in biological imperatives.

2. Ethical Egoism

Ethical egoism is a normative theory that suggests some individuals act in their own self-interest. It is a prescriptive approach, meaning it provides guidance on how people should behave. Ethical egoism posits that morally right actions are those that maximize one's own welfare. Unlike physical egoism, which is based on natural instincts, ethical egoism is a philosophical stance arguing that self-interest should be the guiding principle of moral decision-making.

3. Rational Egoism

Rational egoism posits that it is rational for individuals to act in their own self-interest because doing so leads to the best outcomes for themselves. This form of egoism is based on the idea that reason, rather than mere instinct or moral obligation, should guide self-interested behavior. Rational egoism suggests that acting in one's own long-term interest is not only logical but also the most reasonable course of action for achieving happiness and success. It often involves considering the consequences of actions and making choices that best serve one's goals in a rational, calculated manner.

In conclusion:

Takiishi Chika is impulsive, violent, and primarily concerned with his own physical needs and desires, aligning most closely with physical egoism. He doesn't seem to consider the long-term consequences of his actions, nor does he follow a moral code that dictates acting in his self-interest in a socially constructive way, which would be characteristic of ethical or rational egoism.

The behavior could be indicative of several potential mental health conditions or personality disorders, but it's important to note that diagnosing someone, especially when a real person requires a qualified mental health professional. However, I am not a professional and I am doing this only for my entertainment in the fictional world. There are a few possibilities that might align with the characteristics of Takiishi Chika.

1. Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD):

Individuals with ASPD often exhibit a disregard for the rights of others, lack of empathy, and can be prone to aggressive, violent behavior. They may engage in fights, show little concern for the safety or feelings of others, and may be manipulative or deceitful.

2. Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD):

While not always violent, people with BPD may experience intense emotional reactions, including anger and aggression. They can also have a pattern of unstable relationships, self-harming behaviors, and fear of abandonment, which might be linked to masochistic tendencies.

3. Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED):

This disorder is characterized by sudden, explosive outbursts of anger or violence that are disproportionate to the situation. The person might feel a sense of relief after the outburst but may also feel remorse or regret later.

4. Sadistic Personality Disorder:

Although not recognized in the DSM-5, some traits could align with what was previously considered Sadistic Personality Disorder. This involves deriving pleasure from the suffering of others, which could explain sadistic tendencies.

Chika's behaviour is explosive or volatile sadism. This type of sadism is characterized by sudden outbursts of aggression and violence, often triggered by frustration or when the person feels someone is in their way. Individuals with this type of sadism tend to lack empathy, and their violent behavior can be unpredictable and intense.

In addition, his potential sadomasochistic tendencies suggest he might derive some pleasure from both inflicting pain on others (sadism) and experiencing pain themselves (masochism). This combination can make his behavior particularly volatile, as he may be drawn to situations that allows him to express both these desires.

5. Conduct Disorder (in younger individuals):

If the individual is younger, this could be a sign of Conduct Disorder, characterized by aggressive behavior, a lack of empathy, and a disregard for rules or the rights of others. This condition in youth can sometimes progress to Antisocial Personality Disorder in adulthood.

6. Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD):

While not typically associated with overt physical violence, individuals with NPD can display aggression when their ego is threatened. They may lack empathy and be manipulative or exploitative in relationships, only caring about others when it benefits them.

7. Psychopathy:

A more severe form of ASPD, psychopathy involves a profound lack of empathy, superficial charm, and often a tendency toward manipulative and violent behavior. Sadistic tendencies may also be present.

8. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD):

Individuals with PTSD may experience anger as a response to trauma reminders or as part of the hyperarousal symptoms. Irritability and angry outbursts. Feeling constantly on edge or easily startled.

PTSD develops after exposure to a traumatic event, and anger can be a coping mechanism or reaction to perceived threats.

9. Trauma and Childhood Experiences:

Anger issues can also stem from unresolved trauma, especially if it occurred during childhood. People who have experienced abuse, neglect, or abandonment may develop anger as a defense mechanism. Difficulty trusting others, leading to anger in relationships. Feeling easily threatened or provoked. Chronic irritability or anger without a clear cause.

This is all I can think of when I did my research. Chika definitely has something traumatic happened to him or he was someone's trauma.

But there can be a scenario with him just being born like that even if love and kindness were shown to him. We will know more once Satoru Nii drops his full backstory like he did with Endo and Umemiya.

TAKIISHI CHIKA'S CHARACTER IN MY WRITING STYLE

I don't want to make him too out of character for the sake of the people who like or will like him, as I want them to have the best experience while reading any of my works that includes him.

In many of my drabbles readers will get to see him being more soft towards the female character or his girlfriend as stated in the most scenarios. He is being vulnerable towards you. It is simply the way I imagine him when he gets to like someone who catches his attention: he wants to know everything, is being possessive, is more expressive, making space in his heart only for you, though his ego and pride would no go down but instead they will go up because he has something the others don't.

As I stated earlier, he will not listen or look at anyone in whom he finds no interest. That being said, and as a cliché as it sounds, you are different, he wants to have you to either a) play with you until you break or b) learn about the way you are making him feel, because his heartbeat only rises when he fights.

When Takiishi Chika learns to love, or at least tries, he realizes that he can tolerate people who get in his way, meaning he tolerates you and is extremely important for him to see you everyday. And if his nonchalant behaviour is due to a trauma, you are his free therapy.

I saw people who think he doesn't talk much, again he does, he chose to who, how and when. Even if it's one word, sentence or a punch, he will talk.

In my opinion the way he loves is unique, everyone has their own way to express their longing for the other. He doesn't know what love is, its a new term in his vocabulary, and you teach him the ways of being soft and tender.

He is protective of you, very fond by the way you show him how to do things and he acts on instinct. If he wants a kiss, he will get one no matter what. If he wants get intimate or just to initiate a physical touch, he without thinking twice would. Takiishi Chika is not a person who waits, unless necessary, because when he wants something he will make sure to have it. If he wants you he will get you. He is the living prime of "If he wanted, he would."

But then again he has another dark, manipulative and toxic side. Again he is not good or used to expressing his emotions that well, if he wanted to hurt you, unintentionally or not, he would. I know I'm repeating myself a lot with words, but it's true. Was it with a real or non-existent person, if they wanted to, they would do anything to or for you.

This is mostly what I have to say about him, in hopes of your understanding and if you got to the end of this long post, thank you! Takiishi Chika is not that complex of a character, he is pretty easy to understand in my opinion, as long you want to do it.

But it's my profile, my own way to express myself amd how i view a certain character. I would be happy if someone wants to discuss further issues with our blazing inferno Chika <3

And as the manga will continue and more will be understood, I will give it my best to describe and write not only about Chika, but also about all the other characters. I hope this was a hopeful guide to answer questions if you even had one.

Thank you Chika nation for the support, and thank you for reading and following through my writing journey! More is yet to come (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

[c1nna1nmyr0ll]

Kyojuro Rengoku x fem!reader

Word Count: 0.7k

Warnings: cunnilingus, blowjobs + vaginal sex mention, pet name (my love), praise kink, multiple orgasms, and aftercare

Kyojuro loved how you pleasured him, the way you used that mouth of yours or the way your pussy felt wrapped around his cock. He loves it all. However, he wanted to give back to you. He wanted to provide you with the pleasure you give him.

“My love,” he says. “I want to do something for you.” The two of you are lying together in bed, enjoying each other.

“Oh? What’s that?” you ask enthusiastically, thinking maybe he got you a gift. He gives you a bright smile, making your eyebrows playfully furrow. What’s he up to? You think. Kyojuro raises himself from his spot next to you and kisses you. The kiss doesn’t last long, much to your sadness, but when he begins to move down your body, you change your tune. His bright eyes smile as he kisses your clothing.

Kyojuro slowly removes your clothing with giggles and warm smiles shared along the way.

“You always do so much for me, my love,” he tells you. “I want to return the favor.”

He dips his head down to your unclothed pussy, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. His warm tongue teases your clit with small, short licks. You shudder under him as his hands hold open your thighs.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he compliments. You look away in slight embarrassment and flattery. His hands warm you more with his response to your reaction. You reach out and touch his soft, flamed hair, and he takes it as an invitation to continue.

Kyojuro begins to lick your clit with flicks of his tongue while watching you intently. His hot tongue moves fast, and you already feel like your orgasm is building. Kyojuro does not stop his movements as your fingers grip his hair harder. He knows you’re about to cum.

