#death and mortal companion

[icantbraintoday-tryagainlater]

The Bullet that Carved My Name (Chapter Two)

Chapter One

Title: The Bullet that Carved My Name

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Death, gun violance, murder, blood/gore

Fandom: Death and Martha, and Hell's Belles (TikTok's Flickerspark and Sea Ya Out There)

Summery: You die at the hand of your father and learn to love yourself in the afterlife, where Lily, Sharkie, Penny, and the Hellp Desk Gang take you into their adopted family.

Chapter Summery: Bex meets Lily and Penny and learns she doesn't belong in Hell.

Listen - I don't own anything, ok? I don't even own the laptop I'm writing this on or myself (I'm in a lot of dept). But I don't approve of anyone taking this and posting it somewhere else. This is my work and I've worked hard on it. It isn't Beta'd or Proof Read so I guess you could say the onlything I do own are the mistakes in this. I've taken A LOT from my personal life and put it into this story. Please be kind. And if anyone wants to Beta it, I would love that! Just message me and let me know!

I took a glance at the clocks on the wall of the waiting room and hummed, watching the time tick by. For the first time in my life - er… death? I didn’t have anywhere to be, anything to do, or anyone to meet. It was strange. So I didn’t even notice that I had been sitting in the waiting area for 3 whole days. 

Three. Whole. Days.

Oh shit.

Quickly, I stood up and padded my way over to the Hellp Desk where I had noticed several people ushering the worst of humanity through to their levels of Hell for the last three days. It had been quiet for a few hours by this point, so the woman behind the desk, I believe her name was Lily, from what I had gathered from watching, was reading The Hobbit. It was a worn copy, and clearly very loved. I instantly fell in love. Tolkein always had a special place in my heart. Middle Earth was my get-away when life became too much .I often dreamed about being part of that world. Having parents who loved and cared for me more than they loved and cared for money and possessions…

“Um, I'm so sorry to interrupt your reading,” I started as I shuffled on my feet and played with the hem of my shirt.

“If you have a problem that you’re down here, just remember that today is not the day, I am not the one, and the coffee machine is being fixed. So tread carefully.” She said as she turned the page to keep reading before she glanced up at me. “Wait - Who are you? You’re not on my list today.”

“I’m sorry, what’s wrong with your coffee maker? I could take a look? I worked at Starbucks for a while, and I might be able to help?” All thoughts of asking for help for myself immediately slipped out of my head as I heard that someone else was needing help. I could take a look at a coffee machine. I loved coffee. I lived off of coffee. And if I could help the women who clearly had the toughest job in all of creation, I would happily help!

But Lily just stared at me as I babbled until she finally shook her head. “Hon, you’re not supposed to be in Hell. Did you take a wrong turn?”

“Oh no, I definitely belong in Hell.” I immediately started arguing. “Like I told Death, if there’s a Hell, then there’s a Heaven, and my parents were right. I definitely belong in Hell for leaving the church. And being pan… Huh… Guess it was a choice…” I sighed, defeated. “I’ve been sitting over there for a few days and I was just wondering if I needed to go to a different level? I’m honestly not sure if I’m even on a level yet.”

“Oh, honey…” Lily put her book down and shook her head, looking me up and down which made me feel even more uncomfortable. “The Christians weren’t the only ones who were right. Yes, there’s a heaven and a hell because that’s what some people believe in. But I promise you, that’s not the only afterlife. There’s paradises you can only imagine, and tortures even worse than level 9.”

“Don’t tell Greg that!” A voice piped up as Penny came over to sit down next to Lily. “He takes his responsibility very seriously, Who are you? Oh, do we have another trainee!?”

“Trainee?” I asked, frowning, confused.

“Love is never a sin,” Lily says, searching her desk for what I assumed was my paperwork. “And neither is leaving a church that preaches hate. Ah! Here it is!” She held up my file with a triumphant smile. “Now, let’s see where you re– Your father really did that?” She asked softly, looking at me.

I shifted again, uncomfortable for the umteenth time. “I just need to know where I go so I can stop bothering you. I didn’t mean to interrupt the Hobbit for you. And before I go, I can still look at the coffee machine.”

“You can fix coffee machines?” Penny asked with a hopeful look. “Oh, you definitely belong here with us, then!!”

“She belongs in her own paradise. Hon, you were a great person.” Lily looked at me again, tilting her head. 

“What do you mean? I was horrible when I was a kid.”

“No, you were hurt when you were a kid. And you’ve more than made up for it in your adult life before you died. You were supposed to live a lot longer, too…” She shook her head. “Do you know how many of your friends you’ve saved?”

I frowned, shaking my head. “What do you mean?”

“It says here that wherever a friend called you for help, you were there. Regardless of when or where it was. You’ve talked so many of them off a literal cliff. You saved so many lives. And you did everything you could to help others. But no one was there to help you…”

I was getting more and more uncomfortable as Lily continued to read from my chart. “I just did what I would want someone to do for me. It was nothing, really.”

“That’s not nothing.”

I glanced over to Penny and bit my lip. She was looking at me strangely.

“I wish I had someone like you when I was alive… I might not have ended up here so soon.”

“Oh - Oh, Penny, I’m so sorry.” Immediately I felt my heart break for this beautiful woman in front of me.

“It’s alright.” She said, giving me another smile. “I found my happiness. And my place to heal. And now, you do too.” She reached over the desk and took my hand, squeezing it a little. “How would you like a job?  Here at the Hellp Desk? It helped me heal, and I think it will help you, too!”

[lesbianlovelanguage]

Yes, my mortal companion?

“Hey! Death!” Billy called out to the star filled sky that stretched out above the Quarry clearing. He felt stupid every time he did this, but he wasn’t sure how else to contact the guy. It wasn’t like an interdimensional figure carried a fucking pager.

With a small poof of wind and a loud crack, a figure appeared next to where he was sitting on the hood of his Camaro. “Yes my mortal companion?” Death said in a surprisingly chipper voice. No one would ever believe him, but Death acted more like an overgrown puppy than any incarnation of every human’s inevitable end.

“Heya Pretty Boy. I got my hands on that drink you wanted to try,” he said, holding up a six pack of Coors beer.

“Ah yes. This bear you told me about!” 

Billy chuckled. “It’s beer, Death. B-E-E-R.” Death wasn’t discouraged by his mistake in the slightest, simply pulling out a little black notebook from...somewhere, and wrote it down, tongue slipping out a little between plush pink lips. Billy was struck, not for the first time since knowing Death, by how gorgeous he was. Dark brown eyes and silky hair that Billy itched to run his hands through. He wanted to trace constellations between the moles he had seen hints of, feel the surprising amount of lean muscle hidden beneath baggy clothes, know what Death literally tasted like.

A small crack shocked him out of his quickly spiraling thoughts as Death snapped his journal to where ever he kept it and looked back up. Billy tried to adjust his pants discreetly as he passed the six pack over to Death, and sent a quick prayer to whatever deity might be listening that he wasn’t as red in the face as he felt. Death said nothing about it though, simply took the cans and started looking them over with interest.

“So, how do you open these and drink them?” Death asked, and Billy gave him a quick crash course in all of the various ways one could consume a can of beer, from just popping the tab open to shotgunning to chugging. Death quickly decided he wanted to try them all and Billy watched on in amusement as he popped open his own can. 

They spent quite a while just like that, until the six pack was all gone and they both laid down on the hood of the Camaro and looked up at the stars. 

“Hey Death,” Billy asked quietly.

“Yes Billy?”

“Do you have like... an actual name?” Billy turned his head to study the other’s face.

Death looked over at him, squinting his eyes in thought. “I’ve never really had a reason to. Humans have given me quite a few, but they never actually stick.”

“Do you want one?”

“You know, I’ve always liked the name Steve.”

[write-it-motherfuckers]

It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened, when the snide remarks, and cruel threats, suddenly changed to choked gasps, and terrified screams, the sounds of your attackers, trying to flee in fright, following swiftly after. 

Not that they’d get very far.

Keeping your eyes closed, you tried your best to focus on the sound of your own breathing, instead of listening to the undoubtedly gruesome, deaths, taking place, a short distance away. You knew there was no point trying to stop them, at this point, your distress, more than enough of an incentive, to kill the group, even without taking into account, the injuries you had sustained.

It wasn’t until you felt long, ice cold, fingers, brush over your pulse, worriedly, that you finally realised that everything had fallen silent.

Not wanting to risk seeing the results of their protective fury, you carefully sat up, lifting your head slowly, to meet the intense, and fretful, gaze, of your saviour. Something which thankfully seemed to put them a little more at ease, now that they knew that you could still move.

Giving them a wobbly smile, not yet trusting yourself to speak, you watched on in relief, as the last of the hardness, seemed to fade from their eyes, a shuddering sigh leaving them, as they carefully gathered you close, the thick, billowing, fabric, of their cloak, shielding you from the gruesome sight of your surroundings. 

You had a feeling, you wouldn’t be going anywhere alone, for a while.

[asktheheirofslytherin]

You do know that Bella will die at some point, unless you make her a Horcrux, right? Even if she survives all battles, old age is still a thing. What would you do? Avoid her and distance yourself or spend even more time with her?

I have been...leaning, heavily, towards having Bella make a horcrux. It is not set in stone, has not been done. I need more time to think. 

[non-toxicdragonageconfessions]

Confession: I was going through the usual 20’s existential crisis concerning mortality, and Wynn really helped me with that. She was so at peace with her death and ready for the end, it made me think everything would be okay.

[peace-and-light-poetry]

A Hawk’s Burial

She made a point that If it was still there, she'd bury it She happened upon it again

The dead hawk from before

Thus, she'd bury it.

This would be a simple affair Aside from defrosting the ground

Death and mortality weren't alien topics No, this was just another part of it She would make a point

To bury the dead animals she found Giving them little funerals For reasons that make sense

At least, to her

However, for reasons she couldn't identify No, it just made sense to bury them This hawk is one of them

Perhaps, she buried them Because it seems like a nice gesture Burying them so new life could continue

Or, perhaps, in a way, she was becoming at ease At ease with her own mortality In a way she'd been accustomed

She'd never know

Just that she made a point to bury it And she did, after she happened upon it A simple affair

[snippychicke]

~☽ Moonstone ☾~ (Part One)

Fandom: Moon Knight(TV)

Rating: Mature/Explicit.

Pairing: Khonshu/Reader (unnamed cis!female)

Warnings: Violence, death, angst, oh, and smut.

Summary: Before Marc and Steven, before Arthur, Khonshu had another avatar. Well, hundreds of thousand of others, but this is the story of one in particular that Khonshu was fond of.

Far more than a god should be towards his avatar. Especially when that god isn't exactly known for his kindness or love.

**Warning**Mature Content. If you're underage, go else where.

Link to Moonstone on Ao3 | Moonstone Masterlist

You were a hot-headed young woman with a deep sense of justice, so it was only fair he offered you his powers on that fateful moonlit night. You were covered in bruises, blood seeping from your various wounds, but still stubbornly standing while the three would-be muggers fell at your feet. They had been armed with knives, outnumbered you, but while you had been armed with nothing but broken metal pipe and pure determination, you had defeated them. 

He could tell you were moments from meeting Anubis, but yet you still held his 'gaze' defiantly. He wondered if you could even see through the quickly swelling black eye, or understand what you were seeing. 

Granted, what mortal did when he first chose them? 

"Accept my gift, become my knight, and dole justice to more cretins like this," he spoke as he knelt down to your level. "In return, I will always protect you and heal your wounds."

You didn't flinch as his hand touched your face, reversing the damage done. The discoloration fled as the swelling faded, and he could see your eyes.Even as you took in his true visage, shock and surprise fluttering across your face, there wasn’t a hint of fear.

Something told him you would prove to be a worthy avatar. 

"Okay, weird hallucination," you finally agreed, trying discreetly to rub your healed jaw and hide your amazement. "I'll accept your gift. Hopefully, it'll at least keep me from a headache in the morning."

You suffered no pain when you woke the next day, though you did scream when he appeared while you ate your breakfast.

~☽☾~

You were the best avatar he had in such a long time, eagerly taking breaks from your studies (why study anatomy in a book when you could break someone's actual zygomatic bone) whenever he called. You quickly became his loyal companion as you walked next to him as an equal, basking in the moonlight. He enjoyed your discussions about everything and anything as you watched over those traveling at night. Bickering and bantering as he followed you down dark alleyways in chases. Or the moments he stole your breath as his wind carried you across rooftops when you tried to keep up with him. 

The ceremonial suit hugged your curves, protecting its softness from their prey. He could feel you through their shared power; that feminine softness hiding powerful muscles and an even stronger heart. Your weapon of choice mimicked his staff, balancing you as you planted your feet in the faces of criminals. He felt honored by your graceful swings and strikes, looking like a beautiful crane in a deadly dance. A dance for only him to enjoy as he called up the wind, both protecting and embracing you.

 A dance where you more often than not ended in his arms, catching your breath. Euphoria apparent in your eyes as you met his gaze, your head uncovered by his mask and hood so you could enjoy the cool night breeze against your heated skin. 

"Thank you." You'd grin up at him, your back braced against his chest as you looked up. He wanted to wrap his arms around you, but squeezed his staff tight instead. "Thank you so much for this life."

"I should thank you for your devotion, small one," He murmured. He took the chance to brush your hair from your eyes, relishing in the small touch he allowed himself despite wanting more. 

You were his Avatar. Fist of Justice. Protector of Travelers. His weapon filled with power to unleash vengeance on the world. 

Yet what he felt for you was far too soft for such titles. 

~☽☾~

He appeared in your small apartment, ready to whisk you away for a night of work. Typically, you relished the chance, usually otherwise stuck studying thick tomes of the modern era. Or having fallen asleep with them as a pillow. 

Instead, music filled the darkened place, lit by a sparse collection of candles. The wind flickered the flames as he passed; the smoke catching in the small whorls. 

He had no difficulty finding you. It was like a strand connected them, pulling him closer and closer. He could be in the Overvoid, and you could be anywhere on Earth, and he would find you in a heartbeat.

He froze, however, when he found you slowly dancing in the moonlit living room, a bottle of alcohol in one hand, dressed in some gauzy housecoat and underthings. The scene enraptured him, like watching a firefly dancing in the reeds of the Nile, so beautiful and haunting.

Then your eyes landed on him, feeling the same tug on that golden string connecting god to avatar. Your lips shifted into a smile, and you padded softly towards him, your hips swaying to the beat. 

"Dare I ask?" He voiced quietly once you stopped, close enough that the hem of your house coat grazed him as the wind twined around them, no more than a soft fluttery breeze. Likewise, the scraps of fabric that draped across him brushed against your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"I passed my finals," you grinned, placing a finger to the dull bronze moon on his chest and tracing it lightly. "It's a night to celebrate! But I suppose you didn't come to celebrate with me, did you?" you ended your question with a sigh, realization dawning on your fuzzy mind.

No, there were innocents out there needing their protection. Injustices needing correction. Bad guys to hit. So much work needed to be done. Exams were hardly something to celebrate over in the light of everything.

But for once, you looked almost saddened about him coming to whisk you away. You were such a dedicated avatar, surely he could allow you this. Just this once.

"Well, it hardly seems right for my avatar to celebrate without her god, don't you agree?" His hand skimmed the lacy material covering your shoulders. He could feel the warmth emitting from your skin like the sands trying to warm the chilly night air. Part of him feared touching you. He was the cold, empty night. The moon whose light gave no warmth. 

You may be his fist, but you were so much more. The traveler who used the moon and stars to navigate the vast desert. You were the sand, still warm from the heat of the sun. The sand who danced with the wind, creating designs in the dunes and sparkled with dew that formed under the moonlight.

You dropped the near-empty bottle and breached the distance between them. Your small, tiny hand threading with his, your soft skin apparently happy to accept his presence as your other hand skimmed his waist and silently asked to dance.

And how could he refuse? Could he risk the others' wrath by making this night last forever? His little avatar in his arms, your modern music fading away until the rhythm was just the beat of your mortal heart. 

Maybe not, but it would be one of his most cherished memories, one of the few nights he remembered over and over and felt no regret for the lives he failed, but fondness for this simple moment.

"Are you this kind for all your avatars?" you asked, peeking up at him.

He scoffed. He would have never done such a thing for any of them through the eras. They were truly nothing more than tools to him. But yet not you. You had slipped from being a tool to a friend that he wasn’t sure if he ever saw you as just another avatar. "Hardly any of them have enticed me as much as you." 

You snorted, "Me? Entice you? Wait, I see now," you barked a laugh not unlike his own cawing laugh you pulled from him once in a while. "I'm dreaming. First passing my exams and now dancing with you? Ugh, tomorrow is going to be the worst. I knew this was too good to be true." 

“You passed your exams, dear. As I knew you would,” he reassured simply before allowing himself to admit: “And you tempt me as much as a newborn gazelle tempts a starving lion." 

"Oooh, are you gonna gobble me up then?" you laughed as he spun you around, watching the gown twirl about your shapely legs. 

"I just may, some day." He pulled you close, despite knowing he should keep you at arm’s length. Avatars were mortal. He may be the god of time, healing, travelers, but he couldn't stop the fact that all humans died. All of his avatars either forsake him in the end, or sacrificed their life in his name. You were no different. 

Which would hurt more, he wondered. Those eyes full of hate and rage? Or full of the same devotion, but lifeless? 

Which did the future hold for them? 

~☽☾~

The ceremonial suit protected the avatar from most injuries and healed what it could not prevent. Physical injuries, that was. Mentally and emotionally, not so much. 

Villains laid dead at your feet, but so did the innocents they had tried to protect. You knelt in the suit, holding the small child in your arms as they gasped for breath, the wound on their chest bubbling with the same air they needed. 

"Isn't there something we can do?" you begged, holding the child close, trying to provide them some form of comfort. They were hundreds of miles from the nearest city. Not even the strongest winds could whisk them there in time. 

"No, there isn't." He answered, his tone soft, but you still flinched as if he scolded you. He knelt beside you, grieving in his own way. Travelers of the night he tried to protect and failed. So many through the millennia, and it never got easier. The Ennead restricted his healing powers to his avatar alone, making him feel utterly useless in these circumstances. "Their gods will care for them in the Afterlife." 

He could see the spirit leave the child a half moment before they went still in your arms, the formless light drifting up to the stars to join its ancestors. Your harsh cries followed it, screams of pain and anguish that cut to his core. It had been years since you began your walk beside him, and yet you refused to become numb to any needless death. 

He loved you for it.

He was sure that eventually, you would hate him for it as well. 

~☽☾~

Humans were a reproductive species. And his avatar was that age where you would seek someone to bond with, to procreate and start a family. 

And he knew you were beautiful. He wasn't human himself, but his kind weren't asexual by default. He enjoyed your form from afar, certain that Hathor or some other being that delighted in beauty had blessed you.

He also knew that while you may be his avatar, his fist, his knight, his companion, you could never be his beloved, his to have for all eternity. That just wasn't an option.

However, that did not mean he was okay with anyone else being able to partake in the pleasure of being your mate. Not while you were his avatar, at least. 

"We have far more important things to do than this," he stated firmly, striking his staff on the wooden floor and causing a gust of wind to blow through the small coffee shop. Everyone panicked as things flew around, plates crashing and food splattering. 

You just gave him an annoyed expression, especially when a tart smashed against your hair. "It's daytime, Khonshu. My time. So shoo." 

“You are my avatar no matter what time of day!” he raged, angered that you thought you could dismiss him so easily. “I can make allowances for your studies, but this silly little courtship--" 

"Courtship? Oh my—Khonshu, it's just coffee. Nothing else!" you dared to laugh in his face, rolling your eyes and looking away.

Your dismissal struck him more than he cared to admit. "Don't lie to me!" he slammed his staff again. "Just because I am not human doesn't mean I haven't learnt your ways! That mortal has little other interest than trying to get into your pants!"

Your laugh turned hysteric, adding to the fear of insanity by the patrons, unaware of the god in their midst. "You can't be serious. Are you jealous?" 

"No!" Yet he sounded petulant, even to himself. "You are my avatar and while you are bound to me, I expect you to devote yourself completely."

"Oh, really? I don't recall that in our pact, but sure. Fine." You threw up your hands as you stood, turning to address the rest of the cafe. "I'm sorry, everyone, for making you suffer because a certain ancient god is jealous because I'm here with a friend. Who's married, has kids, and just wanted to repay me for helping them in class!" 

"Don't take that tone with me," he growled as he followed you out of the small shop, the wind dying as soon as they left the cafe. "Marriage vows and offspring are meaningless when faced with beauty such as your own." 

"Flattery is not getting you out of this!" you shouted over your shoulder as you stormed down the sidewalk. "I could, maybe, understand if you don't want me to have a significant other, but I should at least be allowed some friends while in your service. Even if it's just the most superficial of friendships!"

"Am I not enough for you?"

That made you pause and look back at him, the bright sunlight fading his visage even to you. Still, the sun glinted on the bronze of his staff and the crest wrapped against his chest. Despite his height and how large he was compared to you, his voice had seemed small. Weak. 

Part of you wanted to shout 'no!' You wanted someone that shared your love for tv shows and books. To go shopping with that wasn't always comparing the fashions of today to those of the past. You wanted someone you could share funny posts and memes, to call when you were having a bad day that didn't automatically drag you out to focus your emotions on the unjust.

But your anger died from a raging flame to barely a simmer, seeing him like that. They were friends, in the oddest of senses. It was so much more complicated than that as well. "You know I love you. That I will always cherish this honor you have given me." You stepped closer to him and raised your hand, but it merely passed through his. As long as it was daylight, he was nothing more than a ghost. It made the divide between woman and god even more apparent. "But we both know this won't last forever. That I will need to rejoin the mundane someday. Right now, you may be enough for me, but you're not always going to be with me. And I'm going to need someone to lean on when you leave me."

Part of him wanted to fall to his knees and swear he would never leave your side. That he would follow you and walk with you until your last breath, but knew he couldn't. 

Instead, he watched in silence as you turned and continued down the street, knowing the tears on your face and the pain in your heart were both for and because of him. 

~☽☾~

After your fight, he knew that his time with you was running out, the sands of time falling quicker and quicker. He should be preparing, looking for another prospective avatar to take your place. Because you were apparently finally growing tired of him and the strain your service to him placed on your mundane life.

But he was so worried, paranoid even, that if he left your side, he wouldn't be able to return. The thread connecting him to you would snap and you'd become one of billions. So he watched, or 'sulked' as you called it, as you went through your day. Classes where he would stand in the corner as a mortal lectured about something they barely understood. While you ate, alone and in silence, watching your classmates sit together, laughing and chatting between shared food. 

At night, as you patrolled, silence reigned in place of the usual banter. No smart-aleck quips, no small talk to pass the time. You didn't lean on him after a fight, but stood on your own two feet as you regained your breath. 

Technically, you were as close as ever, but you felt as far from him as the earth was from the moon. 

By dawn you crawled into bed, the curtains blocking out the rising sun so you could enjoy a few hours of sleep, but he could still feel the wane in power as the moon's reign moved to the other side of the Earth. 

