#stupid space grape

[earlgreylatte]

The Weak Link

Kids and dogs always know who to direct the puppy dog eyes to.

While on the way back to Earth, laying on the floor of the ship, you had insisted that you would pass your new younger brother as your own and take him with you on your travels across the globe as the public school, suburban route you and Mark lived wouldn’t be possible for a purple baby with accelerated aging. Mark had scoffed, expressing his skepticism at your child rearing skills and how feasible your plan even was. You accused him of just being mad that you made him change baby grape’s diapers. He told you to stop calling him that. Maybe you would if baby ube cheesecake would stop reminding you of how long it’s been since you’ve had any Earth food.

Stupid conversations and predictions filled the air as you both looked at the endlessness of space, as the still unnamed baby babbled. It was fun imagining the person your baby brother would become, especially when you wouldn’t have to wait too long to see it. You said he’d probably end up streaming Minecraft or whatever kids were into. Mark insisted he’d be much more cultured and would enjoy something as nuanced as Seance Dog. Maybe he’d be a better artist than you two and create something of his own.

Like comics were actually going to last.

Cradling your baby brother closer to your chest, you look down at his face, round, drowsy eyes staring up at you calmly as you finally reached Earth’s atmosphere, you found yourself feeling something besides dread when thinking about tomorrow for once.

(Slumped against the kitchen island, you watch your mom scrub the counters, the now named baby Oliver asleep in a crib your mom brought up from the basement. Mark had rushed back to his university, you could only wince at the thought of missing nearly a whole semester. Yes, life as a freelancer was much easier.

“Okay, what is it?” She finally asks, turning around to face you.

“What makes you think I want something? I’m just hanging around,” You deflect.

“Because you’re spending time with your mother rather than flying out to the wilderness or staying cooped up in your room,” she smirks, placing a hand on her hip, eyebrow raised, daring you to challenge her.

You hum, readily accepting defeat. You knew better than to enter a verbal duel with her of all people.

“Well,” you start off, somewhat awkwardly, your mom staring at you encouragingly, “Uh, just wanted to make sure you actually want to do…this. Raise Oliver. That isn’t really something people do when their spouses start another family. I mean, I could figure something out, release some travel guides like he did. Stick around in one spot for…however long it takes for a half bug baby to be old enough for college.”

You avoid making eye contact, mostly out of shame for whatever blob of words you just spat out.

You feel a hand rub your head, and glancing up, she’s smiling at you, “My baby looking after a baby? That’s something I’d rather wait to see happen.”

“I’m not going to be a teen mom or anything, I’m old enough to drink now,” you scoff, playfully.

“You’d certainly pass as one! And sooner or later, you’d be dragging around a moody preteen!” She laughs, before her eyes soften, “Oliver is my family too, not because of your father but because you and Mark are connected him in a way unique to only you three. And if you really want to step up, then you can do it from here, write what you want and go off when you want, I won’t interfere with that, but it’d be nice to have you back home.”

“I mean, your cooking might beat living off protein shakes and fast food…” you acquiesce and a moment of comfortable silence passes as you both smile at each other.

“I was looking through some of your father’s travel guides recently, actually. He was so proud when he was able to use your pictures for it,” she speaks up, suddenly, “You two were always going off, seeing what Earth had to offer…I’m sure you’ll pass on that trait to Oliver too before long.

You sniff, blinking a bit as your mom places an hand on your arm before she returns back to the kitchen counter.

“So, I’m guessing you’ll be taking your room back rather than turning it into Oliver’s nursery?” She asks.

You shake your head, getting up to go check on Oliver, “Nah, he’ll need the space. I’ll just take the guest room.”

“Very mature of you.”

“Yup, that’s me, the Mature Grayson, especially apparent when placed next to an actual infant.”

She calls your name, causing you to pause by the staircase, “If Oliver’s going to take your room, at least take down your little video game men posters. And don’t just play with Oliver! I’m going to feed you an actual meal!”

“…okay.”)

It was hard to believe that it hasn’t even been half a year since you first brought Oliver home, the once infant, now a walking, talking kid with the energy levels of a border collie.

Besides being purple, he’s just like any other boy in the neighbourhood. He likes playing on your old PSP and Mark’s old NDS to the point he plays it past his bedtime, he loves to play outside, and he eats all your snacks without asking. Mark calls you out for being unfair, considering you stranded him high up a tree in the backyard when you two were in middle school. He claims you’ve mellowed out, as if you were some raging dog before.

In actuality, your dynamic with Oliver was something new. You’ve always been an older sister, but you and Mark were always at the same point in life, going to school together and living the same experiences. You looked out for him, played video games with him, and microwaved pizza pockets for dinner when your parents were running late, but you also nearly knocked him out in a pillow fight and laughed at his humiliating moments. You couldn’t do that to Oliver. He’s a baby! You’re an adult!

…Technically.

You knew Mark felt the same way, knowing that you were responsible for shaping Oliver into a functional person, one that knows how to control himself, has manners and is courteous, all while keeping him cooped up. Oliver’s world is small, and it’s up to you that he becomes the best version of himself possible.

Better than you.

Better than Nolan Grayson.

But with that said, you find it a tab bit difficult to be…stern with him.

Something that causes Mark to stare at you in shock and Oliver to know to take advantage of.

In Oliver’s eyes, it’s not ‘your dessert’, it’s ‘our dessert’, always asking you to bring him something whenever you go out and barging into your room while you’re asleep to urge you to play with him.

And when faced with your mom’s sharp glare or Mark’s attempt at a stern face, he knows who to hide behind or shoot a pleading look.

You’ve had to bail Oliver out of a lecture more than once.

(“Seriously?” Mark groans, watching Oliver hook his arms around your stomach, sticking his tongue out at him as you pat his head comfortingly. “He ate the last slice of cake! That I bought!”

“Like you weren’t doing the same every time I brought back anything before you got your powers,” you retort as Oliver giggles.

“And you beat me up for it! You literally slapped me just last week!”

“That was for training, Cecil wants us in top form,” you dismiss with a shrug of your shoulders.

“You could have punched me? That slap was way too personal!”

“That self centred train of thought is what happens when you don’t drink enough water,” you loudly whisper to Oliver, who nods back at you seriously.

Mark throws up his hands in exasperation, stalking away, his place as the middle child apparently too much for him.)

So, when you come home after a quick trip to the Canadian Rockies, aiding a geologist who wanted some pictures for a book he was in the midst of publishing, you’re armed with maple candy and rare rocks to share with your family, you excitedly land in the backyard, only to see Oliver hovering in the air near the glass door, clearly eavesdropping on a conversation between your mom and Mark.

He looks at you like a deer in headlights, but you only gesture for him to move towards you, leading him back to his room through his window. The pictures you took of his Mother and Thraxa decorating his walls, your old room now unrecognizable.

“So, someone got their powers,” you comment, sitting on his bed.

He shrugs, avoiding looking at you.

“They’re not against you having powers. They’re just worried they kicked in so early. Especially since Mark was a late bloomer. It’s not everyday a kid gets the ability to fly whenever and wherever, you know.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “I thought it’d be different. I didn’t know—“

“Didn’t know?” You urge.

“Didn’t know keeping secrets was bad. I didn’t mean to make mom sad,” he admits.

“Secrets aren’t always bad. I mean, it depends,” you try to explain, “Mom’s just worried about you going off and getting into fights like, me and Mark. It’s just not something a parent wants their kid doing. She wants you to be safe, and for you to be safe you need to keep us in the loop. Power like ours is…heavy. You need control and judgement before you even think of doing anything with them. You need to prove you can be responsible, that you won’t end up hurting yourself or others. That means telling at least one of us if anything as big as this happens.“

“You got your powers pretty young though, you were out with dad all the time! April told me!” He blurts out, and you jolt. She did!?

“Ah, right, I guess we were seen together for a while back then. Everyone thought I was his sidekick for a while,” you muse. “Well, I might be exactly why they’re so worried about you.”

“Huh? How does that work? You’re Singularity! You’re so…! Well, you’re kind of cool!”

“That’s because I’m grown up now, things used to be different. Honestly, back then, I was constantly getting my…behind handed to me. And I was a bit of a crybaby, so that made things worse, haha.” You recall neutrally, “It wasn’t all bad. I learnt a lot of things, from dad and my own experiences. But when it was, I never told anyone. And that hurt mom. Things are even more different now. We need to look after each other, to trust each other. And, sadly that means talking about ourselves, whether it has to do with powers, or just how we’re feeling.”

Oliver stares up at you, pensively, before brightening when you pull out your wallet. “Are we—!?”

“Now, us going out to get some midnight milkshakes? Well, that’s the good kind of secret, one between just us,” you two exchange twin grins.

“This is why you’re way cooler and nicer than Mark!” Oliver cheers, shooting up and grabbing a hoodie from his closet, before rushing back to you and tugging you off the bed and towards the window with his new strength.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s—“

Maybe you were getting soft.

Oliver: I’m going to be a kid hero!

Mark and Debbie, looking at Singularity: Not in a million years——

*

Cecil: Debbie why didn’t you tell me Oliver got his powers

Debbie: why didn’t you tell me about my then underage daughter’s various injuries and mission turned disasters where both guardians should have been notified?

Cecil: …she told me not to?

*

Singularity: I mean, despite dad, we turned out pretty okay

Mark: um!?

Singularity: what

Mark: you literally threw up two hours ago because you accidentally broke someone’s nose??

Singularity: must be an off day

Mark: your brain damage is catching up to you, and if it’s not that, then it has to be that hole dad punched through you

Singularity: saiyan rules mark, near death experiences make us stronger, it’s like exp, that’s why you’re underleveled

Mark: oh, god you actually have brain damage

Oliver haters dni

Series Masterlist, Masterlist

[frostkissedheart]

— If I Keep It Quiet, It Won’t Break; John F. Walker × reader headcanons.

Idk just been thinking a lot about this idiot,,,, pls send help

— John F. Walker masterlist.

It starts slow. Subtle. It's so quiet that he doesn’t even notice at first. You’re just always there. Sitting on the edge of the war zone with your calm voice and those stupid jokes and that annoying habit of calling him out in front of everyone.

He tells himself you’re just a distraction. One more non-combatant hovering too close to something you don’t understand. You’re not part of the team. You don’t belong in the dirt and the blood and the mess. He tells himself he’s just watching outl for you.

But then he hears your laugh from down the hallway and his pulse kicks up, someone says your name and he perks up like a dog on command. It’s pathetic.

Jealousy?? Oh yeah. It’s nasty. He doesn’t mean to scowl every time someone else gets your attention. Doesn’t realize his arms are crossed and his mouth is drawn into a tight line until Yelena throws a grape at his head, "You're being creepy." Ava doesn’t look up from her tablet. “Very subtle, congrats.” he glares. Walks off. Sulks. Pretends it’s nothing. It’s everything.

He hates it, how he softens around you. How his temper dulls when, even though you're always teasing him to piss him off, you still look at him like he’s not the guy the world decided he was, like he’s still capable of good. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

The divorce left a hole. The ring’s long gone, but sometimes his hand still twitches searching fpr it. He hates how instinctive that is, like he forgot he's not that person anymore. Like the man he used to be might still be under the skin, if only he could claw him out. Olivia said he changed. Said the uniform, the expectations, the failures, they ate him alive. She wasn’t wrong; the shame and the loss and the rage still sits in his gut like concrete. So no, he doesn’t get to fall in love. Much less with you.

He starts avoiding eye contact. Talking less. Keeping space between you. But you sit next to him anyway, arms barely touching, and it’s the warmest he’s felt in months. He closes his eyes and breathes deep like an idiot, like that’ll fix anything.

Because if he lets this feeling turn into something real, he’s risking everything. He doesn’t know if he can survive that again. So instead he stays quiet. Stays angry. Stays close enough to care but far enough to pretend he doesn’t.

Every time you sit next to him, lean your shoulder against his for just a second too long, he tells himself that this is enough. He doesn’t need the words. Doesn’t need the mess. Doesn’t need the chance to ruin everything again. Maybe he doesn’t get to have love again, he probably doesn't deserve it - but he can still feel it, and for now, that’s something.

[seraphicloves]

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍

⊱✿⊰ summary: headcanons with bakugo and a black cat girl

⊱✿⊰ warnings: swearing, suggestive comments, fighting ig, idrk

⊱✿⊰ notes: i have had this request for like fifteen months lol but im finally doing it for my pookie's bday. Happy birthday ml 🫶 im posting it now so i dont forget lol

❀ he hates you at first sorry not sorry. bakugo just sees you as yet another one of those extras who happen to have an annoying tendency to fight with him. i feel like he might respect your tenacity but barely and he still hates your guts whoops

❀ on the topic of hatred, your other classmates half are jokingly shipping you and the other half are just wishing you two would stop fighting. mina is at the head of the shipping bandwagon especially after she read a book with rivals to lovers. todoroki might say he ships you guys only because he thinks it means he wants you two to get along lol

❀ your arguments would mostly be stupid shit like who rescued who, who did better on the assignment. you guys are rivals who also get into fistfights because why not.

❀ bakugo doesn't think much of your swearing problem because he's used to it by his mom. you're just another annoying person who happens to like using some naughty words all the time (him in girl form)

❀ i feel like the way you two get closer is kinda sad but also drama yay. basically mineta was being an S-class pervert and he was literally harassing you.

❀ and it made you uncomfortable so you started to fight back. bakugo doesn't find you until the aftermath, huddled in the corner of the dorm while trying to hide your tears

❀ he didn't know seeing someone cry could make his heart clench like that. But for some reason, seeing you all teary eyed and sad made him want to punch the living daylights out of whoever made you like that

❀ as awkwardly as he can, he tries to comfort you. His large hand patting your back, not saying anything since words have never been his forte. He was used to using anger to battle his sadness, he didn't know how to help someone succumb to it.

❀ you guys sit there in comfortable silence until you explain to bakugo what happened. he'd always hated the little brat but now he was wishing he had uraraka's powers so he could throw mineta into space. how was the creep still in the hero course?

❀ lets just say the nice day mineta looked more like a cranberry than a grape

❀ you guys aren't particularly close after that but he does tend to notice you more which means his respect for you goes up. you're in combat training and you beat deku? fuck yeah he likes you now. even if you don't hate deku like he does he still thought it was awesome seeing you beat the daylights out of him.

❀ the moment he realized he liked you was when he almost lost you. by now hanging out was pretty regular for the two of you, even if bakugo would rather die than admit that he sees you as a friend. and since you guys spent time together he was around for whenever you got crushes...and told him about it.

❀ most of the time he would shrug it off, especially since half of your crushes were fictional and why would he care? he's not jealous! however you started falling for a boy in class 2b which (for some reason) was a major no go for bakugo. why would you want to date a stupid extra when he was right in front of you

❀ despite what everyone says he isn't the most emotionally constipated. it takes awhile yeah but i imagine he started going to therapy during the course of the show so he started to understand what feelings went where and etc

and one thing was for certain: this feeling was love.

❀ he started being a massive asshole after that. he went right back to always arguing with you or ignoring you completely. he might understand his feelings but that doesn't mean he knows how to handle them

❀ he was so wrapped up in his angry emoness that he didn't know you had stopped talking to the boy from class 2b, forgetting him entirely. he also failed to notice the hurt looks you'd give bakugo before you snapped right back into your harsh comebacks.

❀ the reason you guys even talk it out is during a simulation where the both of you get stuck inside rubble. you were both exhausted, dehydrated, and heartbroken.

❀ you just couldn't help but ask, "why do you hate me?" which basically broke his heart into a million little pieces. he couldn't help the way he admitted to his feelings, the way he handed you his heart in hopes you'd keep it safe...and safe you did.

❀ if you two as rivals were bad you two dating is even worse. you guys are the ultimate power couple, able to tear anybody down with a few well placed sneers and snorts.

❀ everybody either loves or hates you guys. mina obviously loves you guys even if you two are constantly arguing still plus with the added of you two tag teaming one person. she loves when she manifests things.

❀ you guys still have that silly banter and with your tempers. but now you guys made up your arguments with kisses and cuddles

❀ you guys aren't allowed to get paired together for assignments because you are either bickering or making out. and aizawa is too tired to try to stop it.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (3; final)

«« 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 tags: hoshi loves thighs, corruption kink to the mAX, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), breast play, p in v sex (unprotected, 1800s contraception will make you prefer it but pls dont do this irl), making out

[AN]: final part oh my god if youve read the other parts up till now, THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it, im really proud of this fic and im so happy so many of you have enjoyed it so far. @highvern betaing as always ty for not giving up on me. AS ALWAYS, PLS TELL ME YOUR THOTS IN THE RBS OR THE REPLIES OR SEND ME AN ASK LITERALLY WTV MUAH MUAH HAPPY READING <3

THIS IS THE NICEST PRISON Hoshi has ever been in, which was saying something, because he had been in quite a lot of prisons. 

But it was uncomfortable nonetheless, six grown men tied up and shoved into a crouching space to be done with as the men that prowled above pleased. 