“K-Kyojuro,” you moan. “I-I’m gonna cum.” He comes up briefly to give you a few words of encouragement.

“Then do it,” he says before going back to your pussy. His words cause you to cum right then, your juices coating Kyojuro’s chin. Kyojuro chuckles at your lovely orgasm. “My love, you came from that so early? Let’s see if you can come just a bit more.” Your face burns from the heat of your orgasm and slight embarrassment from how much you came from just that alone.

Kyojuro begins to trace your pussy lips, hearing your teased moans to his delight. He plunges his tongue into your pussy with little warning causing you to be thrown back. He circles his tongue inside you, essentially exploring your pussy. You squeeze his hair harder, digging your nails into his scalp. You hold back from his tongue, or at least you try to. You did not want to cum too early again. Kyojuro moves his head up to say something and circles your wet clit with the tip of his finger.

“Someone’s trying to escape?” he asks rhetorically. “Well, that won’t be happening.”

Kyojuro swiftly moves back to your pussy and thrusts his tongue in and out of your pussy. You moan out Kyojuro’s name and begin to move your hips along with his tongue. His tongue moves so fast, a pace only he could muster. His hot tongue continues its speed, and you can feel your second orgasm growing.

You know you can’t hold it back.

“Kyo-Kyojuro,” you shout as your orgasm crashes into you. You feel yourself gush into Kyojuro’s mouth. He licks and slurps everything you give him, loving how much he made you cum. Kyojuro continues licking up your cum, and you grab at him. Your defeated state prevents you from being able to move too much. You feel how sensitive your body is, and you’re amazed he was able to get you to this state from only two orgasms. Kyojuro receives your reach, sits up, and lays beside you. He pulls you into his strong arms, wanting to cuddle you fondly.

“My love, you looked so beautiful,” he compliments. “I love being able to make you cum like that.” Your heavy breathing echoes as your response. He chuckles. “Let’s lay here together for a bit, and then I’ll run you a nice bath.” You bury your head into his shoulder before answering.

“Sounds good,” you reply. “Sounds perfect.”

© c1nna1nmyr0ll 2024, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, use for ai, copy, translate, or repost my content on any platform. comments, reblogs, and likes are loved

[kingkatsuki]

Bakugou holding a baby is enough to make my ovaries explode.

Thinking about Bakugou being too frightened to hold Kirishima’s newborn baby. Taking a subtle step back with a small shake of his head as his friend holds out a tiny bundle towards him, wide eyes staring down at yellow blankets with worry. Instead he hovers behind you with soft, inquisitive eyes as you reach out to cradle the child in his place. He’s too cold and brash, too heavy handed. What if he drops him, or is too rough? Of course Bakugou has seen babies before, but were they always this small?

No matter how much Kirishima tries to convince him to hold the baby he won’t, but he watches you cradle the baby in your arms. His palm settled around your waist as he peers over your shoulder down at the tiny bundle. You look beautiful holding the child in your arms, like there is something so inherently natural about it, and it makes his heart ache.

But he can’t bring a baby into this world, not when his job has him away from you for long periods at a time. The guilt he already carries for leaving you alone so much is a burden he hates to bear. It’s a guilt that weighs him down like a lead anchor, an annoying niggle at the back of his mind every time he’s forced into a double shift that causes him to miss plans and break promises.

So for now he’ll keep it locked away as a dream, the fantasy of the perfect family with you. Imagining how beautiful you’d look with that ethereal glow as you carry his child and bring them into the world. The way Kirishima looks at his wife with such awe and adoration is how he’d look at you, like you hold his entire world in your arms.

One day, just not now.

But a few weeks later he’s left you again, promises once again broken as he’s supposed to meet you for dinner. It’s not even a special occasion or important date, but it’s important to him. Bakugou hates disappointing you, but he hates even more that he needs to be the hero. The desire to protect and defend those who can’t is strong inside him, and that’s why he runs into the burning building a few moments before he’s due to clock off for the night.

The smoke is thick, permeating the air as he helps to usher civilians out before the emergency services arrive. Spotting Manual using his quirk to help ease the blaze as he does his job- searching for the people who need help.

That’s when he hears it, the faint sound of cries being drowned out by the lick of flames, squinting through the smoke and ember to try and find the source of it. And it’s as though his body goes into hyperdrive. Bakugou doesn’t even think about himself, or of you as he races through the fires in search of the noise.

Bakugou doesn’t even think, reaching down to pick the baby up as he cradles it so gently in his arms, a large gloved palm over its head to shield it from the flames as he leaves the burning building. Walking towards the crowd, and of course these pictures are everywhere the next morning on social media, the Pro-Hero Dynamight saves a baby from a burning building.

But in this moment he’s only thinking of the welfare of the child, the way they stop crying as he’s making his way out of the building. Wondering if they’re even alive anymore, if he was too late—

Relief floods his system again as the baby begins to bawl the moment he moves to hand them off to a paramedic. The small bundle screaming out among the flames and sirens as he stares down at the child with wide eyes.

She cries when she’s not close to him, like she can sense the good inside him. And Bakugou doesn’t leave, once the building is declared empty he stays with the child. Waiting to hear if they’re okay and whether the parents are alive, a tiny hand wrapped around one of his massive fingers as he begins to think about holding his own child in the same way. He shushes them quietly, a small smile on his face as he begins to imagine holding a baby of his own.

The gift of parenthood no longer a fear that haunts his thoughts, instead it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

Pushing your way through the crowds you hunt for your boyfriend, his costume helping to pick him out in the sea of people as you shout out to him before you stop and stare. One glimpse of him looking so huge, completely covered in soot and ash as he cradles such a small baby in his arms— you’d never really activated your baby fever before but in this moment you were certain you couldn’t love this man any more than you already do.

[calmcoldevening]

Pov: You loved vampire!slashers in your past life and now you met them again

TW: mention of blood, biting, vampire and e.t.c

Characters: Vincent Sinclair, Michael Myers, Hannibal Lecter

English is not my native language, so sorry about misspells. I hope you enjoy it ♡

Mieloji (Lithuanian) — Darling

You have just moved to a new small town away from the hustle and bustle of megacities. Surprisingly, you quickly found a place to live and settled into a small house, beautiful and cozy. After unpacking all the things, you decided to explore a new city a little. After all, you've been living here for quite a while, haven't you?

And now you are standing in front of a large mansion, made in the likeness of a certain Gothic style. The massive building was made in dark colors. Large windows with a pleasant view of a surprisingly well-kept garden with bushes of blood-red roses; a dark pointed roof with neat tiles; dark gray walls of the mansion with peeling paint in some places. In front of your face were massive doors made of dark oak with a neat intricate engraving on them. Something like snakes.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage, and slowly open the door. It does not give in immediately, the old hinges creak disgustingly. And here you are inside. You can see a huge corridor with a large staircase directly opposite the entrance. The interior is made in black and red tones, in some places you can see elements of silver or gold. Huge paintings in gold frames hang on both walls of the lobby. They depict some important people with menacing faces, but you can't make out the text on the captions to the portraits. It's a language you don't know. A huge chandelier with red candles burning on it hangs on the ceiling. Even the very flame on them seems scarlet. And although it's only early autumn outside, it's strangely cool in the mansion. Almost grave cold.

Michael Myers

You notice that your kitten is behaving strangely. Perhaps you shouldn't have taken him to such a strange mansion. The black little animal begins to meow often and asks to get off your hands. You slowly put him on the floor, and he runs straight up the stairs to the second floor.

"Michael, be a good boy and come back!" You mumble in a voice a little louder than a whisper.

Your boy has never been so restless, on the contrary, he was usually even too calm. Even when you first found this baby, he was a quiet, albeit wayward cat. As if he understood you.

"Michael..."

You hear the cat meowing from one of the distant rooms and sigh in defeat. Slowly climbing up the burgundy trunk to the stairs, you hold on to the smooth black railing with your hand. When you reach the back room, you notice Michael sitting on a large velvet bed with a satisfied smile. It was a huge double bed with a gray canopy over it and a carved headboard. A truly aristocratic bed. You come closer, holding out your hands to the kitten.

"Come on, be a good boy, we need to go. We don't want to meet the owner of this place, do we?"

Finally, the cat climbs into your arms and you turn around to leave, but abruptly bump into something. He was a huge man. You back away in fear, landing on the bedspread. You just crashed into his chest...