Yet instead of falling asleep, you tossed and turned every few minutes before sitting up with a growl to glare at his general direction where he had been perched on your short dresser, silently watching over you in the gloom. "Really? You’re gonna be a creep and watch me while I sleep, too?" 

"You never seemed bothered before," he answered, shifting his nonexistent weight. Okay, usually he wasn't actually present, but he was always just a whisper away. Surely it wasn't that different.

"Yes. Well. I'm rather stressed and need some private time to de-stress."

He quirked his head, confused. You never requested privacy to de-stress. Granted, de-stress was usually what you called ‘pub crawling’, or poor attempts at meditation, or maybe a long soak in a bath. 

But he felt that quiver through their bond and shifted with stark realization. Oh. Oh. He knew that emotion, that feeling of unsatisfied lust burning just below the skin. He should leave, if only just into the realm just beyond your sight to allow you privacy as you requested. 

 Yet instead he stepped down from the dresser and stalked towards you, entranced by the thrum of the link, and the myriad of other emotions flooding through. Anger, annoyance. But the one that drew him without thought was the last one. Arousal by the way he moved, how he looked, what he could possibly offer you. "Let me help you."

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms, as if that wasn’t what you secretly wanted. "And how, exactly? You're not exactly equipped…" You pursed your lips, unwilling to finish that thought, though there was no denying your eyes glancing downwards in morbid curiosity. "No, it's something I can deal with by myself. Just give me, like, thirty minutes."

"Oh, my little moonstone," he crooned as he shifted on to your bed, barely denting the blankets as he crawled over you. "Let me care for you."

He could see your face turn pink and knew your heart was rapidly beating in your chest. Yet you were defiant as ever, holding his 'gaze'. "I'd like to see you try. You can't even touch me right now, let alone--"

Usually, he only linked to his avatar when called before the others. Or when in a dire situation. Either way, it was always purely business. 

This was anything but. 

Your body was flushed, humming with energy. The muted emotions of the bond become as strong as if they were his own. He couldn't tell where he ended and you began as he stroked your face using your own hand. He could still see your expression, the surprise on it as your thumb brushed your lips gently. 

"Do you still doubt my power?" He teased as he knelt over you. "Do you still want to see me try?" His second question was an honest one whispered into your ear. 

You didn't need to answer. He could feel it in the flutter of your heart. The tiny whisper of your mind betraying your true thoughts as his beak barely brushed your skin. Nevertheless, he waited. Knew that you could feel his patience, his own desire, his fear that he would push an unseen boundary and risk losing you even sooner. 

Your lips curved into that devious smile, the one you wore when you purposely riled him just for your own entertainment. "I doubt that an ancient thing like you would know a way around a woman's body." 

Your hand trailed down your neck, feeling your pulse quiver, before reaching the delicate collar bone peeping from beneath your nightgown and casually drew ancient symbols along its length. Symbols you had no knowledge of, but he knew exactly what he was writing as he drew his name on your skin, claiming it as his own. "I know more about your body than you do. So many ways to make you plead and scream. You'll melt like your precious ice cream in the summer sun and be as boneless as an eel once I'm done with you." 

You laughed at that, disbelieving. "Sure. God of the moon, protector of travelers, vengeance, etcetera, and now the divine pleasure of women?"

"No, not just any woman, or man. Just you. If you'll let me. If you want me." He knew you did. Could feel your arousal as much as his own. Granted, it manifested in different ways, your folds growing moist, your body tight and ready for your hand, his hand, to drift downward. 

His lust was different, a hum of power within him aching for release. To join you in a far more intimate way than humans could ever dream of. But not here. Not now. 

Not ever. 

"Okay then, Khonshu. Show me." It was a taunt. A tease. And he was going to take great delight in punishing your for your lack of belief. 

You tried to hold his gaze as your hands touched and teased; the breeze wisping at any bare patch of skin. But there were shivers, goosebumps, as you undressed yourself, baring yourself to him. He used your fingers to feel the curves he delighted in watching, in protecting with his power. 

When you touched your perk nipples, you gasped as they were rolled between your fingertips, your eyes fluttering close. His beak was a ghostly brush against your neck as you fell back into your bed, back arching into the touches and caresses as he made sure you paid attention to the soft mounds of your chest. 

He praised you in so many languages as you started to whimper as your hands studied the soft flesh of your stomach, waist and hips. And when your legs fell open to him of your own accord, he counted it a success.

He pinned your hands near your shoulders, sinking to his knees and focusing his waning power to brush his beak against your thighs. He chuckled as you hitched your breath and arched your hips. You wanted him. Even if he was less than the breeze taunting and teasing your skin, you ached for him. 

"Believe me now, my little one?" He chuckled, nuzzling against your thighs ever so teasingly, rubbing old bone against soft, tender flesh. 

And only laughed more as you tried to wrap your legs around him and failed. He could barely touch you, let alone stay corporeal enough for you to force him into more. "Hardly screaming and melting here," you snapped.

"But you are about to plead, aren't you dearest?” he crooned, wishing he could touch you with his own hands, to make you really scream in frustration. “I can feel it, that deep ache. To be touched. To be filled." 

"God, you are such a prick," you muttered with a huff.

"Perhaps, perhaps." He continued to ghost over your skin, moving his attention to the dimples of where hip and thigh met, the skin where the waist of your pants clung, all the while the wind teasing and whispering against the curls that were damp between your legs. "Do you not wish to continue, then?" 

You growled, glaring down at him before huffing. "Yes. Please." 

Your hand moved, but to feel the plush lips of your mouth. He never understood kissing, but was still fascinated by them. And he could feel the sensation. Just the slightest touch sent tingles down your spine. 

Oh, to have lips for one night and indulge in that sensation. 

"I appreciate the please, but that's not enough. You know what I want." 

"Please, Khonshu," you stated, hardly sounding repentant. But their other hand played with your breast once more, making you gasp. Between that and his beak scratching your skin, it was enough to change your tone dramatically. "I-I need you. Please." 

"I suppose that will do. For now." Your fingers that had been drawing glyphs upon your lips dipped in your mouth. A little encouragement was all you needed to wrap those same lips around the two fingers, sucking and teasing them with your tongue. 

And oh, that was new. You held his gaze and sent an image of you knelt before him, imagining him with some form of human cock for you to worship the same way. He drew closer, pressing the fingers deeper into your mouth and slowly mimicking the rhythmic movement you desired. 

Your other hand drifted lower, cupping that mound of curls. Your eyes screwed shut as you moaned, bucking up into the touch, while your fingers played, gently parting folds and gathering the moisture there before stroking the bundle of nerves. He moved the hand from your mouth, wanting to hear your noises as your hand continued to explore. Slowly, teasingly, torturously. Every inch, every crease and fold before allowing a single finger to enter you. 

You were hot. Wet. Tight. Everything he wasn't. He bowed his head, resting it next to yours as he tried to keep a handle on his own arousal. Less tempted by the physical sensation, and more by your emotions, what you felt as they slipped a second finger and felt that beautiful hint of being full. 

"Khonshu," you swore softly between soft sounds of pleasure. "Oh please, oh Khonshu." 

"I'm here,'' he reassured, pressing your hand deeper and harder. "I won't leave you wanting." 

"More,” you gasped, crying and pleading for him in more ways than one. He could feel you aching for more than just being filled. You wanted him in that carnal way, every fiber of your being calling for him. “I need more."

Stars, moon, and whatever else, so did he. But this was for you. Whether to teach you to rely on him for all your needs, or just to reward you for putting up with him this long, he wasn't sure. "Mmm, but do you deserve it?" 

"Yes, please. Whatever you want." 

Heavens, you were going to be the death of him. "I want what I can't have," he admitted, hoping you couldn't understand him in the haze of lust and pleasure that was clouding your mind. "I want you, my dearest. Now and forever." 

Your eyes opened, soft, hazy, but found him in the dim light. "Khonshu, I'm yours. Always yours." 

You didn't know what you were saying, what he wanted, yet hearing those words helped his own ache. Your hand delved between your legs, finding your clit. It just took a few short moments before you came, but your hands didn't stop as you clenched around your fingers. Your whines became a scream as he pressed into your as much as he could, bone against flesh, his waist allowing your legs purchase, your arms your own once more and you took the chance to wrap them around his shoulders as you spasmed, rocking up into him. 

A tendril of himself reached out along the bond against his better judgment, touching you ever so briefly. It was barely more than a soft caress, but it caused him to gasp and jerk against you, pleasure overcoming his own senses as you fell apart beneath him, another scream tearing from your lips at the sensation.

The last of his power faded completely, and your limbs fell against the bed, his form passing through you like smoke as you gasped for breath. Despite that, he didn't want to move. He wanted to stay knelt over you, watching as you took deep breaths, your heart slowing beneath your breast. 

Eventually, you tried to caress his face, and felt him as intangible as ever. "I'm so mad at you right now." 

"Oh?" He hummed, easily able to tell your jest, and still able to feel your desire. Not lust, just desire to be with him, to touch him in the most basic of ways whenever you wished. To have a moment of the mundane like a post-coital cuddle. Not just with anyone, but with him. 

Did you really care for him the way he did for you?

"Because you're going to be bragging, 'I told you so' for who knows however long." 

He laughed, a sound rather like a caw as he fell onto the bed next to you, or at least appearing like he did. The blankets didn't even flutter beneath his form. "I can't believe that you ever doubted me." 

 You shifted onto your side, gingerly, as your muscles protested. "Well, to be fair, you hardly ever seemed interested in me." 

He tilted his head towards you. "Oh, little moonstone. If only you knew." He seriously doubted there was anything in the known and unknown that he wouldn't be willing to do for you. 

Especially as your bond with him was as strong as ever. 

[twomoons-if]

A carcanet of thorns around your throat.

The last scion of your House.

Godsblessed, you have a fate to meet.

but the forest is dark and the waters troubled.

May the moonlanterns light your way in the end, hunter,

and may our threads cross again.

FREE DEMO(~19,600 words)(Released May 30th, 2024) | PATREON FOR FULL CHAPTER (~75,000 words) | SUPPORT THE AUTHOR

Content Rating: 18+ for graphic violence, depictions of blood and gore, death, explicit language, sexual themes (non explicit), drug and alcohol use, possible references and mentions of suicide and other mental health struggles, mentions and references to childhood trauma, and other mature themes.

Two Moons is a high fantasy, adventure interactive fiction story being developed on Twine by veswrites.

Romance is an aspect to the story and not necessary to the plot or the MC.

While stats are calculated throughout play, the game is more story and choice focused than stat heavy.

The story is LGBTQIA+ friendly, with a diverse world including acespec and arospec main and supporting characters.

You are mortal.

Customize the hunter's physical appearance, gender identity, pronouns, and clothing. Survive a continent plagued by famine and monsters - only one of which you kill for coin.

You are a monster hunter. 

Choose your house name and sigil. Make impactful choices about the hunter's past and see how it affects the story in the future. Progress your abilities with a sword, bow and arrow, or a mage staff to hone your magical talents

You are godsblessed.

Learn more about your Mark on your journey across the continent, and find other godsblessed along the way. Discover more about the deity who blessed you and the rest of the pantheon. Explore and interact with a detailed and inclusive fantasy world.

Platonic or romantic relationships can be pursued with all six of the main cast. Romance is not necessary for this story.

Asahi Asano | A hunter from the influential Asano House.

6’2", tan skin, short wavy black hair, hazel eyes, solid muscular build

As a hunter Asahi has advanced physical abilities similar to the main character, and according to Asano traditions, he is almost completely covered in tattoos. Your threads have crossed several times, but not for several years.

Cisgender m (he/him) | Demiromantic demisexual

Makai Heveths'vir : An elven archer and Asano’s travel companion of over a decade.

5’11", golden brown skin, shoulder length curly black hair, light brown eyes, thickset, stockier build with obvious muscle tone

Agility and speed are gifts of all elven children, but his natural affinity for water magic has always set him apart from the others. Your threads have never crossed before.

Transgender m (he/him) | Alloromantic pansexual

Yezda Sunchild: A blind acolyte at the start of a very long journey.

5'5", dark bronze skin, shoulder-length curly dark brown hair often kept braided out of their face, green eyes, chubby build

An excellent herbalist, Yezda's healing gifts and soft touch come from years in a temple. Their thread meets the main characters on a cold night and now a life is owed. This is the first time your threads have crossed.

Non-binary (they/them) | Alloromantic demisexual

Wren : A half-human, half-elf individual whose loyalty lies with no one but herself.

5'7", pale skin, white-blond hair kept shoulder length, dark grey eyes, slim build

Wren's dark past is shrouded in mystery, and her talent for destructive magic is concerning for many in power. Similar to the god's mark on the hunter, her spine is also marked with a design, the black lines unmarred despite the hundreds of scars she bears. Your threads have never crossed.

Cisgender f (she/her) | Panromantic asexual

Eshe Negasi : Ex-princesss, now the powerful - yet unofficial - queen of the seas.

6’0", deep ebony skin, long green box braids, golden-brown eyes, medium athletic build

A charismatic leader with a lot of energy, Eshe's crew follows her out of admiration and loyalty built on years of trust. She's intelligent and well-read from a childhood surrounded by royal tutors, and her reputation as a swordswoman has been well-earned over the last several years. Your threads have never crossed.

Transgender f (she/her) | Demiromantic pansexual

Virāja : A dangerous mercenary-for-hire, well-renowned across all four continents.

5’10", light brown skin, dark brown hair kept short, deep blue eyes, slender, muscular build

A person of few words, Virāja's ability in combat is fearsome when paired with his physical skills and command of magic. Their reputation for severing threads without faltering gives most who cross paths with her pause. Your threads have crossed only once.

Gender-fluid (they/he/she) | Alloromantic greysexual

////

Ves also writes @sinners-if a villain romance IF and @mannaheim-if a historical fiction IF

@veswrites-if is where I reblog random (mostly queer) shit

[rainy-bangbeom]

pairing(s): Pirate!Ateez x Fem!Reader

genre: Fantasy!AU, Pirate!AU, Angst, Fluff

warnings: Some mature language, violence and weapons, blood, major and minor character deaths, brief bouts of misogyny, alcohol, depictions of drowning and hanging, mentions of trauma and past abuse, mentions of piracy and murder, Pirate!Ateez are simps ngl

word count: 24,4k

synopsis: There was once a little mermaid who desired nothing more than to be as free as the creatures who walked the land above. But no matter what the little mermaid sacrificed, the world refused to recognize her as anything but a being of the sea. It was only after she dissolved into sea foam, becoming one with the rising horizon, did she finally achieve true freedom. 

Once upon a time there was a little mermaid who lived deep underneath the sea, so deep the sun goddess herself could not reach its perimeters. The little mermaid was a bright, curious creature, always searching for adventure beyond the mundane of her reality. For years, the mermaid scoured beneath crystalized conch shells and within the ruins of forgotten shipwrecks to cure the numb, lonesome nature of her existence. But it was not until the mermaid traversed past the borders of her underwater kingdom did she find the answer she had long been searching for. 

One stormy morning, upon breaking the ocean’s surface, the little mermaid discovered a simple fishing boat floating aimlessly in the grasp of the merciless sea. Inside the boat was a being she had never seen before—this creature bore strange, fleshy sticks in place of tails, and rather than fins and scales, its bodice was draped in raiments the color of weeping clouds. Unlike herself, the creature seemed vulnerable to the water, gasping for air and clutching the tiny boat with the strength of a warrior unwilling to perish. Fascinated, the little mermaid watched as the creature was swept away by a monstrous current before being swallowed by the predatory waters. 

Encapsulated by a sudden, alien feeling, the little mermaid hastily dove into the sea after the creature. She chased it down into the black, battling against the jealous stream with a newfound zeal, before eventually reaching her unmoving target. Recalling its sensitivity to the ocean’s body, the mermaid sealed her mouth over the creature’s and blew a single bubble past its lips. It awakened at once with a soundless scream, squirming away from the mermaid and studying its watery surroundings with an expression akin to terror. 

After a brief moment, the creature calmed and returned its attention to the mermaid, its gaze drinking in her shimmering tail and eyes as dark as night, but to her surprise, it showed no fear toward her merfolk appearance as most sea critters typically do. The creature spoke, but never having heard such a language, the mermaid could not understand, and when inquiring in her own tongue, the creature merely replied with its own unspoken confusion. 

Despite the language barrier, the pair manifested a means of communication amongst themselves. The little mermaid learned that her companion was not a creature at all, but in fact a human, a being that resides above the sea on dry, waterless land.  She was transfixed by the human as it told tales and memories from its time, and though she still did not quite understand, the passion that exuded from the illegible sounds and tones told the little mermaid that the human’s life was extraordinary—beautiful even. And she fell in love with the human at once.

The little mermaid’s love traversed so deep that she longed to walk alongside her human companion with legs of her own. Desperate to make her wish come true, the mermaid transported the human to a nearby beach and tore her own tail apart in an attempt to dispose of her mer-folk nature. She succeeded, managing to escape the ocean’s grasp on two unsteady limbs and collapse into the arms of her mortal lover. However, before the pair could seal their bond with a kiss, the little mermaid dissolved into foam and returned to her watery prison once more. Afterall, a soulless being bred from the sea could never achieve true freedom in a world that values vitality… 

Unless. 

Murky shadows flicker across Hongjoong's face in a silent waltz, shielding his furrowed brows and clenched jaw from wandering eyes. He lifts his cup, the glass rim frigid against his lips, and inhales a deep gulp of his rum-water concoction. The liquid is stale, disgusting, but he downs the contents without complaint, welcoming the slight tranquility it spreads throughout his veins. 

“Captain? Did you hear what I said?” 

Hongjoong turns from the window to glance at his lone companion inside his cabin, stationed behind a large, round table littered with wrinkled maps, spineless books, and countless other documents he doesn’t bother to identify. He notes the concern glittering within his navigator’s gaze before shifting back to the glass aperture. 

“My apologies, Yeosang.” 

“None necessary—I know you have enough on your mind right now.” Yeosang repeats his unheard audit, “It will take us ten days time to reach the nearest port. Nine, at the very least.” 

“We don’t have nine days—we barely have enough rations to spare for five.” 

“I’m well aware, but unless we find an uncharted settlement nearby, we are out of options.”

“Bullshit.” Hongjoong slams his empty glass down on a nearby table. “We did not survive that encounter with those spineless bastards just to starve!” The captain frantically shakes his head, allowing the hurricane of thoughts to spill from his tongue. “For Davy Jones’s sake, Mingi is dying! If we don’t find medical supplies soon, then—” 

“I know that, hyung—please.” A gentle thud emerges from behind his figure, letting Hongjoong know that the navigator likely discarded his atlas on the table. Footsteps echo throughout the cabin, almost like mocking phantoms themselves, before ceasing right beside Hongjoong's perch. He proceeds to keep his gaze glued to the dark ocean waves outside the glass. 

Yeosang exhales deeply, “I’m sorry, captain, but I am no seer. I cannot navigate by sheer will alone.” 

“I don’t expect you to, my friend, I just—I don’t know what to do…” 

“Rest for the night. You’ve been awake for days.” Yeosang places a hand on his captain’s shoulder. “Perhaps the morning will bring a miracle of sorts.” 

“Are you suggesting I pray to the sea gods, navigator?” 

“I am suggesting that you have hope.” His companion murmurs, “The sea is an unpredictable force, Hongjoongie-hyung… Anything can happen.” 

Hongjoong turns to watch Yeosang take his leave, becoming one with the black of night. Without his navigator’s presence, the captain is thrown to the mercy of his own anarchic mind. He debates drowning out its volume with another drink, but decides against it and looks out the window once more. 

At this hour, the ocean, like the crew, is also asleep, its rocking currents symbolic of snores and lethargic tics. Hongjoong feels a sense of drowsiness wash over his figure at the sight, ultimately deciding to follow his crewmate’s advice and retire for the night. He can’t remember the last time he had a decent rest. Plus, it will provide him temporary relief from the burdens weighing heavy on his shoulders. 

Hongjoong spares one last glance toward the sea before grabbing the nearby oil lamp, the cabin’s only source of light, and extinguishing its flame in one powerful breath.

Too focused on the satisfaction of slumber, the captain fails to catch the ripple in the ocean surface and a brief reflection of starlight as something disappears beneath the dark waters.

Wooyoung inhales the salty air with a frustrated sigh, leaning backward to rest his head against the mainmast. The wind cards through his hair like an old friend, as if sympathizing with his boredom. As much as he usually enjoys his responsibilities as the ship’s lookout, there are only so many days he can stare at the same watery landscape without going stir crazy. 

He directs his gaze elsewhere, peering down from his high perch. The main deck is bustling at this hour with dozens of crew scampering to and fro. The buzz of a pleasant daily chatter blends with that of the crashing of ocean waves, and somewhere amongst the crowd, Wooyoung can make out the silver head of the quartermaster. A smirk plays across his lips as he debates abandoning his duties to mess around with his favorite hyung, but ultimately decides against it. Due to the inventory crisis at hand, everyone still remains a bit tense, especially Seonghwa and Hongjoong, and the last thing Wooyoung wants to do is cause any more stress. 

He holds back a groan before returning his gaze to the dreaded sea, expecting to find it even emptier than before, but is surprised to spot something approaching from the nearby horizon. Wooyoung retracts his spyglass from the belt of his trousers and brings the tool to his eye. It’s a meager row boat, he discovers, likely having drifted from a faraway harbor or escaped from an assailed merchant ship. He guesses the latter, due to the poor condition of the wooden vehicle, crushing any hopes of locating a nearby settlement. Dejected, Wooyoung goes to sheathe his spyglass, but something else catches his attention as the boat meanders closer and closer. A strange sense of eagerness flutters through his body as he leans over the edge of the nest for a closer view, but the emotion immediately transitions into shock once the realization hits him head on. 

…Inside the boat is none other than a person.

Wooyoung springs to action at once, calling down to the crew with a loud shriek:

“Look t’ the horizons, lads! Man overboard!” 

Chaos erupts across the deck, consisting of commands to drop the anchors and to tie the sails. Wooyoung keeps his eye on the stray vehicle, on the seemingly motionless character inside, as the pirates maneuver the ship toward the helpless boat. Once a safe distance away, Wooyoung leaps from the crow’s nest to expertly glide down the rigging. The second his feet meet the wood of the deck, he’s tearing toward the starboard side where numerous crew had already begun to flock.  

“It be a woman!…” Someone among the crowd shrieks, casting murmurs of excitement and fear across the dozens of pairs of lips. Wooyoung rolls his eyes at their foolishness before screaming above the mumbles: 

“Fer Peg-Leg Pete’s sake, fetch a blummin’ hook! Haul ‘er aboard, ye worthless gobs!” 

Eventually, the crew manages to catch hold of the boat and lug it out of the water. A couple men drop down to fish the woman from the raft, immediately passing her off to the lookout. Wooyoung carefully lowers the unconscious survivor to the deck while placing two fingers to the side of her throat. He heaves a sigh of relief when he recognizes a pulse. 