Hoshi would be lying if he said he hadn’t had to restrain from pushing some of those sorry soldiers into the ice waters beyond the glaciers. He had resisted, the crew had resisted, but just enough to convince them of their unwillingness. 

Hoshi had realised early on that there was no possible way of getting aboard Tigress without somehow climbing aboard the King’s boat first. The king wasn’t about to simply hand Hoshi’s ship over, and there was no indication that they'd wait till after nightfall to depart. 

Hoshi also knew that the King would refuse to have him die so easily in the waters of the Green Islands, his pride depended on it. He imagines the man drawing up the specifics of the most gruesome execution the Kingdom would ever see. Hoshi was counting on it. 

The bounds could’ve been broken out of and the locks somehow picked, but Hoshi also knew that he had to wait. Wait for you to find him first. 

“What’s taking her so long?” Jun asks. He’d been the most anxious out of all, the shaking feet and restless moving making it clear. 

“The bomb won’t…go off still strapped to her, will it?” Minghao asks and Hoshi isn’t quite sure he wants to know the answer. 

“It shouldn’t. Not until she pulls the tab. But…”

“But?” Hoshi whips around. “Why is there a but? You were supposed to make sure there was no but!”

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!” 

“Are you sure we can’t break out and look for her ourselves?” Mingyu grumbles, the most compromised with his longer limbs folded in uncomfortable positions.

“The minute they know we’re loose they’ll swarm her. There won’t be a way to get to her, not without fighting off every last bastard on this ship. They’ve taken our stuff too, we don’t stand a chance.”

They did, actually, stand a chance. But that was only if they were to break away and head straight for Tigress that was empty and standing right beside this very ship. But they couldn’t. Hoshi couldn’t. Not without taking you with him. 

Nobody dares to suggest the easier route, and he doubts it’s just because of what he wants. 

But panic was beginning to trickle into Hoshi’s veins anyway, the closed off brig refusing to give him any indication of the time of day. 

The sun was only beginning to set when they were taken to the ship, and he knew they were near done for if they didn’t finish what they started before nightfall. He can’t tell how long it’s been, and it eats away at his insides. 

Please be okay. 

And then he hears it, the sound of a body hitting the floors with a loud thud, a chortle of air before it’s knocked out. He finds himself sitting up straighter, pressing his hands to bars of the prison, trying to peer out the narrow walkway that leads to the doors. 

And then you appear in the lamplight, haphazard and ruffled up beyond measure. 

The knife in your hand drips with blood, your shirt torn at the arms, your hands bloodied and bruised. 

When Hoshi sees your face he almost doesn’t recognise you. 

There’s angry blooming marks of red and purple all across your neck and collarbone, your eyes bloodshot and red, watering like you’d been swimming in salt water. 

“Who did this?” he asks before anything else, watching you drop to your knees in front of the prison, unanswering as you fumbled with a giant ring of keys in your hand. 

You jam each key into the lock, twisting it to no avail. Your hands are shaking. 

The crew finally twist out of their loose bonds, Minghao lurching forward immediately, swatting your hands away. He picks out a few skinny pins from his boot, picking the rusty lock. Despite the strange angle, the bars creak open within seconds. 

“There’s…There’s ropes hooked onto the ship on the main deck.” 

Your voice sounds like you’re speaking through sandpaper, talking while struggling to emerge with the bomb you had. 

Hoshi doesn’t know what to do when he crawls out of the space. 

He’d had it all figured out in his head, what would happen in every possible outcome. You getting hurt wasn’t in any of his universal conclusions; especially not on this ship. They’d kill his crew, they might even kill the King with themselves, but you were meant to remain unscathed. 

“Why–why do you look like that? What happened?” Nothing registers in his head, not even when Jun is pushing him out into the hall. 

“Get up to the deck and get out across the lines!” Jun gruffs in his ears. “That bomb’s gonna go off with us still on here.”

He sees the canister that lies in the same prison they had just exited, he sees your mouth moving without sound. All he can think of are the distinct fingerprints around your throat and how it looked like somebody tried to kill you before they tried to kill him. 

“Soonyoung,” he hears you say in a broken voice and that’s all it takes for him to snap out of it. 

His crew is looking at him expectantly. He looks back at the door and sees the crumpled bodies of the prison guards. 

So much for leaving quietly. 

The minute Hoshi is out the door of the brig, he finds a chest next to the collapsed, bleeding soldiers. Kicking it open, he can only scoff as he finds the entire crew’s weapons in such close vicinity. 

He feels better with his dagger at his hip, along with the rest of his knives that he slips into the loops. Even more so with the rest of his crew armed and ready. 

“We know where the deck is.” He swallows, eyeing his crew’s weapons in their ready hands. He knew they’d agreed to ensure the clean sinking of the ship, but the fallen bodies on the floor were an ode to a different route they’d have to take. “Don’t hesitate if someone gets in your way.”

Taking cautious steps to the upper decks, he finds more bodies collapsed onto the floor, bleeding and unconscious. He opts to ask you the details later, wondering how you were able to take down all these guards by yourself. 

It isn’t until they reach the stairs that lead to the main deck that he comes across a guard. 

Before the witness can raise any alarm, Hoshi’s slamming the butt of his dagger into the side of his head, knocking him clean unconscious as he falls off the side of the short railing. 

Clambering up the steps as quietly as possible, he raises a hand behind him to signal his crew to halt, peering into the main deck first. 

The sun is still out, but low in the sky as it dips in the sky. There’s a few people on the deck, pacing and moving about in preparation for departure. Angling his gaze, he finds ropes suspended over the edge of the railing, parallel to the water. 

He can’t see Tigress, but he knows that’s what the ropes are hooked on to. 

“Jun,” he beckons. “How long till the bomb on the other ship goes off?”

The bomb Jun had planted in the first ship they had arrived in should be going off any time now, and Hoshi finds himself needing it to go off now. 

Jun barely opened his mouth to reply when the ship shuddered. 

For a moment, Hoshi thinks the bomb in the brigs had gone off, but when he finds the clambering of boots to one side of the ship, opposite to where the ropes tied to Tigress, he realises their surrogate ship had given its last gift to the crew. 

The rest of the ship would be bounding to the main deck to inspect the noise soon, so he shoots a quick, “Hurry!” behind him before stepping onto the main deck. 

The entire deck is occupied with the ship that lies a ways away across the expanse of sea, the beginnings that would soon lead the entire ship to be engulfed in flames. It’s tilting at a dangerous angle. 

Hoshi stands as he uses the crew straight towards the ropes that lead to Tigress. Glancing, he finds Mingyu and Chan already hanging on the suspended ropes, making their way towards the empty deck of their ship. 

Hoshi keeps his eyes on the occupied men on board, still staring at the lightshow that was their old ship. It isn’t until one of them turns, eyes towards the stairs that lead to the lower decks, that his eyes dart to the unfamiliar men on the deck. 

“Fuck,” Hoshi curses, before lunging, grabbing the man by the shoulders and covering his mouth, dragging him wordlessly to the edge before throwing him off the ship and into the icy waters below. 

“Go!” he hears you rasp brom behind him, ushering him to the ropes. 

The crew is gone, Jun making the last jump to land on the deck. They’re running around, pulling ropes and fastening the sails to push the ship off into open waters as soon as possible. 

There’s two ropes that tie the two ships together, and Hoshi ushers you onto one of them, pushing you to suspend yourself before he follows. 

“There’s not enough time, go to the other one!” you tell him, pushing him to hold onto the other tattered rope. 

Soonyoung eyes your state, “Are you sure you can—”

“Yes! I promise I can, please, before they cut both the ropes.”

So he trusts you, eyes straight ahead to the railing of his ship, gripping the rough, frayed rope to push himself towards the deck. His hands burn, but he finds himself moving ever closer to his final destination. 

His hand grabs hold of the wooden railing of his Tigress at long last, pulling himself onto the deck of his beloved ship. Immediately whipping his head to his right, he tries to find you reaching the ship with him. The crew is preoccupied in attempting to get the ship ready for departure, he finds your form nowhere. 

When he looks back, the rope he had climbed was gone, leaving gaping space in its absence. He trails the second rope, from the hook that had dug into the railing of Tigress’s wood, trailing it to the naval ship’s deck. 

What he sees puts his heart in his throat. 

You stand on the deck of your father’s ship, swarmed by now alert guards and soldiers who swarm you, yelling profanities and orders as they watch their prisoners get away right in front of them. 

Hoshi watches as you lift your dagger, and cut the last rope that ties you together, free to fall and hit against the hull of his ship.

He calls out your name in what could only be described as a guttural scream. 

His crew halts whatever it was they were doing, taking the steps to realise what had just happened. 

Hoshi’s boot meets the top of the railing, ready to take the plunge into the water. He’d climb back up the ship and get you out. He doesn’t know what you were thinking, what he was thinking when he left you there, but he’d get you out. 

Arms pulling him, he’s yanked back and positively thrown onto the deck.

“What is wrong with you?” Minghao yells, pushing his captain back as he springs up. 

“She—”

Your father emerges from the crowd of guards and soldiers that run rampant on the deck, approaching you at the railing of the main deck. 

Hoshi sees the hand that remains on his shoulder, the blood that covers the still bleeding wound, the effort it takes him to simply walk. 

The bruises on your neck, the wound at his shoulder that looks like it was slashed through by a knife. 

And then it clicks in Hoshi’s head, what had truly happened in the hours that you were out of his sight. And all he sees is red.

WITH THE WAY THE words on the pages seem to double, you would’ve thought you were going mad. 

You’re a child, barely grown into your own body as you sit in the dimly lit library of the palace, utterly exhausted, wishing to be anywhere but sitting at the wooden desk with your name on it. The moon barely shone through the window, your only source of light the fireplace that burned in the corner and your lamplight. 

It was a time where you felt like you could prove yourself, that perhaps, the reason your father refused you his approval was because you were simply not working hard enough. And now, at an hour where you should be fast asleep in your four poster bed, you attempt to understand diplomatic structures and everything that made your country what it was. 

It was late, and there was nothing you would’ve liked more than to put your head on the table and rest your eyes for a few tantalising seconds, which you do, right over the book you were reading. 

You awoke in the same place, shaken awake by a panicked looking servant, the sun shining through the great windows of the palace library.

It seems your disappearance from your bedchambers had put the entire palace in disarray, not realising the princess was fast asleep behind the giant pile of books other servants had already skimmed past thrice. 

Not only were you unable to recite the rankings of the constitutions with the vigour your father required, but you were unable to give him a reason as to why you were absent for both breakfast and morning lessons. 

He made the servants kneel in the throne room for hours, and did not fail to tell you that it was all your fault.

And now, in the ice cold of the Green Islands, old and wise enough to know that your father simply needed a reason to despise his heir, you accept the hands around your throat as his final act of terror. 

Red faced and arms shaking, your father does not speak to you as he presses down on your windpipe with all his might. Your vision is going dark and splotchy, and you decide, for a moment, to let him have this moment. 

He’s too preoccupied in applying his pressure to realise that you’ve raised your right foot enough for your hands to fish out your knife from its place, taking positivity in the handle of your knife that fits in your hand. 

Before you can lose consciousness, you raise your arm high, and plunge it directly into his neck. 

Howling, he releases you from his hold, both of you dropping to the floor of the ship with a resonating thud. You cough, sputter and hack, cold hands finding your now warm neck. 

Your father lays clutching his shoulder as he remains in agony on the floor, and you realise you missed the crucial plunge in your own disarray. 

It was good enough, rendering the old man incapable of finding his bearings. 

You watch as he writhes on the floor of the quarters that almost became your figurative deathbed, the same hands that wrapped around his own daughter’s throat now clutching the shallow wound that renders him useless. 

Standing over him, throwing your own shadow on his body, you feel a surge of power, a rush of adrenaline that shoots straight to your head. Perhaps this was your circulation returning from the deprivation, but you let the feeling imprint in your soul, let your father’s broken figure bring you satisfaction.

You leave him there, writhing in pain, digging your knife under the lock of the quarters, pulling back to break it away from the door. The guards stationed outside do nothing as you leave, and it isn’t until you’ve taken to lower decks that you hear the distinct yell of, “Your Majesty!”

Two more guards, who don’t expect an altercation from their princess, simply buffer as you send your knife plunging into them both. You do it deep this time. 

Nobody was innocent, you knew these people as your father’s closest men, and knew that all of them were to remain silent as their King murdered his daughter. And when the remorse doesn’t do that thing where it trickles in after doing a bad thing, you decide you weren’t part of the innocents either.

It’s easier than you would’ve expected to get to the crew in the brig, letting out a sigh of relief as you appreciate the familiarity of people on your side. 

And when Hoshi took his place to guide everyone out and into the open space of the main deck, you let your racing mind rest and decide to trust the man in whatever decision he made to lead you all out. And he did, he led himself and his crew right into the ship that was theirs, safe and where they would have the upper hand. 

Hoshi didn’t know it when he climbed onto the ropes that lead to his boat that he wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t stayed, hadn’t used your voice of authority to keep the soldiers from attempting to shoot at the escapees, cut the rope while Hoshi remained suspended from it, still only halfway there. 

You didn’t look at him when you sliced both ropes before either party could pull back, didn’t register him screaming your name across the void, pretending it wasn’t taking everything out of your strength.

But you couldn’t jump into the water, not now when a dozen of the royal guards remained ready to take the plunge to save their princess as their duty. The same guards that would comply with their king when told the princess was dead for reasons they all knew but were to forget. 

The bomb had to go off first, and you had to keep them away from hooking another line to the ship in the meantime. You were operating on a flawed plan and an overenthusiastic crowd of guards that were moments away from shooting a canon straight into the side of the disconnected pirate ship.  

The distraction comes in the form of your father parting the crowd of soldiers like the red sea, swatting every soldier that attempts to help his bleeding form for anything it was worth. He approaches you at the railing, and for once, you don’t look at the ground in his presence. 

“Bold,” he heaves, the effort in his voice apparent. “Bold of you to think you could slip away.”

“I haven’t tried to slip away, father,” you correct. “I’ve stayed right here, even after you failed to kill me. And I, you.” 

“Nobody is going to listen to you, child. Give in. This is the easy way out,” he says. 

As if on cue, Jun’s bomb goes off for the second time, but this time the ship shudders with more force. It has your father unbalance and fall, along with multiple other soldier’s stumbling. You grip the railing tight, counting on your father’s need to live. 

Despite your horrid throat and the ache in your body, you announce as loud as you can. “The bomb is in the brig, this ship is sinking.”

The fallen king trembles in a rage you had never quite seen before. Any other time of your life, you would’ve wished for the ground to swallow you whole to be the subject of such anger. 

Except, in the setting sun, a burning ship in the background, a pirate ship that awaits you, and the ground beneath your feet that was actively sinking into the freezing water; you smile at your doomed King. 

“Get to the brig! Secure the lower decks, do not let this ship sink or so help me God!” His voice rings across the deck, spittle blowing from his mouth at the situation. 

And just like that, your father gives you the final gift of clearing the main deck out for you, leaving but a few straggling soldiers that are too preoccupied with either the sinking ship or their bleeding sovereign. 

Looking back, you find the crew of Tigress standing at the railing, you find Hoshi already half over the edge and send him a slow nod. 

Turning back to your father that remains on the floor of the ship that would become his coffin, you utter your next words; for yourself, and the girl that was every second before this, all the way to her first ever memory of sad:

“You’ve taught me to be a ruler fit to be the best for our Kingdom. Consider your death my first act of service for the Crown.”

And then you jumped into the darkening void of the waters below. 

THE COLD FEELS LIKE every nerve in your body ceased to work. 

It was nothing at first, the temperature so intense it had your body numb in the face of shock. And then it grew, to a striking cold, and then a feeling that pricked every inch of your skin like a million needles plunging into your body. It was only getting worse with each passing second, before it was so painful it was hot, going from cold to searing and blistering like you’d plunged into the licks of flames. 

Nowhere in your body did you find a rational sense of mind, something to tell you to kick, flail or float. The warped sky was an orange through the green, only more vibrant. Like there were two ships actively burning on the surface of this water. 

Hoshi’s face appears behind your closing eyelids, like a mirage or a taunt. Like he was there with you when he wasn’t. 

Would he come for you? Would he take the plunge for the girl he held in his arms, promising her something to fill the gap of a companion, right before she killed her own? 

You’d given him what he wanted; your father, his worst enemy, dying as he sank slowly into the bottom of the ocean. You’d run your course of use, and if he was as smart as people claimed, he’d leave you to suffer the same fate as your father. 

He could find his freedom elsewhere. 

And you would find your freedom in the close of your eyes, and the sinking feeling of nothingness. 

Except, you feel a hardness against your body, stronger even than the current of the waters. Moving impossibly upwards, you remember opening your eyes to find a leather cord suspended in the float of the water, before you remember nothing. 

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.  