Your eyes go up, examining the man with horror. He was at least six feet tall, menacing and cold as a statue. His dark curly hair fell in careless curls over his pale face. The man's face was expressionless, and his large copper eyes were bloodshot.

You reflexively hug the cat to you, trying to protect him, and you close your eyes. The man raises his hand and...

Nothing?

Oh.

His big cold palm with rough fingers gently touches your face, stroking your cheek. You slowly open your eyes, looking at the stranger in disbelief. But now his face wasn't so impassive. Behind all this cold facade there was a hint of... Happiness?

The man was standing there, stroking your face, as your kitten jumped to the floor, starting to rub against the man's leg. What a... He never recognized strangers, even hissed at them if someone got too close to you.

You look up at a man, and your eyes meet. Why is he silent?

"Y/ N..." he mutters faintly, and your heart starts beating wildly in your ears.

How does he know your name? A moment later, and the man gets on his knees, hugging you around the waist and putting his head on your lap. Even in this position, he was huge. He covers his red eyes, starting to slowly rub his face against your knees and emit a light purr. Just like a kitten...

"Missed you."

And again just one phrase. But it's enough to make your heart start to ache strangely in your chest. Your hands seem to move by themselves, burrowing into his unruly curls and massaging his tense skin. A strange feeling of deja vu appeared inside. As if it really was before...

Looking up, you don't find a kitten.

"Michael," you mutter softly, frowning, and notice that the man raised his head, looking at you with his puppy dog eyes. His name... Michael? Just like your kitten. You sigh softly and smile at him. The man... No, Michael, he smiles a little in response and you see little fangs peeking out from under his lips. A vampire... But it doesn't scare you. For the first time, nothing scares you. It's like you've finally come home.

Vincent Sinclair

It was a huge picturesque mansion where you wanted to stay longer. All this mysterious interior in the mystical light of blood candles caused a strange excitement in your stomach.

You slowly climb up to the second floor, looking at the paintings and leading your hand along the different railings. A truly blood-stirring place.

Walking to the second floor, your feet lead you to the first room you come across. A spacious room with dark curtains on the windows, inside there were several tables littered with papers and paraffin candles standing on them. But what caught your eye were the drawings. Oh, Father, it was a whole picture gallery! All the walls of the room were hung with old, slightly yellowed and frayed paper. And on each sheet there were different faces, as if alive. You came closer to examine them and... Your face was here. It was almost perfect. The accuracy with which your facial features and your hair were transferred, although they were somewhat longer in the portraits... Your smile is so bright and colorful. Your eyes... It was really you. But you've never worn such strange dresses... And where did your image come from here?

There was a thump behind you, as if something heavy had fallen to the floor. You turn around and freeze in place.

It was a man. He was dressed in unusual clothes for modernity, rather resembling the costumes of the Victorian era. His long hair fell over his broad shoulders, and his face was covered with a snow-white mask. Several heavy volumes of books lay on the floor in front of him. So that's what it fell...

It seems the man is hesitating. His ringed hands are shaking a little as he gathers his thoughts. It was as if he had seen a ghost. Or a goddess.

The stranger is slowly moving towards you, his dark hair flowing over his strong shoulders like silk ribbons. He slowly knelt down, gently hugging you with trembling hands. You feel this cold touch on your hot skin, but it seems almost... comforting. You look down at him, your hands almost reflexively reaching for his hair, gently running through the soft strands. And he shudders. A dull, barely audible whimper fills the room. The man presses closer to your body and mutters something indistinctly.

A simple "Vincent" flashes through your head, and you don't notice how you say it out loud. The man shudders, looking up at you, and your heart freezes. His blood-filled eyes look at you with unprecedented love and tenderness. You're back, they say.

Hannibal Lecter

"You're finally here, Mieloji."

It was a deep male voice that made your blood run cold in your veins. You slowly turned your head towards the stairs, noticing a tall man on it.

He was dressed in a dark suit with a starched white shirt peeking out from under his vest. His entire appearance radiated elegance and sophistication. Those carefully arranged hair on her head, shining in the bloody candlelight. This sweet, but at the same time dangerous, intoxicating snow-white smile with plump pink lips. And, oh, those blood-red eyes looking into the very depths of your trembling soul.

As he slowly descends towards you, you back away, pressing into the wall. The man reaches out to you with his pale hand with neatly sharpened nails, touching your cheek. Only now do you notice how much he towers over you. Like a predator over a prey.

"I had no hope of meeting you again, Mieloji," He whispers, leaning against your neck and looking at you with his burning eyes.

"S-Sorry... But I don't understand what you're talking about..." You mutter softly, feeling your knees slowly give way, "Maybe you're confusing me with someone..."

"Oh, no, dear. I recognize you from a thousand," He whispers with a predatory smile, baring a pair of sharp fangs, "I recognize you from a thousand, Y/N."

"How do you know my name?" Your voice is shaking. It seems like it was too much for you. You were scared.

"Shh, Mieloji. I didn't mean to scare you," His gaze softens for a moment as he runs his thumb over your trembling lip, "I'm Hannibal."

He probably expected this name to give you some hint of what's going on, but you just nervously pursed your lips. What a strange man he is... Although it was worth this name to fly off his plump lips, as your heart skipped a light beat. But this is not enough to believe his words. You're just scared...

"It seems you've really forgotten me, Mieloji," Hannibal murmured with a slight bitterness, looking into your beautiful eyes. Oh, he was drowning in their alluring depths every time, "I shouldn't have let you go then... But I cherished you too much to deprive you of the joys of mortal life."

The man wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you into his cold embrace. Your smaller body looked so perfect in his hands... The pleasant aroma of his body hits you in the nose, mixed with a slight taste of copper and sandalwood. At this moment you feel so calm, here in his arms. It's as if the whole world around you has ceased to exist, just you and him.

His cold hand slowly looks at your tense back, lightly sliding his nails on the fabric of your clothes. Hannibal remembered it all too well: every curve of your body, the scent of your hair and your gentle voice. It was definitely you, his beloved, who returned to him after centuries. He knew it right away, as soon as he noticed you at the gate through the window of the second floor.

"Mieloji, I've missed you so much... I thought I wouldn't see you again," he muttered, a hint of relief in his voice.

Oh, how you wanted to believe him. It all seemed like a pleasant dream. You just moved out of your old town and entered a mansion you didn't know, but this was the first time you really felt at home. You were in the right place.

You almost reflexively squeeze the fabric of his vest between your fingers, and the man lets out a light laugh. He pulls away, still holding you by the waist and burying his free hand in your hair. Hannibal tilts your head slightly to the side.

"Let me show you my love again," he whispers, and you feel a painful burning sensation in your neck.

His sharp fangs cut into your flesh, and his pink lips begin to slowly suck your skin. It was painful. But gradually this feeling was replaced by something like... pleasure?

"Let me help you remember everything, Mieloji."

[cerberus253]

Okay, hear me out, what if.. the eight demon sorcerers, ever visited brazil nowardays in their human disguises, and would actually end up interested or shocked at the culture?

Also, i can imagine po kong and bai tza would be surprised by how many man (not all cause.. y'know.) are respectful towards woman and also by how they react when a guy try to hit one or be aggressive. (i honestly think they would love the fact that when a neirghbohood has a thief around, the thief just gets beaten up and tossed to the ground by the ones who live there XD)

And oh boy, po kong would possibly love brazilian food, especially the brazilian hotdogs, since brazilians put as much things as possible in it! (ya can search it up if ya want to see it) and maybe not only her but also xiao fung would love the desserts they make!

Probabbly something that would also possibly surprise they is the holidays called "festa junina" and carnaval, like, Carnaval may be fine but too crowded, so i think they would prefer festa junina, which hsi wu would definitely love cause he would be allowed to buy those small bombs to more bigger ones made for pranks to just light it up and startle people with it for his own amusement.

And i can aswell imagine how some of they would react to realizing that some kids would actually know how to curse cause of their older siblings or possibly know how to flirt or make ccompliment to girls they like (which i can see hsi wu laughing at the background by some of the corny flirts and etc)

Or probabbly be surprised that in small towns, some kids are allowed to drive in those small italians motocycles, since is actually normal iin some small towns, and maybe get shocked by how old people behave and etc, and maybe by how some girls appearance are more developed despite their young age. which is somewhat shocking for some people.