“She’s alive!...” He calls before analyzing her body for any obvious signs of injuries. When he finds none, Wooyoung allows himself to take a look at her face—where his breath is immediately torn from his lungs. 

This woman has to be the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. 

Wooyoung doesn’t know how, but she seems to literally glow in the sunlight, showcasing the unique features along her pretty face and glimmer of her velvet hair. It takes him a moment to realize the rest of the crew is also affected by her appearance, judging by the surrounding silence, but even so, Wooyoung can’t take his gaze from the woman. 

Especially not when her lids part to reveal the prettiest eyes he’s ever bore witness to. 

You peer up at Wooyoung with a gaze that spreads carmine-hot warmth through his veins, and it takes every ounce of his focus to find his voice amongst the roaring in his ears: 

“Are-Are ye well, miss? Can ye ‘ear me?”

“Yes. I’m alright.” 

Although it’s only a few words, your voice makes his limbs weak, sounding sweeter than a bird song. He, along with a couple nearby crewmates, practically swoon when you lift a hand to wipe some stray water droplets from your eyes before peering around the deck. Sensing your confusion, Wooyoung immediately jumps to action:

“Yer on board the Treasure, miss. Me ‘n me mates fished ye out o’ the sea.” He wiggles his eyebrow with a mischievous smile, “Don’t suppose ye was goin’ fer an afternoon swim, aye?” 

“No. My ship was capsized.” 

“Ye was separated from yer crew then?” 

“Everyone drowned.” 

“Oh.” His impish nature recedes at your serious tone. “Apologies. Ye must ‘ave been through hell.”

“No. Just the ocean.”

Wooyoung wonders if you’re the type who tends to take things in the literal sense, but decides not to dwell on the matter. You’re soaking wet, in need of some dry, comfortable attire unlike the rags hanging from your body like brambled vines, and knowing the tragedy of your situation, are also likely sporting injuries that Yunho should have a peek at. With this new goal in mind, he gathers your form once more and lifts you into the air, pushing past the gawking crowd to head below deck. 

“Jung Wooyoung at yer service, miss.” He flashes a killer smile which he can only hope makes your heart flutter, “We’ll get ye all nice ‘n fixed up. Anythin’ yer lovely heart desires, I’ll be more than willin’ to—”

“Jung Wooyoung-ssi!” 

“Ah shi—” 

Wooyoung bites back a curse as the quartermaster’s infuriated call echoes across the deck. He inhales a steady breath, paints an innocent grin across his features, and turns to face the approaching bull that is his elder. 

“Hyung! I’mma busy lad, ye know! So many things t’ see ‘n do—” 

“I suggest you drop the excuses and explain to me why there’s a woman in your arms.” 

“A woman? Why, I reckon ye seein’ things, hyung! The sun’s messin’ wit’ ye head!” 

Seonghwa remains unbothered and stern. 

Wooyoung releases a huff and shakes his head in defeat, “She was just floatin’ along, hyung. Couldn’t ‘ave jus’ left her.” 

“You know the rule about foreign passengers, Wooyoung-ssi.” 

“C’mon, hyung… She’ll die otherwise.” 

“Nothing we can help, so either throw her back or I will.” 

Wooyoung tightens his hold around your body as the quartermaster leers closer and closer. He tries to come up with something that will change his mind, maybe claim you’re some lost princess with a family that’s willing to pay an arm and a leg for your safe return, but he knows Seonghwa will see through his lie. Even so, the last thing he wants to do is condemn you to the watery grave from which he just saved you. 

“Seonghwa? Wooyoung-ssi? What’s going on?” 

His spirits rise as his captain emerges from below deck, likely having caught wind of his and Seonghwa’s argument from his cabin. Hongjoong glances at Seonghwa and Wooyoung before raising an eyebrow at your figure still nestled within the lookout’s arms. 

“Wooyoung here brought aboard a stowaway despite our current crisis, captain.” Seonghwa explains, “I’ve ordered him to send her back overboard, but he seems reluctant to do so.” 

“She survived a wreckage, Hongjoongie-hyung.” The lookout ignores his eldest hyung’s glare to speak directly to the captain in an attempt to garner his favor. “We may be pirates, but we ain’t barbarians. Ye know she’ll drown if we throw her t’ the sharks.”

“Seonghwa is right, Wooyoung. Unless we find a port in the next day or two, we cannot afford another mouth to feed.” 

Wooyoung’s heart sinks at Hongjoong’s callous response, watching helplessly as the older man prepares to retire back to his quarters. He lowers his gaze to his ragged boots, not wanting to meet your gaze for fear of discovering tears, or worse, of you spotting the melancholic shine of his own eyes. 

He doesn’t understand why he’s so upset, considering Hongjoong’s rule about uninvited passengers has never bothered him before. But something about this one—something about you is different. Wooyoung barely knows you, but he knows you don’t deserve to die… 

“I know of a nearby settlement where you can acquire supplies.” 

The entire deck goes dead silent, the only sound Wooyoung can hear being the thrum of his own heartbeat. He stares at you incredulously, finding neither trace of fear or distress, but the same expression you wore when he fished you from the waters minutes before. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Hongjoong stood completely still, his lithe shoulders tense and fists clenched at his sides. 

“What pitiful tales!” Seonghwa sneers, unsheathing his pistol to raise it, to Wooyung’s horror, in line with your skull. His pitch black gaze screams malice as he cocks back the gun’s hammer. “Do you know what we do with slimey blokes that lie to the Pirate King…?” 

“Lower your weapon, quartermaster.” 

Murmurs erupt amongst the crew as the quartermaster, albeit begrudgingly, follows his captain’s order. Wooyoung holds his breath as Hongjoong finally turns back around, a new darkness present within his intimidating gaze, and saunters toward your and Wooyoung’s perch. He tilts his head before addressing the lookout: 

“Let her down.” 

“Hyung, please—” 

“On her feet, Wooyoung. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Unable to disobey, he maneuvers your figure so your toes reach the deck. His arm lingers around your shoulders until Hongjoong delivers him yet another warning glance, of which then he takes a couple steps backward. He immediately misses the warmth of your skin, but passes the feeling off as concern for your life.

Hongjoong surges forward, closing the distance until only a hair of space remains between your and his forms. Wooyoung expects you to shrink beneath the captain’s authoritative aura, but you do none of the sort. You simply continue to stand your ground and return his glare with a blank stare of your own. 

“Your name, foreigner?” 

The question seems more like a demand when it leaves Hongjoong’s lips. It may only be a trick of the sunlight, but Wooyoung swears he spots the slightest twist of emotion in your eyes as you seem to consider the captain’s inquiry. Beside him, Seonghwa grows impatient at your silence, moving his hand to his sheathed gun with a hiss: 

“What is so difficult about telling us your title, woman?” 

“I… have none.” You finally say, abandoning the captain’s gaze to peer at the stunned quartermaster. 

“Where is this settlement you speak of?” 

You return your gaze to Hongjoong.

“Along the coast of the Hehetmon Islands—a village called Eden’s Keep.” 

“And how do you know of this?” 

“She was likely headin’ thar befer her ship crashed, hyung.” Wooyoung jumps in, recognizing the flash of discomfort along your features. 

Hongjoong nods at the lookout’s explanation before releasing a heavy sigh. 

“Count yourself lucky I’m desperate, lass.” He says, his gaze unwavering beneath the afternoon sun. “But if I find you are, in fact, a dirty liar… I will do much worse than throw you to the mercy of the sea, understand?” 

You keep his stare with a nod. 

He hums in approval before addressing the lookout, “Wooyoung-ssi, bring her down to see the surgeon. In the meantime, the lot of you, back to work!”

“Captain—I have to protest!” Seonghwa steps in front of the smaller captain, feverishly shaking his head back and forth. “We have no grounds to trust this foreigner… and besides, allowing a woman on board is bad luck—”

“Mind your tongue, quartermaster.” Hongjoong spits, leering threateningly toward his lesser mate. “‘Tis a myth created by weak men and nothing more. Man, woman, or any being beyond is capable of boarding a ship with equal fate.” 

“Aye, captain. My apologies.” The quartermaster secedes before growling toward the surrounding crew, “You heard the captain! Back to work, you scabrous dogs!” 

“I must take my leave.” The captain nods before sending you a smile that is borderline deranged. “But I expect you to remain on your best behavior while you’re aboard my ship, understood, stowaway?...” 

“Don’t ye worry ‘bout a thing, cap’n.” Wooyoung launches an arm around your shoulders with a chuckle, “She’s in good hands.” 

Hongjoong rolls his eyes before providing one final glance in your direction. Wooyoung doesn’t miss the way his captain’s eyes shimmer with subtle interest, indicating, he too, has taken notice of your unusual aura. Before he can clown the older man, Hongjoong becomes one with the bustling crowd, likely heading to discuss his new findings with Yeosang. Taking notice of your faraway stare, Wooyoung removes his arm and offers a gentle smile. 

“Don’t take Hongjoongie-hyung’s warnin’ too serious, aye? Swear he’s a softie at heart.” He chuckles, directing your form toward the staircase that leads below deck. “Anyways, I’ll take ye t’ Yunho now. Right this way, miss.” 

Wooyoung wonders, judging by your impassive gaze, whether you heard him or not, but decides not to question it further as you wordlessly follow him down into the hull of the ship.

“Yunho! I’ve got ye a patient, mate!” 

Yunho holds back a groan as the lookout’s shriek echoes throughout his cabin, continuing to study his newest book rather than pay the newcomer any mind. His efforts are worthless as said intruder hops on his desk with his usual mischievous grin, disrupting his passage about gingko leaves with a knee atop his current page. 

He inhales a deep breath, partly to calm the annoyance coursing through his veins and partly to stop himself from punting the lookout out of his cabin like a ball, before shaking his head with a long sigh. 

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, Wooyoung-ssi.” Yunho says, “I’ll take care of the aftermath of your and San's foolish duel later. If it’s that urgent, then take the chamomile salve from the shelf.” 

“Sorry t’ disappoint, but me ‘n San called parley ‘til further notice.” Wooyoung snickers at the surgeon, tilting his head toward the doorway. “I’ve brought someone much better though.”

“What? Did you manage to nick Jongho with your clumsy ass—” The latter’s snort immediately cuts out when his gaze falls upon the supposed patient who, to his surprise, is definitely not the young boatswain. 

 His eyes stretch to the size of saucers as he studies your silent, yet endearingly stunning form, from the tendrils of your damp hair to the smooth skin of your bare feet. For a moment, Yunho wonders if your presence is that of an illusion, brought on by months of endless travel at sea and lack of drinkable water. If not for Wooyoung’s cough, he would have likely continued to stare long after the ship had docked for the night: 

“Ye act like ye’ve never seen a woman before, mate.” 

“Piss off, Wooyoung.” After delivering the lookout a murmured hiss, Yunho swallows his astonishment, and, upon recalling his doctoral role, offers a gentle, welcoming smile in your direction. “My apologies. Wooyoung here has a tendency to frequent my quarters more often than not, so I assumed his visit was as worthless as his skill with a cutlass.” 

“Har dee har, surgeon.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes before turning to you with a nod, “I take my leave here, miss. But if ye need somethin’, ye can always find me in the nest.” 

Your expression remains blank, even as the lookout states his farewell. 

Yunho waits for him to exit the room, taking a few seconds to observe the details of your appearance. Upon first look, you don’t seem to bear any obvious injuries beneath the torn, loose tunic covering your body, nor do you seem to be in any state of emotional distress, which, from Yunho’s past experiences with stowaways, can be a good or a bad thing. Only once he’s sure Wooyoung is far enough away from his cabin does he finally address you, pointing toward an empty cot with a hum: 

“Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll begin with the procedure?”

Your lack of response is strange, he thinks, watching you follow his suggestion and lower onto the bed without so much as a nod. He feels your gaze analyzing his every move as he gathers various tools and instruments from around the room. Even so, your stare brings Yunho no discomfort. He assumes you’re merely curious, likely having never set foot in a pirate ship’s sickbay before.

After another brief moment, Yunho eventually joins you, towering over your perched form like a sleeping volcano. He retracts an array of medical collectibles from the pocket of his frock, arranges them neatly beside him, then smiles sweetly.

“My name is Jeong Yunho, and as you’ve already heard, I’m the Treasure’s surgeon.”

“And what is a… surgeon?” 

“Well, I care for injuries, illnesses and such.” Yunho explains, not too surprised by your inquiry, before lifting his hands in preparation. “Is it alright if I touch you? I need to check for lumps, lesions, the lot…” 

He almost hopes you’d speak again, craving to hear the hypnotic lilt behind your answer, but forces the feeling away when you nod. He silently curses his inappropriate thoughts—you may be a beautiful woman, but you’re still his patient. He’s responsible for your health above anything else. That includes his own natural attractions. 

Ignoring the hurricane within his mind, Yunho reaches forward to tenderly lay his hands along your throat. Your skin is cold, likely from your mid-afternoon swim, and he notices you shiver beneath his touch. His thumbs press lightly against the divots where your jaw joins your throat before shifting down to hold your elbows. He stretches your arm toward him, turning the limb every which way while analyzing the pigmentation of your skin. After a hum of approval, he moves to do the same with your other arm. 

“So what brings you aboard the Treasure, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

“My ship was capsized before your crew fished me from the ocean.” 

The surgeon nods, kneeling down to inspect your ankles and toes.

“The waters are dangerous around these parts, or that’s what our navigator, Yeosang says at least. Though, I’m a bit surprised the captain allowed you aboard.”

“He was not… kind.” 

“You must forgive the captain for his inhospitality.” Yunho rises to his feet with a sigh. “We were ambushed by a rival band of pirates a few days ago, and the attack left us with much of our supplies destroyed and many others wounded—the first mate was badly injured during the fight, and we lack the proper medicine to treat his condition, so the captain is under a lot of pressure.”

“You aren’t… threatened by my presence?” 

“Of course not… You have no reason to lie, do you?” He chuckles, “Besides, we rarely see any new faces out here—especially not ones as pretty as yours.” 

You return to your silent nature as Yunho carries out the rest of his procedure. He examines your legs for any damages, then your torso, before requesting information about your wellbeing. You respond with the infamous nod each time, reiterating your good health. 

“It’s a miracle, really.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Most people who experience a violent wreckage like yours bear some sort of injury, but you aren’t even sunburnt… I suppose the fates were in your favor.” 

“Maybe so.” 

Your indifferent response spreads a sense of suspicion throughout Yunho’s chest. It may just be his own imagination, but your tone conveys a sense of bitterness. Even more confusion filters into his thoughts—he’s never met someone who expressed resentment toward their perfect health. It’s uncanny, strange… almost as if something is missing from the current picture. 

“I don’t believe I’ve heard your accent before—” Before the uncertainty swallows him whole, Yunho moves on to a different subject. “—which region do you come from, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I…” 

He waits as you trail off, likely mulling over what information you wish to share. After a minute or two of silence, Yunho shakes his head and carries on the conversation, “I understand if you don’t wish to answer, but please know that no further harm will come to you while you’re under my care… okay?” 

“…Okay.” 

Yunho holds back a smile as you mimic his response. 

“Anyway, let’s get you out of those rags.” He feels your eyes following him as he wanders across the room, plucking a mass of fabrics from one of the tall shelves. The surgeon pilfers through the many garments before selecting a pair of sand-colored trousers, a clean, forest green tunic, and a stitched leather vest. “I hope these will suffice. We really don’t carry clothing for women.” 

“It’s… okay.” 

Your gaze remains fixated on the clothes as Yunho lays them beside you on the cot. Against his own judgment, he can’t help but theorize about the foundations of your past—are you a sheltered countess who’s never worn anything beyond ruffled skirts and custom corsets...? Or maybe a poor spinster who’s only ever owned one outfit to your name...? 

“Well, since you’re in perfect condition, I suppose you’d like a tour of the ship, and maybe some food to fill that empty stomach? I’ll have our cabin boy show you around and help you grow settled.” 

You nod. 

“You don’t speak much, do you?” The words leave his tongue before he can think, and at your continued lack of response and vacant expression, the surgeon erupts into a fleet of panic. “I’m so sorry! I-It wasn’t my intention to offend you! I promise it was just an honest observation—”

“You didn’t offend me…” To Yunho’s own surprise, you soothe his frantic rant with a shake of your head. “Why would you think so…?” 

“Well… I just assumed because of your facial expression. You can read a lot about a person by how they physically react to situations…” 

He waves his embarrassment away with a sarcastic chuckle before gesturing toward the prepared clothing. “I still apologize. My flimsy tongue can bring nothing but trouble at times. You should get dressed. I’ll track down that impish rascal while you—what are you doing!?”

Yunho nearly shrieks, snapping around to the opposite wall in order to avoid the sight of your bare form. Heat flares along his face—he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s as red as the morning sky before a violent storm. 

“You told me to dress, did you not?” 

“Y-Yes! But I-I didn’t expect you to—” Yunho feverishly shakes his head, and with one hand shielding his eyes, struggles to make his way out of the room. “N-Nevermind! I’ll send someone to collect you momentarily!” 

He manages to escape the cabin without injury, besides almost careening nose-first into the doorway. Once he’s safely outside, Yunho attempts to calm his racing heart with a deep inhale before glancing down the hallway. He discovers a small group of concerned powder monkeys gathered in the dim corridor, and sends them a less than enthusiastic frown: 

“What are you brainless worms looking at!? Get back to work!”

A heavy breath pushes past the navigator’s lips as he studies the faded map below him. The hushed murmurs of his surrounding companions filter throughout his ears, but he doesn’t allow his gaze to falter from the collection of nautical charts. 

After another minute of silence of two, the captain clears his throat: 

“Well?”

“Anything beyond the KQ region is uncharted.” He answers without removing his gaze from his work. “However, I have heard rumors about travels to the Hehetmon Islands.”  

“So you’re saying…?” 

“I’m saying there is a possibility.” Yeosang finally raises his gaze to that of Hongjoong’s, relishing his grin of disbelief and the newfound faith present within his captain’s dark irises. He offers his own smile before humming, “I believe we’ve found our miracle, captain.” 

“Are you certain these rumors are trustworthy? And not some fable fabricated from a drunken fool?”

Hongjoong sighs at the quartermaster’s sardonic inquiry. 

“Seonghwa, please.” 

“My apologies, captain, but I cannot help my suspicions.” Yeosang watches his eldest hyung shake his head in earnest and gesture toward his beloved map. “Wooyoung recovers a woman from the sea, and she just so happens to bear knowledge on the whereabouts of an undiscovered settlement in our time of need? How are we to be sure she’s not making up stories to save her own skin?” 

“It’s more than we had this morning, hyung.” 

Seonghwa shakes his head once more at Yeosang’s remark. 

“And if we are being sent on a wild goose chase?” 

“Then we will perish with the knowledge that we did everything we could to protect our crew.” Hongjoong meanders across the cabin to the corner where Seonghwa currently resides. He offers his quartermaster a glass filled with what Yeosang assumes to be some kind of alcohol-water combination before delivering an exhausted smile. “If it brings you peace, I will have Jongho lock our stowaway in the brig until we see the village for ourselves.” 

“And what are we to do with her if that is not so?” 

“Then we make an example to our men of how we feel about storytellers.” Yeosang can’t help the shiver that crawls down his spine as the captain’s voice seems to drop two octaves lower. Although he’s not yet met their miraculous stowaway, he prays, for your sake, that you are indeed telling the truth. 

Otherwise you’ll wish you let yourself die at the hands of the ocean. 

“I hope you know what path you’re taking, Hongjoong.” Seonghwa declines the offered drink and moves toward the door. Just as he reaches the threshold, he peers over his shoulder, murmuring darkly, “You’ve seen what happens to a captain when he no longer holds the loyalty of his crew…” 

Yeosang remains silent as the quartermaster takes his leave, and continues even as his captain begins to pace around the cabin. Though Hongjoong would never admit it aloud, he can sense the subtle hint of fear permeating from his strict persona as he knocks back the alcohol he prepared for his quartermaster. Yeosang wishes he can do something to ease his hyung’s anxiety, maybe insist that Eden’s Keep is as real as the sun in the sky, but he can’t… 

“Hongjoongie-hyung?” 

“What is it, Yeosang?” 

The navigator bites his lip, debating whether or not it is in his best interest to voice his concern aloud. He decides to take his chance at swimming with the fishes. 

“Can… Can we really trust her?” 

“I don’t know…” The deep exhale that Hongjoong releases weighs heavy on Yeosang’s chest. He can practically feel his captain’s tiredness from his mere breath. “But if this is our one and only chance to save Mingi’s life… then what choice do we truly have?”

“Are you really going to lock her in the brig?” 

“It will be in everyone’s best interest to do so. Including her own.” 

“And, if we do find the settlement… what will you do with her after?” 

Hongjoong doesn’t respond to the navigator’s question, not that he really expects him to—his captain’s mind is already a long ways away after all.

Even so, Yeosang can’t help but sympathize for your fate… as it was set in stone the moment you stepped foot on the Treasure, home of the Pirate King and his merciless crew. 

“This is a really stupid idea, y’know? If Seonghwa-hyung finds us down ‘ere, he’ll hang us from the main mast by our toes…” 

“Don’t be such a scaredy cat, Jongho-ssi.” 

San carefully slinks his way past empty barrels and storage crates, navigating through the darkness by the flickering light of his lantern. Shadows wave and ridicule along the hull-walls as he passes by, and while he’d usually be a bit frightened at any other given time, the eagerness bubbling through his veins allows him to feel no fear. 

“Forgive me for statin’ the bloody obvious.” The boatswain’s groan echoes through San’s ears. “Why d’ you want t’ see the dame anyway? Didn’t Wooyoungie-hyung tell you plenty t’ satisfy your perverted desires?...”  

“Firstly, I may be a pirate, but I’m still a gentleman.” Choosing not to scold the youngest for his untimely scoff, San continues to explain, “And secondly, even you can’t deny you’re not the slightest bit curious yourself. When was the last time Hongjoongie-hyung allowed a foreigner aboard… much less a beautiful woman?” 

He smirks at Jongho’s silence. 

“Just as I thought. Careful, Jongho-ssi, your—what did you call it?—‘perverted desires’ are coming to light…”  

“Watch your words, combatant.” Jongho hisses, “You may be my hyung, but I won’t hesitate t’ remove your tongue.”

San rolls his eyes. 

“I was just messing with you, Jongho.” 

The atmosphere grows quiet in the seconds thereafter. With the boatswain in tow, the combatant proceeds to maneuver his way through the orlop deck of the Treasure. As he’s walking, his thoughts begin to wander to the subject of his late-night exploration. 

You had been a rather hot topic amongst the crew ever since the previous afternoon. It seems everyone is interested in learning more about the nameless woman who Wooyoung hauled aboard—San included. He managed to attain some information from his mate, but it’s not enough to indulge this curious desire that’s been haunting him all throughout the day. He needs to see you for himself, to see if you’re as ethereal as they claim in person.

“She might be sleepin’, y’know?” Jongho whispers as they inch closer and closer to the brig. “It’s rude t’ disturb a lady while she’s restin’...”