But as unnatural as it seemed, Hoshi had no inclination to register anything but the way the ship in front of him tilts so far out it's already half submerged in the waters. He’d assumed they might have to ready the cannons, but with the way debris and hollowed wood floats in the waters below, they would not need to. 

The King was about to be introduced to Davy Jones’ Locker at the hands of his enemy and successor, but Hoshi could not care enough right now to relish in it. 

Right now, he stares at the direct circumference of water your body had made contact with and disappeared into, like the world would explode if he lost his place. 

“Should I jump as well?” Mingyu asks, already half taking his boots off. However, when the man turns to find his captain gone, he lurches over the railing to find his captain diving into the water through all the debris.

Hoshi lets the momentum of his dive take him as further down as possible, whipping his head around as soon as his eyes open into the abyss. The water ripples and erupts in showers of bubbles as broken pieces of ship come apart to fall into the water. It blurs his vision immensely, any ripple that could be you in the water coming out to be yet another piece of wasted wood. 

The deeper he goes, the more the water presses into his ears. He was a good swimmer, good at holding his breath when needed, but even he had limits. 

When he cannot see any sign of you, he begins to feel the churning of something skin to panic brew. Panic was never good, not this deep in the water. 

Twisting and turning, flailing about in place, moving dangerously closer to the burning ship that continued to drop flaming bits of killing slabs, he finds no sign of you in the water. 

Instead, he watches men in uniform sink deeper and deeper in their failed attempts to stay afloat. 

All he can think about is if they were losing the battle for air, then so were you, somewhere deeper in the void than he was. He prays that he’s looking aimlessly, that you’ve already somehow made your way to the surface by yourself, and you were safe on the deck. 

The beaded bracelet that remained on his wrist, but belonged to you. 

“A reason for you to come out of this alive.”

Even without the encasing on his wrist, you had given him more than enough reason to want to come out of this alive, to want to live beyond just for himself and his duty to the crew he’d taken in. 

He chose the life of a pirate because it was his only out, and every member of his crew that he recruited in succession, he acted as the hand he had needed so desperately in that awful brothel where his mother despised him and his father, a faceless man of Port Ash. 

Amphitrite was not kind, it was a lesson he learned quickly in his first ventures out at sea. So he too, had to learn to be unkind, to survive in the horrid bellies of ships that weren’t his own. And when Tigress came into his life like a vessel of hope, he found a home in her merciful wood, in the ship that he could call his very own. 

Hoshi lived as a free man on his ship, with his crew that had become his brothers in ways beyond what the thick of blood could offer. He did not care if he lived or died after that, as long as it was on his ship, in the waters that held no quarter for anyone, but gave him everything that nothing else could give him. 

And so when you approached him with a proposal so bizarre yet so apt for a man like him, he could not refuse. It may have been the way he saw himself in you, terrified of the prospects  but thirsting for an escape more than the fear that came with it. 

Besides, the king was a nuisance that needed to go, and he found himself agreeing to play the hand too complicated for you. 

What he did not expect was to end up here, in the depths of the ocean in the most uninhabitable part of the earth, trying to pull you out of the cold, unrelenting sea. 

Hoshi realises in that moment that this might ruin him, the possibility of breaking the surface without you. 

He decides that if the heavens do not let him find you, he would simply drown in the same waters that gave him purpose, and find peace with the idea that he would lay rest in the same waters as the person who might have given him something more. 

Kwon Soonyoung, the deadliest pirate to cleave the seas, was in love with you. A princess, so undeserving of a man like him; a bastard, a rogue, a good for nothing criminal. 

And when he spots the all too familiar build of your form, the linen shirt under the corset he had tied for you just hours ago, the dark brown trousers that signified the change he’d brought into your life, he swore to leave everything he’d ever known to thank the skies and seas for bringing him to you.

His burning lungs, screaming and searing for air, grabbing for your suspended arm that looked as defeated as your closed eyes. Tugging you towards him, he wraps his arm around you to press you to him as tight as he could. 

Relief. And with the warm sting in his eyes that he doubted was from the salt in the water, he’s sure of everything he’s felt with the feeling of you in his arms. 

With the bruising on your neck, the bleeding wound in your father’s shoulder, he finds it within his breaking body to begin kicking upwards. 

Every limb, every cell, every hint of life in his body shrieked with its efforts to make him stop. There was no air in his lungs and he’d lost track of time in his search for you, he doesn’t know how long he has. 

But if the blots of nothingness in his eyes were anything to go with, he doesn’t presume he has much. In a last ditch effort, he attempts to kick his boots off to weigh him down a little less, holding your dead weight tighter than anything. 

He was so close, he could feel the warmth of the upper levels of the water change in its temperature on his skin. The glow was near blinding as the orange refracted on the disrupted surface of the ocean, so close yet so far. 

Inch by inch, kick by kick, memory by memory, he does everything left in his drained power to touch the surface. 

And he does, breaking out hand first into the burning air of the world above, taking the longest gasp of air he ever has in his life. Once he’s sure he knows where he is, he pushes you up further on his chest, your head resting against his collarbone, still unconscious. 

“Stay with me, princess,” he pants into your ear, hoping you could hear. “I’ve got you.”

Chan and Mingyu are in the water beside him, pushing him towards the pulley that awaited them. 

Mingyu makes an attempt to take your weight of his already struggling captain, but Hoshi finds himself holding on to you tighter, simply urging him to help him back on the deck. 

The minute your head hits the wood of the deck, he’s checking your pulse. There’s no regard for the chaos that ensues around Tigress, both him and his crew too preoccupied with the way you were not breathing. 

“I–I can’t feel anything,” he stutters his words as Seungkwan places a less panicked hand at your neck, under your nose. 

“It’s weak, she’s taken in too much water.”

In an instant, he reaches for his knife at his hip, only to realise it was gone, lost somewhere in his rescue. 

“Knife,” he rasps before repeating louder. “Someone give me a knife!” 

The minute a hilt is in his hands, he’s pushing you over, to reach the back of your constricting corset, pushing his knife into the complicated sailing knot he’d tied it into before, breaking it free. With both hands, he takes hold of the top of the corset and rips it clean in half. 

Turning you back over, he presses his hands over your clothed stomach, pushing into it with all his strength in an attempt to get the water out of your system. He keeps his eyes on your face, and when he sees no sign of you coming round, he feels another set of hands pushing him off. 

Seungkwan takes over for his weakened captain, pushing into your stomach harder, attempting to get a break out of you. 

“Why isn’t she coming around, what’s going on?” He throws the question aimlessly as he takes your unmoving face in his hands, trembling from everything. 

Only a moment later, he hears the glorious sound of you sputtering like something was stuck in your throat, promptly spilling out an ungodly amount of water onto the deck as you retch loudly. 

Sitting up from the force, your hands clamp onto the deck as you cough and heave, Hoshi’s hand coming behind you to thump your back hard, pushing you to throw up any remaining seawater from your body. 

The sight of your back moving up and down, the audible sound of you taking in air; it was enough for Hoshi to simply lay on the deck and pass out. 

You rear your head and look up at him, both of you still breathing heavily. 

“You’re okay,” he assures, gulping. He takes your face in hands cupping it very gently as he speaks to you. “Go with Seungkwan, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Nodding, you let yourself be helped up by the rest of the crew, watching as you’re led to the lower decks of the ship. 

“Open your shirt, let me see the wound,” Mingyu says, and Hoshi doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Looking down, he sees his shirt soaked in red, sticking to a wound on the right side of his torso. He didn’t even know where he got it. 

It looks like a shallow gash, but enough to leave a scar. He takes it better to have it tended to while he was still high on adrenaline and he couldn’t feel much of the pain. 

By the time Mingyu and Minghao are done cleaning him up and Hoshi’s standing upright with wobbly legs, he finds the two burning ships beyond his own mere floating structures of wood that were in slow flame. There’s too much debris, too many bits of everything that bob in the large expanse of water to make out any bodies. 

“There’s nobody,” Mingyu tells him. “Most of them were in lower decks when it all went down. Trapped themselves.”

“And…?” he asks in silence. 

“He stayed on the deck until it sank,” Minghao informs. “Yelling about how he…about how he should’ve finished her when he had the chance.”

“Horrible king and somehow an even worse father,” Mingyu scoffs. “Made it better to watch him die.”

“He didn’t suffer enough,” Hoshi croaks as the marks on your throat dot his vision. 

Just then, floating in the water, illuminated by the final streaks of setting light, Hoshi sees it. A darkened purple cloth right next to the hull.

“That,” he points out. “Get that out of the water.”

The late king’s purple cape laid on the deck of Tigress, darkened with water, but also with his blood.

To the Kingdom, this cape would be the last piece of their King that was gone too soon. But for every person on this ship, it would forever be their spoils of war.

Hoshi makes sure the cape will be dried and stored, ordering his crew to begin their slow journey out of the Green Islands, before he too crumples onto the deck unconscious. 

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element. 

Something about how he seemed to beam, like this ship was charging him a different kind of energy. It was infectious, the rest of the ship decreasingly sour as they put on musical performances on the main deck while they cleaned the floors. 

As relieved as you felt, the tight ball of anxiety refused to leave the pit of your stomach as you grew closer to the Kingdom. Nothing could prepare you for the shitstorm you’d have to deal with the moment you’d step onto the soil off a pirate ship of all things—let alone as Queen. 

The first few days following the ship's exit from the Green Islands were difficult, if that was all you had to describe it. You took to your hammock for most of the day, curled up as you pretended to sleep, only waking up when one of the crew would come down to force feed you and to make sure you hadn’t died. 

You knew they were doing all this to make you feel better, and somehow it was working. More than halfway through your journey, you began to feel more like yourself, emerging from your cave to visit the deck on times other than the nights. 

Even now, as you sit on the floor of the deck with Seungkwan, who hands you an all too familiar stack of parchment, you feel nothing as you take them into your hands. As you read his handwriting scrawled in ink, you appreciate your past self for having the sense to keep them all. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better now,” he says to you. “Had us worried for a while there.”

“Sorry.” You smile weakly. “But thank you for…everything. I don’t think I could ever express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. All of you.”

“I’d like to think we’ve gone past the status of mere business partners,” Seungkwan chuckles. “Lion befriends the bear? Whatever it is. But know we’d do it again.”

Blinking back the sting of tears and doing your very best to not let the warm feeling in your chest overwhelm you, you place the letters on the floor next to your folded legs. When you look up, Seungkwan's eyes are on your neck.

“They’re taking their time to fade, aren’t they?” you say. 

Seungkwan has a hard look in his eye, “I guess you didn’t need your letters to remind you of anything after all.”

Your mind wanders, drifting past how easily this crew could have been forgotten in the unforgiving elements. Perhaps you would have let the man that wrapped his hands around your neck finish his job.

“Was getting captured part of your grand plan?” you ask Seungkwan. 

“Hm?” It takes a moment to realise what you may be questioning him about, smiling slightly. “What makes you think we went in with a plan?”

“I thought I asked you to man the wheel?” Hoshi stands above the both of you.

“Not to batten down the hatches,” he side-eyed his captain. “Clear waters ahead, the wheel does not need manning.” 

You zone out as they squabble over nothing, not finding the heart to be entertained by their back and forth. Seungkwan either loses or forfeits, because you feel him rise from next to you, only for his captain to take his place. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks. 

“Everything,” you sigh. 

“How come Seungkwan gets a thank you for your service and I don’t? Need I remind you who jumped for you and who didn’t?”

Rolling your eyes, you answer him, “Thank you, Captain Hoshi Kwon, I am forever indebted to your service.”

He chuckles in exaggeration, “Oh please, all in a day's work.”

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

“I never did say thank you. But you did jump for me when you didn’t have to.”

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Our deal was to get you out when you jumped. I merely honoured that promise!”

“Merely?” you raise a brow. “Was it all merely a matter of conscience?”

His gaze locks with yours. “Don’t ask questions you know the answers for. I would’ve jumped even if you asked me to rope myself to the mast.”

“Please. I have enough blood on my hands and I haven’t even sat on my throne yet.”

“Blood is only on your hands if you tell a soul of what you’ve done,” Hoshi utters. “You’re the only living soul who knows.”

“And you are…?”

“Pirate. Our word means nothing.” Hoshi smiles. 

The thought hangs in the air as you take in the man in front of you. He’s changed an era’s worth, yet all the same. His hair is longer, going from his initial shorter crop to curling around his ears, shielding his eyes. It makes him look younger, like a boy with much to live for. 

That, and the multitude of notable scars he’s added to his collection, many of which have somehow been because of you. The wound at his torso is doing better, but far to go in its quest to heal. 

Hoshi senses something amiss even after his sermon. Breaking his gaze, he turns to look straight ahead at the raised bow of the ship instead. 

“Do you know how I got my splendid reputation for being the filthiest pirate on the seas?”

You can only stare, “I have a few guesses.”

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

“Unnamed sailors have the odds of a peanut facing its inevitable fate of being crushed under a straggling boot. Pirates don’t see the government as their enemy when they’re own supposed brothers are more likely to jam a cannon in their mouths.”

He lets out a heavy sigh before continuing, “My mistake wasn’t that I was on the losing side in my early days, but more about how I was leaving nothing behind when I was done.”

“How humble,” you hum. 

“Dead men tell no tales. When it’s worth it, it might be better to leave a straggler or two to live to tell the tale. A routine stab in the jugular can turn you into somewhat of a myth.”

“Am I a survivor?” you question. 

“You may be sovereign on land, but you’re also an unnamed pirate,” he responds, turning back to lock eyes with you. “And you’ve left nobody to tell the tale.”

No one listens to a pirate, and everyone listens to a Queen. 

“This isn’t to say there won’t be a legend that follows you.” He quirks a brow as he speaks. “Shows up and claims her father and his entire ship and crew sank at sea, only to befriend his sworn enemies in the aftermath. And then it evolves; she sent a cannon through her fathers ship, he died at the end of his own daughter's sword, she cursed him to captain a crew of the undead for eternity.”

“Have I planted the seeds for yet another ghost story?” It’s difficult to not giggle at the thought, despite how morbid. 

“You’ve given yourself substance,” he says, a little stronger than before. His eyes too, wander to your neck and the bruises that refuse to budge. “Beyond just a royal or even a pirate. You did it for your honour as a human being, and that may be braver than anything I have ever conquered.”

In your anxiety ridden, feeble mind, your thoughts had convinced your conscience that everything would be over the minute your father’s heart stopped beating. That it would bring you peace at last. 

And it did, especially when it felt like you’d gotten rid of this constant monster under the bed that had followed you far into adulthood. But from the bleeding heart of the creature emerged yet another one of its brethren, and then another and then another. 

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless. 

Weeks of this, and in one short interaction, Hoshi seemed to have given you the key to turn this monster into a pet. 

On instinct, you feel your hand reach up, brushing against the skin of his cheek. It’s an all too familiar setting, seated on the deck of a ship too close for anybody but yours’ comfort. But without the rum and resentment, of course. And how you doubt he’d pull away this time. 

Very lightly, you brush your lips against his. It was nothing but to simply feel him again, to feel a semblance of familiarity. 

You feel him take your hand that rests on his cheek to place a kiss on your palm, nuzzling his nose into the concave of your hand. 

Everything that was to come seemed a little more possible in that very moment. 

Even more so when his fingers found the sensitive areas of your coloured throat, when his lips closed against your jaw, only to trail lower and to press into the marks his fingers continue to trail tucked into your neck. 

That night, when slipping into your hammock felt like the most unbearable prospect in your near future, it couldn’t possibly be worse than uttering your next question to the man that seems to fix it all.  

“Will you stay with me?”

With nothing but the light snores of the rest of the crew and the creaking of the ship, both you and Soonyoung laid in a hammock most definitely not meant for two. Head on his chest, ear pressed against where his heart beats under his scar, it’s bliss. 

The feeling of his warm body against yours and the scent of him settling in your lungs, you decide that this was enough. At least for now. 

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO give yourself the full list for obvious reasons, but it does seem to help when you tick off all the possible reasons why your patience has run as thin as it has. 

Sitting at the decorated seat at the convened court of old men appointed by your father, you briefly wonder if you should finish them off too amidst your flash of anger. The men continue to squabble and babble about the next course of action, slamming their wrinkled hands on the pristine table and sending their own daggers of threats to the other inhabitants of the table. 

“If you’d like to send a search party for the King’s body, be my guest,” you finally speak, having had quite enough when the throb in your temple worsens. “But remind me what troops you’ll be sending to the North if your best men will be gone for months attempting to find a body they never will.”

The dispute in the North side of the Kingdom was taking up most of the conversation anyway, and you doubt they’d put customary burial rites over their own glory of victory the North would bring. 

“Your Majesty—”

“I would happily jump on the next search ship for my father,” you lie through your teeth. “But I watched him drown in front of my own two eyes, and as the next sovereign I cannot let you waste our resources for something that will both risk our soldier’s lives and have them come back home empty handed.”

Perhaps you had come off slightly more heartless than you intended, so you quickly add, “Please, let my father rest in peace.”