But i think they would like to spend time on brazil, and aswell find it funny how some of the buildings brazilians do almost don't make sense or how they do their so called "gambiarras" !XD

(btw, how ya doing? also, take your time, drink water and rest. have a good day^^)

Alright so, I have to start with this: I have not been able to touch, think, nor research anything on this Ask for the past handful of weeks because of College work. In addition, my motivation for working on JCA stuff has dwindled a lot since that short period of time when I was bombarded with JCA asks. With that being said, do understand that my answers may not be up-to-snuff like my previous ones because I really do not want to spend all my little free time answering questions in a lengthy format (Ironic I say this at the beginning, before i even started typing. You will see why).

Now with that out of the way, to my Answer:

I tried to make them act In-Character without too much racial hostility and aggression towards humans, and the humans willingly including them. A very "What-If..." scenario.

Shendu

Shendu did not want to go, but since everyone was being forced to go, he had to as well. Although terrified of him, the people cheered when he showed off his fire abilities during the Burning Ceremonies. Of course he needed a larger space than the normal fires the people do, but it was worth it for them. Large streams of fire straight into the air, the sparks of flame crackling like small explosions, the sparkles of magic sprinkling throughout, the people really enjoyed the show. Shendu hated that he was being used and gawked at, but deep down he enjoyed the attention and praise.

People really wanted to decorate Shendu in bright, warm feathers to mimic the legendary Boiuna. Yeah, Shendu isn't a serpent, nor a black one, but he breathes fire and the Boiuna is a snake on fire, so close enough. The only problem is, the feathers aren't fire-proof, so Shendu would have to restrain his flames. He also didn't like that he was being used like a giant doll, but witnessing the outfit people made for him, he conceded. Although it's not his style, he agreed it looked great on him. Shendu saw himself as a godly fire dragon with flames as his crown, cape, bracers, anklets, and other regalia. If he ever When he rules the world, he may spare these people of destruction (not slavery though because Demons>>>>>>>Humans)

Po Kong

She came to Brazil to eat as much of their unique food as possible, like Feijoada, Moqueca, Quindim, Bolinho de Bacalhau ("little cod ball," which means "large cod balls" have now been invented), and Acaraje. Po Kong was not allowed to eat people there (unless they were ruining the fun), so she went for the salty, savory, and sweet foods the most. No food was thrown away at the end of the festivities!

Let's talk about Floats. Po Kong is the size of one, and yes a few of her siblings joked that she should be decorated like one and partake. The only problem is that, unlike unlike Floats, she is suuuuuper heavy and nothing is strong enough to lift her. Maybe she could be a visual attraction? Now, before anyone says "This is inappropriate and rude!" Understand this: Po Kong does not care, as long as it's in a respectable manner (being dressed as clown VS being dressed as a Geisha). If people want to take the time to beautify her to get people to look in awe, she's on board with it. Maybe it's good that she stays away from Floats, just in case any of them look too much like food. Maybe she'll request a Float actually be made out of food so she can eat it. The consuming of art in a whole knew light!

Xiao Fung

The one who forced everyone to go to Brazil. Unlike his siblings, Xiao Fung seems to be the most intrigued by humans. He still thinks demons are superior, but finds the variety of human cultures developed over their absence to be interesting. He somewhat sees most of South America as the Ultimate Culmination of Human Cultures due to many traditions being a homogeneous mixture of different cultures.

The Festival Floats, those were his favorite form the visit(s). While not as impressive as complex building architecture, he did enjoy the immense creativity and effort involved. His favorites were the ones with monsters and beasts as the centerpieces, liking the menacing over the divine. One time he saw a frog based float, and before they tore it down at the end of the festival, he demanded he take it off their hands.

Tchang Zu

Although not entirely willing to go, Tchang Zu gave it a chance after seeing/reading about their grand festivals. Although he's more of Chinese Imperialist kind of guy, the eye-catching and ornate visuals piqued his curiosity. Hopefully it's all more than just looks, with performances being just as impressive.

His favorite performances involved those that required feats of strength and agility while being in a respectable warrior's costume. Anyone who could do the Best to Impress him got a round of applause by Tchang Zu himself. Although not his preferred apparel, he did indulge in the warrior costume and had one made for himself, uniquely with a pair of large wings to mimic the Chinese Opera General Flags. After everyone left to go home, he did keep the costume as a memento and does take care of it.

Tso Lan

He didn't have any particular reason to go to Brazil, since he has no interest in human's and their existence, nor Earth's Life in general. Tso Lan only went because Xiao Fung thought it would convince him to not completely devastate the Earth's surface if he finally had enough of his siblings' bullshit and wiped them out.

Despite Tso Lan's attempts to avoid interacting with people, they did not let him. Every so often while he's floating around, minding his own business, he would catch large groups of kids and teens following him. Once he turns around to look at them, they'd dart into hiding. Annoyed and confused, he was informed why this was happening: They thought he vaguely looked like the Capelobo, a long faced, bipedal monster that sucked people's brains out. Apparently they were seeing who could go up and tap him before being caught. While not entirely on-board with the game, he did enjoy scaring the players, sometimes going up to those hiding to spook them, causing them to playfully scream and run away.

Dai Gui

Forced to go by his brother, he's really not having a good time because of all the colors. Dai Gui is more into Earthen tones, so all the other colors of the Rainbow he cringes at. All the colorful feathers and clothing reminded him too much of flowers, which he hates, so his grumpiness is quite unwelcoming to the locals.

However, some people, mostly brave younglings, would try to put body paint on him. Of course he'd be pissed by this, but once he saw the colors to his liking, he calmed down a bit and let them paint on him. He found it amusing that some kids would team up and try to paint certain colors more than their opposing group. He didn't understand why, until...

Dai Gui enjoyed watching the Bumba Meu Boi event, despite it not being as violent as he wanted it to be. The Black ox Caprichoso with the Blue Star VS the White ox Garantido with the Red Heart, he did not want to admit he grew a liking to their existence after the actors tested their bravery and went up to interact with him. They snorted, he snorted back. They waved their heads around, he would do the same. They're his pets now.

Hsi Wu

One of the few that willingly came along and is actually enjoying himself, Hsi Wu especially enjoyed the festivities, like the Rio Carnival, Boi-Bumba, and Oktoberfest.

I can't seem to find the bombs that you mention, but yeah, he would most definitely use those to scare the shit out of people and his siblings. The grumpy ones would try to get back at him (Tchang Zu would lightning strike him, Shendu would flame him, Bai Tza would soak him), but the uniquely stoic Tso Lan, he is determined to scare the life out of him. I think only Xiao Fung would find it entertaining.

Hsi Wu really like the costumes, especially those that are extravagant, colorful, and bird-like. The feathers, sequins, masks, and crowns catch his eyes, trying to get his hands on some lying around to take home and add to his collection of Stuff. I wouldn't be surprised that he'd wear some at the festival, body paint and all, just to capitalized on the fun.

Bai Tza

Bai Tza missed the days where her people would throw magnificent displays and performances all for her sake whenever she requested. Although Brazil doesn't throw these for her, she can at least be in the atmosphere of one, surrounded by her family. The only thing that ruins it is that Drago and his "friends" are around here somewhere.

Face paints of blues and whites were her favorites to put on, and seashells, sea stones, and crystal beads her favorite jewelry here. When hearing about Yemọja, the Queen of the Ocean, she wanted to pose as her, but the people wouldn't let her unless she acted like it. Obviously mad about it, the choice was being treated like a guest and be herself, or be treated like a goddess and be kind. She picked the latter, struggled to keep the benevolent mask, and her siblings never let her forget it. Never again.

Drago

Xiao Fung wanted to include his nephew, but nobody else, not even Drago himself, wanted to. To find the "Happy Medium," Xiao Fung let The Ice Crew come along to keep Drago company and out of his relatives' sight. Fun Fact: Xiao Fung did not have to threaten nor "convince" The Crew. They simply gave out a "Fuck YEAH" when told they were going to Brazil. Party Hard, ya crazy kids.

Hsi Wu would definitely pick on Drago with his mischief, pulling The Crew along with him to scare the shit out of him. Of course, Drago would get psychical with the three, but they would convince him to tag along to mess with the locals.

Although Drago has similar unpleasantness like his relatives', he isn't as intimidating, especially with The Ice Crew around. He would probably be convinced to show off martial arts, Chinese dances that require acrobatics, feats of strength, and fiery performances. Drago hated that he was being seen like a gawking toy, but deep down he enjoyed the attention, appreciation, and praise. While that's going on, the Crew are trying to get ladies (or dudes, depending on how you view them).