“Hush. I just want a quick peek.” 

San ignores his younger mate’s warning and cautiously approaches the prison. The bars of the cell have rusted and blackened with age, reflecting his lantern’s glow like some sort of broken mirror. He attempts to peer inside the jail-square, to make out your silhouette in the minimal light, but the darkness seems to be working against him. San moves closer until his nose just barely brushes one of the bars before raising his lantern high in the air. 

What he doesn’t expect is your wide-awake face to appear from the blackness. 

A surprised scream sounds from San’s throat as he lurches backward, knocking into a very confused and very concerned boatswain. The two pirates tumble to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs and pained grunts. Luckily, the combatant manages to catch his lantern before it shatters and turns the lowest deck into an inferno. Unluckily, the top of his head throbs from striking against Jongho’s chin, and you’re still staring as he and his younger mate go about freeing themselves from one another. 

He hasn’t even officially met you, and he’s already made a complete fool of himself… 

“Freakin’ hell, hyung. Are you tryin’ t’ mar my handsome face?” 

“Shut up.” San grumbles before crawling back to your cell. This time, he’s prepared for the close proximity of your form and elects to shoot you a smile that hopefully doesn’t make him look like anymore of an idiot. “Pardon me, m’lady. I wasn’t expecting to be blessed by Miss Aphrodite herself.” 

His chest tightens at the silence that ensues after his flirtatious introduction. 

To his dismay, his boatswain is the first to break it, “That was treacherous, hyung… even for you.” 

“You’re not helping the situation, Jongho-ssi.” With a shake of his head and a prayer for his remaining dignity, the combatant inhales a deep breath before speaking to you again—this time, with authenticity and truth. “My sincerest apologies if I’ve caused you any offense. I-It’s been some time since I’ve spoken to anyone outside of my crew, so I’m a bit out of practice…

“I’m San, Choi San. I’m in charge of combat here on the Treasure.” He gestures to his partner in crime lingering behind his shoulder. “And this here is my mate, Choi Jongho, our boatswain and head of repairs.” 

Jongho nods stiffly. “Pleased t’ make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

“I suppose we should let you alone now.” San, flustered and borderline dejected, hurries to his feet and aims to leave, prepared to spend the remainder of the night mulling over his embarrassment in the safety of his hammock. “I’m sorry again. I hope you have a restful evening.”

Not even a second after he and Jongho take a step, your voice rings out: 

“What… What is Miss Aphrodite?...” 

San turns back abruptly, discovering your inquisitive gaze peering at him from the confines of your cell. He glances at his younger mate, finding a mirror image of his own surprise, and though he opens his mouth to answer, it’s Jongho’s voice that beats him to it: 

“Not a what—a who, ma’am.” He explains, “Accordin’ t’ lore from the ancient Grecians, they named Aphrodite as the goddess of love and beauty. No mortal ever laid eyes on her, but she was understood t’ be the most beautiful woman in the universe.” 

“But I am not… Aphrodite.” 

San curses himself for his stupidity, instantly recalling Wooyoung telling him you tend to take things in literal terms. Even so, he can’t help but find relief in your obliviousness, taking it as a sign to strike up a conversation… preferably one without any more insult to his virtue:

“You know, you’ve cast quite a spell over this ship.” The combatant hums, “I’ve never seen the crew in such a state of frenzy—Hongjoongie-hyung and Yeosang-hyung have been working tirelessly to find this settlement you speak of.” 

“You are sailing to Eden’s Keep?” 

“We have no choice.” Jongho says, taking a seat atop a nearby crate. “We can’t go ‘nother week without new supplies, so I hope you ain’t tellin’ lies… otherwise it’s cap’n’s funeral.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Before our run-in with those traitorous scumbags, Hongjoongie-hyung got into a bit of a tiff with a couple other crewmates.” San rolls his eyes at the ugly memory while lowering onto the floor in front of your confined perch. “Seonghwa-hyung and I fortunately managed to step in before the situation got ugly, but tensions are still pretty high around here.” 

“But Hongjoong is the captain of the Treasure, is he not?...”

Jongho sighs, “Well, some crew think we need a shift in leadership. Y’know what that means, aye?”

At the shake of your head, the combatant utters the answer in nothing above a murmur: 

“Mutiny.” 

“Mutiny?” 

“When the crew overthrows their captain. Punishments vary depending on the ship, but knowing the history of our lot here… Hongjoongie-hyung would be lucky to make it out with all ten toes, much less his life—” 

“You scare the lass.” Jongho interrupts San’s morbid explanation with a tone akin to warning. The latter watches in fascination as his youngest mate delivers a glance in your direction—never before has he seen Jongho look so… soft. “Don’t pay none t’ hyung’s exuberance. If you’re tellin’ the truth, then there ain’t nothin’ t’ worry for.”

San nods, “I honestly can’t wait for everything to be back to normal. It feels like ages since we’ve halted our journey to the Wonderland.”  

“The Wonderland…?” 

His eyes nearby pop from his sockets.

“You’ve never heard the tale of the Wonderland! My—have you grown up underneath a rock or something!?” 

“Hyung…” Jongho drags a hand across his forehead with a sigh. “Did it slip your brainless skull that the dame comes from foreign lands…?”

“Oh. Right.” The combatant offers an apologetic glance before delving into the story, “It began as a children’s fable at first, Wonderland—a place no soul has ever set foot, or at the very least, no one that has lived to tell the tale. Legend says that if one manages to find and traverse the Wonderland, then Fate will grant them a wish of their choice.”   

“A wish…?” 

 “Riches. Love. Eternal Life.” Jongho shrugs, “Anythin’ your heart desires.” 

In the flickering light of the lantern, San notices your lips moving, but he can’t make out what you’re mouthing underneath the mischief of the shadows. 

Before he can inquire further about the subject further, a sudden clatter nearly has the two pirates leaping from their skins. It’s soon followed by a crash, along with the sound of pounding footsteps. Both San and Jongho exchange a frightful glance before hurrying to their feet. 

“Apologies for our hastiness, but we’d rather not risk encountering our quartermaster at this hour.” San sends you a weak smile, “It was an honor talking to you, miss. I’ll try to visit you again soon, I can only imagine how lonely and—” 

“Less courtin’, more fleein’.” 

Before the combatant can offer a proper farewell, Jongho is already dragging him through the pitch black. Even so, all he can think about throughout their hasty getaway is the thought of seeing you once again. 

Seonghwa stares at the horizon, studying how the cloudless, cerulean canvas above effortlessly conjoins with the navy blue waters. The sky and the sea must have been close friends in a lifetime, he thinks, for them to depend so heavily on one another. Or maybe they were lovers—two souls from two different worlds that sought infatuation from the other. 

He shifts his attention to the morning bustle and tussle of the Treasure. From the quarter deck, he can see the riggers manning the sails, and the cabin boys swabbing the wood, and even Wooyoung snoozing up in the crow’s nest. The quartermaster makes a mental note to punish the lookout later for his laziness before turning around to peer up toward the poop deck. A pilot stands in his captain’s place at the helm, keeping the ship on course according to Yeosang’s instructions. His chest tightens, though he cannot discern whether it’s out of doubt or longing… not that he wishes to find out. 

“Park Seonghwa—!” 

The chatter of the crew dies down as the loud shout erupts through the crowd. Seonghwa heaves a sigh, catching sight of the surgeon as he stomps his way toward the quarter deck, and shifts back to glance at the horizon. In mere seconds, Yunho scales the stairs to the upper deck, taking his place beside the silent quartermaster. Although he doesn’t move his gaze, Seonghwa can sense the annoyance radiating off of the newcomer like a bristling flame.

He knows immediately this conversation is going to grant him a headache. 

“You locked her up!? You’re kidding me, right!?” 

“It was captain’s orders.” Seonghwa replies cooly, “Until we reach this supposed village of hers, the stowaway remains in the brig.” 

“Hasn’t she been through enough?” Yunho’s hiss is venomous, defensive—Seonghwa can tell the surgeon is not holding anything back. “The woman survived a shipwreck only to be imprisoned on a pirate ship… can’t you show some sort of sympathy?” 

“Sympathy…?” Without moving his head, the quartermaster delivers his unwanted companion a raise of his eyebrow. “Once I know she’s not making up stories to delay the inevitable end to her miserable existence, I’ll gift her a nice bouquet. Or perhaps a pearl necklace.” 

“Enough of your theatrics, hyung.” The surgeon shakes his head with a frown, “You cannot utilize your past experiences as a rationalization for this woman’s mistreatment. She’s done nothing to you… by gods, she doesn’t even have a name!” 

After inhaling a deep, calming breath, Seonghwa finally angles his head to meet Yunho’s gaze. The contempt boiling within his veins only grows at the pleading, steadfast nature of the surgeon’s eyes, but again, he cannot tell if the animosity is directed toward you, or the ugly images pulsing throughout his brain. 

“She remains in the brig, Yunho-ssi. Do not push me.” 

“Or what? You’ll feed my rations to someone else? Subject me to a night tied to the mast?” He seethes as Yunho inches closer, leaning forward until their noses are mere centimeters apart. “I know your games, quartermaster, and I know even once we find that village, that girl won’t see the light of day for the rest of her years to come…” 

“And what is it to you, surgeon?” Seonghwa growls, staring back at his companion with just as much fury and pertinacity. “Have we not killed stowaways before? Why is this one so significant?” 

“Because she… just is.”

The quartermaster shakes his head, “A man who follows his heart is a fool in the making, Yunho-ssi.” 

“I’d rather be a fool than a scoundrel.” 

“No. Because unlike a fool, dear surgeon, a scoundrel survives.”

He watches Yunho’s expression shift from anger, to turmoil, and to hopelessness all in one. The latter steps back, putting distance between their forms, before leaning over the deck railing. Seonghwa finds himself doing the same, glaring at a couple crewmates staring in his and the surgeon’s direction. At his attention, the men immediately hurry back to work.    

“Do you ever wonder about what we’ve become?” His chest tightens at his companion’s bitter chuckle, but he keeps his expression as blank as ever. “All of this—piracy, carnage, slaughter—for a dream that may never come true… when will it end?” 

“This is who we are—who we have always been.” 

“You’re wrong, Seonghwa-hyung.” Yunho shakes his head with a weak smile. “At one point, we were decent—still human.” 

“Land ho, lads! I think I see a port” At Wooyoung’s shriek, Seonghwa awakens from his disoriented trance. He glances toward the horizon once again, but rather than its usual vacancy, there in the distance, lies a mass of land in the stretch where the sky meets the sea. 

And for the first time in forever, the quartermaster feels an ounce of hope emerge from the depths of his chained heart.  

“Well, it seems our stowaway was telling the truth after all.” Yunho hums, “I almost hoped it wasn’t so… at least, then, there would have been a reason for her fated death.”

“ W h a t d o y o u w a n t t h e m o s t ? ”

“To live above the sea…” 

“ T h a t k i n d o f f r e e d o m c o m e s w i t h a p r i c e… ”

“What is the price?” 

“ I b e l i e v e t h e q u e s t i o n t h a t y o u s h o u l d b e a s k i n g i s… a r e  y o u w i l l i n g t o d o w h a t e v e r i t t a k e s ?... ” 

“Yes. Without a doubt.”

“ T h e n l e t u s b e g i n… ”

“That’ll cost ya five gold shillin’s, mister.”

At the shopkeeper’s direction, Jongho counts out the correct payment before handing the coins over to the dealer, who takes them a bit too eagerly. After triple checking the currency, she finally passes Jongho his bag of assorted herbs and spices then offers a smile that’s too sweet to be genuine. 

“Thanks a bunch, handsome. Come ‘gain soon.” 

The boatswain doesn’t reply, stuffing his coin purse back into his pocket with one hand while balancing his groceries with the other. Once he’s certain his money is safe from the brisk hands of thieves, he exits the apothecary, just barely avoiding being knocked over by a group of local children. They stare at him as they pass, but Jongho pays their curiosity no mind and hurries to an eatery across the path where his hyungs are waiting for him.

Wooyoung is eating some sort of homemade pastry while San is looking through the grocery list generously provided by the quartermaster. The former grants him a nod when he approaches, wiping some crumbs from his lips with a bright grin. 

“Jongho-ssi, ye have t’ taste one o’ these, mate. Swear on the sea goddess, this has t’ be the best thing I ever goddamn ate.”

The boatswain holds back a snicker as Wooyoung practically inhales the remainder of his dessert, earning a glance of distaste from their older mate. Even so, Jongho can spot the workings of an amused smile budding across San’s lips. No one is safe from the charm of their dear lookout. 

“What all do we have left, Sannie-hyung?” 

“Yeosang requested I gather some navigation supplies. But aside from that, we should be stocked up and ready to sail once the hull is repaired.” 

Jongho releases a sigh, wholeheartedly embracing the heavy weight that recedes from his shoulders. He’d never admit it to anyone, but their brutal encounter with that band of nefarious raiders left him quite shaken up. Between their food shortage and Mingi’s failing health, he was a bit concerned over whether or not the crew of the Treasure would be able to overcome this hurricane. 

And while they may not be completely out of the storm, they’re one step closer. 

“So I was eavesdroppin’ on Seonghwa-hyung ‘n Yunho earlier...” Wooyoung murmurs as the trio begin to make their way back toward the ship. “They was talkin’ ‘bout the stowaway—from the little I heard, it didn’t sound so good…” 

The combatant sighs deeply, “Hyung’s allowing his trauma to govern his actions then?”

“Can you blame ‘im though?” Jongho shakes his head, “That lyin’ wench pretty much tore his heart from his chest ‘n left him t’ die…” 

“Aye, but the stowaway should not have to suffer for another’s deception.”

“Sannie’s right, mate.” Wooyoung agrees, sending Jongho a pointed glance. “It would be one thing if she was a liar, but she ain’t… We live t’ see another day cause o’ her.” 

“Can’t we go t’ cap’n then? Try t’ reason with him t’ spare the dame?” 

“After everything that happened, Hongjoongie-hyung can’t afford to tip off the crew.” Although it’s for a mere moment, Jongho catches the melancholic defeat that washes across San’s face before it’s replaced with his usual indifference. “You must do what you must to survive, I suppose.”

The boatswain’s expression falls. He only spoke to you once, those two nights ago with San in the orlop, but he has a difficult time thinking about the mortal fate his hyungs will subject you to in the coming days… 

“If I knew any better, I’d say our Jongho-ssi has a bit o’ a crush…” Wooyoung teases, laughing at the bitter glare he throws his way. “Ah, it’s true! Our maknae’s all grown up!” 

“Shut up!” Jongho growls, ignoring the warmth lifting to his ears, and gestures to the combatant, “Sannie-hyung’s the one who’s been visitin’ her ev’ry chance he’s got! If anyone’s crushin’ on the lass, it’s him!”

San remains silent. 

Wooyoung gasps, “So ye admit it! Ye got the hots fer our precious stowaway!”

“Name one crewmate who doesn’t…” He shrugs, “She’s… odd. Extraordinary, even.” 

The boatswain snorts, “You jus’ like her cause she’s too naive t’ point out your lunacy. Hyung tried t’ seduce her the other evenin’, and she completely shut ‘im down.” 

“Sounds like a woman after me own heart.” Wooyoung slaps San’s shoulder with an obnoxious cackle, nearly toppling over when the combatant lands a harsh kick to his knee. Jongho can’t help but join into the lookout’s laughter with a couple chuckles of his own. He can feel the gazes of multiple locals looking their way, but pays them no mind and continues to ridicule his hyung. 

“You idiots are just asking for it, I swear.” San hisses while shoving Wooyoung away, “Go make yourselves useful and take this stuff back to the ship. Let the captain know I’ll be back by nightfall.” 

“Sure thing, lover boy!” 

Before the combatant can pummel the pair any further, Wooyoung and Jongho are already fleeing the scene, the howling of their laughter echoing throughout the town as they make their way in the direction of the docked Treasure. By the time they reach the port, Jongho’s stomach aches with the aftermath of too much joy, and he can barely inhale anything past a wheeze. 

“Y’know he’s goin’ t’ kill us when he returns.” 

“Eh, Sannie’s harmless. Knowin’ him, he’s already forgotten ‘bout it.” 

The boatswain follows his mate through the crowded harbor, dodging dozens of crew transporting materials or chasing resident harlots, and up the plank to board the vessel they call their home. Wooyoung passes off his bags and boxes to an awaiting cabin boy before turning back to Jongho with a rare, somber expression: 

“Alright, Imma tell ye somethin’ ‘n I need ye t’ swear on yer life ye won’t tell a soul… savvy?” 

The youngest raises an eyebrow, “‘Course… What is it?” 

The lookout releases a sigh as heavy as hail before dragging Jongho to lean against the edge of the deck. He glances behind his shoulder, wary of a certain quartermaster, and finally continues when he discovers nothing but the nonstop activity of pirates restoring their ship: 

“Y’know how I overheard Seonghwa-hyung ‘n Yunho? Well… I mighta did somethin’ stupid…” Wooyoung mumbles sheepishly, “While we was dockin’, I went below deck ‘n… unlocked the brig…” 

Jongho’s face immediately hardens. 

“Wooyoung-hyung…” 

“He was goin’ t’ kill the girl, Jongho-ssi—toss her t’ the fishes like her life means nothin’.” He watches his companion angrily look out across the busy port. Wooyoung releases a frustrated huff, frantically shaking his head. “Ye don’t understand. When I fished her from that boat, I-I felt somethin’—I dunno what, but I know I couldn’t a lived with meself if she died…” 

“What if Hongjoong-hyung or Seonghwa-hyung find out?” 

“They won’t. She’s prolly long gone by now.” 

“Still, if they do, it’s your head, hyung.” 

Wooyoung shrugs, “Don’t really care, t’ be honest. Jus’ promise ye’ll keep yer trap shut, aye?”

“Aye.” Jongho says simply, reaching across the way to pat his mate’s shoulder. “Thank you for tellin’ me, hyung.” 

“Yeah, well, yer the only one who has any sort o’ brains ‘round ‘ere.” Wooyoung pushes off of the railing before sending the maknae his usual mischievous wink. “We should prolly get back t’ work afore Seonghwa-hyung appears ‘n rains hell down on us… See ye later, Jongho-ssi.”

Jongho waves off the lookout, watching as he disappears into the chaos of the main deck. Once his companion is out of sight, the boatswain aims to head below deck and join his team in finishing off the remaining repairs, but then remembers the message San asked him and Wooyoung to deliver to their captain. Knowing the lookout probably forgot about it, Jongho changes his destination to the quarter cabin. 

The door is cracked open when he approaches, revealing just a sliver of Hongjoong’s living space to the eye. Jongho debates if he should knock, or simply enter, doubting if his captain is even inside to begin with, but debunks the qualm as soon as Hongjoong’s voice filters from the room. The boatswain goes to announce his presence from the doorway, but an enraged shout prolongs his silence: 

“Ye can’t jus’ let this oppo’tunity go t’ waste! If we attack now, they won’t see anythin’ comin’!” 

Jongho recognizes the voice as belonging to a gunner-mate known by the alias of ‘Butcher’. He’s never spoken to him personally, but from the stories told by San, he’s not the type of person anyone wants to tip off. Rumors also tell that Butcher was never too keen on Hongjoong being elected as captain of the Treasure, having sought that position for himself, but even a soul as merciless and barbaric as him was no match for the infamous Pirate King…  

“And as I told you, there is no reason to attack.” Hongjoong admonishes, “We have the supplies we require, therefore we have no need to remain here any longer.”

“If we blow them down, we can ‘ave more—plunder their stock ‘n steal their riches!” 

“And risk faulting an allied township we may return to in the future? Absolutely not, it’s not rational—”  

“‘N who gives a damn ‘bout ‘rational’!?” Butcher’s indignant retort booms throughout the cabin, ringing through Jongho’s ear like a siren. “This settlement bears neither arms NOR protection, and ye jus’ want t’ weigh anchor like a fool—!”

“You dare refer to your captain as a fool…?” Although he can’t see him, Jongho can feel the red-hot fury exuding from his hyung’s hushed tone. Butcher grows silent, for good reason likely, as Hongjoong continues, “Do not forget your place, Butcher. You are on my ship, and I expect you to act in accordance to my command… are we understood?” 

“Cap’n, I—” 

“Are we understood, mister Butcher?” 

The gunner-mate releases a sigh, “Aye, cap’n.” 

“You’re dismissed.”

Jongho barely avoids the onslaught of the flinging door, stepping aside just in time for the gunner-mate to come storming out of the quarter cabin. He debates whether or not to come back later, knowing his captain is likely not in the best mood after that encounter, but doesn’t have much choice when Hongjoong notices his presence at the door: 

“Jongho-ssi? What is it?” 

“I, uh, jus’—Sannie-hyung wanted me t’ let y’know he’ll be in late.” The boatswain bites his lip. “You… okay, hyung?” 

“You should be helping with repairs, Jongho-ssi.” 

“Aye, cap’n. On my way now.”

As many times as he reminds himself not to dwell on it, Jongho can’t help but notice the dark feeling creeping along his shoulders as he makes his way below deck—though he can’t decide whether he should be worried for the gunner-mate… or for his captain.  

A heavy sadness washes over the surgeon as he continues to stare at the motionless face of the first mate. In his sleeping state, Mingi appears so peaceful, Yunho thinks, with his lips just slightly parted and a gentle flush spread along his cheeks. Nevertheless, he can’t help but wish the younger pirate would open his eyes—would sit up, throw Yunho one of his goofy grins, and say, “By the gods, mate! I’m hungrier than the chum that said a turkey is too much fer one, ‘n nah enough fer two!” 

But unfortunately, Yunho knows better. 

Tears sear at his eyes, forcing him to turn away from the sight of his incapacitated mate. The surgeon attempts to distract his chaotic mind by attending to the new herb stock his assistant dropped off moments earlier. Even so, he can’t seem to gather the energy to sort turmeric from ginger roots, and drops his head into his palms with a sob. 

Not even seconds into his pity party, a gentle hand lays atop his broad shoulder as a deep murmur enters his ears: 

“You’ve done all you can, my friend. Please don’t burden your conscience with this.”

“How can I not?” The surgeon whimpers, keeping his shame hidden beneath the shield of his fingers. “It is my duty to save lives, Yeosang, and I cannot even do that.” 

“That stowaway’s inevitable death is not your doing—her fate was sealed the moment Wooyoung brought her aboard this ship.” The navigator argues, “And Mingi… well, there’s still time, is there not? Maybe we can sail to the mainland? Take him to the dispensary—?” 

“—and allow the Royal Navy to relay him to the gallows? It would be kinder to let him die as is.” He sniffs, “Besides, I doubt he has any more than hours before…”

Another round of liquid sadness escapes Yunho’s eyes when Yeosang leans down to fully wrap his arms around his shoulders. The surgeon breaks down in his hold, unable to stifle the sobs of failure and grief that spill from his lips. The navigator remains silent as his mate releases his anguish, allowing a few tears of his own to slip down his cheeks. 