That seems to end the conversation easier than you had expected, but they’re quick to jump to the next issue not long after. 

“The court would also like to bring light upon the palace guests.”

Tightening your jaw, you slump against your seat slightly. “What about them?”

They remain silent as their mouthpiece attempts to form the right words for the following question, mostly because you’ve addressed this multiple times beforehand but they continue to sit restless. 

“Allow me to help you, Lord Bridge,” you sit up straighter, intending to put this matter to rest. “My guests will remain here for as long as they do, and if you have any more arising issues towards my guests I will only take it as your collective issues towards me.” 

In the moment of silence, you continue, “The Kingdom is in a place of instability as we are all well aware. I find it most appalling that you remain fixated on trivial matters of the palace’s domestic code of conduct than you do for the wellbeing of this country!”

Silence yet again as you wait for their forcibly rehearsed chorus of apologies. 

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

The pain in your temples becomes near unbearable as you dismiss the table after that, screeching your chair as you push it back as loud as you possibly can to do nothing but spite the men. 

Turning the corner out of the room, you catch the open gates that lead to the paved gardens outside, the sun seeping into the marble floors indoors. Taking an instinctive step towards the gardens, you find most of the crew sprawled onto the grass as they soak in the sun. 

Chan and Seungkwan look like they’re wrestling, their laughter ringing throughout the open court while their captain snaps at them to cut it out, only to get roped under one of their headlocks all the same. 

There’s a call of your name and a giant wave from Mingyu, who spots you from beyond the flower beds. Still leaning against the gates, you smile and wave back. 

Years the halls of the palace had gone, never hearing laughter in its walls. And something about watching them let themselves ruin the petunias and laugh so loud it echoes, heals you just a bit. 

Even that night, when you find yourself in your giant four poster bed you’ve slept in since you were a child, this time dozing under the arm of another, you feel the itch of a healing wound somewhere in your heart. 

Soonyoung laid with you for every night on the ship since that night, and stayed even here where the space was big enough to host the ghosts of your worries if not distracted. 

He had found you on that first night in the palace still awake, haunting the library fireplace with another stack of papers to keep you company. 

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked as he picked up some of your documents. 

“Clearly not,” you huff. The papers were mere decorations as you attempted to find an excuse to leave your rooms. 

“You realise you won’t be much of an effective monarch if you exhaust yourself to death?”  

There was no answer to that, especially when you were absorbing nothing of your new duties. You’d expected to fall asleep on the armrest of the uncomfortable settee whenever it was that you exhausted your brain of thoughts, even then refusing to sleep in that large bed. 

He’s awfully persuasive, because as he tucks you into those very sheets, about to leave but not before placing a kiss on your forehead You stop him. 

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

THE CROWN IS HEAVIER than you had expected, even more so when it remains on your head for longer than your previously practised sessions walking around the throne room. The crew was exceptionally good at giving you things to train with, including fraudulent rodent scares to ensure the crown would not topple from your own head the minute you rise from your coronation.

And now, as you finally remove the decorative piece from your head after your actual coronation to replace it with something lighter for the following ball, you find relief in the fact that you’d only ever have to wear the actual thing only a few times in your life. 

Everything moves as smoothly as it could, the decorated pirates that saved their Queen from a horrid shipwreck taking up most of the attendees attention as they either question inquisitively or send snarky remarks to the men who are well versed in how to rebut in true informal manner. 

The past months had taken up more of your time than you had anticipated, and during the latter half of the still twinkling party, you attempted to spot the person you’ve been trying to corner all night. 

Soonyoung stands at the edges of the gathering, empty handed as you watch him reject yet another offer for a drink from the trays that float about. His attire is the most formal you had ever seen, his face scrubbed and hair pushed back for the glorious occasion. 

Approaching him from the sidelines, you take hold of his wrists and pull him towards one of the many doors in the ballroom and into a hallway you knew for a fact was rarely ever frequented. 

“I feel I haven’t seen you ages,” you say once you’re sure you’re alone. 

“Probably best for you to keep busy,” he replies with the smallest smile. 

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

Looking at his covered torso, he runs an instinctive hand over where the wound was. “Just a smaller patch now, but it’s nearly there. Disappointed it won’t scar too much.”

“Disappointed?” 

“These are my spoils of war, miss princess,” he adds with a smirk, before correcting himself. “Ah, miss queen?”

“Doesn’t have the same ring,” you comment. 

“The crown suits you.” His voice is soft and sincere.

Scoffing a little, you answer, “I would hope it did.”

“Although, I do prefer you in trousers and a knife.”

Laughing, you can only agree. Especially in your heavier than yourself dress and jewels. “I think I prefer them too.”

At the mention of your new status, he asks, “Shouldn’t you be milling between your new subjects?” 

Keeping your eyes on his face, you wait until he meets your gaze. “I have more important things to attend to.”

He breaks eye contact first, and you can feel the distance grow further. One reach and you could take his hand in yours. 

But you don’t. 

“I know I’ve been quite busy, but…” you trail off as you attempt to find the words. “Is something the matter? What’s going on?”

With a long sigh, he runs a hand through his kept hair, effectively tousling it a little. “I was going to wait until after the ball to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He makes no moves to look at you when he utters his next words. “The crew and I will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. We’ve taken up enough of your space and it’s best if we don’t intrude any further.”

It’s like you’ve taken a blow to the chest, the air knocked out of your lungs as you register what he’s just said. “You’re….you’re leaving?”

“I would think we’ve both gotten what we wanted. We had a deal.”

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

His head snaps up to finally meet your eye, mouth opening closing as words betray him. 

“What happened to what you said about gaining you? All of you?” There’s a blatant accusation in your words.

“And you have! We’ll visit. Assuming the state doesn’t want my head on a pike anymore,” he chuckles uncomfortably. 

In a moment of desperation, you take his hand in both of yours; his scarred, gnarled hands that tell you even in the dark who’s warmth it is that you feel every night next to you. 

“Stay. Stay with me, please,” you plead. “I can’t live in this place alone, I despised it when I was young and I’ll only despise it even more now.”

Soonyoung brings his other hand to clasp over both of your own, eyes closing as you hear him take a somewhat shaky breath. “I’m doing this for the both of us.”

“So am I! I can’t possibly rule a kingdom by myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

He begins to whisper your name, moving his face away to blink rapidly. 

“How do you feel about becoming a pirate king? I can never forbid you from the waters, that’s your home, and you will have it.”

He does not look at you, but you know he’s listening more intently than ever before.

“But I ask you as someone who loves you more than I have ever anything else, will you stay and marry me?”

Soonyoung falters as he absorbs the fact that you’ve just proposed to him. 

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

“The court wouldn’t dare to deny me the man that saved my life.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer. 

“And even if they do, I'm ready to fight for the man who fought for me. So answer me as a man and not a pirate, Kwon Soonyoung, will you marry me?”

Soonyoungs mouth enclosing over your own is all the answer you need as you feel him break free of your hands to let them find your waist instead. Amidst the pile of fabric he pushes himself into you as close as possible, letting your hands guide his head to move against your mouth. 

It’s everything, as you grip onto the back of his shoulder, pressing unforgettably into his open mouth. He takes in your bottom lip between his own, sucking before letting go, only to engulf your mouth once again. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his lips, feeling the nuzzle of his nose against the apple of your cheek, hot tears spilling from your eyes. “I promise, we’ll figure everything out.”

He shushes you when he feels you shudder in his hold, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. “No need to torment your pretty head. Not right now.”

For once, you listen to your pirate captain without a fight, simply feeling the stretch of your lips as he moves down to capture them once more. 

The pressure of his hands isn’t nearly as strong as it would’ve felt without the layers upon layers of fabric that cover your form, but standing in this desolate hallway, you swear his fingers might as well be caressing your bare skin underneath. 

The thought sends your mind into a dazzling spin, letting go of his mouth with a gasp, suddenly needing to take a step back. 

“I have to—I have to go back inside,” you breathe into his slick mouth. “Meet me outside my quarters at midnight.”

As scandalous as it was, you could not deny how alive it made you feel to be like this, meeting in darker corners in the dead of night. But for now, you allow him to fix the bits of your ensemble you could not see. With the bad of his thumb, he blends in the smudges of your rouge, swiping at your lips ever so delicately to ensure he leaves no trace of himself. Tucking the loose strands of hair back behind your ears, and finally, fixing the encrusted crown on your head, a flash of one of the diamond’s gleams reflecting onto his perfect face. 

“You’re beautiful.” There’s a dazed look that graces him. “Beyond beautiful.”

With one last innocent press of your smiling mouth onto his, you promise him your midnight. 

BY THE TIME IT was finally an appropriate hour for you to excuse yourself for the evening, you were near to exploding entirely. 

Whispers of “Are you alright, your Majesty?” plaguing you through your already racing mind. It was beyond difficult to keep the constant shaking of your foot unobvious, however you could not simply up and leave whenever you wanted—at least not yet. The monarch would remain in an unstable authoritative position for quite some time after ascension, and with the unorthodox situation at hand, you assume you’d really have to push yourself if you were to be of any use as sovereign. 

But when the time finally came and you were escorted out of the grand ballroom, only mere ticks away from the resounding bells of midnight, you were holding back from breaking into a sprint. Outside your quarters it was empty, but you remain steadfast in your refusal for your ladies in waiting tonight, promising you could dress yourself for bed on your own. 

Standing at the double doors of your rooms, still the princess’ quarters as you refuse to move into the Queen’s rooms, you stand waiting. The two guards remain staring straight ahead, and you wait for the clicking of your ladies to go muffled before you ask. 

“Has the Captain approached?” 

“No, your Majesty.”

You try not to feel disappointed, despite knowing the midnight bells were yet to sound. “If he does, allow him in, please.” 

Opening the double doors, you half wish you had let your ladies help you out of the god awful dress, tight and loose in all the wrong places. The jewels are thrown haphazardly on your vanity, needing the heavyweight of them off of your body. 

Perhaps months of little to no bedazzling had rendered you incapable of wearing anything mildly less comfortable than linen and leather, but you suppose you’d slip back into the habit just as easily as you slipped out of it. Your nightgown feels like heaven on your tired, tired body, and the dimly lit interior of your bedchamber is only encouraging you to slip under your covers and fall deep into sleep. 

That was one thing about the ship you doubt you’d ever miss. 

Three rapt knocks outside of the heavy double doors have you sitting rapt at attention, hastily making your way to the door from your vanity. Pressing the front of your nightgown down, you open the door slightly and poke your head out. 

Soonyoung stands at the door, nervous of all things, still clad in his full suit. You smile as you let him in, closing the door to turn the lock. 

“Your guards mortify me.” 

“Oh? So they’re doing their job right?” You walk up to him and grasp onto his lapels, pulling him down to meet the lips you’ve missed so much despite only being hours apart. “Why? Has this big bad pirate found his match in the palace guards of all places?”

“Hmm,” he’s humming against your lips. “I could take them both.”

Giggling like you were in love, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. 

“I hope you weren’t bothered too much,” you say. “The aristocracy seem to have being a pain in the ass written in their birthrights.”

“I think they were too scared to approach, probably thought I’d start swearing and snatching the pearls right off their necks. Some of them were bearable, asked me how long my sword was.”

It’s difficult to not laugh at that, “Well?”

He raises his brows unceremoniously, “Won’t you like to know?”

Taking the opportunity while you giggled uncontrollably at the situation, he goes back placing never ending kisses to your mouth. Sighing involuntarily, you melt into him once again, infinitely more relaxed than in the hallway. 

Soonyoung’s eyelashes brush against yours in a whisper of their own, only reminding you how close you were to him in the moment. His kisses go from soft and fleeting to something with a little more vigour. The warmth of his mouth goes back to overtaking the lower half of your face, sucking and licking into your mouth like his life depended on it. 

If your mind was reeling when his hands were merely ghosts of pressure over your heavy dress, the feeling of his palms and fingers so distinct over your nightgown, the only thing separating you two, is enough to have your knees begin to buckle. 

From your waist, they move to your back, before caressing back to the sides of your waist, thumb running in circles. Gentle handfuls of your flesh, bunching and letting go of the material of your nightgown. Very soon, his mouth leaves yours and instead moves to your jaw, the air in the room letting you feel the wetness that he leaves behind as a passionate trail.

He soon reaches the junction of your jaw and neck, leaving a particularly long suck in the area that has a gasp leaving your mouth. Remaining in that area, you feel the pleasant graze of his tongue on your skin, only making you tilt your head farther out to let him carry out his loving. 

Your mind wanders back to the hands that grope you in ways that would defame you, the unseemly palms that have you needing to feel him all the same.

With grazing hands, you slip your fingers underneath his jacket, pushing it off one shoulder. He understands the message, flicking it off of his frame before loosening his cravat and throwing it somewhere behind him. 

Unlatching from your neck, he comes round to face you to find your face the epitome of disconnected and dazed. 

“Can you wait for me on the bed, my love?”

“But—” The thought of him being even an inch away was most aggravating, but he cuts you off before you can refute. 

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Soonyoung rests his forehead against your own, taking your hands in his. “I’m right here. I just need to take this awful suit off.”

Your face must have been peculiar because he’s immediately jumping, panicked. “Uh—do you not want me to, we don’t have to, I just thought—”

“No!” you yelp, wide eyed. “I, um, I’ll wait. On the bed, I mean.”

He lets you walk over to the giant four poster bed, pushing the flow of your gown down when you realise how high it had ridden, cheeks burning scarlet at the thought of exposing so much. 

Hearing ruffles from behind you, you cannot bring yourself to look back at him, already extremely lightheaded and afraid that the sight might make you faint altogether. 

Perhaps you were experiencing a delayed case of sea legs, because it’s more difficult than usual to make yourself comfortable on the soft beddings. You make a futile attempt at slowing your breathing. 

By the time Soonyoung is done, meeting you in the middle, you keep your eyes on his face as he’s immediately climbing over to kiss you softly. Hand on the back of your head, he guides you to lay flat, adjacent to the headboard so you’re laying on the breadth of the bed. 

He handles you like you were made of glass, and it only makes the strange ache between your legs increasingly present and uncomfortable. 

Noting a cool feeling on the base of your throat, you open your eyes and catch the leather cord that dangles from his neck, the letter opener charm that’s attached to the end of it connecting you two as your lips part. Just beyond, through the dip of his collarbones and the valley to his chest, you catch the scar  that curls above his heart. Even lower, you find the smaller wrappings of his scarring wound. 

You trace over the edges of the new addition, shaking hands as you try your best to not brush over the wound. 

On the other side, Soonyoung has his hands on shin as his body hovers over you between your legs. Curling around, he caresses the skin of your bare calf, drifting to the back of your knees. He takes the opportunity to lift your leg, urging you to wrap it around his waist. 

The action has gravity doing what it does best, the hem of your nightgown dropping to bunch over the junction of your leg, your entire thigh exposed for the air. 

Soonyoung takes no time to let his hands wander higher, taking light handfuls of the flesh of thighs, dragging his grip further and further up. 

“Nearly tipped the ship over when I saw you in those fucking trousers,” he says, eyes closed as he drags his mouth over the inner part of your thigh. 

The sound that leaves your mouth is breathy, mind preoccupied with how quickly he was making his way towards the apex of your thighs. He’s using his mouth like he used it on your own lips, nipping at the flesh before biting down hard. 

“Soonyoung!” 

Tongue running over the patch, he sucks on the area to sooth the bite. It’s taking everything out of you to not twitch uncontrollably in his hold, the heat in your core reaching temperatures you’ve never experienced. 

Unlatching himself from your thigh, Soonyoung rears his head slightly. The sight has your head rolling back, mind drifting to the face of the man who’d visited you in your dreams, the same man that had now made home between your legs. 

Before you realise it, the bunched hem of your nightgown is flown upwards entirely, fluttering as the fabric lands on your stomach. 

Your heat is bare underneath, evident with the way Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the now fully exposed part of you. Your chest continues to rise and fall as you lift your head to look at him, eyes half closed and mind muddled.

“What…What’re you doing?” 

Soonyoung looks like you’ve disturbed him from a trance, snapping up to look at you as you ask him your question. 

It hardly registers in his mind. What was he doing? Was it not obvious—

Ah. 

If the mere sight of your bare thighs weren’t enough for him to release his load onto the sheets untouched, your unawareness might just end up doing it for him. 

Of course you didn’t know why he was at eye level with your cunt; women from this world were not supposed to know. 

The buzz in his mind renders him useless for a few moments as his vision blurs, the pain in his lower region unbearable. The thought of him being the first person to do this to you, to pleasure you like this; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it till the end of the night alive. 

Screwing his eyes shut, his palms full of your thighs, he drops his head and counts to ten. 

“Will you let me show you how a Queen is meant to be worshipped?” 

Wet mouthed and unhinged eyes, your arousal was doing nothing but multiplying at the sight of him. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.” 

It takes you less than a moment to nod your head, eyes locked with his. 