The Crew would willingly put on face-paint and such, Drago would be forced by them to wear it.

[witchoftheewilds]

Dead Flowers

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Words: 2k+

Warnings: mentions of sex, nudity, death, and angst. Lord this shit is pure angst. Joel may or may not be a little OOC here. I'm just going off what the series Joel makes me feel not game Joel.  

a/n: So, I wasn’t sure if I was going to post this. It's been almost four months since I've written anything and suddenly, I had a moment of writing this in an hour. It probably shows from the errors I didn't see, but I will die on that hill. I started replaying TLOU the other night and realized the small differences between Troy Baker’s Joel and Pedro’s. Nothing crazy, but Pedro’s Joel just seems a bit more…rugged? Brutal? And I kinda like love it a lot. @deadneverlander thank you for always being the bestie I've needed and supporting me when I can't support myself. You are amazing. Comments are always welcome. Hope someone out there enjoys this. Much love, Jenn.

____________________

It’s been six days since the so-called incident. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

Spittallike venom coated the corner of his mouth. His eyes wildly took in your face waiting for you to break. He wanted you to tell him he was right and you were wrong, but he wasn’t the only one who was stubborn. 

“I’m not going to apologize for trying to save somebody.”

And there it was. 

His eyes glistened with a wrath that could’ve made the entirety of hell repent. Somehow, you’d found what little strength you had left to not budge under his gaze; refusing to waiver and take back something that was already done.

What would’ve been the point in trying to change the past when there was no Time Machine to do it? When you knew - deep down - you’d be making the same mistake over and over in his eyes. 

He called you sloppy. Reckless. Irrational. Irrational because you cared. Giving a fuck about anything outside of your own survival will get yourself killed.

“You’re going to get yourself - one of the team - killed all because you let your feelings get in the way.” 

It wasn’t about the team. The team was an excuse. The team was a bunch of sad sacks of shits who found a use for one another in order to survive. No, what Joel meant but wouldn’t say had nothing to do with the team. Just you.

You were the unexpected kink in his armor he never saw coming. 

You wanted to snap at him every time Joel spoke in your direction. Your own venom packed response building at the back of your throat like bile - rising up to scream questions of why the fuck did he still keep you around knowing you’d never get an answer. 

You wanted to believe it was because of the sex. Deep down you knew something worse than spores had begun to fester between you both. Something neither one of you dared bring up in case it caused you to go down in flames. Truth was, if Joel didn’t feel the same way, you knew his rejection would kill you faster than Mother Nature’s fucked up creation ever could. So, you kept silent and harbored a growth of your own. One that was slowly beginning to kill you. 

When you’d gotten back inside the safety of the compound’s walls you’d planned on heading straight to your apartment. You needed a shower. You needed to get the grim of death scrubbed free from your body. You’d made it all of ten feet when you felt a large hand grab you from behind. Your instincts roared for you to find the upper hand as adrenaline flooded your system. Your body is already tensing up for the upcoming impact of the wall just before your back makes contact. 

With your teeth bared and muscles taut you were ready to fight. Your shoulder blades touched down on the brick first. A small rush of air huffed through your nose as your back took the rest of the impact. 

“Motherfucker-“ you snapped, your arms wiggling to loosen his grip on your arms enough to get some leverage. 

When your eyes adjusted on your attacker's face you weren’t surprised to find Joel there. And just like that every defense came crashing down. You could already feel yourself soften as your name passed over his lips. 

“What?”

“What in the hell is wrong with you, huh? Why would you do that? You know better.” 

Joel was right, of course. You did know better. Everyone did. You just hadn’t been able to let that little piece of hope inside you die all the way just yet. It was something Joel hated. It was something he knew would get you killed. 

While Joel waited for an answer you allowed yourself to take in the contours of his face. The hard lines of his brow as he concentrated on you - waiting for a response. He was trying for anger but you saw in his eyes now the same thing you’d seen as you broke cover and ran towards the girl. Fear. 

It’d been a flash. If you’d blinked you would’ve missed it, but you’d seen it. Heard it in the way he called after you as your legs sprinted forward and bounding over leftover debris from the bombing. Felt it in the desperation that spread through his words as he shouted, “Get back here!” 

But you couldn’t. All you could see was a small child - a little girl - lost and alone. Crying for some fool to save her. You’d been just the fool she’d been crying for. 

A rough hand encased your cheek bringing you back to the present. Away from the fresh memory that was digging itself a home inside your brain to join all the rest of the tragedy it harbored there. What was one more? 

“What do you want from me, Joel? An apology?”

“No, I don’t want a goddamn apology. I want you to make it make sense why you would do that. You know she was as good as dead already.” 

Joel liked to think he was more methodical than you but in reality, Joel had a tendency to be as equally impulsive as you. He just wanted to pretend his moral code died the same day his daughter did. He wanted to believe he'd encased himself so deep in stone he was untouchable. 

Joel’s reputation of being ruthless preceded him. You’d seen it in action the first smuggling job you’d taken with him. A small group of four of you ended with only two of you making it back. His clothes were covered in specks of gore and dirt and the earth shattering spark of hell that ignited in the dark obsidian of his eyes. It was noticeable in the cautious way he carried himself - even more noticeable in the wary movements everyone subconsciously took when they approached him. The tension in their shoulders rose up until their jaws were baring down so tight you could hear their teeth crack. 

It’s how it had gone with every job you’d taken in the beginning. Everyone was so wary of him - you must have missed the danger sign completely. It wasn’t until the fifth job you’d worked together that he’d started to trust you. 

Trust. What a delicate thing. 

“Do you trust me?” 

The words left before you could stop them. The anger that’d marked his forehead lightened as worry took its place. 

“Why you askin’ something like that?” 

“It’s a simple question, Joel. Do. You. Trust. Me. Yes or no.” 

You couldn’t explain why your mind raced back to the first time he’d claimed you. A part of you wanted that right now. To shut you up with a seal of his lips on yours. 

Shut me up. Shut me up before I regret this.

It had started raining. The storm coming in quicker than either of you’d anticipated. Your shoulders were sore and beginning to bruise from the weight of the cargo inside your pack. You’d told Joel it wouldn’t be a problem and that you could make it back to the QZ without any issues. So, when he’d called to find shelter until the worst of the storm had passed the relief had been instant. 

“We’ll hunker down here for the night. Hopefully, by the time the sun rises we’ll be back on the road.” 

“Sounds good. I’m going to change into warmer clothes.” 

There was no missing the slow smirk that rose on his lips. His body folded to sit on what piece of the couch didn’t have springs and holes jetting out between mildewed fabric. 

“Something funny?”

“Not at all. You’d do a lot better to pack more ammo for your pistol than extra clothes.”

“Clothes are a necessity,” you chimed in response. 

You dared a glance over your shoulder at his large frame. His body finally reclining back, an arm lazily slung over, as he confined to watch you search through your bag. What were you even trying to find again? Oh, right. Clothes. 

Joel was distracting in that rugged handsomeness sort of way. A way you wish you could pretend you’d never started to notice. It was becoming a distraction and one you promised yourself once you finished this job you wouldn’t worry about anymore. No more jobs equaled no more being finely attuned to the presence of an emotionally unavailable man. 

“Ammo is a necessity, sweetheart. The importance of clothes isn’t that high on my list of what’s gonna keep me alive.” 

His drawl thickened around the last and you fought not to shiver. Sweetheart was new and the tenderness of it wasn’t lost on you. Sweetheart was going to get you killed. 

“I’ll remember that the next time I catch hypothermia from fighting runners in the nude.” 

His deep laugh warmed your skin leaving a heated flush across your skin. You tried your best to distract yourself from him. Get the clothes. Go to the bathroom. You felt rooted to the spot. Your eyes took in a rare smile that crinkled his eyes in a way that softened him and turned him human. 

“Wouldn’t that be a sight.” 

“The spare clothes stay,” you replied, your arm tucking your said spare clothes against your chest. “I’ve got you to hold the ammo.”

You could’ve sworn as you turned towards the bathroom, you’d heard him mutter, “That you do, sweetheart,” but you chalked it up to your mind playing tricks on you. Joel wasn’t like that. He wasn’t ruled by emotion and, as much as you fought to say neither were you, you knew you were. 