“We’ll think of something.” Yeosang murmurs after the room grows quiet, save for Mingi’s steady breathing and Yunho’s occasional gasp for air. “Fate provided us a miracle before, maybe she will do so again.” 

Before Yunho can remind the navigator that miracles only occur once in a blue moon, a noisy commotion from outside the sickbay alerts both men. Yeosang terminates the embrace while the former wipes his eyes, standing from his desk to join his companion at the door. He throws Yunho a wary glance before stepping out into the corridor, the surgeon only milliseconds behind. The pair follow the echoes of screams and shouts to the upper deck—the latter keeping a leery hand on the dagger attached to his belt. 

“What in the fresh hell—ah!”

To Yunho’s horror, Yeosang is suddenly wrenched away from his side. He attempts to chase after his mate, but dozens of pairs of hands hold him back. His weapon of choice is confiscated, and when he tries to thrash and kick, only more men pin his limbs down. 

“Get off of me! Or I swear I’ll—” 

“You’ll what, surgeon?” His heart practically drops to his stomach when he comes face to face with his very own assistant. “Send me t’ clean the bed pens? Or swab the sickbay?” 

He gapes at the young boy he once called his apprentice, “W-What do you think you’re doing, boy…?” 

“Take ‘im to the surface! Captain Butcher’ll do ‘im ‘n the others all right!”

  Yunho can’t believe his eyes or ears as his own crewmates drag him toward the upper deck, and even in the midst of danger, the surgeon can’t help but wonder whether or not he remembered to cover the sleeping first mate with a blanket.

“Haul ‘em toward the bow, lads! Be sure the binds’re tight!” 

Seongwha tries to fight the hands that yank him forward, writhing against the ropes wound painfully snug around his wrists. His efforts are rewarded with a hefty kick to his ribs. A pained wheeze blows past his lips at the impact, yet he continues to struggle as his own crewmates haul him across the deck. 

“You traitorous scumbags! I’ll tear you all apart limb by limb then feed your pathetic remains to the creatures of the sea—” 

“Save yer breath, quartermaster.” 

A growl rumbles from the quartermaster’s chest as the mastermind of this entire plot descends from the forecastle deck, his sinister face glowing in the light of the setting sun. Butcher saunters closer, not stopping until Seonghwa can taste the foulness of his breath on his tongue. The gunner-mate snickers, exuding enough pride to put the royal navy to shame. 

“You’ll pay for this…” Seonghwa seethes, “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be pleading for mercy…” 

Butcher laughs maliciously, “If ye haven’t noticed, mate, I’m th’ one in command now.” 

The quartermaster barely holds back a groan as a heavy punch is dealt to his cheek followed by a second and third to his nose. He feels the bones crack beneath the force, a stream of warm blood beginning to cascade from his nostrils. Countless men he once called his brothers roar in triumph as Butcher beats him senseless, though he can’t tell if the white-noise coursing through his ears is the result of the cheering crowd or the brutal hits. 

“Enough o’ this! Bring out the real show o’ the evenin’!” 

While Butcher’s recreant lackeys scramble to do as he requests, Seonghwa takes the moment to survey the workings of the Treasure deck: 

He observes dozens of men being pinned down and beaten to a pulp by their own treacherous comrades, not discluding their resident lookout. Behind Wooyoung, both Yunho and Jongho are draped in steel chains and tied to the foremast. Their necks and wrists etched in angry, red scratches—courtesy from the sharp teeth of the shackles. Down on the main deck is Yeosang, sandwiched in between two burly pirates, and seeming as if he will burst into tears at the drop of a thimble. 

Crimson-hot rage filters through Seonghwa’s veins at the sight of his beloved mates, and he can’t help but anticipate slicing off Butcher’s fingers and shoving each one down his throat… But nothing can compare to the violent haze that overtakes his mind when a familiar face is dragged from the safety of the quarter cabin. 

Seonghwa watches in shock as his captain is tossed precariously at the gunner-mate’s feet—his hands, like the rest of the crew, bound behind his back and an ugly black bruise beginning to form around his swollen-shut right eye. With one hand, Butcher seizes Hongjoong’s vermillion roots and holds the tip of a cutlass to his jugular with the other. Fueled by the prospect of his captain in danger, Seongwha once again tries to break free from his bonds, but his attempts are as useless as a toy knife. 

“So we meet again, Cap’n Hongjoong! Bets ye weren’t expectin’ so under these circumstances…” 

Hongjoong remains silent, answering the traitor’s taunt with a clenched jaw and a glare colder than ice. 

Butcher tilts his head with a mocking pout, “Nah goin’ t’ speak, are ye? Perhaps this’ll change yer mind… Lads?” 

The rigid strike against the back of his head is unexpected, powerful enough to flicker little white stars through his vision. Seonghwa releases a groan as another hit is delivered to the same spot, nearly sending his body sprawling across the deck. He expects another untimely blow, tensing his shoulders in preparation, but his captain’s voice rings out instead: 

“Alright, alright! You’ve made your bloody point!” Hongjoong shakes his head with a deep sigh, “You-You caught me by surprise, Butcher… You’ve won.” 

“Indeed I ‘ave, but as much as I love hearin’ ye say as much, I expected more fight from ye—wha’ happened t’ the Pirate King? The eater o’ souls n’ bearer o’ death?...” 

“You threaten the one thing that means the most to me…” 

“Is that so?” Butcher snickers, trailing his blade along the apple of the captain’s cheek with a sick smile. “The mighty Pirate King is brought t’ his knees by the lives of his loyal crew… Pathetic.” 

Seonghwa winces as the gunner-mate lands a brutal blow against Hongjoong’s face with the hilt of his cutlass—the act earning a cheer of approval from the surrounding crowd. A stray powder monkey surges forward just as he hits the ground to deal a less than tender kick to his ribs. Before more men can join the fun, Butcher calls the group to a halt. 

“As much as I’d love t’ watch me mates beat ye t’ death, I reckon ye deserve a proper punishment t’ fit yer crimes…” Ignoring the various protests, Butcher, with the help of three other rigger-mates, tosses a coil of rope over the spar of the mainmast. The quartermaster, in tandem with the other captured crewmates, screams in objection at the noose dangling forebodingly at the end of the line. Wooyoung pulls harshly against his restraints before crying out:  

“Butcher—ye slacked-jawed scoundrel! Ye can’t do this!” 

“Can’t I?” Butcher chuckles, signaling two minions to force Hongjoong to his feet. “A trip t’ the gallows—a prime death fer the great Pirate King himself… Don’t fret, lookout. Ye’ll be joinin’ yer cap’n… from the bottom o’ the sea! Throw ‘em t’ the sharks, lads!” 

“No!” Hongjoong shrieks, desperately squirming against his captors as multiple crew, including Wooyoung and Seonghwa, are yanked toward the rail of the ship. With a bare of his teeth and an expression darker than a murderous tiger, he snarls toward the gunner-mate, “You were always a spineless bastard, smuggling your cowardice behind an incompetent, pitiful ego… You’ll pay for your treachery. You all will pay.” 

Butcher rolls his eyes, “Yer threats mean naught anymore… ‘ave a jolly good ole time in the afterlife! Farewell, o’ great Pirate King!” 

Protests resonate about the deck as the rope is thrown over Hongjoong’s head. With the last remaining strength he can muster, Seonghwa kicks, writhes, head-butts, anything that may free him from his enclosing fate in Davy Jones’ Locker, but the hands holding him are too strong, too eager. He can only watch as Butcher pulls the rope, restricting the airflow of his dear friend and captain—only wait for this nightmare to be washed away by the mercy of the sea. 

However, the relief never comes as a miraculous shout rings out instead: 

“Enough!”

For a moment, Hongjoong wonders if he’s already dead. What he observes cannot be real, maybe a hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen—one final kindness his mind wishes to provide before his body grows still, but at the utter stillness of the once rowdy crowd, and the bulging eyes of the man who wishes to end his reign, Hongjoong realizes it’s not a mirage at all… 

He stares in wonder as you emerge from the staircase of the lower deck with nothing but the clothes on your back and stride toward the vicious gunner-mate, who like everyone else in the vicinity, is frozen stiff by your presence.  

“Unhand the Pirate King.” Your voice echoes across the deck, ringing through his ears like a tedious bell—unnerving and unyielding. 

“…What ye be doin’, lass?” Butcher finally asks after a long bout of silence. Even then, Hongjoong can sense the apprehension in his tone. “Me and me mates don’t want t’ hurt ye, so I reckon ye should skip along befer I—” 

“Do as I say, and I will spare your life.”   

Another tense moment of quiet passes, filled only by the murmured hum of the captain’s racing heart. It’s soon replaced by the shrill cackle that flies from the gunner-mate’s lips. Unlike before, none of the other crew join in on their leader’s laughter fest and gaze on with baffled, almost frightful features. 

“Ye will spare me life!?” Butcher wipes a tear from his eye before sending an amused glance in your direction. His expression reminds Hongjoong of that one would give to a small child. “That’s real sweet, darlin’, but look at yerself—ye mighty reckon ye got wha’ it takes t’ put down big ole Butcher here? I’d ‘ave ye on the ground afore ye can say ‘charge’.” 

Your face remains numb, earning a pleased snicker from the gunner-mate. 

“Can nah blame ye fer tryin’ though. Perhaps I’ll let ye stay on me ship here afterall… Could always use a nice wench t’ keep us entertained, am I right, lads? Hee hee—ah!” 

In the mere blink of an eye, you steal the gunner-mate’s cutlass from his belt and drive the blade straight through his guts. Your expression doesn’t shift as you twist the weapon, driving it deeper into his abdomen without any hesitation at all. Blood spills red across the deck as the mighty Butcher lowers to his knees—his eyes wide with disturbed awe—before collapsing in a heap of failure and death. 

Bloody cutlass in hand, you shift to face the rest of the crowd. A couple of lackeys seem to snap from their trance, barring their yellowed teeth and aiming to run you down. But just as their master, the traitors are also knocked to the deck. Though instead of a cutlass, their demise belongs to that of a musket ball. 

To Honjoong’s delight, San emerges from a nearby pack of pirates, twirling his pistol around his thumb with a smile that means business: 

“Now that’s no way to treat a lady… Do I need to teach you lot what it means to bear some manners?” 

Chaos immediately erupts across the Treasure in the form of gunshots and deafening screams. Wooyoung somehow manages to escape from his ropes before snatching a man’s dagger to free the quartermaster. At once, Seonghwa goes tearing across the deck like an enraged bull, maiming nearly a dozen enemies in his wake. Meanwhile, the lookout continues to free the remaining loyal crewmates, who all immediately jump to action. Jongho grabs an abandoned club and proceeds to take out anyone in his wake while Yunho and Yeosang hurry to rescue the few mates that were thrown from the ship. 

Hongjoong can barely believe his eyes, still slightly convinced his mind may be in a dreamscape. All of those thoughts disappear when your form appears in front of him. You spare him a glance before loosening the noose from his neck, then go about cutting away his bindings. Once he’s free, Hongjoong stumbles, nearly toppling back to the deck, but you’re quick to take the captain into your hold, utilizing your own weight to support his own.  

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until you meet his gaze.

“Come. You are wounded.”

“You… saved me.” Hongjoong responds dumbly, unable to process your command. “E-Even after I… Thank you.” 

For the first time, the captain notices a slight twist of confusion overtake the glassiness of your eyes. He’s not exactly sure why his immediate reaction was to express his gratitude either, but something in him was moved by your bravery—is moved by… well, you. 

“We must go.” You repeat, “This way.” 

Hongjoong follows without protest, continuing to watch in fascination as you guide him to the quarter deck where the surgeon is currently tending to the wounded. The tall giant practically strokes out once he notices the captain’s current state, his face busted and bruised and throat swollen and stiff, but even after he’s stationed on a crate and even as Yunho goes about treating his injuries, Hongjoong can’t take his eyes off of your form. Even as you go to assist San and Jongho with binding the final few rebels who survived the civil war, or when you return to help hand out bandages and healing salves to impaired crewmates. 

It’s as if he’s under some sort of spell—under your spell perhaps.

“Hongjoong, thank the gods—” The captain awakens from his reverie at the arms that suddenly wind around his shoulders. He identifies the pained face of his quartermaster at once, not hesitating to return the spontaneous embrace. “I-I thought—” 

“I’m alive, my friend.” Hongjoong shushes Seonghwa’s hysterics, pulling back to touch his forehead to the quartermaster’s with a sigh of relief. “If I’d have lost you and the crew, I can’t imagine what—” 

“Do not imagine. As you said, we are alive.”

Hongjoong decides not to argue with his companion and rather, enjoy the warmth of his living, breathing presence instead. Once the terrified pulsating of his heart dissipates, he finally releases the quartermaster. Even so, a new body is quick to replace him: 

“Fer Pete’s sake, Hongjoongie-hyung! I thought ye was a goner thar!” Wooyoung pulls back from the hug to wipe a splotch of blood on his cheek before sneering, “Damn that son o’ a gun! Why, I oughtta of thump ‘im with his own leg!” 

“The stowaway beat you to it.” Seonghwa says, “As much as I hate to admit, I’m actually grateful you let her free.” 

“Yah! How’d y’know it was me!?” 

“You and Jongho need to choose a less conspicuous spot to exchange secrets.” 

The lookout huffs, “Aye. I thought we was bein’ all sneaky too.” 

The conversation after the fact grows deaf on the captain’s ears, his focus too encapsulated by the sight of you caring for the gunshot wound of a rigger-mate—or trying to at least. You fumble with the cloth dressing and struggle to apply the ointment as if never having used such equipment before. Hongjoong finds your strife strange, yet oddly endearing all the same.  

“Why didn’t she leave?” The question falls from Hongjoong’s lips before he can think otherwise. “If you had the chance to escape the hold of the most wicked pirates in the seven seas, wouldn’t you?...”

“Already told ye, cap’n… she’s special.” Wooyoung shakes his head, following Hongjoong’s gaze. “I hope ye think about givin’ her a chance now, seein’ as the lass pretty much saved yer ass.” 

Hongjoong smiles at the irony of his lookout’s words. 

“I reckon that’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said.” He shakes his head with a chuckle, sparing you one final glance before shifting his attention to the blossoming sunset. “Still, I wouldn’t call her ‘special’, Wooyoung. I’d say she’s more of a… 

“…Precious.”      

“Precious—please do tell us where ye learned such superb swordsmanship!” Yeosang snickers at the slight slur of the lookout’s words, likely already feeling the effects of the grog coursing through his system. Wooyoung takes another swig from his tankard before leaning closer to your seated self, “I mean, ye diced the lad in ‘alf! I don’ even think Sannie coulda done so—and me mate was born with a cutlass right out th’ womb!”

“Right. No more liquor for you.” Wooyoung pouts as the boatswain snatches his drink and downs the contents in one gulp. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jongho releases a boisterous belch that literally sends vibrations throughout Yeosang’s bones. 

He whines, “Naht fair, Jongho-ssi! Can’t deny a pirate ‘is nice ole grog when we’re celebratin’!” 

“Lower your voice.” San rolls his eyes, “You make our stowaway uncomfortable.”

At the combatant’s observation, Yeosang turns his focus onto you. Your eyebrows are pulled together in a deep furrow and your lips pursed. Judging by your state, the navigator wonders if you’re struggling to understand their interaction. The possibility of you not being a fluent speaker of his language crossed his mind, taking into account your simple responses and mimicry of certain words. 

Despite your rather deadpan, awkward first meeting, Yeosang completely understands why his crew is so enamored by your presence. Not only are you a visual dream, but you have this aura about you—a silent charm that lures him in like a fish to a bait. If he wasn’t a believer of science and arts, he would argue you’re actually something of the supernatural… 

“We should play a game!” Despite San’s warning glance, Wooyoung bounces excitedly in his seat and throws an arm around the boatswain’s shoulder. “Can’t go wrong with a bit o’ fun, aye?!” 

“I doubt anyone bears interest in your foolish games, hyung.” 

“Precious! Truth o’ Dare?!” Wooyoung ignores the maknae’s groan and directs a smirk to your confused self.  

“What do you mean?” 

San shakes his head, “Pay him no mind—he’s drunk.” 

“‘M as sober as a judge on th’ sabbath!” 

Yeosang chuckles before turning to you with a gentle smile, “In a game of Truth or Dare, you have two choices—if you select truth, then you must truthfully answer a question. If you select dare, then you must perform an action of the asker’s choosing.” 

“And this is… a game?” You raise an eyebrow, “Why?”

Jongho snorts, “‘Cause Wooyoung-hyung’s a moron.” 

“Shut up, ye grizzly brat!” The lookout sighs defeatedly, “I jus’ wanted t’ have a jolly good time n’ ye lot are a bunch of—” 

“Truth.” Surprise overtakes the atmosphere in the form of silence as the answer falls from your lips. “I choose Truth.” 

“Alrighty!” Wooyoung’s downcast expression instantly shifts to one of mischief, causing Yeosang to utter a silent prayer for your soul. “Who’s the most handsome pirate on board the Treasure? I mean, we already know it be me, but gotta give these lads a winnin’ chance.” 

“You’re a complete and utter idiot.” San sighs, taking a sip of his rum. 

“What does ‘handsome’ mean?” 

“It’s a word that describes someone who’s attractive.” Yeosang explains, “Attractive, as in someone who is pleasing to look at.” 

You hum in understanding, “Well… I think you all are rather pleasing to look at.”

“W-What!?” Wooyoung’s shrill cry startles the atmosphere. “‘ow much have ye had t’ drink, Precious?... Cause San’s lookin’ like a wet rat over there.” 

“You little f—” 

“Now you ask someone to choose truth or dare.” The navigator quickly interjects before the combatant leaps at Wooyoung’s throat. He keeps his eyes trained on you as you investigate their meager circle of five. Your gaze falters on the shy boatswain, your question resonating only seconds after: 

“Jongho,” The maknae coughs as his name sounds from your lips. “Truth or dare?”    

“T-Truth…” 

“If you do manage to find Wonderland, what would you wish for?” 

Yeosang is pleasantly surprised by your knowledge of their current quest, assuming one of his mates mentioned it to you in a past conversation. He holds back a smile as Jongho squirms and fidgets beneath your attention—a warm hue overtaking the curve of his ears. 

“Suppose I haven’t thought much about it…” He finally confesses, “My apologies, but I cannot answer that jus’ yet.” 

You nod. 

“Aye… uh, Yeosang-hyung, truth o’ dare?” 

The navigator hums, “Dare.”  

“Right. I dare you to, uh, to—” 

“—t’ kiss Precious!” Shock filters through Yeosang’s veins in the form of ice-cold electricity. He stares at the unruly lookout incredulously while attempting to recollect the workings of his thoughts at the same time. 

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, “What? The lad was takin’ too long?” 

“Are you that incapable of keeping your perversion to yourself?” San’s tone is both peeved and a bit higher-pitched than usual. “And why do you keep referring to her as ‘Precious’?” 

“I’m only callin’ her by the name cap’n gave her!” 

Yeosang notices your form perk up at the mention. 

“Your captain gave me a name…?” 

Wooyoung nods his head, although it looks more like he’s having a seizure.  

“Precious—it means something of great value.” The navigator injects before the lookout can continue, “Such as treasure or riches. However, it may also describe a person who is dear to someone.” 

San shakes his head, “If you don’t want to be called—”

“No, it’s okay.” You quickly say, “I… I don’t mind it.”  

“So you wan’ us t’ call you ‘Precious’?” 

You nod at Jongho’s inquiry with pursed lips—Yeosang can’t help but wonder if you’re holding back a smile. 

“Right, now that that’s out o’ the way…” Wooyoung cackles delightfully before abandoning his bench to take up the seat beside the navigator. He rolls his eyes at his younger mate’s antics, immediately shoving away the arm he attempts to wrap around his waist. 

“I’m not following your childish dare, Wooyoung-ssi.” 

“Aw c’mon, matey!” Yeosang rolls his eyes as the lookout lowers his chin to his shoulder, gazing up at him with eyes wider than a whirlpool during a monsoon. “‘S jus’ a kiss! What harm could it do?...” 

“A kiss…?” 

At your questioning tone, the quartet turns their attention back to you. 

Jongho gasps, “Ye… don’ know what be a kiss?” 

You shake your head. 

“Perfect!” Wooyoung leaps in excitement, “Why don’ ye show her so, hyung!?” 

“No.” Yeosang grumbles before shifting to explain, “When two souls care for each other, they seal their compassion in what is known as a ‘kiss’.” 

“And how does one kiss?” 

“With yer lips, o’ course!” 

Everyone groans at the lookout’s shriek. Yeosang delivers the tipsy man a brief glare before preparing to finish his explanation. However, his actions are halted when a cool sensation brushes across the plush of his cheek. His body reacts to your lips immediately, melting beneath the harsh vibrations that ricochet through his bones. The patch of skin in which you touch continues to tingle after you pull away, gazing at the navigator expectedly. 

“Yeah. Jus’ like that.” Wooyoung snickers, “Ye okay there, hyung?”   

“I-I…” For the first time in his life, Yeosang is without words. He wants to tell you how oddly satisfying your cold lips felt against his flesh—about the rainbow of emotions running rampant through his system. But the stars of your unwavering gaze pin his tongue in place, and he can do nothing but continue to stare in awe. 

“Yah! Why does he get a kiss!?” San roars in exasperation, “What kind of bloody witchcraft is this!?”

“Careful, hyung—your infatuation’s showin’.” Both Wooyoung and Jongho erupt into laughter as the combatant’s face flushes a dark shade of red. Yeosang’s mind is still too muddled to comprehend the situation, still trying to collect his bearings. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when their resident quartermaster emerges from the lower deck with an expression of sorrow: 

“You lot need to come to the sickbay. Now.” 

Wooyoung, suddenly less inebriated, shakes his head at the elder, “What is it, hyung?” 

“It’s Mingi…” Yeosang’s heart practically plummets as the previous memory with Yunho returns to his head.    

It seems they’re out of time. 

There’s a suffocating type of heaviness in San’s chest as he witnesses the scene unfold in front of him: The main crew all gathered in the sickbay—Jongho standing in the doorway with the stowaway, his lips trembling and expression pained, Yeosang and Yunho in a nearby corner, where the latter tries to comfort the former, a silent Seonghwa and a sobbing Wooyoung at the foot of the cot, and Hongjoong residing at the bedside, clutching the still hand of their fallen crewmate as if he’s afraid he’ll slip away at any moment… not that that’s totally incorrect. 

His captain’s eyes are glassy, so unlike his usual appearance, as he turns to the surgeon, “There must be something we can do…” 

“I’ve done everything I could possibly think of.” Yunho sniffs, “I’m sorry, hyung.” 

“No.” San’s heart shatters at the pure desperation of Hongjoong’s tone, tears welling in his eyes as the smaller man completely breaks down. “W-We can’t just l-let him—no, no, no, no, no…” 

Seonghwa hurries over to catch Hongjoong before he collapses to the floor, cradling his quivering figure against his chest. The combatant has to turn away from the sight to preserve the remaining fragments of his self-control. However, once he spots the shine of sadness decorating Jongho’s cheeks, he can no longer contain the flood works that spill from his eyes. 