Bringing a hand closer, he dips one finger into the beginnings of your hole. Bringing some of the glisten onto his fingers. Your lips are parted and he brings a second finger to gather your arousal, rubbing over your entrance ever so slowly. 

The motion makes you let out a heavy exhale, gripping onto the bunched fabric at your stomach till your knuckles turn white. 

With little warning, you feel his fingertips push and drag upwards, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Immediately, he’s rubbing your arousal all over the area, rubbing your clit in rhythmic circles with both fingers. 

You can’t stop it when you throw your head back and let out a slight whimper, relishing in the feeling that overtakes every last sense and capability, anticipating the next surge of pleasure that courses through your entire body like you've been struck by a bolt of something.

Vision obscured, you loll your head to the side when you feel his fingers retract, confused. 

All you catch is the outstretched nature of his tongue, and how it lands directly where his fingers were. 

You let out the loudest moan yet, back arching off the bed as he licks a forceful drag up your cunt before moving back down your clit, circling your hole with the tip of his tongue, right before repeating. He flicks your nub right where he’s found you twitch the most, back and forth as your hips begin to fail at your suppressed stutters, his hands needing to pin you down onto the sheets to continue. 

He becomes more generous, laying his tongue flat now as he massages your nub so good. Your thighs are closing around his ears and he does nothing to stop you, nearly suffocating between them. Hips going from their stutters to a grind, you find your hands flying to his hair, grip tighter than you thought you’d come down with. It doesn’t help that he’s now taken a finger to circle your entrance while his lips suck on your clit. 

“Soonyoung.” It’s all you can say, throat incapable of forcing anything but his name, the burn behind your eyes only making it harder to not say it louder. 

When he pushes the finger in, it has you letting out a moan, the foreign feeling against your walls only forcing them to clamp onto his digit. Gradually, you feel his pace quicken as he slides his finger in and out of your hole, his mouth still doing beautiful things to your cunt. 

It doesn’t take long for him to shove in another finger, stretching your hole as you let out a constant string of noises through the pleasure, ever-building as every passing moment only scrambles your brain further. 

And then you feel him groan, a vibration throbbing through your system. 

It’s suddenly all too much, and before you can tell him what’s going on, you’re rendered incapable. You don’t know where your limbs fly, but all you feel is white hot and overwhelming to an unbelievable degree. 

“Oh–ungh—” Your body is telling Soonyoung all he needs to know as he only pushes into your pussy even further, letting you ride out your high as you claw at him in every way possible. 

Inevitably, the feeling subsides and you realise you’ve been reduced to sobs, tears streaking the sides of your face. Laying flat with your head still on the sheets, you stare at the ceiling of your four poster, trying to remember where you were. 

Barely noticing the man that now hover above you, you hear him whisper. “Are you alright?”

Nodding weakly, you don’t even try to lift a finger in the remaining aftermath. 

“I need words, my love.”

Swallowing thickly, you give him a breathy, “Yes.”

The lower half of his face glistens in the light like unorthodox diamonds, and all you can think about is how you need him closer to you. 

You make an attempt with your nightgown, your trembling arms, still coursing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

Soonyoung decides to help, hands pushing your spine into an arch as he pulls the slip up and over your head, now entirely bare in front of him. 

You watch as instead of throwing the fabric away, he brings it to his mouth to wipe the slick off, tainting the gown with your essence. 

Mouth over yours in a salty kiss, you pull him into you as close as humanly possible, needing to feel his heat, his weight, his scent as close as possible. His mouth reaches your throat again, lips brushing over the expanse as he places open mouthed kisses over the nearly faded marks. 

His hands are lingering once again as they ghost the sides of your breasts, thumbs coming close to your nipples before retracting in a caress. He takes them in handfuls as he goes back to busy your lips with his own, massaging the mounds with a pressure just enough to have you reeling. 

Flicking your nipple lightly, he goes back to circle the bud with thumb again. Making himself further familiar, his fingers begin to pinch and pull at them, pressing down to get a noise out of you, one that you sound as you breathe into his mouth. 

Trailing over your stomach, he pushes himself off of you. On his knees, he takes the distance as his chance to look at you in your entirety for the first time. Your fucked out expression and your lack of words is doing nothing but fueling him, your loud breaths somehow more sinful than anything he could ever do to you. 

In one swift motion, he’s slipping his arms beneath you, pulling you up so he can lay you against the headboards and pillows. You barely register what’s happening, having given yourself up to him long before. 

Grabbing one of the millions of cushions on the bed, he swings one over. Using no strength of your own, he lifts your hips and places it down beneath you, effectively propping you up. 

And then he’s meeting you at eye level, hands cupping your face. “I need you to listen to me, darling.”

He waits for confirmation, of which you can only nod, still seeing mild stars. “Do you want to stop?” 

It's a visceral reaction; the violent shaking of your head, the hand that flies to his bicep. “N–no!”

You pause as he grips onto your upper arms tight, right as you continue. “I just—a moment. Don’t stop, please.”

Leaning down, he places a long kiss on the corner of your mouth before moving his head to fit into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles his nose against the skin below your ear. 

“I’m right here,” he whispers. “For as long as you want me.”

His kisses go from desperate to something with a little more intent, pressing his lips into your neck consistently. Oh so gently, it begins to feel like a draught. He turns into calm just as he could become chaos, bringing you down from the after effects of his own actions. 

The hum that leaves you is unthinking, fingers remaining deep in the roots of his hair. Your own nose is pressed against his hair, his scent mixed with sweat infiltrating your nostrils. It fills your head with a pleasant buzz, one that you feel force a pull at the corners of your mouth. 

“I meant it when I said it,” you murmur into his hair. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Raising his head, he meets your eye, smiling slightly. “I believe you. Forgive me for making you believe I was trying to leave you.”

“You weren’t?” 

He presses his lips into a line, exhaling as he drops his chin to his chest. “I’ve needed to be selfish my whole life just to survive. Leaving…I wasn’t sure how I would’ve gotten on that boat in the morning without taking you with me somehow.”

Moving back to look at you, you realise very quickly there’s more to the mere glassy look in his eye. “For once, I wished to be anything but a pirate, to be anywhere but near the sea. Not when you wouldn’t be there with me.��� 

Taking one of his beautifully decorated hands to your mouth, you kiss the soft of his palm. “You’ve done more than anyone ever has to protect me.” 

You laugh against his hand, “This is my turf, captain. Let me protect you… protect us.”

Something injects you with a dose of bold, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his raised shoulders. “But…I believe we were in the middle of something. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

The smirk that graces his lips is immediate, pushing you back down onto the sheets as you let a laugh escape you. 

And then you feel something warm graze your bottom lip, pointed in the way it pushes inwards. He’s brought the glinting letter opener charm up to your lips, the trinket pinched between his fingers as he continues to keep it on your mouth. He kisses you deep as the metal remains between you two, your hands run across the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles ripple as he props himself between you. 

“I love you,” he cuts between the kiss to groan, the charm dropping from between your mouths to your chest. 

“I love you, mmh—” His fingers have found your clit mid confession, rubbing quickly as he attempts to get you all hot and withered again. 

Your legs raise on instinct, back arching as he rubs you mercilessly, the pressure building quicker than it had before. 

“I–I think—” you start to tell him, and it seems it’s all he needs to remove his fingers entirely. 

“Soonyoung!” you yelp, landing on the bed with a thud. 

Looking down, you find his hands wrapped around the length between his own legs, and you realise this was your first time seeing it. Past the white-oozing slit, his tip is a painful looking red. If his hands weren’t already pumping and he hadn’t already lined himself up to your hole, you would’ve taken him into your own palms, done exactly with your mouth that he’d done with his own. 

But you can’t find it within yourself to stop him when you feel the initial push of his bulbous tip against your hole, the stretch causing you to drop your mouth open. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse, and when you look up you find his own eyes screwed shut. His hands grip the plush of the pillow beside your head as tight as ever, face askew like he was holding himself back from combusting entirely. 

Slowly, you feel the stretch turn into something akin to a burn, a sting in the back of your eyes. You let him push himself into you at his own pace, the never ending battle between your mind and your refrained hips ever present as you attempt to keep them at bay. 

He keeps his pelvis flush against yours ince he’s sheathed himself inside you entirely. BOth of your pants fill the thick air of the room, the throb of your walls around his shaft leaving a tremble in his forearm despite your forsake. 

Hand somewhere above your head, you feel Soonyoung pull out ever so slightly before pushing back in. Just like this, in shallow thrusts, he pumps himself in an out of your walls in a slow pattern. 

It begins with a simmering tremble of pleasure that prolongs as he drags his cock in and out, and then in and out, and then—

Your eyes fly open when you feel his hips slam against yours with a resounding sound, fingers gripping his arm as he does it again, your moans penetrating the air. Before you know it, he’s hiked your legs up to wrap around his waist, ankles locking as he goes back to snapping his hips into you. 

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

Your nails are digging into his bicep like it was the only thing tying you to this earth, the only thing keeping you from passing out entirely. He’s taken up a brutal pace, pistoning into your clamped walls with a vigour unmatched. 

All Soonyoung can hear is the stretch of your moans and groans directly in his ear, the obscene squelch of both of your fluids mixing at your middles. Your hands have migrated to his back, clawing at the skin like you’ve been utterly possessed. 

He can’t seem to mind, not when they’ll simply become reopening wounds every time he’ll have you like this, all to himself and no one else. He wonders vaguely if your guards outside can hear the way you’re losing yourself in him just as he is in you, wonders if it appalls them that a filthy pirate gets to have their Queen in his arms as her vindictive pleasure. 

One hand rubbing over your slick clit, he pulls back to sit on his heels, the angle allowing him to keep ever part of you occupied, his spare hand coming up to toy with the pillow of your breast. 

It’s all too much, for the both of you as your collective noises become increasingly frequent and high pitched.

And then he’s pushed you over the edge, the shake of your thighs electrifying as you nearly scream out in the bliss of your high. Hands moving every which way to find a grip as you let the feeling crash into you over and over again. 

“Oh, that’s so good, so good, oh my goodness.”

You’re still in the middle of your climax when Soonyoung can’t take it anymore, letting himself release his load inside of you like a mark. It’s a mess of force and pleasure as the both of you lose sight of your strengths and weaknesses, the feeling of his hot cum shooting into your walls only prolonging your orgasm even further. 

He continues to thrust, continues to play with your nub, continues to flick at your nipples despite the orgasm subsiding. It’s all suddenly too much all at once, the sharp jerk of your body and your voice asking him to stop. 

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

Hands coming to a halt and his thrusts slowing, you feel him ease himself out of you. 

It’s a sight Soonyoung doubts he could ever forget even if he tried, your still pulsating walls doing everything but keeping the milky white of his load inside you, globs of the liquid spilling out as you shudder near lifeless on the bed. His hands grope at the inside of your thighs, pulling your lips apart to take in the mess he’s made. 

He can’t help himself when he pushes two fingers into your hole, feeding his cum back into your hole right where it belongs. 

You’ve only barely started to come round when he meets you at eye level, plopping next to you on the bed. 

“Hi,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you breathe back, hands coming up to touch his face. 

He lets you breathe for a few moments as he finds himself getting off the bed to find your tainted nightgown, moving back to you to spread your legs and wipe you clean as best as he could. 

You find it within yourself to allow him to pull you into a sitting position, a cup of water from the nightstand pressing against your tired mouth. 

“Come on, just one,” he urges as you slump against his chest. 

You take a few sips as he coaxes you into drinking the full cup and half of the second helping. 

He gives up as he holds you against his chest, brushing his fingers through your tangled hair to push past your face. 

“Are you alright?” he asks you. Your eyes are closed when he leans down to place a peck on the apple of your cheek. 

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

“Soonyoung, I can’t go again,” you whine. 

He chuckles, “I meant to ask where we could find some sugar around here. You barely ate anything at the ball.”

“The kitchens?” you answer with a floating question mark. 

Soonyoung can’t help it when he squeezes you so tight it has you complaining loudly, not being able to sustain the love just in the tiny expanse of his heart. 

“Come on, let’s get you some cake before both our hearts give out.”

BUNDLED UP IN WARMER clothes, the only thing the palace walls hear is the tiny whispers and giggles of you and your lover as you make your way to the kitchens. 

It’s empty at this time of night, the dying embers of the fireplace the only source of light. Soonyoung uses every last bit of his thievery to manage to find a basket of dough balls, the syrup more readily available at the table in the centre.

The tingling in your brain can’t seem to decipher the overwhelming happiness that floods you from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. Especially when you call out his name amidst his shuffling, your heart can’t take the grin on his face as he hurries to join on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

Arm looped through his own and your head on his shoulder, you decide you’d be quite okay dying like this. 

The dough balls are cold and the syrup is probably a little too sweet, but you can’t possibly complain when it warms you just the same. 

“I’ve despised my name my entire life,” Soonyoung starts in the silence, picking at the insides of his treat. “Some old merchant sailor was giving his ship away in exchange that the taker would take care of it. He’d built his Tigress from the first board to the last sail, but the years had made their mark. It was practically falling apart when I took it off his hands.”

He pushes the remaining bit of the pastry into his mouth, muffled as he continues, “He had a strange name, said it was given to him by his crew when they realised he was born without a name. Hoshi. I liked it well enough so I kept it.”

“Soonyoung—”

“That one. I wanted to replace the name I loathed, the one my own mother gave me.” You watch as his throat bobs as he swallows. “Ash is my birthplace, my mother worked in the brothels where I was born only because she couldn’t get rid of me.”

Taking one of the hands that wrap around his arm, he brings your fingers to your mouth, kissing the tips of each one. “I despised that name, until I heard it from your lips.” 

“Soonyoung.” It felt right on your tongue, like you were destined to say his name. 

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says as he kisses you again. “Thank you for keeping my name, thank you for giving it life.”

You take the opportunity to grab one of the syrup soaked dough balls from the basket and stuff them into his mouth. “Enough, don’t tell me all this luxury’s made you soft.” 

It was a jab but a lighthearted one in any case, you loved to see this side of him and you doubt you would ever get enough of seeing him like this. Vulnerable with his softer smiles and squinted eyes. 

Bringing one of your digits to your mouth, you suck the remaining syrup off your fingers. 

Soonyoung is quick to take notice as he takes your hand and brings your fingers up to his mouth, running his tongue over the pads of your fingers to take in the remaining sugar left on your fingers. 

He keeps his eyes locked onto yours as he sucks on the tips of your fingers, making sure every last hint of sweetness is gone. 

And then he’s kissing you, tongue in your mouth as he moves against your lips slowly. 

Breaking apart, you whisper, “As much as I’d love to, the bakers will be coming in any minute now.”

Soonyoung’s grin is dangerous, and you find out why the minute you feel his arms loop around your waist and under your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor of the kitchens. 

You squeal before you can help it, his lips finding home in your neck as you laugh as loud as your chest would allow. 

You could get used to this. And you will. 

THE SERVANTS CARRYING THE giant stack of plates nearly topple over when you sprint past them, yelling a loud apology over your shoulder as you do nothing but hasten your pace. 

The paper in your hands is clutched tight in your fists as you run to where your carriage awaits, near yelling at the driver to make it to the docks before the streets would be full of the early morning merchants and bakers, slowing the gallops of the decorated horses. 

The town is waking as your carriage races past, the beginnings of the new day making itself known as the sun peers through the gaps of the houses. You’re incapable of sitting still, your heels tapping against the floors of your cabin incessantly as the docks grow nearer and nearer. 

And then you see it, the rush of dock handlers that see the royal carriage slow to a stop in front of the boardwalk. You slam the door open before any of the tens could do it for you, breaking into a sprint as you find the distinct flag of the royal crest wave high on the other end of the docks. 

You had already seen Soonyoung off in the dark of the night as he made his way to the ship that was near ready to depart as you slide to stop in front of the anchored ship. 

There was nothing sane about what you were doing, the chortles and shocked noises of sailors and merchants deaf to ears as you finally spot him near the prow. 

His eyes meet yours and he has to do a double take. 

Panting and needing to hold onto your knees for support, you peer up as you watch him run towards the ramp that leads down to the docks to see you, to ask why you were here when he’d kissed you goodbye mere hours ago. 

By the time he meets you at the wobbly boardwalk, you’ve somewhat recovered.

“Are you alright?” he asks you as soon as you’re within earshot, hands grasping onto your upper arms in evident concern. 

“I had to tell you, this came in right after you left.” You brandish the paper clutched into your fist, smoothing it over as the light catches the red stamp at the bottom. 

It takes him less than a minute to realise what it said, eyes blinking rapidly and mouth gaping like a fish. “They…They said yes?” 

“They said yes,” you repeat, nodding furiously as you break into a smile. “We can get married, Soonyoung, they said yes.”

His arms are crushing you before you know it, wrapped around you so tight as he buries his face into your neck, repeating it like a mantra, “They said yes…”

By the time you part, he keeps his arms around you, still embracing you in front of the entire port. You take hold of his face bringing it closer to you. 