Joel was a perfect example that your emotions couldn’t be trusted. Maybe that was the excuse you used for the reason you’d left the bathroom door cracked just enough for Joel to have a perfect view as you undressed. You’d blame it on the door being too rotted to move or being delirious from the cold. 

You could feel his eyes on you as you stripped with your eyes trained on your reflection inside the mirror. The moss that grew through the cracks distorting your image and betraying the facade of your calm expression with wide eyes. It wasn’t until after you’d taken the last leg out of your jeans that you felt him enter the room. 

Your eyes catching him inside the mirror. You weren’t exactly sure why you froze. Your next breath caged inside your legs with you unwilling to release it as you waited for his next move. It felt like minutes passed within that brief moment and somewhere within that time your initial uncertainty began to thaw. The mirror was trashed, but it was enough to catch the way his eyes hungrily drank in your body. 

You started to pivot on your feet to turn to face him when a calloused hand stopped you. The dampness of his shirt touched against the skin of your back eliciting a soft gasp to fill the room. The hand that held you steady moments before snaked around your front and dipped lower. You were pressed tightly against his chest now, and the bite of the cold that had been there seconds before was gone. Replaced now with the growing heat that stirred within your bones. 

It wasn’t until you felt the weathered skin of his lips against your ear that you realized you were leaning against him fully for support. 

“I can keep you warm. Would you like that, sweetheart?” 

A pleading sound rose up in your chest. A sharp nod all you could manage as you turned your head those few inches to meet the intensity of his gaze. Joel wanted to hear you say it. He wanted to hear the words of submission come from you, and you were all too eager to give them. 

“Yes.”

With one simple word you signed yourself over to him and Joel sealed his mouth over yours. The kiss was nothing sensual or romantic. It was an assault of lips and teeth. A thrashing of claiming as his arms wound around you, constricting you closer with a hand greedily filling up your breasts. Your nipples pinched deliciously between his thumb and index. 

Joel fucked you hard against the old porcelain sink until it broke. 

Looking at him now, you wondered if Joel realized yet that his eyes were full of pleading. You wondered if you told him what he was giving away f he’d release the hold he had on your face, his thumb lightly stroking at your bottom lip, as he searched your face for an answer you couldn’t give him. 

“Do. You. Trust-“ 

“What kind of fuckin question is that?” 

“A real one. An honest one.”

A few beats of your heart later and a sigh of recognition hefted itself off his shoulders. He thought this was a game. Maybe tell you what you need to hear and you would stop with this foolishness. 

“Yes, goddamn it. You know I do. What does it matter-“

“It matters to me. It matters to know that you’ll trust me to make a good decision.” 

“But you don’t make good decisions, sweetheart!” His face was overcome with a shade of red as he struggled to contain himself. Both hands on your face now as he begged you to silently stop where this was going. Where it was always going. “You think too much with your damn emotions and it’s going to get yourself killed!”

“Joel - are you scared to lose me?”

No faster than the words spilled from your lips did his entire body shut down. It would’ve been amazing to watch him compartmentalize himself away if it didn’t mean he was doing it towards you. 

“I know you are,” you whispered to him. “Let me hear you say it. I wanna hear you-“

Joel crashed his lips down onto yours hard enough your teeth clacked. His tongue ruthlessly demanded entrance to your mouth; stealing the very breath from your lungs. You tried to move closer to get a better hold of him, but found he was keeping you at arms reach. Just as fast as he’d started it, Joel pulled away from you. An apology written in his eyes as he turned and walked away leaving you alone inside the alleyway. 

You knew that Joel Miller was dangerous. You knew it in the wary way people moved around him and the way their jaws tightened until they cracked. You knew he was dangerous, and still, you decided to let him kill you long before the spores ever did. 

[selmasemlan]

Unwavering Resolve

Summary: Bakugo gets a little nostalgic

Pairing: Todoroki Shoto x Luna Aizawa (OFC), Bakugo Katsuki x Luna Aizawa (Platonic)

Author note: I love the idea of Bakugo and Luna being just awesome.

Warning: mention of war

Word count: 931

Series masterlist

Unwavering Resolve

The battlefield is a war zone of quirk-induced chaos, with flames, ice, and bursts of energy tearing through the air. Buildings crumble under the strain of the conflict, and the ground trembles with every explosion. Amid the frenzy, one figure stands out—Luna, the leader of the operation, commanding her team with unwavering authority and precision.

Her voice, calm yet firm, cuts through the noise as she issues orders through her earpiece. “Squad A, flank the enemy from the west. Squad B, hold the perimeter—don’t let them breach the civilians’ shelter. Squad C, with me. We’re taking down their leader.”

Her commands are followed without hesitation, her team moving in perfect sync with her strategy. Luna’s movements are fluid, almost graceful, as she navigates the battlefield. Her eyes are sharp, scanning for any sign of danger, her instincts honed by years of experience. Every decision she makes is quick and decisive, each one pushing them closer to victory.

Bakugo stands at a distance, his gaze locked on her. He’s seen her fight countless times before, but today, there’s something different—something extraordinary—in the way she leads. There’s a confidence in her, a quiet power that commands respect and inspires those around her. She’s no longer the quirkless girl with a dream; she’s a hero who’s earned her place among the best.

Luna doesn’t hesitate as she charges toward the enemy’s strongest fighter, her team covering her flanks. She ducks under a blast of energy, pivots, and delivers a precise, devastating blow to her opponent. He staggers back, stunned by her strength and speed. Luna presses her advantage, her movements a blur as she lands strike after strike, each one pushing the villain further to the edge.

Bakugo watches with a mixture of pride and awe. She’s relentless, unstoppable—a force of nature. And as he watches her, a memory from their childhood floods his mind…

It’s late afternoon, and the sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the park where they’ve been training. The air is thick with the sounds of nature, the rustle of leaves, and the distant chirping of birds. Exhausted from their sparring session, Luna and Bakugo sit on the grass, their bodies still humming with adrenaline.

Bakugo gulps down his water, watching Luna from the corner of his eye. There’s something different about her today—she’s quieter, more introspective. He’s about to ask her what’s on her mind when she suddenly speaks.

“Bakugo… I’m going to be an international pro-hero.”

The statement catches Bakugo off guard, and he chokes on his water, coughing as he struggles to catch his breath. He turns to Luna, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What? Are you serious?”

Luna nods, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun is beginning to dip below the trees. “Completely.”

Bakugo shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around her words. “You’re not reaching a little too far, Luna? I mean… that’s a massive goal. Even for someone with a quirk.”

Luna turns to him, her expression unwavering. “No, it’s the only way. If I can make it as an international pro-hero, I can change the way society views people like me. It’ll open doors for others who are quirkless or different. If I can do it, then anyone can.”

She stands up, her eyes locking onto the setting sun as she reaches out as if trying to grasp it in her hand. The light bathes her in a warm glow, making her look almost ethereal, like a beacon of hope in the fading daylight. In that moment, she seems larger than life, her small figure filled with a determination that feels almost palpable.

Bakugo stares at her, his breath catching in his throat. He’s always known that Luna was different—stronger, more determined—but seeing her like this, so driven and fearless, shifts something in him. For the first time, all the doubts he’s ever had about her dream, about her ability to change the world, evaporate. He sees her not just as his friend, but as someone destined to reshape the world.

He nods, rising to his feet, his own resolve hardening in the face of her unwavering determination. “Then we better get to work,” he says, extending his fist toward her.

Luna turns to him, a smile breaking across her face, and she meets his fist with her own. The gesture, simple as it is, feels like a promise—a pact between them that no matter what, they’ll achieve their dreams together.

The memory fades, and Bakugo finds himself back on the battlefield, his eyes locked on Luna as she lands the final blow that brings the fight to an end. Her opponent crumples to the ground, defeated, and Luna straightens, her breath coming in steady, controlled puffs. The battlefield is quiet now, the battle won, and Luna stands at its center, her presence commanding and powerful.

“You did it,” Bakugo says quietly to himself, his voice filled with pride. He watches as Luna surveys the scene, checking on her team, ensuring that everyone is safe. There’s no arrogance in her stance, no self-congratulation—just a quiet, steady determination to do her job and protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Bakugo clenches his fists, feeling his own determination burning brighter than ever. If Luna can achieve her dream, then he’s damn sure going to become the number one hero in Japan. With renewed vigor, Bakugo launches himself back into the fray, his heart set on claiming the title he’s always wanted, spurred on by the belief he’s always held in his childhood friend.