How could they have been celebrating only moments before while their beloved first mate lay here fighting for his life…? What kind of brothers are they to leave him to fend for himself in his time of need…?

“It is best if you say your goodbyes now.” He breaks from his self-scolding at Seonghwa’s murmur, “Before he… Before it’s too late.” 

One by one, San watches his crewmates pay their final farewells to their comrade. By the time it reaches his turn, he’s not sure if his body can physically produce any more liquid sadness. His theory is debunked the second he sees Mingi’s unconscious face as more fat droplets, compiled with even more suffering and pain, cascade down his burning cheeks. San finds his voice stuck in his throat and his thoughts in a jumbled mess. 

He wants to tell Mingi so much—inform him of Butcher’s poor attempt of leading a mutiny and his hilarious demise, remind him about that time they spent the entire day hiding Hongjoong’s beloved navy coat and blaming it on the lookout, confess to him exactly how dull the ship feels without his vociferous energy and how lost the crew acts without their confident, exuberant first mate… 

He wants to tell him so bad that without him aboard, the Treasure will never be the same. 

But as stated, San is lost—unable to form sentences loud enough to overpower the echo of his sobs. Instead, he settles with a squeeze to Mingi’s hand and a ruffle of his chestnut hair before retreating into the embrace of the lookout. Wooyoung, through tears of his own, attempts to soothe the combatant and lead him from the room, but the sight of an incapacitated Mingi still haunts his thoughts, and San can do nothing but release his anguish into the neck of his younger mate. 

“You all care for him.” 

A slight sense of relief emerges when your voice enters his ears, slightly calming the torrent of grief swirling through his mind. San angles his head to see your face over Wooyoung’s shoulder, eyes widening at the genuine emotion etched along your features. You seem confused, fascinated, and pained all in one glance, and he can’t help but wish he bore the ability to see into your thoughts. 

“Mingi t’ us is like fire t’ air.” Wooyoung murmurs, “We need him t’ survive.” 

“So Mingi is… precious to you.” 

After another minute that passes on like hours, Yunho is the last person to exit the sickbay. His cheeks are bruised with the effects of mourning and his eyes are devoid of any hope, but he manages to wipe his nose and, albeit brokenly, utter: 

“I-It won’t be long now.” 

“…May I say goodbye as well?” 

San, along with the rest of the pirates, turns at your inquiry. Seonghwa seems indignant toward the idea, but the captain speaks before he can open his mouth:    

“Of course you can. Please.” 

You nod at Hongjoong’s hushed response, sparing one final glance toward the surrounding pirates before disappearing back into the sickbay. Yunho shuts the door behind you, shaking his head as Yeosang approaches to wrap an arm around his waist. 

“I still can’t believe this is happening…” 

“We won’t allow Mingi’s death to travel in vain.” Hongjoong says, “We’ll find Wonderland, and we’ll bring him back to us.” 

“Aye. This is not goodbye.” Jongho agrees, moving forward to place a comforting hand on San’s back. “We should be with him as he…” 

The combatant nods, “Right. Come along then.” 

Everyone filters in behind the surgeon-navigator duo as they push in the door. San leaves Wooyoung’s arm to push past the crowd, wanting to be the one to hold his mate’s hand as he goes, but the sight that greets him roots his feet to the ground. Gasps resonate from behind him, but San is too awestruck to pay them any mind. 

Beside you, a fully conscious Mingi is sat up against the bed frame with a cup of water in hand. A blinding grin spreads across his face when he notices the crew in the doorway and delivers an all too enthusiastic wave in their direction—as if he was not merely on his last few breaths only minutes before: 

“‘S bout time ye chums showed up! Precious here was jus’ catchin’ me up—wha’ other excitin’ adventures did I snooze through!?”

 The chilly night air welcomes Jongho as he emerges from the safety of the hull. At this hour, the main deck is completely empty save for a couple of gunner-mates on watch duty. Even then, the two men are fast asleep against the rail, using the other’s shoulder as a makeshift pillow. Jongho passes them quickly, not wanting to disturb their slumber, and heads toward the figurehead of the ship—an avid place to make sense of his thoughts. 

Mingi’s miraculous recovery was unexpected, yet comforting. The Treasure has already lost enough crew between their run-in with the rival pirates and those that partook in the mutinous plot. If they were to have lost their energetic first mate, he can’t imagine what would have become of them… 

But still, as appreciative as the boatswain is that his hyung is alive and well, he can't help but wonder how? Yunho was adamant there was no possibility of curing his injuries, something about a nasty infection overwhelming his body, and there was nothing anyone could do to preserve his life. Yet, he manages to come out of his coma as lively as a freshly bloomed flower. 

Miracles such as these don’t simply happen without cause. 

When he reaches the bow, Jongho pauses, pinpointing another figure through the darkness. At once, he determines the shape to be you perched against the ship’s barrier. It’s too obscure to discern what exactly it is you’re doing, but he has an inkling it’s the same thing that he’s come to do. 

Against his better judgment, the boatswain approaches the rail and takes purchase besides your still form. He debates if he should announce his presence, speculating if you’re too deep in thought to have noticed his arrival. However, his conjectures are proven naught when your voice resonates against the crashing of drowsy ocean waves:

“I never realized how quiet the sea is at night.” 

It’s the most he’s ever heard you speak in a single sentence, and he doesn’t know how to respond. Instead, Jongho spares a glance to the side of your face, discovering your gaze centered on the murky sea waters and lips stretched to a weak smile. The image is disconcerting, he thinks, and he can’t help but feel as if there is a story behind your mysterious facade. 

After another bout of rather comfortable silence, he murmurs, “Couldn’t sleep either I reckon?” 

Your lack of response is answer enough. 

“Y’know, my mum used t’ sing for me when I was a young lad.” Jongho smiles at the memory. “Knocked me out ev’ry time… You mind if I croon for a bit?” 

He takes your silence as admission, beginning to softly hum a lullaby from his childhood. The whistles of the wind act as percussion in his performance, carrying his sweet melody up and into the dancing waves. After the song ends, he immediately jumps into another, sensing the pleasurable ambiance that awakens through his vocals. Almost five nursery rhymes later, the boatswain finally grants his throat a rest and focuses his attention back on you: 

“You ‘ave family somewhere?” 

 Jongho notices your shoulders grow tense at his inquiry. He curses himself for bringing you discomfort, moving to retract his nosiness, but is pleasantly surprised when you shift to meet his gaze and shake your head. 

“But you have t’ have parents, aye? Or someone t’ take care o’ you at least?”  

The same haunting smile returns to your lips. 

“Where I come from you are born alone…  live alone… die alone.”

Despite the indifference etched along your features, Jongho can sense the sadness beneath your words. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It is not your doing.” You reply gently, “Why apologize?”

“‘Cause, it sounds like a really lonely life.” Jongho answers truthfully, taking note of how your eyes seem to bear a night sky of their own. “If it’s any consolation, I reckon cap’n’s goin’ t’ offer you passage elsewhere… I-It, uh, would be real nice if you stay aboard with us.” 

You offer what Jonho hopes to be a genuine smile, “Thank you, Jongho.”

The boatswain nods, attempting to curb the warmth lifting to his ears. “Don’t mention it. I’ll leave you t’ your thoughts then, uh…”

“Precious.”

“Aye. Goodnight, Precious.” 

And so Jongho bids his farewell but doesn’t miss how your eyes seem to shine a few shades brighter when he calls you by your given name.   

“ I n o r d e r t o b e a r a m o r t a l s o u l , y o u m u s t f i r s t c o n s u m e o n e. ”

“How?”

“ Y o u m u s t b e f r i e n d a h u m a n a n d r e m a i n u n t i l t h e y f a l l i n l o v e w i t h y o u … ”

“And then…?”

“ O n c e y o u ‘ r e c e r t a i n o f t h e i r i n f a t u a t i o n , y o u w i l l k i s s t h e h u m a n a n d i n h a l e t h e i r l i f e f o r c e i n t o y o u r o w n… ”

“—and so we’ll need to recruit a few more men for repairs once we reach the mainland as most were killed in the riot. It would also be wise to have San and Mingi train some more gunners—are you even listening to me?” 

Hongjoong snaps from his trance at his quartermaster’s accusatory tone, adjusting his newly sewn eyepatch before turning to his less-than-amused companion with an innocent smile. 

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “Don’t try to play coy. I know you were watching her again.” 

Concluding there’s no chance of proving him otherwise, the captain shamelessly allows his gaze to wander back to the forecastle deck where Mingi is currently attempting to teach you how to handle a pistol. He can’t help but compare your hesitant form to that of a fawn, earning a scoff of distaste from his company as a foolish grin spreads along his lips. 

“Careful, hyung. If anyone were to discover the wicked Pirate King has a weakness in the form of a silly crush, you’d be ruined.” 

Hongjoong rolls his eyes with a huff, “I do not have a crush on the lass. I’m merely beholden by the circumstance in which she saved my life, my crew, and my ship.” 

“Mingi and I have salvaged your wellbeing more times than one could count, and yet I don’t see you bestowing us with your goo-goo eyes.” 

“Very clever, quartermaster.” He snickers, tightening his hold on the edge of the rail. “I’d give it a week before you fall for her charms.” 

“I assure you’ll be waiting longer than that.” Seonghwa shakes his head before taking residence beside his smaller companion. “Unlike you lot, I actually bear some semblance of dignity in the presence of an attractive woman.” 

Hongjoong doesn’t respond, too enraptured by the loud laugh that escapes from your lips as both San and Wooyoung begin to dance with buckets over their heads and stilts on their feet, drawing a furious roar from the first mate at their derisive impersonation. The captain releases a chuckle of his own as Mingi chases after the mischievous pair, shouting something about chopping off all the protruding parts of their bodies. 

“These kids…” The quartermaster sighs, “What do you all see in her anyway?” 

“You’ll understand one day, my friend.” Hongjoong smiles knowingly, “You will understand one day.” 

“Aye. ‘pologies for that, Precious.” Mingi simpers before directing a sharp glare over his shoulder. He spots both San and Wooyoung laughing their lungs out from the safety of the mizzenmast. If he absolutely wanted to, the first mate can easily scale the rigging and corner at least one of the culprits, but they’ve already taken enough of his time away from you. “Now where we be?... Ah yes! Holdin’ the pistol!” 

The past few days have been fairly eventful, to say the least. While Mingi still can’t believe he missed out on so much of the action, he’s grateful that his crew, for the most part, remains in one piece—the attempt at mutiny left half of their men either dead, injured, or missing, so there’s been some adjustments in regards to role-taking and responsibilities. Even so, Hongjoong and Seonghwa seem to have everything under control… minus the antics of the combatant-lookout duo. 

Ever since Mingi confessed to having a very, very, VERY slight attraction to the pretty stowaway that awoke him from his slumber, the two tricksters have done everything in their power to embarrass him every time he’s in your presence. Just yesterday when you were eating together in the mess hall, they poured an entire bag of white flour over him and essentially transformed him into a walking ghost. Seonghwa was not too happy about the incident, even more so when Mingi tracked flour around the ship chasing after the pair, and forced all three of them to swab the deck until it was pristine. 

The opportunity for payback will come eventually… and when it does, the first mate will be ready to take his revenge. 

“So ye hold the weapon like so—” He demonstrates with a nod, “Be sure ye’re comfortable though, else ye likely won’t shoot wha’ yer aimin’ fer.” 

You nod at his direction, maneuvering your hands and fingers to mimic the placement of the first mate’s on your own pistol. Mingi offers forth a proud smile when you copy his form perfectly, shooting you a thumbs up.

“Nicely done! Now I’ll teach ye how t’ shoot.” 

You wait patiently as he relocates himself beside you, calling for a few crewmates to evacuate from the makeshift shooting range he set up moments before. Once he’s sure no one is in danger of catching a stray musket ball, Mingi raises his pistol, pauses to aim down sights, and squeezes the trigger. His bullet soars through the air to collide with a bag of old grain, exploding its exterior and spilling its contents all over the deck. Applause and cheers ring about, driving the first mate to smile radiantly and dip into a deep and rather overdramatic bow.

You clap your hands while sending him a small smile. 

Mingi blushes underneath your silent praise, shrugging shyly, “Aw shucks, it really don’t take much… Anyways, yer turn now.” 

He helps adjust your placement, moving your stance so another bag of moldy grain is in your line of sight. After a couple more directives and tips, Mingi steps backward so you can raise your gun. He notices the anxious quivering of your hands and the tension in your shoulders at once, cursing himself for his eagerness and quickly relaying:  

“Ye don’t ‘ave t’ shoot if ye aren’t comfortable.”

“I want to.” You affirm, “I’m just… I haven’t done this before.” 

“I see—here.” 

Mingi inches forward to place a gentle hand on your right shoulder before cautiously positioning his opposite on your hip. “Loosen yer shoulders—jus’ like that. Now stand up straight—atta girl.” 

His palm trails from your shoulder and down your arm to encircle your wrist. He tries to ignore the soft feel of your skin beneath his fingers, as well as the minimal distance between his nose and your cheek, and continues his explanation: 

“A-Aye, uh, bend yer arms a wee bit ‘n kinda line up the edge o’ the barrel with yer target. Place yer finger on the trigger, ‘n once yer ready, go ahead ‘n squeeze.”

A mere three seconds later, the pistol fires off with a loud bang. To his absolute surprise, your bullet sinks effortlessly into the small bag of grain. Similar to the first mate, the surrounding crew erupts into hoots and hollers as the ruined remnants of your target ricochet every which way. Mingi doesn’t notice his motionless position until you escape his hold to bend into a sensational bow of your own. 

He shakes his head with a whistle, “Ye sure ye haven’t shot before? I’d reckon ye got an aim that could put our combatant t’ shame.”  

You laugh, “Don’t let him hear you say that.” 

“Ah, don’t ye worry yer pretty little head—ole Sannie’s harmless. Jus’ don’t touch his Shiber plush. The last poor bloke who did lost all ten o’ his fingers and—”

“I hope you’re intending to eventually clean your mess!”

Mingi rolls his eyes at the quartermaster’s shout before shifting to yell back, “Don’t mind us, hyung! Yer darlin’ deck will be as spotless as an angel!” 

“Is there a reason why he’s so… cold?” Your question follows the first mate as he borrows a mop from a passing cabin boy, immediately going about ridding the evidence of your shooting lesson. 

He shrugs, “Honest t’ the gods, he’s not. Hyung be one o’ the sweetest souls ye’ll ever gosh darn meet.” 

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be very fond of me.” 

“Seonghwa-hyung jus’ has a lot o’ bad mem’ries regardin’ women.” Mingi explains, taking note of your shifting features. “His momma was no good—treated ‘im like an animal ‘n such. ‘N his one true love left ‘im fer some scumbag aft learnin’ he be a pirate.”

“Love? Is that when two people care for each other?” 

“Pfft, t’ love someone means t’ care about ‘em as much as ye possibly can.” He snickers, “Thar’s a sayin’ that only fools fall in love fer a reason. ” 

You tilt your head, “How do you mean?” 

“Blimey, I dunno—when ye fall in love, yer heart jus’ kinda beats fer that special someone, so ye’ll do any stupid thing possible t’ make ‘em happy.”

“Have you ever fallen in love?” 

“Me? Gods, nah.” Mingi shakes his head frantically, “As nice as love be, it’s also a lot o’ work—I got enough love fer me crew n’ this ship fer me likin’.”

“How can you say you haven’t fallen in love if you love your crew? Is there more than one kind of love?” 

“Well, yeah.” He answers, a bit confused by your rather obvious observation. “Thar be love fer family, fer pals and mates, fer things like objects ‘n places—haven’t ye ever loved somethin’, or someone befer?” 

Mingi instantly notices how your expression seems to falter. 

“No.” You hum softly, “I don’t believe I have.” 

“Oh. ‘Pologies then.” His heart yearns with sympathy at your confession. “I didn’t mean t’—blisterin’ barnacles!” 

Before he can offer a bout of comfort, the loud rumble of a firing gun resonates across the ship. Mingi, along with a bunch of other surrounding crew, dives for the safety of the deck floor, shielding the back of his neck with his palms. An array of startled screams echo throughout the vicinity, one the first mate recognizes as belonging to that of the combatant. He raises his head in time to spot San rush to your fallen figure, cradling your body within his arms. 

“Goddamnit—man down! Somebody get Yunho!” 

“San—what the hell!?” Mingi hurries over to his frantic mate, noticing your now unconscious state. 

“I was cleaning my musket and misfired by accident.” San cries, brushing a few strands of hair away to reveal your unmarred face. The first mate analyzes the rest of your body, searching for any evidence of blood or injury, but discovers nothing of the sort.

“Thar’s no blood, mate.” Mingi sighs, “Ye didn’t ‘it her.” 

“No, no—I saw the bullet go straight through her stomach!” The combatant insists, carefully rolling your form over to further inspect your abdomen. Like before, neither party locates a gunshot wound anywhere. 

“She must ‘ave hit her head n’ knocked ‘erself clean out.” He gently explains to his gunner-mate, reaching forward to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Take her t’ Yunho ‘n ‘ave her checked out, aye? I’ll handle cap’n ‘n the crew…” 

“She was shot, Mingi—I saw it with my own eyes.” 

Mingi shakes his head, “Jus’ do as I say. Go on now.” 

Albeit unsteadily, the combatant does as his first mate commands, lifting your motionless body into his arms and heading straight for the sickbay. A couple of crewmates attempt to follow the pair, but Mingi is quick to summon them back to work. He releases a deep sigh, already dreading the long conversation he’s inevitably going to share with the captain and the quartermaster. 

Even so, Mingi can’t help but think of the irony of the situation—maybe he shouldn’t have compared your marksman skills to San’s after all…?

“I’m telling you the truth, Yunho! I saw it happen right in front of me!” 

The surgeon pays no mind to the combatant’s ranting and raving, proceeding to probe your skull for any defects or deformations. Similar to your previous check-up, he finds that you’re once again devoid of any sort of physical weakness. 

The situation completely baffles him—you turn up unconscious for hitting your head and bear no evidence, not even a bump, of your supposed tumble…  

“San, I can only diagnose what I see, and from what I observe, she’s completely fine.” 

“The bullet went right through her, mate.” San insists, “I’m not crazy.” 

Yunho abandons your bedside to peruse his wall of books and brochures. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s searching for, then again, maybe he’s not looking for anything at all—simply allowing himself a moment to make sense of his thoughts. His surgeon-nature opposes the idea of forming any assumptions, but he can’t help but bear his suspicions. Not once has he ever encountered a patient who seems rather invincible in regards to bodily harm. Your skin holds no blemishes. No scars. Nothing. 

“Something is not right about any of this…” Yunho mumbles finally, “You’re absolutely certain you saw the bullet piece her flesh?”

“As certain as that the sun will rise in the morning.” 

The surgeon buries his face in his palms as if he’ll somehow be able to calm the hurricane tearing through his mind. There are too many what-if and what-not scenarios, too many possibilities and impossibilities. Your unexpected arrival, your incomprehension of basic social norms, your lack of injury—none of it makes sense.

It’s not normal, not—well, not human. 

“I have an idea… but I don’t think you’re much going to like it.” 

Yunho watches in disbelief as the combatant retracts a small dagger from his belt. 

“Absolutely not!” He shakes his head frantically, “I will not allow you to do any harm to my patient—!” 

“Just a slight cut to see if she bleeds. She won’t feel a thing—I swear.” 

Before he can take another step, the surgeon centers himself between San and your resting form. His companion attempts to push past, but Yunho’s broad stature prevents him from doing so. He places his hands on the combatant’s shoulders and offers a pointed glance: 

“This is not right.” 

“Do you want answers or not!?” San hisses, lowering his tone to a hushed whisper. “Think about this logically, surgeon. I know you’re an intelligent man.” 

Yunho’s teeth sink into the plush of his lower lip, harsh enough to disperse the tang of blood along his taste buds. His moral compass loathes this plan—loathes the idea of hurting you for the sake of satiating his curiosity… but San’s right, he’s not stupid. He knows there’s something unusual occurring right underneath the crew’s noses… which is why he responds with a nod: 

“A mere poke, combatant.” The surgeon sighs, “No deeper than a centimeter, understood?” 

“I abhor the thought of hurting her just as you.” San mutters sadly, “But… we need to know, Yunho…”

Yunho doesn’t have the strength to reply, merely moving aside and allowing his companion to take a seat at your bedside. His heart lurches as San lifts your wrist into his laps, but he forces his gaze to remain stagnant—even when the combatant positions the tip of his knife in the center of your leftmost palm. Yunho watches San inhale a deep, long breath before pushing the blade into your skin. 

But nothing happens—no matter how much pressure is placed on the dagger. No indentation. No blood. Absolutely nothing. 

“Y-Yunho…” 

“Come away from her, San.” The surgeon commands shakily, attempting to soothe the nausea building within his gut. “Come away.” 

San doesn’t move.

“She’s…”

Yunho nearly knocks his head against the ceiling as you suddenly sit up, wrenching your limb out of the combatant’s grasp. Like the two pirates, your eyes are wide with a blend of shock, fright, and confusion. You glance between the pair before shifting your gaze down to the weapon still laid between San’s fingers. Realization overtakes your expression in the form of something akin to guilt, and Yunho can only imagine the thoughts tearing through your mind. 

You shake your head slowly, “San… Yunho…” 

“Who are you!?” San demands, rising from the cot to glower down at your quivering form. “Or I think the better question here is…

“What are you!?”  

“But if I consume the human’s soul, what will become of them?”

“ A h u m a n w i t h o u t a s o u l i s n a u g h t , s o i t s p h y s i c a l b o d y w i l l d i e. “

“Die? But is that not… wrong?” 

“Y o u s a i d y o u w e r e w i l l i n g t o d o a n y t h i n g , d i d y o u n o t ? W h a t d o e s t h e l i f e o f a s i n g l e h u m a n m a t t e r i n r e l a t i o n t o y o u r f r e e d o m ?”

“Accordin’ t’ Yeosangie-hyung’s research, we’ll be arrivin’ t’ Wonderland soon.” Mingi’s lips twitch at his maknae’s anticipatory remark, shielding his amused smile with the brim of his half-empty tankard. “D’you reckon it’s actually real? Not some parable made up by a crazy, ole drunkard?”

“Hongjoongie-hyung seems t’ think so.” He shrugs, “I jus’ pray the wish part is true—Imma wish meself t’ be the richest bastard thar ever done was.”

Jongho frowns, “You ‘ave the chance to ask for anythin’ in the universe, ‘n you ask for that?”

“Well, wha’ would ye wish fer then?” 

Mingi doesn’t miss the unconventional grin that lifts to his mate’s face. His confusion persists as the boatswain shifts his gaze to stare out at the horizon. The light of the full moon highlights his young features, making his smile seem that much more radiant. 

“Not sure yet, but I ‘ave somethin’ in mind.” 