“Three months, and then you come home,” you breathe. “And I get to marry you, in front of everyone.”

Soonyoung lets his lips meet your own in a chaste kiss as he corrects you, “I get to marry you in front of everyone.” 

There’s a thud of something nearby, and you look up to find the crew of the Tigress hanging over the railings of the newly appointed naval ship that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s. 

“He can’t come back home, if he doesn’t leave!” Seungkwan yells over cupped hands. 

You’d like to send him an affectionate gesture involving your middle finger, but choose to save him in front of the crowded port. 

“You’ll miss me, Seungkwan, just you wait,” you send him a pointed glare that he simply scoffs at. 

He might miss you, but you’ll definitely miss the lot of them when you return to a significantly emptier palace. 

“Don’t let the royal snobs walk over you, you’re a better sailor anyway,” you tell Soonyoung. “Not that I needed to tell you, anyway.”

“I promise on our future wedding to be a complete menace.” He grins at the declaration as you admire him in the morning light. 

One last time, you memorise the dips and hills of his features, pressing your final kiss into his lips as the voices telling him to hurry it up grow louder. 

He blows you a kiss from the railings as the anchor is hoisted, and you send him one right back. 

As your carriage trudges its path back to the palace, at a pace more acceptable for both the stamina of the horses and the integrity of the structure, your eyes remain glued to the shrinking ship that fades into the distant horizon. 

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend. 

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings. 

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you. 

Always. 

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

[multiheadcanons]

FLUSTERING THE MERCS

scout: you’re not gonna know scout is flustered. you’re never gonna know scout is flustered unless you catch him while he’s walking away from the situation. then you can quietly hear him slap his forehead and call himself an idiot. otherwise, he’s just scout. goofy, stupid with the pick up lines, bad at being smooth, and unaffected by general annoyance of his presence.

soldier: soldier does not get flustered. soldier will continue to match you, take your bets and your deals and your goading until he decides he wants to escalate the embarrassing nature of your antics. this man is unashamed, unstoppable and immovable and he will crush you and your spirit and your ego like overripe grapes. and the worst part of it is he doesn’t even mean to do it. he just does it because he has never felt a twinge of embarrassment, unless he is absolutely eating shit on the battlefield.

pyro: pyro gets huffy if they get too flustered. pyro doesn’t like to feel embarrassed, or that people are laughing at them against their will. normally pyro is willing to make a fool of themselves. pyro is happy to laugh at themselves, and will invite others to laugh with them at their own folly. but they do not like feeling like they don’t have any options. and flustering pyro is like putting them in a corner.

demo: you have to be saying some real nefarious shit to fluster demo. demo is good natured and well humored, and demo can laugh at pretty much everything under the sun without it tripping him up too much. harmless flirting is something demo does very well. you have to be… gruesomely obscene to give demo a form of pause. and even then, you only give him pause. you’re not stopping that circus. give him a second to up his courage. he can go toe to toe.

heavy: you cannot fluster heavy. heavy being flustered requires two things. a: believing he is above getting silly, if not downright stupid and b: think that your, or frankly anyone’s opinion on him matters more than yesterday’s opinion piece. he will as a matter of fact, he’ll flip it back on you. you want him to do what? you first. you just said what? he actually doesn’t recognize that saying, would you mind explaining it to him like he’s five? when it works, his grin is shit eating, and precious.

engineer: it is very difficult to fluster the texan. doesn’t mean it’s impossible, just very hard to do. because otherwise, he just laughs it off and continues about his day. he might stew over it when he’s alone, but he’s generally unbothered as long as there is a minimum of three feet between him and yourself; he is going to laugh it off. the moment you encroach upon the three feet of space, he almost gets irritated. his lips pull flat and thin. and with the goggles, it is a deathly blank stare. it’s like his brain is blue screening in front of you as you speak. and it might take him a little longer to pull a grin and a sly remark out of his ass.

medic: vicious gasps and shrill shrieks. and he turns beet red. if the doctor thinks he’s about to be put in a position that he could be seen as anything less than a gracious, energetic, and overall truly wonderful man, he is turning heel and booking it to the nearest exit. he does not like to be put in potentially flustering situations. and he will not be happy if he finds himself in one. but he will grit his teeth and make it through. when he’s caught, he is too proud to turn and run.

sniper: he is absolutely turning and running. very quickly, as a matter of fact. the difference between the doctor and himself is he simply cannot get out of the way fast enough. and he ends up stuck in almost unexplainable situations. unfortunate positions, and he is looking for the quickest way to set himself right and get on his way. because he is not good at explaining his way out of things. if it’s not too embarrassing, he’s even able to laugh it off! though the face he’s making is more squeamish than humored.

spy: spy isn’t one to be flustered. not as humorous as his teammates, but still down for a chuckle, spy is cool, calm, and collected in essentially every situation he could think of. the only exception is with scout. scout takes a deep breath in and spy is immediately annoyed, and sometimes things come out of that kids mouth that spy couldn’t sit down with a dictionary and all the time in the world and figure out what just came from his mouth.

[reallyromealone]

Part 3 of the alpha Spencer Reid x male omega reader? ~ 🌸

Accidental mating 2

Fandom: criminal minds

Characters: criminal minds OG cast +reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: male reader, omegaverse, mpreg, enemies to lovers

☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️

(name) was nervous, feet tapping against the speckled carpet of the waiting room after finishing writing his information, Spencer awkward beside him though reading a book to pass the time "what do you think the pup will be? Morgan is absolutely dead set that they will be a girl" (name) tried to make small talk and Spencer almost didn't reply, the Omega the one to nervous ramble instead of Spencer, the Alpha remembering what Morgan said about building relationships for the pup "I'm happy with either or, as long as they're healthy"

"I just want them to be happy"

"(Name), (last name)?" The nurse spoke up and (name) got up, hands shaking slightly and he was thankful he didn't have to make awkward small talk with the doctor that was the father to his kid, the lanky alpha not sure how to comfort the other or if he should even do so but his alpha begged him to comfort the Omega. "Turn around" (name) grumbled as the Alpha, slightly startled turned around quickly as (name) began changing "...are you excited to meet them?"

Spencer paused at the question and fidgeted slightly before answering "... yeah, I kind of am"

"I am not doing those 3d ultrasounds though, those things scare the hell out of me"

"Fair enough" Spencer chuckled, (name) didn't say anything but it was his first time hearing Spencer laugh around him.

Nope.

He's just here for the pup.

(Name) shoved his omega down as he sat on the bed, shirt covering his chest "you can turn around now"

"All that to cover your chest? You know we're guys right?"

"And I'm an Omega, it's taboo if I do it remember?" (Name) grumbled out and Spencer made no comment as they waited for the doctor who seemed to be taken their sweet time "I find that stupid" "so do I but it's what has to be done, male or not I'm an Omega"

"So, Any luck with an apartment?"

"None, no one wants to rent to a single pregnant Omega" (name)s words were simple as if he said them hundreds of times before and he probably had, calm and collected as Spencer thought about it.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Powell, here for an ultrasound I see?" The middle aged doctor said as he sat in his stool "you must be the father" Dr. Powell said to Spencer who nodded "Dr. Spencer Reid" the Alpha said calmly as the doctor began the ultrasound, the cold gel feeling weird.

"There they are! Size of a grape" (name) was in wonder as he looked at the blob of cells "oh wait, there's another!" The doctor said and (name) looked panicked "twins? How are they gonna fit in my apartment... Oh god how are they gonna fit in my body?!" His voice shaking as Spencer placed a hand on his shoulder "your body will adjust and I have space at my apartment, you can stay with me till you find a place of your own" his voice serious as (name) looked worried "would there even be enough space?!" He said and Spencer pumped out calming pharamones, thanks to their mating bites it worked as intended since (name)s Omega thought they were mates.

The rest of the ultrasound went smoothly, (name) and Spencer walked out of the clinic together and (name) halted Spencer "I know it was just to calm me down, but you don't have to have me at your apartment, I know it's the last thing you want" (name) though he couldn't stand Spencer, didn't want to make a further enemy of him, his omega already upset they aren't in the same bed and being in the same apartment would just hurt, (name) didn't feel like fighting with his Omegan side like that "oh I was serious" Spencer said simply as he looked at the omega calmly "you're statistically not going to get an apartment that will accomodate a single Omega and their pup let alone two, two sets of hands are better than one especially with twins and we could do rotations..." He listed off why it was a good reason, each point making (name) fidget more and more.

"But don't you hate me?" (Name) asked barely above a whisper and Spencer bit his inner cheek "I'm learning not to" Spencer said back, words truthful as (name) laughed a bit "I'll.. I'll consider it"

When the two got to the office, Penelope was excited to see the ultrasound photos and damn near dropped at the fact they were having twins "two smart asses? Between the two of you, that kids gonna be a menace to their teachers" Morgan teased them as (name) stuck out his tongue "wings up in 20, we have a case" hotch walked in seriously as the team stopped their joking and immediately went to get their go bags, Spencer looking confused as (name) held his go bag "what?" (Name) asked inquisitively and Spencer looked expectantly at him and (name) placed a hand on his hip and glared "I'm going, Reid" he said simply and went to leave the bullpen.

"Absolutely not!" Spencer followed behind angrily "you're not my alpha, I may be carrying your child but I still get to do as I please" (name) said confidently as Spencer looked annoyed "I'm well aware you're a free person with free will but as you said, you're pregnant with my child! This is a homicide case, you're to early in your pregnancy to put this stress on yourself!"

"It almost sounds like you care" (name) teased and Spencer glared "of course I care" Spencer quickly rebutted as they walked to the jet "yes because I am carrying your pup, if I wasn't pregnant with another person's child would you have given a damn if I got on that plane or not?" Spencer was quite for a moment before answering carefully "though we have not cared for one another, the last thing I want is you in danger"

(Name) stared at him carefully before stepping onto the jet "then I'll be sure to keep out of danger, come now we can't leave the others waiting"

Spencer was pouting as (name) looked over the files, paying the Alpha no mind "why are you so mad?" Prentiss asked amused at the other "he's upset I went on this plane, I am Hotch's assistant and until I medically cannot fly I will follow him dutifully like an assistant should" Reid looked the others and Morgan chuckled "I am not getting into this mess"

"Hotch.." Spencer said to his boss who sighed "I would rather him not be on the field but do long as he doesn't go leave specific areas as agreed when he announced his pregnancy to me, I have no issue" of course he did have issue but he knew better than to start a war with (name) over this.

(Name) wasn't deaf to the comments about him when he went places, he was an Omega after all.

He was putting things together for Hotch in a private room of the police precinct when he heard it "an Omega? Imagine he slept his way to get here" an officer commented as the other scoffed "he's mated, who would let their Omega do this shit? This isn't a place for omegas" (name) kept quiet, pointless to cause a scene over things he heard all day "you know degrading comments like that is a surefire way to get suspended" hotch said as the officers sputtered something out before walking off with their tails between their legs "you know you don't have to take that, right?"

"If I got angry at every person who disrespected me, I would be dead" it was honest, sure omegas had rights but it didn't mean they had respect.

Hell (name) knew half the team didn't fully respect him till he proved himself, showing that he was worthy of being Aaron Hotchners assistant "I organized everything by date and by method, there seems to be a pattern..."

"You asked him to move in with you?" Morgan repeated as he and Spencer drove to the crime scene, the genius sighing "he can't find an apartment and no one's gonna take a single Omega with twins!" He said and Morgan smiled "you're apartment isn't big enough for all of them though" and that's when Spencer looked flustered and annoyed "I may have used the money I earned and saved from not just here but the other things and purchased a four bedroom house just outside the city..."

"And you're hoping he agrees"

"Well yeah, it would save one money"

Morgan wasn't even gonna comment about the fact he knew Spencer wanted (name) closer, bonds are crazy things and eventually if enough contact happens... The two will fall for each other... Which was really tragic sometimes but in this case, Morgan rooted for them.

"Thats true, maybe take him to dinner and present the pros of living together" aka a date, thankfully Spencer was too in his head to realize Morgan's little plan "food is a good bribe" Spencer said methodically and Morgan laughed at this as they continued their drive.

(Name) was crocheting plush toys on the hotel bed as a show played in his laptop, waves of nausea coming in waves and he just tried to distract himself as best as he could.

KNOCK KNOCK

(name) was always in edge when people knocked, keeping his gun in him as he walked to the door and looked through the peephole "Spencer?" He opened the door to see the Alpha standing awkwardly "I was wondering... If you wanted to go eat? Talk about plans for the pups" (name) raised an eyebrow, dressed in comfy clothes but not quite pajamas "sure, lemme get my stuff"

(Name) was a simple guy with simple tastes.

So Spencer shouldn't have been surprised when they ended up in a McDonald's booth "I think, we should know the gender so we can plan accordingly" (name) said as he ate his fries and Spencer looked confused "don't omegas typically want it a surprise?"

"Depends on the person, usually it's so they don't get unsolicited advice"

Fair, Spencer thought "if one of thems a pup, we should put aside a fund for nesting as omegas usually start making little bests at around two" (name) explained and took a bite from his sandwich "and collars, those are important" he was a prime example of their importance and Spencer looked sheepish at that "I do have one demand for if we have An Omega" (name) said seriously and Spencer looked confused "what demands?" "The Omega gets treated the exact same as the Alpha, same opportunities and gets to pursue higher education"

"If course, why would that be an issue?"

"Because I had to cut off my family to do so" he said it like it was nothing, just a normal thing but Spencer was horrified "you're smart, you know the statistics" (name)s words cut a bit and Spencer looked serious "I would never deny my kids opportunities for any reason"

"Good, I'll castrate you if you do"

"So about the living thing"

"Yeah, I had a viewing for next week but they canceled in me" (name) grumbled and Spencer sighed "I'm serious though, stay with me"

"Spencer, that's-- that's a thing mates do! We aren't mates! I know because if we were it would make things considerably easier!" (Name) said stressed out, frustration clearly visible on his face " you hate me"

"I want to get to know you, I want to get along with you... We wouldn't be more than roommates" Spencer said earnestly, patience running thin but he had to keep his chill for the other who was so exhausted and stressed "can I think on it?"

"Of course"

(Name) went back to his hotel room, hand on his stomach as he stared off "what do you think?" He asked his belly to no response, after all the pups barely developed enough to be good conversationalists "it would be better for your development..." (Name) whispered as he thought it through...

"Do it for the pups" was (name)s new motto as he got up and walked to his door, housecoat on and made his way to the alphas room.

"I agree... So long as we have equal terms and agreement" Spencer was over the moon as he heard this, his alpha wanting to hold the Omega but he frankly felt he did enough holding of (name) "I'll send you the address when we get back"

[out-there-tmblr]

Wip: Zaundads2EB (7)

***

The days slide into weeks and months, but they keep on top of most things. Sure, maybe they run out of rice in the market and buy a stack of notebooks that don't sell, but they keep the market stocked. More importantly, they keep the bar stocked and selling, keep it warm and lit brightly, somewhere any of the miners can sit and talk with friends. New houses are being built around them and the greasers are still working on water pipes, and life goes on.

Vander almost begrudges that fact. Silco's gone, just disappeared from their lives, and it's like no one else even notices. There are still stories about what happened in the mine today, still people laughing and making plans for the future, and Vander feels like there's this looming shadow in the corner of every room. It's the space where Silco should be. He keeps glancing over, wanting to see Silco's mouth twisted in a sneer, those pretty blue eyes glaring at someone's stupidity.

And some nights, when Vander climbs into the cold sheets of his empty bed, Vander's worries get darker. He worries he's going to forget Silco's face and the sound of his voice. He wonders what happens if a prisoner dies in Stillwater without family. Would they even tell anyone? Would Vander ever know?

It's been over a decade since he last saw his father, and there are still times when he stands on the docks, when the salty breeze is sharp and the clouds are grey, and Vander misses him like a heartbroken child. He wonders if this will be the same: if he'll drag his way through another ten years of not knowing, and still ache with this emptiness.

He doesn't sleep well. It leaves him short-tempered in the mornings, leaves the others exchanging glances over his shoulder and trying to give him space. Sitting at a table in the closed bar, they'll talk over coffee and porridge sweetened with dried grapes, but Vander can feel Felicia's worried glances.

He glares at her. "I'm fine."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Don't fuss at me like I'm your kid," Vander bites back, feeling mean and spiteful.

"Then don't grumble like you need to be burped," Felicia says, shaking her head like he's being ridiculous. "We miss him too, you know."

"I don't," Benzo says, glancing up from the notebook opened on the table.

Felicia spins to face Benzo, her plait arcing through the air as she turns. "You were just saying how you wished he was here."

"To update these notes," Benzo replies easily. "It's not personal. I'm just sick of doing it."

***

Vander tries to keep busy. If he's not working at the mine, he's working at the bar. When the bar's closed in the early mornings, he works on the upper floor, hammering in floorboards and wall frames. There will be space for two rooms up there, maybe three. He's thinking about building a little viewing platform above the bar as an extra space to watch the crowd.