[baronessblixen]

Today's prompt: 3. "Okay, show me."

Post-IWTB/Pre-Revival vignette: Mulder watches his son play in the fallen leaves. Or is he? (wc: 1,171)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 7: Glimpses of October

In his wildest dreams, this is what he imagined his life to be. Away from the hectic life of the city, of the hustle and bustle. A house in the countryside, a remnant of when his childhood was not yet a tragedy. He had told Scully about it years and years ago. And she remembered. His Scully remembered. And when they stopped running, and when they stopped hiding, this is what they found. Their home. Unremarkable as it may have seemed at first, it holds everything he holds dear.

It’s an unusually warm day in early October, the sun still radiant, but its strength waning, He’s no longer as young as he wants to be – and there will be another candle on another birthday cake soon enough – and his bones let him know. They bristle in the crisp breeze that surrounds him. Scully has been leaving wool blankets around the house as a gentle nudge. Yes, he gets cold much more easily. So now he’s sitting here on his porch, a blanket draped over his thighs, and he watches as his son celebrates every fallen leaf.

At seven years old, his son is a ball of energy. Even from here, he can see the gap in his mouth where he’s missing a tooth. Everything is changing. October may still be holding Summer’s hand, still reluctant to let go, but it's beginning to slip away as Winter whispers ‘come here, my child’. For William it’s growth spurts, losing teeth, and his ever-growing curiosity. One day he will stop running toward them and stop asking his questions because he will have learned everything they know. He will go into the world and leave his own marks. Mulder can already see it.

Last year, William held his hand while they walked through the crunching leaves together, smiling and pointing at the variations of color. “Look, Daddy! A red leaf. Look! It’s yellow.” This year, Mulder has been relegated to watch. And he does so happily because he’s a part of his son’s life. Who would have guessed Fox Mulder could ever be a dad? Surely not him.

Before she left for work, Scully made William promise to wear his beanie. He’d sighed – in the same way she does – and said that he would. Now, hours later, Mulder chuckles as he sees his son struggle to keep his promise. The beanie can’t keep up with his son’s antics. It keeps falling off and William’s face is always full of concentration when he adjusts it back on his head.

“You can take it off,” Mulder says to him from the porch. William stares back at him, as skeptical as his mother.

“But mom said I have to wear it.”

“It’s not as cold as it was earlier,” Mulder explains. “You can take it off if you want.” William runs to him and presses the beanie into his hand with a big grin.

“Thanks, Dad.” And just like that he’s off again, his auburn hair the color of a flame as the sun catches it. Mulder takes a sip from his coffee, the liquid growing cold. Once again, he’s lost himself in his thoughts. Just like Scully has been saying. ‘Caught you in your thoughts again, hm?’ she’d said this morning, slipping her arms around him and pressing her head against his back. So warm. So comforting. Somewhere along the line, he must have done something right to deserve a woman like Scully and a son like William.

“I have a new hat!” His son exclaims, standing tall and proud.

“Okay, show me,” Mulder says back and he watches as William carefully puts a construction out of twigs and leaves on his head that only a child’s imagination could have come up with.

“Do you like it?” he asks, trying to stand still so that his invention doesn’t fall off.

“I love it. Let me take a picture for your mom.”

“Yes!” He’s so excited that his “hat” almost slips off this time. His small body is brimming with energy as Mulder hurries down the few steps to snap a picture. One of the leaves William has used to build his hat slips off and tickles his cheek. He starts laughing, making the whole construction come apart. But instead of being sad about it, his son just laughs, his clear blue eyes sparkling. His laughter is sweeter than Mrs. Scully’s apple pie and Mulder can’t help but laugh too.

“Hey Dad,” William says, throwing himself at him.

“Hey Will,” he says back.

“Can we play catch? Please?”

“Of course, we can,” Mulder replies and almost chokes up. He looks down at his son’s face that’s peppered with freckles and spots of dirt from playing outside. He presses a kiss to the crown of his son’s head, smelling nothing but love and cinnamon. This is all he ever wanted. This is what he’s been running toward. But it can’t last. It can never last. Mulder blinks a few times and gone is the sweet laughter. Gone is the memory that never was. Gone is everything he ever held dear. The scene bursts like a big, fat bubble. It was never real in the first place.

He stands there in front of his porch that’s in desperate need of repair. Scully has told him several times and every time he just nodded, not caring. Eventually, she stopped mentioning it. Just like she stopped kissing him hello and goodbye. Stopped coming home altogether.

He rakes up the leaves, cursing under his breath. His bones are as unused to exercise as his mind is to thinking outside of its madness. In his dreams, the leaves are always radiant. Fiery red like Scully’s hair, mustard yellow, and rust brown. In reality, they’re drained of color, radiating their pungent smell of decay. One time, before all of this, before they even had William, long before they had to give him and their love up, Scully explained it to him. How the leaves begin their decay on the ground, releasing organic compounds and that smell we call autumn. He doesn’t remember if he fell in love with her that day, or if it happened long before it.

“I miss you, Scully,” he says as he keeps raking up the leaves.

“You were right to leave,” he goes on, taking a deep breath. He’s come back from death once before. He’ll be like these trees. Shed his sadness, work on himself, and come back stronger in the Spring.

“I can do this,” he says to the leaves and to the wind. Maybe it can carry his words to where Scully is. Maybe he can prove to her that he’s still the man she fell in love with once.

When he’s done, he turns around and looks at the pile of leaves. William will never see this house, or live here. He’ll never ask Mulder to play catch. But he hopes that wherever his son is, he is loved and cherished. In his heart, he is.

[skinandscales-if]

Maybe Reese and 'there is a prayer in me still' ?

If that prompt tickles your fancy for him.

Atlas | Skye | Puck

⎯

“Think that’s bullshit.” 

Your head perks up as you shoot a sidelong glance at Reese, the man seated beside you trying to cover his hand to save the flame dying on his fingers. He’s been trying to light that blasted cigarette for what feels like minutes now. It’s probably only been a few moments, but everything feels much longer when you’re on stakeout like this. The rooftop isn’t exactly the most pleasant position to find yourself in this late at night, the cold air nips a little too harshly at your nose, and the unforgiving edge of the flat apartment roof smells uncannily like fish. You wrinkle your nose a bit. Maybe that’s why Reese is still trying to light the cigarette— to drown out the smells. You don’t know if the smell of smoke is going to help much, though.

“What?” You ask, lifting your head a bit in his direction in order to prompt him to continue. He takes the bait easily, one leg swung over the edge of the roof. Both of yours hang off, turned away from him still though you’re staring at him now.

“‘God makes this go faster.’ That’s what you said, right?” He responds, shrugging his shoulders as his words slur slightly with the cigarette still firmly lodged between his teeth. You catch a flash of his sharp canines. “Think that’s bullshit. No god can speed up time— don’t even really think they’d notice it passing.”

You raise your eyebrows a bit at him now. This certainly came out of left field.

“Where’d this come from?” You ask, huffing out a breath that you meant to sound like a laugh. It doesn’t, but you’re not in the mood to put any fake effort into it. “Midnight stakeouts make you philosophical or something now?”

Reese spares a glance up at you for a moment, shooting you one of his classic ‘you’re so stupid I don’t even have time to explain it to you’ looks. He snorts and a bit of smoke dissipates in the air in front of you from his nostrils.

“I’m just making conversation. You’re the one filling the space with stupid shit.”

You frown a bit at that.

“I’m sorry, do you have something more important to add?” You snap back, eye twitching a bit as you swallow down your frustration just as quickly, looking away. This isn’t going to get you anywhere. But surprisingly, Reese doesn’t snap back right away. You glance back at him and he’s given up on his cigarette, the thing now twiddling between his fingers as he stares off ahead of you, at some distant horizon between the tops of the buildings and the darkened sky. The silence between you two isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it doesn’t sit quite right with you. You don’t know if that’s on him or you.

“Do you believe in that crap?” He voices again, voice a bit quieter now, though it still holds that sting at the end, like some kind of shy scorpion.

“What?” You ask again, before quirking a brow at him. “God?”

He nods quietly. You sigh, turning to look at the same great beyond he is. You wish you could see whatever answers he’s searching for out there. Maybe then it’d be easier for you two to just… talk. You don’t know.

“Kind of a big question, huh?” You reply with a small scoff that isn’t directed towards anyone. You chew on your cheek for a bit. “Why do you ask?”