The first mate decides it’s in his best interest not to press the issue, peering out at the rocking ocean himself. Despite the gentle buzz of liquor coursing through his veins, an anxious parasite still continues to gnaw away at his brain. He spent half the night attempting to explain to a panicked captain and a grumpy quartermaster the misfire incident that happened earlier that evening, and the other half frequenting the sick bay corridor for any updates on your condition. He spoke to Yunho briefly at one point, learned that you’re as healthy as a horse, but something still irks him regarding the situation. 

No one has talked to San since the evening. According to the tellings of a powder monkey, the combatant abruptly stormed out of the surgeon’s lair and holed himself down in the orlop deck. Some crew claim he might have gotten into a bit of a tiff with Yunho, or possibly with you, about the accident. Even so, he refuses to speak to anyone. Not even Wooyoung. 

Mingi inhales another sip of his grog, welcoming the slight relief it brings to his chaotic thoughts before shifting his attention back to the boatswain: 

“Do ye think Precious’ll remain on the Treasure even aft we reach Wonderland?” 

Jongho’s smile falls. 

“Why? Ye don’t reckon she will?” 

“‘M not sure.” He says, “I hope so. She makes the crew real happy, ‘specially cap’n.” 

“I never thought Hongjoongie-hyung knew how t’ smile until she came aboard.” 

Mingi chuckles at the maknae’s observation, downing the rest of his liquor in one gulp. After tossing his empty tankard into a nearby crate and climbing to his feet, he offers Jongho a departing nod: 

“Don’t stay out too long, aye? Storms ‘a comin’.” 

“Aye. Goodnight, hyung.” 

With that, Mingi heads for the staircase toward the lower deck, ready to sleep the stress of the day away with a nice visit to his hammock. As he’s entering the hull, a heavy breeze blankets his tall form, and his skin begins to crawl. 

And though he doesn’t exactly know why, something tells him it’s not because of the wind.

The rain pelts against Wooyoung, unforgiving and cold, soaking his clothes and painting its icy-red claim across his flesh. He pays no mind to the numbing sensation and focuses on keeping himself rooted inside the safe confines of his perch. Although he’s faced worst storms on previous occasions, the lookout would rather not risk the possibility of falling out of the crow’s nest and plunging to his watery death below. In his book, it’s much better to be safe than sorry. 

His view of the Treasure’s deck is skewed beneath the raindrops, but he can just barely make out the numerous rigger-mates, including that of the first mate and quartermaster, attempting to stabilize the sails against the roaring winds. The boatswain is just across the way, assisting a team of powder monkeys in tying down the cannons and other supplies. At his usual perch, the captain maintains a strong hand on the wheel, effortlessly coasting the ship through the tumultuous waves despite the furious opposition of the storm. 

A huff blows past Wooyoung’s lips when he catches no sign of the combatant amongst the bustling activity. Ever since last night, San has been rather avoidant of everyone and everything, and while Wooyoung is no stranger to his occasional mood swings, this particular one is just so out of the element. He wonders what caused his strange behavior, and more importantly, why he’s so unwilling to talk about it… 

Deciding to push the concern to the back of his mind, the lookout instead sets his sights on their resident stowaway, who to his surprise, has not yet retreated to the dry haven that is the lower deck. Like Jongho, you’re helping a couple of crewmates in securing the last few cannons. As if sensing his watchful eyes, you point your gaze upward and send Wooyoung a smile that has his heart scrambling for cover. 

He masks his giddiness with a wave, gesturing for you to join him in his lair. To his utter delight, you move to do just that, carefully ascending up the slippery rigging despite the shouted warnings of his eldest hyung. Wooyoung meets you about three-fourths of the way, quickly tugging you into the crow nest and stationing your body between the mainmast and his own so you’re safe from any incident of freefalling. 

He grants you a goofy smile, trying not to notice how close your face appears in this position. 

“Ye know, comin’ up here is prolly the most dangerous thing ye could do durin’ a storm…” Wooyoung chuckles, leaning a bit closer to nuzzle his nose against your own. “I like a woman who favors a bit o’ danger…” 

“You’re flirting with me, right?” Your inquiry knocks the suggestive smirk from his face. “Yeosang explained it to me this morning. He also explained that when two people continually flirt with each other, it leads to—” 

“Okay! Okay! I hear ye!” Wooyoung quickly widens the space between your bodies while clapping his hands over his ears. “No need t’ say nothin’! I don’t wish t’ hear Yeosang’s explanation o’… that.” 

“It’s actually very interesting—” 

“La, la, la! London bridge is fallin’ down! Fallin’ down!” The lookout screams for his sanity, trying to push the frightful images from his mind. Only once he’s sure you’re not going to go into any more detail about your lesson in the birds and the bees, Wooyoung cautiously drops his hands with a shake his head: 

“Ye be a gosh darn strange one, Precious. Anyways, how’s yer head? Me mates told me ye took a wicked spill yesterday.” 

“Oh, I’m fine.” 

“Ye sure? Nothin’ else is on yer mind? Ye seem… off.” 

Wooyoung can’t describe how he knows, but he can sense your attentive, lively persona is a bit more downcast than usual. It’s like when an island is not yet in view, but he can feel its presence inching closer and closer to the horizon. 

“I suppose I’ve just been thinking.” 

“What ‘bout?” 

“About many things.” You say, “I… fear what will happen when we reach Wonderland.” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Ye’re doubtful we’re chasin’ a child’s fable?” 

“No.” Wooyoung patiently waits as you go about organizing your thoughts and gathering your words. “It’s just—have you ever wanted something so much that you’ll sacrifice anything to obtain it?...” 

“I-I mean, I suppose so…” He hums, “I gave up me life t’ search fer an island no man knows exists.” 

“Then, are you not afraid of the consequences that will take? Once you do acquire it?” 

He takes a moment to think over your question—if they do manage to reach Wonderland, what will happen in the time thereafter? Will they disappear like the other curious explorers who grew aware of its existence? Or will they leave, only to search for another impossible adventure to follow?

But truthfully, he wonders, does any of that truly matter?  

“I… don’t believe I’m afraid at all.” Wooyoung answers finally, ridding the collection of rainwater from his eyes. “I wants more than anythin’ t’ find out if the Wonderland is as real as the stars in the sky, but I’d be content in knowin’ it as a myth as long as I remain wit’ me crew.” 

“How do you mean?” 

He shrugs, “Well, I suppose I actually wouldn’t sacrifice ev’rythin’—no matter how much  I wants it—cause sometimes ‘tisn’t about the endin’ that matters, but the journey itself.” 

An emotion he can’t identify washes across your features. 

“I understand now.” You nod, “Thank you, Wooyoung.” 

“I dunno fer wha’, but yer welcome.” He smiles before gesturing toward the entrance of the nest. “We should prolly start headin’ down befer Seonghwa-hyung has a fit. After ye, m’fair lady.”

At his directive, you begin to scale your way back down to the main deck with the lookout in tow. Wooyoung watches your handling and footing carefully, taking extra care to be sure you won’t go hightailing off into the ocean. While he’s so focused on your wellbeing, he fails to remember how slippery the ropes are beneath the onslaught of the weeping sky—which doesn’t fare well when the ship jerks at a rather violent current.

And the next thing Wooyoung knows is flying, falling into the frigid waters of an unimaginable type of hell—your screams echoing through his head like a lullaby as the world goes dark. 

When San was a child, his older sister would tell him a story each night before bed. He used to treasure these fictions, his young mind fascinated by fire-breathing dragons and snaggle-toothed monsters with claws sharp enough to slice through steel. Sometimes he even misses these moments he shared with his sister, desiring nothing more than to hear her account a narrative of a wooden puppet who’d eventually go on to become a living and breathing boy. But right now, he despises everything about them and wants nothing more than to forget fairy tales ever existed.  

The combatant inhales a heavy gust, continuing to drag the piece of flint over the blade of his knife with more force than necessary. If he presses hard enough, perhaps he can rid the image of your guilty expression from his mind, or the echoes of your trembling voice from his ears. For once in his life, he wishes someone would take a wooden club and beat him right down to the brain… 

At least then, he could forget the fairy tale you told him and Yunho. 

 San doesn’t understand why the situation left him so disoriented. Maybe it’s the notion that some of those stories his sister told him so long ago are, in fact, not stories at all. Or the perception that for every year he’s walked the land of the living, he’s been blind. Maybe the knowledge that a whole nother world exists—that an entire bout of unknown creatures is just hiding under their noses—is just too much for his weak mind to bear. 

A loud hiss escapes his lips as his hold on his knife slips, accidentally slicing a shallow cut on his rightmost thumb. Blood immediately begins to well along his skin, as if mocking his ordeal from last night. He scoffs at the thought, wipes his digit along the leg of his trousers, and takes off in pursuit of the steps to the upper deck. Storms are typically something the combatant prefers to avoid if he has the chance, but right now, he needs a good distraction to keep him from surrendering to the whirlpool of his own thoughts.

“Batten down the hatches! Drop the anchor!” 

Panicked shouts greet his form as he reaches the ship’s surface level. His stomach turns uncomfortably when he takes notice of the frenzied nature of the crew, as well as the thick crowd forming at the right edge of the boat. Unable to withstand the building anxiety, San grabs a nearby cabin boy and inquires about the current situation. 

“M-Master Wooyoung was thrown o-overboard, sir!” His heart plummets as the boy shouts over the roar of the sweltering rain, “Captain is doing everything he can to stop the ship, but she’s no match against the storm—” 

He doesn’t bother to let the youngster finish and hurries toward where he assumes his mate plunged into the sea. When he reaches the starboard side, the combatant discovers both the first mate and the quartermaster hanging over the barrier. Seonghwa is the first to notice San’s presence, immediately holding up a hand of warning: 

“San—” 

“What the hell happened!?” He ignores the elder’s attempt to cool him down and frantically searches the undulating waters for any sign of the lookout. His blood turns ice cold when he discovers naught. 

“Wooyoungie w-was climbin’ down from nest ‘n he jus’ slipped!” Mingi explains, his bottom lip trembling in fright. “It happened so fast—I-I still can’t believe…” 

“And why are we just standing here like a bunch of incompetent fools!? We-We have to go in after him! We have to save him before he—”

“San.” Seonghwa’s stern tone silences the combatant’s babbling. “The stowaway jumped in after him.” 

If his heart collapsed beforehand, this time, it completely bursts. 

“Wh-What?...” 

“Precious was up on the ropes wit’ him, ‘n when he slipped, she…” 

Seonghwa finishes for the first mate, though San can sense the hidden restlessness of his words, “She dove in after him. We’re trying to recover them amongst the waves… but you know what happens to men who fall overboard during storms.” 

“No!” The combatant cries, recounting the hundreds of tragedies of crewmates who were forever lost to the wrath of the sea. “Th-They’ll make it! Wooyoung is strong! And-And Precious is—” 

“I spot ‘em! There!”

San breathes a sigh of relief when two figures break the ocean’s surface, immediately assisting Mingi and a couple of other men as they throw a long plank attached to a rope in their direction. Hours seem to pass, although it's only mere seconds until you grab hold of the makeshift preserver, your other arm clutching an unconscious Wooyoung close to your body. The crew heave and haul as the rain continues to beat down, pulling their fallen friends to safety despite nature’s opposition. 

After what seems to last eons, they manage to rescue the pair from the vicious sea and drag them back aboard. Mingi takes you into his arms while the quartermaster and the combatant lay the still lookout atop the soaked deck. San tries not to think about how deathly pale his mate appears or the blue tint of his lips, and looks to his eldest hyung as he holds his hand over Wooyoung’s nose and mouth. 

Seonghwa shakes his head with a growl, “He’s not breathing! Someone fetch the surgeon!” 

“I… I can revive him.” 

The quartermaster’s face grows redder than a poppy flower at your statement. 

“What the—have you gone bloody mad!? How can you—!?” 

“Wait, Seonghwa-hyung.” San places a hand on his older mate’s shoulder, soothing the ballistic rant bubbling within his chest, and nods his head. “Let her do as she says.” 

Seonghwa stares at him incredulously, but relents nonetheless, allowing you to kneel beside their unconscious lookout. You share a brief glance with the combatant before leaning down to hover over Wooyoung’s tranquil face. San holds his breath as you seal your lips over his mate’s, wondering if the heavy thrum of his pulse can be heard by the surrounding crowd. 

After the longest minute of his life, the tense silence is broken by a gurgled cough and a painful wheeze. Cheers and cries erupt amongst the crew as you move away in time for Wooyoung’s body to arch forward, expelling the water from his lungs and greedily sucking in oxygen like it’s the sweetest thing on earth. 

“He’s alive!” Mingi bellows, excitedly bouncing up and down. “That slimey son o’ a—” 

San almost cries tears of relief when Wooyoung opens his eyes, taking in his surroundings in a bleary haze. He glances from you to the raucous group, raising an eyebrow at a couple of sobbing crewmates. 

He shakes his head with a cough, “So anyone mind fillin’ me in on what I missed?” 

“Don’t mind it. Rest for now.” San answers, grabbing a blanket from a crew to wrap it around the lookout’s shoulders. Wooyoung attempts to protest further, but the quartermaster doesn’t give him the chance, commanding a few gunner-mates to carry him down to the sickbay. 

The combatant prepares to follow his mate down to the lower deck, however, is sidetracked by the sight of your figure retreating toward the quarterdeck. He calls your name, hurrying through the pouring rain to meet you at the base of the steps. His mind is complete mush when your expectant gaze welcomes him, but he forces the words to leave his tongue: 

“Thank you for saving him, and… I’m sorry.” 

“Why do you apologize?”    

“Because…” He pauses, trying to make sense of what he wishes to say. “Because I thought of you as a monster… but I see now you’re as human as the rest of us.” 

Your eyes glitter amongst the cascading droplets, and for a moment, San actually forgets how to breathe.

“I understand we’ve encountered quite a few rather nightmarish events these past few days, which is why I’ve asked you all to gather here.” 

Seonghwa keeps his eyes trained on his captain as he remains stagnant in his large, velvet chair. Out of his peripheral, he can spot the surgeon and the first mate conversing in the corner of the cabin, as well as the seated figures of the combatant and the lookout. Across the way, you’re upholding the space along with the navigator and the boatswain beside Hongjoong’s desk.  

Hongjoong continues, “As you are aware, we will be reaching the supposed shores of Wonderland in the next few hours. It is very well possible that what we find may not be as legendary as we all hoped, therefore, I ask you to remain ready for whatever is to come.” 

“So it may turn out t’ be an ordinary island after all?” Jongho asks, earning a nod from his captain. 

“It may be so.” 

“‘N wha’ will become o’ us then?” Wooyoung pipes in, this time. “We’ve done spent years lookin’ fer this place, wha’ will the Treasure crew do thereafter?” 

“We will cross that bridge when we reach it.” Hongjoong replies simply, gesturing for his quartermaster to begin handing out the pre-poured glasses of red wine. “As for right now, I’d prefer to utilize this moment as one of celebration. If you all would please toast with me.” 

With the help of San and Wooyoung, Seonghwa manages to pass each person in the room a drink, as well as accept one of his own. Copying Hongjoong, the quartermaster raises his wine glass in the air, causing all other participants to do so too. The captain breathes what looks to be a sigh of relief before offering a grateful smile to his loyal crew. 

“I thank you all for accompanying me on this journey, and I can only pray there will be many more after this to come.” He nods his head, “Here’s to friendship and family, experience and adventure, love and laughter, death and survival…

“And here’s to you, my dear brothers, for we could not have made it this far without your powerful strength, fierce bravery, and unconditional loyalty… and to you, our precious stowaway.” Hongjoong pauses to shift his gaze to you. “Many, if not every man on this ship, owes his life to you. For that, I express my uttermost appreciation, and am proud to welcome you as the newest crew member of the Treasure.” 

Joy erupts throughout the cabin in the form of applause and excited shouts. Mingi darts across the room to wrap your body in a tight embrace, only to be joined by the combatant-lookout pair. Before the first mate can explode into protests, Yeosang rescues you from the trio’s hold and grants you an encouraging smile of his own. Jongho winds his arm around your shoulders in what possibly could be the most awkward hug ever given. Still, the radiant grin remains on your features even as Yunho affectionately ruffles your hair.

After accepting everyone’s praise, you nod your head, “Thank you, captain.” 

“Please. Call me Hongjoong.” 

“Nah. Call ‘im Mini-Hong.” Wooyoung snickers, sending a wave of laughter across the modest crowd. Even Seonghwa can’t help the chuckle that escapes his throat at the annoyed flush that overtakes his captain’s face. 

“Yah! Do not think for a second just because you nearly drowned, I won’t hesitate to throw you in the brig to rot!” 

“Aw, ye love me too much to do so, hyung.” The lookout traverses across the room to throw an arm around Hongjoong’s waist, earning an array of bitter grumbles from his older mate. 

A pleasant mood overtakes the atmosphere as everyone begins to engage in easy conversation with one another. Seonghwa takes a moment to admire the rare sight of his seven favorite crew mates all spending time with each other, memorizing the image as a happy memory he can return to at a later time. His wandering gaze pauses on your silent figure, having separated away from the crowd to observe from the sidelines. Seonghwa doesn’t know what comes over him, but before he can really think about it, his feet are carrying him toward your perch. 

You greet him with wide eyes and trembling lips. 

He sighs, “I didn’t come to scold you. I merely wanted to give you my congratulations.” 

“That’s… very kind of you.” 

Seonghwa tries to ignore how his palms grow warm underneath your attention. 

“D-Don’t think anything of it.” He clears his throat, “I expect you to remain controlled despite your new status. San and Wooyoung give me enough of a headache as it is, I don’t need anymore mischief running amok this ship.” 

“No need to concern yourself with my wellbeing, quartermaster.” Your smile releases butterflies throughout his stomach, and while he’d never admit it aloud, Seonghwa enjoys the warm, fuzzy feeling that overtakes his chest whenever your gaze meets his own. 

He shakes his head with a smile, “Please… Call me Seonghwa.” 

“No! Call ‘im Angry Bird!” 

“Damn you, Wooyoung—!”

The early morning’s breath is bitter, borderline painful against your skin. It feels no better inside your throat, filtering throughout your vacant chest like an angry sparrow trapped inside a cage. You long to dive into the tranquil ocean waters, to welcome the salty satisfaction of its embrace with mirth—but your responsibilities no longer lie below the sea. 

You push the discomfort to the back of your mind and instead assess the happenings of the main deck. Countless humans scurry from bow to stern, preparing the vessel to dock at the shore of the approaching island. You can sense each and every footstep that radiates from the wooden foundation, along with the numerous shouted commands and murmured curses that cascade from restless lips. There are some words you still lack understanding thereof, but you take pride in the fact you managed to master the basics of the human language in mere days. 

 Your gaze filters through the crowds, faltering at the familiar face of the captain, who, as per usual, resides on his perch at the ship’s helm. His cherry red locks billow in the gentle ocean breeze, desperately clashing against the navy blue of his long jacket and the jet black velvet of his eyepatch. It is against your nature to acknowledge human royalty, yet, even you cannot deny his resemblance to a sea king—or as he’s most commonly known—the Pirate King. 

On the quarter-deck below, the stoic quartermaster overlooks the rest of the ship, occasionally barking forth commands to the already hectic crew. Similar to the captain, his eyes remain fixated on the discovered mass of land just in arms reach. Despite the stoicness etched along his defined features, you can recognize the childish wonder present within his steel gaze. 

A small smile pulls at your lips as you observe the surgeon-first mate-boatswain trio down toward the figurehead. The youngest and oldest mates are currently attempting to prevent the first mate from tumbling off of the railing, on which he stands trying to get a closer look at the composition of the island. Atop the forecastle mast above, the combatant and the lookout laugh at the overzealous giant, the former needing to grab the latter before he plummets off of the spar. 

Never before have you felt such joy until this very moment, simply observing the eight pirates you’re honored to call your friends. You like this feeling, you decide—the warmth that settles nicely inside your chest and the ache in your cheeks from an endless smile. 

It is because of this passion—because of this love—that you’re content with your final decision. 

You’re torn from your thoughts when a gentle hand appears on your shoulder, shifting to find the kind face of the navigator. 

“You seem as if you’re deep in thought.” Yeosang observes, “Is there something on your mind?” 

You shake your head lightly, “Just… admiring the view, I suppose.” 

“It is very beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“Beautiful? Does that have the same meaning as ‘handsome’?” 

He shrugs, “Some may argue so, but something that is handsome may not necessarily be beautiful.” 

“I see…” You say, shifting to meet the soft gaze of your companion. “Well, I believe you are both handsome and beautiful, Yeosang.” 

A light blush overtakes the navigator’s cheeks at your statement. Rather than a verbal reply, he answers with a warm smile, one that sends a torpedo of heat through your veins, and a hum before lowering down to lean his elbows against the deck railing. You welcome the comfortable silence that ensues afterward, merely appreciating the radiance of his presence as the Treasure comes to a stop. A part of you almost wishes the moment would stretch on—would last into the promise of tomorrow—but you know your ambition is no longer feasible… 

You're already out of time. 

“Ready the boats, lads!” Hongjoong’s command echoes across the crowded deck. “We’re going ashore!.. We’re going to the Wonderland!”

“And once I consume a human soul… I’ll be free?”

“ Y e s… b u t i f y o u f a i l t o d o s o b e f o r e y o u r s k i n t o u c h e s d r y   l a n d , y o u r b o d y w i l l f a i l t o s u r v i v e… ”

“So I’ll…”

“ Y o u w i l l t u r n t o s e a f o a m a n d c e a s e t o e x i s t… ”

Hongjoong’s heart thrums in anticipation as the dinghy leers closer and closer to the white-sandy beach. Up ahead, he can see Seonghwa, Mingi, and Wooyoung already ashore, having been the first group sent to step foot on Wonderland. Beside him, San and Jongho babble in excitement, practically leaping from the boat the second they reach foot-traversable waters. He laughs at the duo’s impatience, yet he cannot deny the itch lingering in the back of his own head. Nevertheless, the captain remains in place and waits, one by one, for every crewmate to reach the isle. 

His cool gaze falters at one particular vessel, finding your unmoving figure inside. Like a starved man, his being yearns for your voice, your laugh, your everything. He curses himself for his lovesickness, finally leaving the safety of his rowboat to head in the direction of your perch. When he approaches, he notices a sheen of anxiety etched along your features and an unusual tremble within your limbs. 

Hongjoong’s tone is gentle, almost nurturing as he speaks:

“Why do you hesitate, my precious stowaway?” He tilts his head with a mischievous wink, “Is it that you’re waiting for a dashing pirate captain to come and sweep you off of your feet?” 

Your amused chuckle fills his body with enough heat to set off a chamber of powder kegs. 

“You flatter me, Hongjoong… but no.” You say, “I feel sad that our journey has come to an end.” 

The captain’s chest seizes at your sorrowful tone. Wanting nothing more than to replace your sad thoughts with all the happiness in the universe, he offers his hand, which you’re quick to accept, and carefully guides you into the crystalized sea waters. Your hands remain clasped together as Hongjoong begins to lead you toward the island shore, stopping just short of a few feet from the ocean’s edge. You grant him a confused glance, but he merely continues to smile: 

“Look.” He murmurs, “Trust me.” 