He can't help thinking that Silco would appreciate that. He'd enjoy somewhere to stand away from the press of bodies. Vander can picture him crossing his arms along a carved wooden railing, leaning forward to survey their little enterprise. Looking down that long nose of his at the rabble below him.

Of course, in Vander's daydreams, it's easy to picture himself wandering over with two glasses, easy to imagine Silco's pleased little smirk.They could stand there, shoulder to shoulder, sharing a drink…

It's been two and a half months now. Vander doesn't know if that makes his daydreams more or less pathetic. He knows half of his motivation is a desperate attempt to distract himself from thinking of Silco.

Unfortunately, his other motivation is Silco himself: when Silco gets back, Vander wants to impress him. Show him the bar and prove Vander's not completely useless, even if there isn't anything he can do to get Silco out of Stillwater.

Bribing Silco's way free sounds great in theory but Vander doesn't even know who to bribe. He tried visiting once. Took the day off from the mine, had Felicia cover the bar, paid the exorbitant cost of a cable car trip over to Stillwater Island. They didn't even let him through the first doorway.

As soon as they asked where he was from, as soon as he mentioned the mine, the guard shook his head and pointed back to the cable car stop. "No visits allowed from criminal connections."

"I'm not a criminal," Vander said slowly. He wanted to shout but he was surrounded by guards. Guards who probably knew how to use the truncheons hanging their belts. "I work in the mines. We run a bar."

"No criminal connections."

"But I'm not–"

"You're a miner," said the guard, resting a hand on his belt, "and you paid for the trip up here. Want to tell me how you afforded that without stealing from someone?"

They have a point. It would be hard for any miner to come up with twenty-five gold for the trip – over eleven days of pay, if you had no other expenses – but it's not impossible. "I cashed in my pay. I borrowed money from the mine."

"Sure." The guard turned his head, giving an amused glance at another guard. "And your friend never broke a law. No visits from criminal connections."

Vander wanted to smash his jaw in. He had to fold his arms behind his back to hide his clenched fist. "Can I leave him a letter?"

The guard snorts. "No contact from criminal connections."

***

[varistanveynesunmourne]

Only Paint Me

Varistan sat draped in just a sheet, laid out, long limbs bare. His crimson hair spilled over his shoulders as he held a relatively comfortable pose. Unlike other riff raff that Chiaro painted, Varistan was quite good at holding various poses for long periods of time. 

His body, not his ruined face, was art. Sculpted perfection. He was long and lean with a dancer’s build. He’d clearly been a very beautiful man before the ‘accident’ he refused to talk about. 

The studio smelled like paints and thinners and rose water. Varistan drenched himself in it. One thing that was impossible was to ask that he be sober at any time. He never was. It was either drugs that dragged him down into a near stupor, or things that made his muscles twitch as he held relatively still for Chiaro. 

Varistan also glowered at the other man the entire time, his golden eyes blazing with what looked like absolute, boiling hatred. 

Chiaro painted without speaking very much, and when he did, it was clipped and short. He scolded Varistan every time he moved. The art studio had once been a temple, but since then, it was converted into an art studio. The altar space was replaced with a stage for Chiaro to set up a live scene from which to paint. A golden candelabra was set on Veristan’s side to provide a dramatic light source.

Although it was no longer a temple, the art studio still had a very heavy atmosphere. Occasionally a bat would swoop down and threaten to get tangled in Varistan’s hair. 

“What’s your problem?” Chiaro asked, setting his paintbrush down in the turpentine. “You’ve been scowling for three hours now.”

Since it was clearly time for a break, Varistan lit up a blood thistle cigarette. He inhaled noisily and dragged his baleful gaze all up and down the prickly artist. He spit a little dried thistle out of his mouth and then sucked on his teeth. 

“I think,” Varistan drawled while exhaling, coughing a little. He rubbed the center of his chest, “that this is fucking sick. What you do. Painting freaks.” His brow rose. “Besides, my face is so ruined how can you tell I’m scowling?” Varistan smiled unpleasantly, face pulling uncomfortably. 

His scars looked as though he was a porcelain doll someone dropped face down on the street. It looked shattered. And oddly, the scars were black as pitch. They’d been healed hastily, poorly. It looked as though his face had been shredded and clumsily put back together. 

Chiaro looked at him challengingly, his dark eyes resting on Varistan’s face for a while before answering.

“It’s in your eyes–you scowl with your eyes,” said Chiaro as he turned away. He pushed his perfectly straight black hair behind his shoulder. “And I don’t paint ‘freaks’-- as you called them. That’s very disrespectful. I paint to make things beautiful by showing them as they are. But, maybe you’re just as ugly inside as you are out,” Chiaro snipped meanly.

Varistan laughed, laying back on all the draped fabric, smooshing stuff that had been carefully placed. “What if I am?” He asked, taking another drag, blowing it out of his nose. 

“You walking around with your stupid, perfect fucking face,” Varistan said, the sneer in his voice. “You don’t get to decide what’s beautiful, you slaaaag,” he drawled. “I do. I’m the freak. I can say that. Cause I used to be perfect. Beautiful,” he spat, then laughed again as if this was all some kind of joke. He felt the hot, prickly spill of attraction and it only made him angrier. 

“You should try it,” Varistan went on, high and full of all the sour grapes. “Go ahead. Let some monster kill your friends and fuck up your face forever and see how YOU feel. You can afford to be a bitter, little cunt on the inside. Nobody’s going to give you shit because you’re good looking.” 

If Varistan’s vitriolic words affected Chiaro in any way, it didn’t reflect on his face. His face -was- perfect, in an odd, porcelain sort of way. His face was narrow and long, his brows heavy and dark. His lips were the color of pale coral and looked as if they were painted on by a very small doll’s brush. He looked at Varistan coldly, cleaning off his paintbrushes meticulously one by one.

“Very well, Varistan, I have your payment if you will have it,” Chiaro said finally. He put his last brush away and removed a small pouch of gold from his black cloak. Surrounded by a thousand brushes and pallets, not a speck of paint fell onto his billowy, black cloak.  

“We’re not fucking done,” Varistan said sourly, sitting back up. “Paint my face a thousand times. I need the money. And…if I don’t…your ugly friend won’t pay for my lawyer.”

He angrily flicked the spent joint away. “Don’t be like that.” Varistan waved a hand, tone cajoling. Almost pleading. He held it out the same hand for payment. “I’ll take some gold now though,” he said, waiting for the money to be *put* in his hand. 

Chiaro’s face didn’t have much expression, so it was difficult to read him. He walked out from behind his canvas and easel and plopped the little bag of gold into his hand.

“I’m always looking for models–” Chiaro said, but before he could finish his thought, both Varistan and Chiaro looked as a large figure emerged from the shadows of the dark studio. Everything in the temple-turned-studio echoed, the sound carrying and bouncing off the stone pillars and walls. 

It was the same large, ugly elf Varistan met earlier. Kia was an imposing figure, even though his clothes were worn and shabby and his scars were just as ugly and unpleasant as Varistan’s. “Speaking of which, how are you?” Chiaro asked, his tone mildly more friendly to the newcomer.

“I’m good… thanks,” replied Kia, his good eye moving towards Varistan.

This seemed to change his sour mood and he smoothed a hand through his rumpled, fiery locks and sat up straighter. “Hello again…ah. Sir,” he said, trying to smile charmingly. 

“So, I just wanted to thank you. For the lawyer. He’s…uh. He’s really good. That bitch suing me is…just a nightmare person. I…uh…appreciate it, sir,” Varistan said awkwardly. He felt oddly like he was a child and in trouble. 

Normally, being in a state of undress suited him just fine, but it felt like being walked in on by a parent while self gratifying. Varistan grimaced and pulled the sheets up a little to cover more of him. “Mister Sunshine put me in this get up,” he grumbled, face hot with embarrassment. 

Kia’s attention swept over Varistan appraisingly. Then, he walked up to the stage area where Varistan was perched. The “set” was arranged in an artful way for Chiaro to paint, including antique furniture for the models to sit. Kia sat beside Varistan, not even bothering to ask him to move. He cleared his throat and attempted to sit in a practiced way, as if he had modeled for Chiaro dozens of times and he was an actor getting ready for his part.

“This should be the last time I need you for this portrait, Kia,” Chiaro said as he picked up a new pallet of colors. 

Finally, Kia glanced sparingly at Varistan and addressed him.

“Glad Swicegood is working out for you.”

Varistan nodded and eagerly took this as an in for more conversation literally no one wanted to have. “Yeah. Yeah! He’s great. I like the suits too, heh. Sharp,” Varistan said, lying through his perfect teeth. 

Sitting close to him, Kia would be enveloped in the rose water scent the young man drenched himself in. Varistan even had an obnoxious neck tattoo of a rose and dagger. A big, ostentatious signet ring with a big scrolling S on a pigeon’s blood ruby that didn’t fit his long, skinny fingers rested loosely on his thumb. Something about the young man’s ruined face was familiar. His aquiline nose…something. Kia had probably seen him before. 

“So…yeah. That was super nice of you.” Varistan felt inexplicably nervous. He was never nervous around rabble and peasants before. “I appreciate it…like I said.” 

He sat there, awkwardly, the energy of him obtrusive. “Say…do you have a smoke?” Varistan asked Kia, wanting to smooth over his nerves. He’d already asked the snotty artist who had just flatly told him ‘no’. 

Chiaro remained silent and proceeded to paint. Kia sat still in an antique, creaky, old chair. After Varistan asked Kia for a smoke, the old man shifted in his seat and pulled out a fat cigarrillo from his pocket. 

“Here,” he said, his voice a little warmer than before. “So, what did they lock you up for?” Kia wondered.

Varistan took it clumsily and lit it with the candelabra and set it back down, but definitely not in the same place. 

Heaving a big sigh, his shoulders slumped as he dragged a hand through his messy curls. “I…after this happened to my face I wasn’t in a good place. Mentally. Whatever,” he grumbled. “Lots of whoring and drinking later…I was wandering around the Bazaar feeling really fucking pissed. There’s this lawyer and she’s a fucking fraud,” he spat. “Collecting donations for my bitch of a sister. Long story. Anyway,” he huffed out, smoking, pouring out his sad little personal tragedy. “I threw a rock through the lawyer’s window. Like I said, I was in a bad place. Still am.” He shrugged. “It was dumb. I’m dumb. She’s going to sue me.”  

Kia threw his head back and laughed. Chiaro’s paintbrush immediately ceased.

“Quit moving,” the painter snapped.

Kia stopped laughing and grinned. He threw a quick look over at Varistan.

“Yeah, throwing a rock at a lawyer’s window is pretty dumb,” he said with a smile. “But, we have all done dumb things, haven’t we?” Kia asked good naturedly.

“Quit. Moving,” Chiaro hissed.

Kia couldn’t see Varistan’s face, but all his features softened. He looked like he might cry and he scowled then and dropped his chin to his chest and smoked until his stomach hurt and he was a little dizzy. 

He didn’t smoke a lot and this was far stronger than the hand rolled fancy imported Nightborne cigarettes with the arcane dust, glittering filters. 

He made a snap decision. No longer a lord and no longer beautiful, with a mountain of debt from gambling, Varistan felt he was a rabbit pushed into a run. There were a hundred hounds nipping at his heels and only one way to go. 

“Say, sir?” He looked up, taking in a steadying breath. “Could I work for you?” He asked. “I can fight,” he offered. “World champion fencer.” 

“Eh?” Kia grunted questioningly, as if he hadn’t heard him right. Then, he watched Kia’s good eye flick over to him a few times– so as if to not move his head. By the scowl on Chiaro’s face, the painter clearly was running out of patience for moving models.

“Work for me?” Kia asked, as if mulling it over. “Well… actually, I just got some land that I could use a few workers on.”

Varistan eagerly agreed, beaming up at the Old Dog. He had no idea that Kia was about to put him to work on land he used to own. 

The land his ‘bitch of a sister’ Lillandyr had given to the drug lord and thus, stole Varistan’s title. 

After Kia was done sitting for Chiaro, Varistan followed him, grabbing up his clothes in one hand and holding the sheet to himself with the other. “Hey! Wait up, sir!” He called after Kia. 

As Varistan passed the artist, he hissed in the other man’s ear. “I’ll be back. Don’t paint anyone else while I’m gone,” he said nastily before half jogging to catch up to Kia Sin’del

@lillandyrshadowglade

@chiarosunscar

@wranubbin

@wraaronsen

[consumerofsoup]

HEY DUAL RULER SPOILERS BTW

I AM SCREAMING SO HARD RN. THERE WAS ONE SCREEN OF I-NO. WHICH IS IMPORTANT. BUT WHAT IS MORE IMPORTANT IS AXL. WHO WASN'T IN ANY TRAILER I THINK???? WHICH MEANS MORE CHARACTERS ARE POSSIBLE?????? HOLY CRAP SATURDAY COME SOONER PLEASE. also even if he was in the trailer and I am stupid (very possible), it is a-okay because our favorite Brit is back and he's been detained for illegal space time travel

also Sin is the prime example of "despite it all... I remain silly!" also this is the grape eating episode from the trailer. that's all

[honeydixonn]

die together, hae-jo | mr plankton

prologue, ruined

The rain had long since stopped when Seorin finally let herself pause, standing by the window of her apartment and watching the city lights blur into soft halos against the glass. This place had been hers for months now—small, quiet, and suffocatingly lonely. It was a space that didn't hold echoes of the past, unlike the apartment she had shared with him. Unlike the life they had built together.

Four years. Four years she had spent believing in a future with Hae-Jo, trusting in the warmth of his love, in the steady rhythm of their lives together. She had seen forever in the way he looked at her, in the way he showed up for her without hesitation. And yet, in the end, it had all slipped through her fingers, like the rain tracing crooked paths down the windowpane.

Her fingers curled into a fist as she turned away from the glass. It was stupid, wasn't it? Believing him when he told her he cared. Stupid to think the way he'd held her so tightly, so protectively, could mean something permanent. Yet the memories lingered, refusing to leave her in peace.

He'd take her to the park.

The sunlight filtered gently through the leaves of the giant oak tree, casting dappled shadows over the picnic blanket. Seorin stretched out on the soft grass, laughing as Hae-Jo teased her about the way she squinted at the crossword puzzle in her hands.

"Is it really that hard?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder, his chin propped on her head.

"You're not helping," she muttered, swatting at him with the pen.

He grinned, plucking a grape from the small bowl between them and popping it into his mouth. "Fine, let me try."

She handed him the puzzle, watching as his brow furrowed in exaggerated concentration. He got the answer wrong on purpose, of course, writing "catnap" instead of "cataclysm," just to hear her laugh.

The hours passed like seconds, the world shrinking to the sound of their voices and the rustle of leaves above them. These were the moments Seorin treasured—the simplicity of being with him, the way his presence made everything feel lighter, as if nothing bad could ever touch them.

Show up when she needed him.

The bell above the door jingled, signaling yet another customer's arrival. Seorin glanced nervously at the steaming cup of coffee in her hand, trying to recall whether the man in the suit had asked for one sugar or two. She placed it on the counter and called out his name, only to be met with a sharp sneer.

"Is it really so hard to get a simple order right?" the man snapped, his voice cutting through the air.

Her cheeks flushed as her coworkers exchanged glances, some stifling smirks. Before she could stammer an apology, Hae-Jo appeared at the counter, his face set in a calm but unyielding expression.

"Maybe if you spoke to people like they were human beings, your day would go better," he said coolly, his height and tone making the man hesitate.

The customer muttered something under his breath and left, and Seorin turned to Hae-Jo, her eyes wide. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," he said firmly, his gaze softening as it settled on her. "No one gets to talk to you like that. Not while I'm here."

Run when she was hurt.

The fluorescent lights in the emergency room were harsh, and the pain in her ankle was a dull throb as she sat on the bed, waiting for the doctor. She had just started to doze off when she heard his voice echo through the corridor.

"Seorin!"

Her eyes snapped open just as Hae-Jo rushed into the room, his hair disheveled and his breath coming in short bursts. He looked like he'd run the whole way there.

"What happened? Are you okay?" he asked, his hands hovering over hers as if afraid to touch her, afraid she might break further.

"It's just a sprain," she said, smiling weakly.

"Just a sprain? You were crying when you called me," he said, frowning. "If they don't take care of you, I'll..."

"Stop," she interrupted, laughing softly. "I'm fine. You didn't have to come."

"Yes, I did," he said, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. "You'd do the same for me."

Surprise her with big things...

When Seorin unlocked the door to her new apartment, she froze. The boxes she'd been dreading unpacking were gone—not gone, exactly, but opened and neatly arranged. Her books were stacked on the shelves. Her dishes were in the cabinets. Even her toothbrush was in the bathroom cup.

"What...?"

She turned to find Hae-Jo standing in the doorway, holding a bag of takeout.

"You're welcome," he said casually, walking past her to place the food on the counter.