This time, Reese adjusts himself in his seat, slinging his other leg over the edge so he turns away from you. Despite the distancing, he lowers his head and begins to fiddle with the cigarette again. You’ve been around him long enough to know the tells. He’s nervous. Well— maybe not nervous per se, but certainly thinking about something.

“I don’t know. Just been on my mind, I think.” He sighs and it feels heavy. You don’t interrupt. “I’ve spent a lot of my life wanting to believe something like it is true. Not many signs, though.”

It’s your turn to pause now. You glance from him to the sky again, gaze turning higher upwards now. It’s harder to make out the stars out here in the city. But if you peer hard enough, you can still spot the flickers of white spattered gently across the expanse that seems to tumble on towards infinity. You smile a bit.

“I think it’s kind of silly to go looking for signs. Puts a lot of pressure on you to make it real. Besides, they’re probably busy. Time wouldn’t mean much to them, remember?” You chuckle, the cold air feeling a bit less biting now as you take a deep breath. There’s another beat of silence. When you look back to Reese, he’s staring back at you. You expect him to break the moment, but he doesn’t, staring at you like you just said something more meaningful than you believe you actually did. He smirks a bit, then laughs back softly.

“Maybe there’s a prayer in me yet.”

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

Of course, dear patron! Here at Kaiser's House of Desires, even something as soft as a mid night rain dance is welcome~

Title: A Summer Night’s Dance

Characters: Kazumi Mishima x Reader (ent/entself)

Contains: super soft fluff, non killing game, smoking

Fandom: Your Turn to Die

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI (This may not be smut, but I still want the above to be followed)

Reblogs > likes

The rain seemed like it had no end, but at least the temperature was nice.

Mishima stood outside of his apartment, exhaling smoke from the last cigarette from his box. He had promised to stop before, but the stress of teaching was beginning to eat at him, and he only had one left. He figured it would be fine.

You were understanding of this, so when you saw him outside from within the building, you didn’t get upset for breaking his promise when you stepped outside with him. Neither of you said a word for a moment. Instead you both took in each other’s company, watching the rain bounce up from the sidewalks.

“You should be upset,” Mishima said, breaking the silence that felt like was about to run him mad.

“Why do you think that?” you asked, your arms wrapping around over your chest.

“Well…I told you I’d stop. Yet here I am.” He paused, hesitating his next move of taking a small drag.

You rolled your eyes, unable to believe the words coming from his mouth. “Kazumi, I told you before I understand your job. Teaching is tough, and high schoolers are no different. Besides if I remember right, that one was your last one. I honestly expected you to have that one done before now.”

“Heh, I had the same thought, y’know?” There was a bittersweet smile on his face. “I sat here thinking ‘ent knows it’s the last, maybe ent will be okay with it.’ But when I did…I felt guilty assuming your feelings. Heh. Kind of a mess, don’t you think?”

“Hmph. Even if you’re a mess, you’re my mess.” You leaned onto his arm, returning your gaze back to the rain as you reassured him one last time that he was completely find since you were both thinking the same thing.

Not wanting to be burdened with it any longer, Mishima dropped the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it, smothering the flames out. One last exhale and the remains of the smoke came out in a quick stream before disappearing, leaving Mishima with a clean slate.

“Now if I catch you with one, you’re dead~” You couldn’t help but tease him, looking up at him with a playful grin. Mishima chuckled, gently ruffling the hair on the top of your head.

“I promise. No more.”

There was a gentle silence, save for the rain. It was a soothing sound. No thunder, no lightning, not even a heavy wind. If the two of you were inside, you would most certainly be cuddling inside.

“Kazumi! I have an idea I’ve always wanted to try.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

Without another word, you dragged him out into the rain, the drops seemingly already soaking the two of you.

“(y-y/n! )! What are you doing?!” His wild gray hair was quickly falling like soaked cotton. “We’re going to get drenched out here!”

“Oh just trust me!”

You put his hands on his shoulders, but not before leading his hands to your waist. He felt awkward about this, but you assured him it would be fine. You began humming a familiar waltzing tune, slowly moving your feet. Mishima was quick to pick up the tune, and tried to follow, though he might have kicked your feet a time or two.

“(y/n)…You realize neither of us know how to dance, right?” Mishima asked with a laugh.

“That may be true, but it was the perfect night to try this, and I still have the perfect, two left footed partner.” You giggled lightly before reaching up and pecking Mishima on the lips. A tint of pink grew on his cheeks as he registered the kiss on top of you now resting your head on his chest.

“H-Heh…you know just how to charm this mess of a man’s heart, don’t you?”

Though the dance didn’t last long due to the rain starting to pelt harder, for what it was worth, you two enjoyed the moment together, the serenity of the cool droplets falling around you as you two danced into a world of your own.

[nanowrimo]

Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: Getting Through the Muddy Middle of Your Novel

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Peng Shepherd is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

Welcome to the middle stretch of the NaNoWriMo challenge! Whether this is your first NaNoWriMo or you’re a seasoned, ink-stained veteran, and whether you started strong right out of the gate or it took you a little bit of time to warm up, we’re well on our way with this journey now—and reality might be starting to set in. 

Beginnings are the easiest part of a novel, I’ve always thought. It’s just you and the blank page and your excitement. Anything is possible! You can do whatever you want! It’s easy to lay down words in a frenzy because you’re building from nothing, so nothing has to make sense, nothing has to pay off, yet. You’re just trying to get from “zero” to “something” as fast as you can. 

And then eventually, far in the future, the ending of the novel will come. And at that moment, even if you’re exhausted, you’ll have so much momentum and you’ll know your characters and story so well that you’ll be hurtling toward that finish line—possibly even faster than when you started the story, full of inspiration and still unsinged by the first flames of burnout.

It’s the middles the are the hardest.

Those meandering, saggy, slow middles.

The problem with middles is that by this point in the manuscript, your draft actually might be starting to look like a book-shaped thing. And while this is great in terms of progress, it’s also really tough in terms of morale. Because for the first time, there’s finally enough material that you can see how messy, confusing, and seemingly unsalvageable what you already have is… and also how much farther you still have to go. 

Then, life gets in the way. You miss a day or two, and fall behind on word count. A work emergency happens, or your laptop goes on the fritz. Friends need help, you realize you have to delete ten pages, then the roof starts leaking. And your plot still doesn’t make any sense, your characters won’t behave, and you have no idea how to fix any of it. You’re lost, you’re exhausted, and you’re still nowhere near the finish line—how did you think you were ever going to write something as gigantic as entire novel? It’s impossible!

There’s a little piece of advice I give myself at overwhelming moments like these:

When the goal or the pressure feels too big, go small. Really small.

A book is a huge thing. It’s way too big to hold in your head like that! Trying to face a goal of that size every single day you sit down can crush you.

So, don’t think about the whole picture. I like to tell myself, I’m not writing a book today. Or, I’m not writing a first draft today. Or even, I’m not writing a chapter today. Instead, I tell myself, I’m just writing this next scene, or, I’m just changing her location from Chicago to San Francisco. 

Or, in this case, I’m just writing 1,667 words today (or whatever your session goal is).

This advice helps me remember that I indeed do not have to write the entire book in one day. I just have to write a single scene, or fix a single thing. I’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. And I’ll worry about whether the draft any good or not, or how to revise it, even later than that.

So, if you’ve been struggling lately or feeling crushed under the weight of your goal, I invite you to try this tactic. Right now, or after work, or later tonight, find a few minutes and open up that laptop or notebook. Don’t reread what you wrote last time and start tinkering to make it better, don’t review your outline to confirm things are still making sense, don’t take stock of your progress to see how much you have left. Don’t think about the rest of the manuscript and how it all has to connect. Just think about the part that’s right in front of you. The scene that you’re in right now.

Remember, you’re not writing a whole book today. You’re not writing a whole chapter today, even. 

You’re just writing this one small scene.

Now, onward! Because the only way out of a middle is through it.

Peng Shepherd was born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona, and has lived in Beijing, Kuala Lumpur, London, New York, and Mexico City. Her second novel, The Cartographers, became a national bestseller, was named a Best Book of March by The Washington Post, and received a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. Her debut, The Book of M, won the Neukom Institute for Literary Arts Award, and was chosen as a best book of the year by Amazon, Elle, Refinery29, and The Verge, as well as a best book of the summer by the Today show and NPR’s On Point.