"How did you—when did you—"

"You don't have to do everything alone," he said simply, pulling out two sets of chopsticks.

She stared at him, tears pricking at her eyes.

"You're impossible," she muttered, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

... and little things.

Every morning, there was a neatly packed lunch waiting for her on the counter, complete with a sticky note scribbled in Hae-Jo's messy handwriting.

"Don't work too hard today. You're amazing."

"If you get bored, think about me."

"Eat the fruit first. Yes, that's a rule."

Each note was a reminder of him, a small piece of his love tucked into her day. She kept every one of them, folded neatly in the corner of her journal.

Her throat tightened, and she clenched her jaw. "And then he ripped it all away," she muttered, the words bitter on her tongue.

It was mid-afternoon, the kind of cloudy day where the sun fought to break through the thick gray clouds, but never quite succeeded. The air smelled faintly of rain, and the park was quiet except for the occasional rustling of leaves. Seorin stood under the oak tree, watching Hae-Jo pace back and forth. He looked agitated, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched as if trying to shield himself from a storm no one else could see.

She crossed her arms, trying to fight the knot forming in her stomach. "You've been weird all week. Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Hae-Jo stopped pacing, finally turning to face her. His expression was unreadable, his usual warmth replaced by something cold, distant. It was a look she didn't recognize, and it made her heart ache.

"I don't think this is working anymore," he said abruptly.

The words hit her like a slap. "What are you talking about?"

"Us," he said, his voice flat. "This relationship. I don't think it's working."

She stared at him, uncomprehending. "Where is this coming from? Everything was fine yesterday, Hae-Jo. What's going on?"

"It's not fine," he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make her flinch. He took a breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "It hasn't been fine for a while. I just... I've been thinking, and I don't think I love you the way you deserve to be loved."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Seorin took a step closer, her voice trembling. "You're lying."

Hae-Jo's jaw clenched. "I'm not."

"You're lying," she repeated, her tone more forceful now. She could see it in his eyes—the way they flickered with guilt, the way he wouldn't meet her gaze for longer than a second. "Why are you doing this? If something's wrong, we can fix it. We've always been able to fix it."

"This isn't something we can fix," he said, taking a step back from her. "I've been holding you back, Seorin. You have so much ahead of you, and I'm..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"And you're what?" she pressed, her voice breaking. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not good for you," he said finally, his voice cracking. "You're better off without me."

Seorin's breath caught in her chest. She felt tears pricking at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "That's not your choice to make. If I'm with you, it's because I want to be. Don't try to tell me what's better for me, Hae-Jo."

"I don't want to do this anymore," he said, forcing the words out quickly as if saying them faster would make them hurt less.

She took another step forward, close enough now to see the tremble in his hands. "If you don't want this, then look me in the eyes and say it. Tell me you don't love me anymore."

His mouth opened, but the words didn't come. For a brief moment, she saw the truth—saw the pain he was trying to hide, the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of whatever he wasn't telling her.

"I don't love you," he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The lie was obvious, but the weight of hearing it still hit her like a punch to the chest. Her tears fell then, hot and unchecked, and she shook her head as if that would erase the words.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

He didn't answer. He couldn't.

She wiped her cheeks, trying to steady her breathing. "If you think I'll believe this is what you really want, then you don't know me at all."

Her words hung heavy in the air as she turned and walked away, her steps slow but resolute. She didn't look back, even as her heart screamed at her to stop, to turn around and fight for him.

Hae-Jo stood frozen under the oak tree, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep his composure. When she finally disappeared from view, he sank to the ground, his head in his hands.

He told himself he was doing the right thing, that letting her go was the only way to protect her. But as the first drops of rain began to fall, he felt the weight of his decision settle deep in his chest, suffocating him.

For the first time, he wondered if maybe he'd been wrong. If maybe, just maybe, pushing her away wasn't the act of love he'd convinced himself it was—but the biggest mistake of his life.

She could still feel the ache in her chest, raw and suffocating, as he stood under that oak tree and let her walk away.

But now, in the silence of her small apartment, Seorin wondered if maybe she'd been the stupid one. Stupid for believing that kind of love could last forever. Stupid for letting herself trust someone who thought the best thing he could do for her was to leave.

Even as she curled up on the couch, her arms wrapping tightly around herself, she couldn't stop the tears that blurred her vision. Because no matter how much she told herself to let it go, she couldn't shake the feeling that the Hae-Jo she had loved—the one who had once loved her so deeply—was still out there.

And she hated herself for wishing, even now, that he'd come back.

[kick-a-long]

I honestly wish antisemites were right and jews really did originate from space or some bullshit.

I would love to yeet off this stupid fucking powder keg we call earth until after goyim blow themselves to hell. i would happily live in my spaceship kabbutz and dip back to earth when the nuclear material cooled past it's half life then help nature get back on it's feet and eat lovely apples off the tree and grapes from the vine.

[dumbass-duo-showdown]

DUMBASS DUO SHOWDOWN ROUND 1 BATTLE 32

Pete Wentz and Gabe Saporta (bandom) vs Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng & Nie Huaisang (MDZS/the untamed)

propaganda under the cut everyone! I recommend checking it out before voting

Pebe

they are genuinely both so stupid. they both leaked each other's phone numbers trying t o be hee hee, Pete got Gabe's actual face tattooed on him as a part of a bet, they cannot be around each other without giggling like teenage girls... all of the cobrakkah......

One braincell trio

In fandom spaces, they are affectionately referred to as the "One Braincell Trio", and for good reason. You have Wei Wuxian, the genius of his generation, Jiang Cheng, sect heir and grumpy purple grape, and Nie Huaisang, lazy layabout allergic to responsibility (but secretly smart as hell) - and when you put them together, you're lucky to find one braincell in working order. Whether it be cheating on tests, skipping school responsibilities, chasing wild chickens for food, or organizing parties with booze and porn, these boys are the ones you go to.

[yesihaveaobsession]

Unwanted Guest

Alastor x female reader

Summary: The reader (you) goes to the beach for a chill day but gets bothered by Alastor, a famous demon. Alastor keeps bugging them despite your efforts to relax. You two end up reluctantly hanging out together, even though you find Alastor annoying. But there's also something kind of cool about him that you can't ignore.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting its warm embrace over the sandy shores as waves rhythmically crashed against the beach. Your eyes were closed as you took in the warm sun cascading down onto your body. You sought out that you could finally relax, get a break from all the chaos in the underworld.

As you stretched out on a towel, your eyes still remained closed under your sunglasses that shaded some of the warm sun from your eyes, allowing the bright kiss of the sun to caress your body. Although all of this was short-lived by an unwelcome presence.

"You know, darling, there are far more interesting places to hide from me than a crowded beach," a smooth voice purred, sending a chill down your spine. One time is all you asked to get away from him! He was so annoying, ALWAYS invading your and others personal space, and he knew how much it bothered you.

With a begrudging sigh, you opened your eyes to find Alastor, reclining on a nearby towel with his head propped up on one hand an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"Why, Alastor, what a surprise," you replied, your irritation thinly veiled beneath a facade of civility.

Alastor chuckled, his crimson eyes gleaming mischievously. "Oh, I do love surprises, especially when they involve you, my dear."

You rolled your eyes, hell you were determined to not let the deer demon ruin your day of catching up the sun rays. But of course, Alastor had other plans, inching his towels closer to yours until they almost touch, your lip curled in a snarl.

"Are you quite finished with your little game of hide-and-seek, darling?" Alastor teased, reaching over to steal a grape from your picnic basket. You hate him, that stupid grin he always had. Only thing you could think to do without causing a scene was to glare and grit your teeth at him. "I was hoping to enjoy some peace and quiet, but it seems that's too much to ask for."

Alastor let out a chuckle and moved his stance to a more comfortable position, and popping the grape in his mouth, chewing and swallowing it."Oh, but where's the fun in that? Besides, I couldn't resist the temptation of joining you for a spot of sunbathing."

You huffed, "You do realize you're ruining my tan, right?" You lifted your sunglasses to rest on your head and propped yourself onto your elbow. "Ah, but my dear, I do believe your frustration adds a certain rosy hue to your complexion," Alastor replied with a wicked grin. You laid back down and his eyes roamed up and down, as you continue to get sun kissed you couldn't help but help but admit that, despite his infuriating antics, there was something strangely alluring about Alastor's devilish charm.

"You can stay but you got to change." You said and he looked down at his suit, then looked back at you.

"I do love surprises, especially when they involve you, my dear." You replied and his smile got strained slightly.

[markwateneymemorialcrater]

I was having a conversation with a friend about how just shit it is to try to have any discourse now. And I think I came to a few interesting conclusions.

Mainly, people no longer are actually debating different ideas of the same thing.

It’s like if someone told you that eating rice was bad and evil. Because what they mean by rice is really cyanide and not rice at all.

People no longer argue about the pros/ cons of the same thing they are arguing apples and oranges while both are calling them grapes.

A good example of this from the real world I’ve seen is the 15 minute city. So if you are unfamiliar, the 15 minute city is an urban planning philosophy that aims to design communities will all of one’s regular destinations (home, work, shops, entertainment) accessible within 15 minutes of walking or public transit. At least that is the definition most urban planners and proponents of the 15 minute city believe.

However I have met real people who believe that the 15 minute city is a plot to force us all into these designated cities where we won’t have personal vehicles and be forced to stay in these cities under plenty of a strict social credit score system.

Now I think that sounds crazy. But if that was my understanding of the 15 minute city concept. I’d be against it too.

Which then leads to the other point my friend and I got to. How does one get to a point where they prefer to believe the crazy explanation rather than the objective true one?

The mountain of stupidity is climbed one step at a time. These people don’t start out believing in Jewish space lasers controlling the weather. They start out curious and hungry for knowledge. And perhaps they are never taught the importance of critical thinking or they just grew a distrust of official authorities. After all. They tend to be a pretentious lot. Then maybe they learn about cloud seeding. That’s a real tech. And they did do research on using cloud seeding to combat hurricanes in the 70’s. Then they hear about chemtrails and they might think that’s a bit wacky. Surely someone would figure that out of commercial jets were spraying chemicals right? Though you don’t really know why planes do leave those trails behind them. And how much do we really see on an airplane? It might be possible. Then a crazy politician runs for office. And he starts saying these crazy things. And he’s a powerful man. He couldn’t get to a place of power without being smart. And if he is saying they are controlling the weather, then there has to be some truth to that. Besides. He may say some crazy shit. But you agree with a lot of what he says. And soon enough, they are believing crazy things that would seem absurd before.

[zenkindoflove]

Give me your top 5 weird facts about the brain (this ask is payback)

Hahahha, okay but I LOVE this. I can yap forever.

Sorry I will put this all under the cut because it's going to be long. This is what happens when you ask someone with a PhD in neuroscience about their favorite facts about the brain.

"Bird brain" or "smooth brain" meaning stupid is based on some old school theories about intelligence and it's relationship to brain shape and size. Mammals have what is called a "neocortex" or just the cortex which is the "wrinkly" part of the brain that you see in larger animals that gets more wrinkly as you increase in "intelligence" such as primates. The purpose of the wrinkles is to increase surface area to pack more neurons (which is correlated to higher cognitive functions) so that head size doesn't get too big. Now, for a long time it was assumed that mammals had higher intelligence than other animals like fish, lizards, and birds whose brains do not have a cortex. However, studies in the last 10 years have shown that if you actually measure the number of neurons and control for overall size and volume, many birds, especially corvids (crows, ravens), parrots, and songbirds have neuron densities similar to or just below primates, and certainly more than many species of mammals. We have known for a long time that these types of birds have higher levels of intelligence, we just didn't really have a reason/mechanism to explain why. It seems birds have evolved an alternative way to building dense but small brains, which is that they actually pack their neurons close together, much closer than what you see under the microscope of a mammalian brain. Some of my research in graduate school was characterizing what we called neuron "clusters", and they basically look like a bushel of grapes together. So what to take away is that not every "smooth brain" is a dumb brain. It's really about how many neurons you got in there to make up the billions/trillions of connections needed for higher order cognitive processing.

Your brain is able to make all of the "sex steroids" such as testosterone or estrogen (which is really a class of hormones at the one people often mean is known at 17-beta-estradiol). Every steroid hormone is derived from cholesterol, and your brain has all of the enzymes that are necessary for making progestins, androgens, and estrogens. When they are made in the brain, they are often acting as "neuromodulators" which means unlike a hormone (which is a chemical signal that travels long distances through the blood) they are acting locally within synapses (the small spaces between neurons) and controlling how that neuron functions. Outside of the ovaries/testes, the brain is the biggest producer of sex steroids and it's especially true for fish and birds.

The chemical that makes foods taste hot - capsaicin - does so by "tricking" your brain into thinking the temperature has literally changed. You have receptors throughout your body called TRP receptors which are activated whenever there is a change in temperature (either a drop or an increase). Capsaicin binds to the ones that sense heat (an increase in temperature), activates them as they would be when you touch something hot, and that is why spicy foods make you feel hot and hurt you (as pain receptors are also triggered).

I think the "you only use 10% of your brain" is widely known to be a myth. I think it's probably pretty clear you obviously use all of your brain. It doesn't make sense to build such a energy expensive structure to not use most of it. But do you know why this number came about? It's actually from a real, very old study that tried to estimate the number of neurons compared to glia (another cell in the brain that is considered a "support" cell but actually has tons of really important functions. It's called glia because it literally means glue). This old estimate counted that for every 1 neuron there was 9 glia cells, or 10% of the brain was made up of the "functional" cell-type. That has also since been debunked with more sophisticated techniques for estimating ratios and the number of neurons to glia is actually more like 50-50.

Brains are really plastic - meaning they are susceptible to change. There are a lot of reasons for this, one of them being because the primary mechanism for memory is the flexibility in neuronal connections. I won't bore you with all of the details of that though it is cool if you really like cellular biology. But one thing I think is cool is that brains are so flexible, that depending on when in life a brain injury happens (or developmental malformation), you can maintain a lot of function by the brain rewiring its connections to use other regions to make up for the loss of that region. For example, the cerebellum, which is the "tiny brain" that sits below the cerebrum and over the brain stem is incredibly essential for coordinating all movement as well as learning and memory. If this structure is damaged in an adult, that person can have some pretty severe disabilities. However, there has been a case of a woman who was born without a cerebellum - as in it does not exist and is completely gone, and the last time I saw reports about her, she does not have any loss of functions that medical professionals were able to measure (this was about a decade ago so this could have changed). It seems because she was never born with it in the first place, her brain used other structures to control those functions as she was a baby learning to move in the world.

[swagmagussupreme]

The mech has lungs because the pilot has lungs.

Obviously, the Haema has lungs to recirculate vitae internally. Dirty vitae slurry is filtered, clean vitae is pumped over the amber core. The amber core— for lack of real scientific consensus or explanation— ‘inspires’ the newly-scrubbed vitae. The lungs house many important circulation systems: vitae infected by soft attacks can be corrected in the lungs, irradiated vitae can be purged, Tinged pilots can have their vitae feed choked or dilated, and of course the lungs do actually circulate oxygen for the pilot's life support— whether they need it in the cockpit or not.

Except it doesn't need to be lungs. The Haema doesn't need two fragile semisynthetic sacs hanging in its chest. It forces the chest plating to be capable of expanding— or at least to be spaced out enough to allow the lungs’ inflation— which could incur compromises in a place where armor is most important. It could be a mechanical pump. It could be anything else. It could be anywhere else.

The mech has lungs because the pilot has lungs.

The expansion of your chest. The feeling of it falling as you release a relieved sigh. The tightness there when you're stressed. Taking a deep breath of crisp, cool air. A hot summer’s day like inhaling from an oven. Yawning. Coughing. Do you know how much coughing means to you?

The mech has lungs so the pilot can breathe. The mech has lungs for you. The mech breathes for you. The mech wants you to breathe. The mech wants to feel your chest inflate, deflate, inflate, deflate.

You have lungs so the mech can breathe. You breathe because it can't. You've breathed your whole life. Breathing is everything to you and you never realize it until you're in something that can’t— that hasn't— that doesn't know how to breathe, and you're going to show it something beautiful. You want to feel its chest expanding, contracting, expanding, contracting.

There's nothing between you two. You breathe its air, you pump its blood. It breathes at your whim, it moves, it works, it lives because you're living with it. You can't move, but why would you want to? Your nerves, your chemicals, they don't move the flesh and meat in the seat. They move the arms of the Haema— your arms, your better arms— they move your legs— two of them, three of them, four of them, eight of them, more and better than those things your corpus stands on could ever hope to be— they move your eyes— the feeds, the cameras, the radar, sonar, EM spectrographs, data and data, knowledge beyond what the stupid little meat-grapes in your skull could ever tell you— and they breathe. They inhale. They exhale. They sigh and they yawn and they cough so you can know which body is the one you deserve. You yawn and you sigh and you cough so the Haema can know how to be you.

Do you know what love is?