You do as he commands, taking care to survey the emerald foliage and powder sugar-like beach before faltering when it comes over the crew. Hongjoong nearly swoons with delight as a knowing smile replaces your frown, ingraining the image into his mind for the many years to come. 

“Thank you, Hongjoong… for everything.” You whisper, a single tear cascading down the apple of your cheek. “I owe you and the crew so much—” 

“Hush with that.” Hongjoong scolds lightly, reaching forward to wipe the droplet from your skin. “It is us who owes you everything and beyond, Precious.” 

“You have all shown and taught me so many wonderful things.” You shake your head frantically, “You, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho—it is because of all of you I truly know what it feels like to be alive…” 

His throat tightens at your confession. In order to keep his emotions at bay, the mighty Pirate King has to look away from your shimmering gaze. Still, he can’t hold back the lone droplet that escapes his eye at your next proclamation: 

“Thank you for teaching me what it means to be human.”  

“C’mon.” Hongjoong wipes the tear away with a sniff before tugging on your hand. “We should join the crew now.” 

You don’t say anything further and proceed to follow the captain to shore. Somewhere along the way, Hongjoong feels you let go of his hand, but he doesn’t look back, not wanting to burst into any more hysterics. The grin doesn’t leave his face as he meets his brothers on the shore of Wonderland, expelling his relief to the heavens in a deep sigh: 

“We did it, my friends. We reached the Wonderland.” 

But when the captain turns around to share his smile with you, he discovers nothing but an awakening horizon and a thick current of white, velveteen seafoam lingering sorrowfully along the island shore.

My works are not to be reuploaded, modified, or translated anywhere besides this blog. If you see someone plagiarising my work, please let me know right way. Otherwise, thank you for reading! Reblogs and feedback are always very much appreciated! 

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

A Touch of Color

Pairing(s): Margaery Tyrell x Stark!Reader, Renly Baratheon x Loras Tyrell

Warnings: ned stark’s remains, cuckolding, femxfem, cheating

Words: 1913

Summary: If Renly was to have a lover, then Margaery wanted one as well. And she decided that it just had to be the visiting (y/n) Stark.

“Where have you been?”

Halting in the middle of your dark tent, you slowly turn to face the scowl of your mother as you pulled back your hood to reveal your startled expression. Bright blue eyes nearly glowed as Catelyn secures the flap of your shred tent. Even your direwolf Storm cowered slightly behind you as your lady mother reprimanded the both of you.

“I was just getting acquainted with Renly’s troops. If we want them as allies for Robb, one must go out there and play the part of politician.” Guilt was eminent as you told her a partial lie. Having been at Renly’s camp for a couple of days, this was the first time Catelyn had stayed awake to catch you sneaking in.

Eyes follow Storm’s large body as she settles in on the ground, laying her massive head on her paws. Meeting her sunburst eyes, Storm nervously switched her attention to a foreign chest that you had not noticed before. Her whine lets you know that something wasn’t right about it.

Your mother grabs your arm and pulls you further into the tent. “Regardless, it’s dangerous to be gallivanting out there. Even with Storm, you need to be more careful.” Her fingers were tense as they clawed into the fabric of your sleeve. Fear had been Cat’s constant companion as of late. Understandably so, there was much to fear. With your sisters being held captive in King’s Landing, your father’s beheading, and being forced to leave behind a crippled Bran was all too much for her to bare. It was inconsiderate of you to run off without letting her know. You were still young and she was ever the worried mother.

Relenting with a gentle sigh, you grab her hands so that they would stop gripping your arm. “Forgive me mother. But no one would dare to harm me. I’m as much of a warrior as Robb is. Plus we are their guests. Renly has been more than generous to us.”

When had she aged so much? Suddenly the weariness of all the recent events catches up to her as she slumps down on to the edge of the bed. Dark shadows plagued the bottom of her eyes, staring down at her bandaged hand that still bore the wound from the Valyrian dagger that had been meant for Bran.

Still, Catelyn Stark was still a beauty for her age. You hoped to age as gracefully as your mother, with her soft pale skin and high cheekbones you would be so lucky as to look half as regal.

Tired eyes invite you to take a seat beside her. “Petyr Baelish paid me a visit earlier today.”

A serpent squirmed in the pit of your stomach. Instead of a mockingbird, Baelish should have taken the slug as his sigil. “What did he want?” It was then you noticed how red and puffy Cat’s eyes were. She was a strong woman, but when pushed she proved to be only mortal.

She pointed to the chest that Storm kept a wary eye on. Aided by a quivering voice, she said “He wanted to try and get back in my good graces. With. . .” Her hand trembled slightly, not even able to finish her sentence.

You knew you would regret asking. But you needed her to confirm your fear. “What’s in it?” You sounded so small, so scared.

“Your father.”

Margaery held you close to her chest, still humming a sweet song to you. You inhaled the sweet scent of her skin. You just couldn’t be in the same tent where your father’s remains were. To be reminded of the horrible fate he had. Such an honorable and good man put to death like he was any other kind of cut-throat. It pained you to think of the way he died.

When the sun rose, you and Storm left as soon as possible. Making sure to be quiet as death and out of sight, you made your way to the safety of Margaery’s embrace. Into her slim arms that felt like they could protect you from everything. It had never been your intent when you first met Renly’s queen to take her on as your lover in such a short amount of time. When war was eminent and your life uncertain, you couldn’t afford to waste a single minute. As Margaery had assured you many times, her marriage to Renly was one of convenience. His bedmate was Margaery’s brother Loras. It was only fair that she take a lover of her own. Margaery made it very clear that she wanted that lover to be you.

Storm stood guard, ears perked and carefully listened to what was going on outside. Margaery had grown quite fond of the direwolf, often trying to treat her like an overgrown lapdog. And your direwolf wasn’t completely against being doted on in such a way. It made Storm more than happy to see Margaery.

Margaery’s fingers entangle themselves in your mass of black hair. She adored your wild curls, it was the first thing that grabbed Margaery’s attention when you and your mother had first arrived in the middle of Brienne of Tarth’s match with Loras Tyrell. The large woman successfully earned a place in Renly’s Rainbow Guard and you had won over Margaery’s interest. Truth be told people always recognized Storm first. Margaery claimed you were equally as terrifying as your direwolf. You took that as an immense compliment. In your brother’s own army, the men still viewed you as a noble lady who shouldn’t be playing with knives. They argued constantly with your brother when he insisted bringing you into battle. Northern men were so stubborn and stuck in their ways.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you about Lord Baelish’s visit. I didn’t think it was that important. . . I thought-”

You traced your index finger between her breasts; beautiful skin that she possessed. “There’s no need for your apologies.” Dragging your finger pad down the plane of her torso. “It is Lord Baelish who should be apologizing. Down on his knees with Storm at his throat.”

Margaery purrs and stretches beside you showing off the slight hint of her ribs below her full breasts. “My direwolf arouses me when she is bloodthirsty.”

You giggle and roll onto your belly to watch her as she lounged in her Myrish silk sheets. “Me being bloodthirsty isn’t the only thing that arouses your Grace.”

She nods in acknowledgement, her cheeks were still lively with a pink hue. Long brown hair cascades over her shoulders to cover her pert nipples. Margaery was a goddess among mortal women. “You just know what I like.” She cups your cheek, letting it slide down to the soft skin of your neck. Margaery leans in, lips descending upon exposed skin. The Stormlands proved to be cold this time of year. Not as cold as the north, but cold enough to where most of your clothes had a high collar. Turned out to work in your advantage as it hid the bite marks which Margaery gifted you. Bright red tokens of her affections that you were forced to conceal. There were already rumors around the camp of Renly and Loras. You didn’t want to fan the flames with your own scandalous relationship.

Sensing that you were still upset with what had happened with your mother, Margaery sits up. “He’s still here. Would you like me to arrest him? I can have him brought to you and he shall taste your wrath.”

It was touching that she was willing to go to such lengths for you, someone she had just met a few days ago.

Her face was so serious too that you knew if you were to give your consent, she would immediately carry out the order. You knew your mother wouldn’t want that though. Baelish would always be her childhood friend who she always considered a brother. It was definitely tempting especially when you thought back to the chest where your father’s remains were.

“I appreciate the offer, but I must refuse.”

Leaning toward you, petal pink lips hover against your waiting ones. “Give me the word if you change your mind.” With that she kisses and prances off the bed to fetch her clothes. You had to start getting dressed too. Her hand maids might be in at any minute to help their queen get ready for the day.

Passing by Storm, Margaery stops and pets the top of Storm’s head. “Pretty girl, what do you desire for breakfast? Mutton? I can arrange to get you a whole deer.”

Not wanting Storm to grow accustomed to being treated like a princess, you stand from the bed and already pulling up your underskirts. “Storm can go and fetch her own meal. I don’t want her to forget how to hunt and grow fat.”

“Let me spoil her. You and your mother will be leaving soon, correct?”

“Yes. My brother is waiting for me to return.” You made yourself appear busy by dressing yourself. You didn’t want to look at her. Not when her voice was so soft.

She was by far the best lover you had ever taken. You would miss her come the time you would leave the Stormlands and return to your brother’s side. Before Margaery, you had never taken the same sex to bed; never even occured for you to do so. Women definitely made better lovers than any man. Or at least Margaery made love better than anyone you had been with.

When her hand maids arrived, they were startled by the presence of Storm. Tiptoeing around her, they made their way to Margaery and started to get her presentable for King Renly.

“I will take my leave then, Your Grace.” They were getting her into a hand crafted cerulean gown. You had to leave if she was about to be undressed.

“Lady Stark.” Her voice was enough to stop your heart from beating as well. Hesitantly you turn your head to look over your curls. Handmaids pause in their work, eyes down but ears alert. “I would like to invite you to stay in King Renly’s entourage with me.”

You read her real words in those sweet doe eyes. “Stay with me. Don’t go back to your brother.”

Putting on your most gracious face, you lightheartedly giggle. “Oh Your Grace, as much as I would like to stay a day longer my brother requires my presence.”

“Anytime then. Whenever you are in need of a home, please feel free to seek us out.” Her smile leads to deception, something her maids didn’t pick up on. She was an amazing actress, your Margery. “My home will always be open to you, my lady.”

For the first time in your life, you wanted to forsake your family. To stay with Margaery was utter temptation, one that you so desperately wanted to indulge.

All that your father died for resurfaced in your mind. Honor, Integrity, Loyalty. . .

Your smile hurt. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will keep that in mind.”

Quickly you turn and hurry out of her tent, your face warm and eyes near blinded by tears.

You didn’t want this to be the last time you saw Margaery. You would stay alive enough to win the war against Joffrey and see her once again.

You would survive for the one touch of color in your life. For the golden rose that made you warm.

[icantbraintoday-tryagainlater]

The Bullet that Carved My Name (Chapter One)

Title: The Bullet that Carved My Name

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Death, gun violance, murder, blood/gore

Fandom: Death and Martha, and Hell's Belles (TikTok's Flickerspark and Sea Ya Out There)

Summery: You die at the hand of your father and learn to love yourself in the afterlife, where Lily, Sharkie, Penny, and the Hellp Desk Gang take you into their adopted family.

Chapter Summery: Bex meets Death who tries to convince her to go to her paradise, but Bex decides Hell is a better option.

Listen - I don't own anything, ok? I don't even own the laptop I'm writing this on or myself (I'm in a lot of dept). But I don't approve of anyone taking this and posting it somewhere else. This is my work and I've worked hard on it. It isn't Beta'd or Proof Read so I guess you could say the onlything I do own are the mistakes in this. I've taken A LOT from my personal life and put it into this story. Please be kind. And if anyone wants to Beta it, I would love that! Just message me and let me know!

So - is this really how I died? I always thought I would die in a car crash or of old age. Maybe by an active shooter - I did live in America, after all. But seriously? This?

“Bex?”

I looked up at Death and frowned. The female-presenting gothic looking person who had shown up to take me to my afterlife was staring at me concerned. I couldn’t blame them, after all. I was looking… well, crazed.

“He really did it, didn’t he?” I asked, looking back at Death. “He really killed me…?” I still couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah… he did.” Death confirmed.

I looked back down at my mortal body, laying on my parents’ floor, blood slowly soaking into the hardwood floors. I had always known my father was unstable. I had always known that he had a temper. But I didn’t think he was ever actually capable of pulling the trigger.

Until now.

I honestly wasn’t even sure why I didn’t believe him. I know I’d go to bed some days afraid that he really would shoot everyone like he said. But I also knew he was a narcissist and willing to say anything to get attention, which is exactly what he always got after screaming at my mother and I about stupid shit.

Today it was about how no one wanted to help him around the house. I was working, my mom was busy, and he decided he wanted to do something. I don’t even know what it was, I just know that I was in the middle of work when he lost his mind and started screaming profanities and throwing things around the house.

I had rolled my eyes at him when he said he felt like he could kill everyone because I didn’t believe him. But now… the proof was right before my eyes.

“So where do I go now?” I asked, looking around the intermension before I see the sign for Hell.

“Ah. Never mind. I know where I go now.” I suppose my parents were probably right. Leaving the Catholic Church was definitely the wrong move. And honestly, if God really was that evil, I’d rather be in Hell. “Thanks for coming to get me, but I’ll be on my way now.”

“Now wait a minute! Martha will be very upset with me if I let another soul go alone!” Death cried.

“...another?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the goth, amused.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Chuckling, I shook my head and headed to the stairs. “You can tell Martha I’m alright. After all, Hell’s gotta be better than whatever the Catholic God claims Heaven is.”

“Well that’s rather rude. The Catholic God runs a … very interesting heaven. But I don’t think you belong to Hell. You were a pretty good person from what I’ve read in your file.”

“Thank you, but if Hell is real, then clearly my parents were right.”

“That’s not really how this whole afterlife works. What did you believe in?” Death asked,

I snorted. “Believe in? Honey, I don’t think I believe in anything, really.”

“Well, you could be a ghost. Or reincarnate-”

“Reincarnate!? In this world!? Fuck that!” I cried, “This world is fucked! It’s about to implode! No, I’ll go to Hell. Thanks,” I smiled and waved, turning to the stairs and descending, ignoring Death’s cries for me to stop. 

Chapter Two

[inhuman-obey-me]

Solomon + 🌟

"It's growing colder without your love." - Solomon/MC

content warning: MC death

Solomon had been alone for a very, very long time. He'd gotten used to it, or at least so he'd told himself, even if he had never quite convinced himself of it deep down.

He had taken comfort in the company of his demons -- though not all of them were exactly happy about being summoned up by him at any which time. And he was still in contact with Michael here and there, though the angel had eventually grown tired of him it seemed, perhaps seeking him out only every century or two now. Nor was he foolish enough to let down his guard around either kind, anyway, as angels and demons alike had always shared an eagerness to use and manipulate humans in ways that kept Solomon wary.

But the pains of grief had carved deeper into him with every loss, and the inevitability of his human companions' mortality had worn him down until he couldn't take it anymore. So he continued on alone, focusing on his work, his research, protecting the human realm, and throwing himself into anything that would keep him from thinking about it too deeply.

So when the suggestion to study as an exchange student at RAD for a year came to him, he hadn't hesitated in the least. Much as he loved and cared for the human realm, there was no one there to miss, and no one to miss him. He would go to the Devildom, where he could further his goals and research.

Of all places, he hadn't counted on meeting his first human love in ages in the Devildom.

You had fascinated him. Really just in a morbid curiosity kind of way at first, watching this foolish human stumble their way into pacts with one after another of the demon brothers. But gradually, the fascination had turned into an odd sort of caring, and then a romantic sort of caring, and then before he knew it, a warmth had blossomed in his chest, which grew warmer every time he was around you.

It was addictive, almost. He could hardly keep away, even knowing the heartache that would come, and the brightness with which you looked at him melted away all the walls he'd put up for so long. You, the only one who smiled at him that way, the only one that he could let down his guard around, the only one he could finally be himself with again. You were the one who finally released him from the cold shell he'd felt trapped in for so long.

And then, one day, just like all the others before, you were gone. Human mortality had caught up again.

He sits upon the roof of one of his secluded homes now and gazes up at the stars. He'd like to imagine you among them, though he knows all too well the truth of where souls go when people die -- a place far out of his immortal reach. At least he can see the stars, and if he imagines you among them, then he can pretend you're still in the same world with him.

There's a flicker of a thought of looking up at them together, and he's not sure whether it's better to try to hold onto it and let the vivid memories wash over him, or to let them go. It hurts to think about either way. So does remembering the way you used to bury your face against his shoulder with each passing breeze. It's growing colder without your love, as time steals away the lingering warmth of his memories of you cuddled up against him.

It's getting hard to remember the last time he smiled so honestly as he would smile at you, or felt that admiring spark in his chest that you always gave him when you somehow managed to impress him yet again. It's fitting to imagine you as a star, lighting up the night sky the same way you used to light up his life. But that light, too, is fading.

Solomon has been alone for a very, very long time. Maybe someday he'll be used to it again.

[reilliane]

Tease ✤ Xiao

T e a s e

A/N: .. Ehehe, this may have been both fanservice and self-indulgent.. anyway, enjoy!

✤ she/her

Words: 3.4k

➸ Mischief (Prequel)

≿————-　❈　————-≾

“As you can see…” Aether’s tight smile, instead of seeming forced to look joyous, appeared tight because he is holding himself back from cracking into laughter.

It is a composure that his companions had failed in delivering.

“We have a slight problem, Adeptus [Name].”

Even the noble Xingqiu is reduced to quiet fits of laughter as poor Xiangling is on the receiving end of his constant shoulder slaps, a terrible attempt to keep in his guffaws.

The resident exorcist, on the other hand, remains the calmest of them all, but by the twitching of his eyes and lips, he is nowhere near being able to cling onto the last bits of his sanity.

Your laugh is clipped.

You think you can understand what your fellow Adeptus said about mortals being rather impetuous nowadays.

Or perhaps you are the one who forged this downfall—you’ve always been fond of humans and can never turn away from them.

“I swear, this neck-deep trouble of yours will haunt you..” your voice drifts, catching the smiling face of Xiao in the middle of the group.

“And for the love of Guizhong, who is clothing him in a mere breastplate? Is it truly necessary to omit.. well, his shirt?”

“Clothes are restrictive in fighting.” Lazily answers the crimson-turned Yaksha in the stead of the youngsters, “And a seasoned warrior wouldn’t prefer monsters’ blood staining their attire.”

The image of his crimson—basically half-naked—alter smeared with dried blood makes you shudder.

A complete contrast to his reticent self, this version of him seems to have a drive for bloodlust.

To make matters worse? Today marks one of your joint patrols, meaning you’d have to accompany the Adeptus whilst he is in this state.

Although you get serotonin from seeing him smile all the time, nothing will be able to shape you in preparation to witness him bringing death to the karma-infested monsters.

“It is common decen—”

The still smile of the now chartreuse-eyed man sends your words stumbling, but with some Morax-blessed courage, you are able to continue.

“I’m going to ascend if he doesn’t have a shirt in the next few minutes.”

Sighing, you shut your eyes, pinching the space in between your brows, all in dire hope to shy away from the mischievous grins smeared on the groups’ faces when the crimson-garbed Adeptus steps closer.

“Why, are you perhaps interested in touching them?” comes his shi*-eating grin.

That makes your eyes snap open and you are a literal second away from refuting his brazen proposal—but his hand has grasped yours and is already making you touch his defined abdomen. Oh shucks, he’s ripped—

The sharp scream that suddenly rings in the inn makes Verr Goldet choke in the middle of drinking her warm tea.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

Turns out there is no need for Xiao to lend a helping hand in executing the nearby area of the karma-infested monsters.

Even if he is literally speed incarnate, the monster camps he appears into are already empty.

All that remains on the earthy terrain are masks, shields, and horns that are of use only to wandering adventurers.

Having known that Aether collects these materials, he diligently gathers every drop that can fit in his inventory.

When he is whisked away by the wind to appear at the place his fellow Adeptus is scouting, he’s no longer surprised when he bears witness to the [c]’s destruction.

Crystalline spears of frost shatter into icy mist upon your command, the quagmires of Dihua a present wasteland of ice and snow thanks to your frigid assault. The hilichurl swirling with black flames of karma vanishes by your feet, leaving a loot drop you didn’t bother picking.

It is cold—or well, it’s supposed to be cold.

“You are much cataclysmic than usual. Why?”

Because when you turn to (marvel) blink owlishly at the attractive Yaksha whose personality has done a complete three hundred and sixty, you feel nothing but a fluttering kind of warmth.

The book hovering above your palm slams in tune with your disbelief and you scoff, saying, “I wonder why.”

The shucking smirk on Xiao’s face is tacit; he is aware of the effect he brings and Celestias, he has no intention of backing down from its advantage. It makes you wonder if he’s always been privy to your little crush on him.

In his arms lay the bunch of drops you’ve no interest in gathering, shining with pearly blues, greens, and violets. He bounces them upon catching your quizzical stare.

“For the Traveler.”

You snort. I’ve always known you cared for the blond.

Say, Xiao… well, normal Xiao is just a reticent man. A reticent softie.

The flip in character prompts a question you kind of want to raise; this persona, is it what he’s hiding under all those layers stacked over and over?

Or rather, is this who he used to be?

Either option is saddening since his origin is something that you are aware of, so if this persona of his expresses what he usually cannot… well, that’s nice.

At least then you know that he doesn’t loathe your guts like he says he does.

Are you going to overlook the fact that he kissed your cheek, though-

“Baaah! Archons, take me now.” Flustered, you slap your cheeks, shaking the detailed memory of his lips- oh Morax- “BAHHHHHHHHHH!”

At the corner of your eye, the Adeptus jumps, spooked at your outburst. A few of his loot drops to the ground and he hastens to collect them. His hasty -borderline adorable- gathering makes you want to pull your hair out.

Heavens, this is unfair-

Around his.. normal self, you’d be a whole lot bolder but then this red persona comes sweeping around, and you’re—poof! Dead.

“Hey,” you turn to see him much, much closer than he was before.

Your eye twitches once more, taking a step back and folding your arms with an attempt of a sneer. Keyword, attempt.

How can you sneer at him when he’s smiling?

“You still haven’t answered me~”

Since when does he coo?! This man is going to be the reason for your future ascendance.

His chartreuse eyes blink, waiting with outstanding patience for a response that’s never going to come. At least, it’s supposed to never come but you have a soft spot for the Adeptus and you didn’t think it’d be used against you this way.

In this kind of situation, even.

It’s not like Xiao—the normal one—cares over your ‘weakness’, anyway.

He’s always been adamant of straying far and out of reach even to his fellow Adepti—so entertaining your ruckus for the slightest bit is probably his way of respect. Long since has he given up on driving you away.

But now that this- this crimson version has emerged not once, but twice, makes something churn within. And it isn’t a good kind of churn.

Is this what he’s hiding under that frigidity of his? It’s—upsetting.

But you don’t blame him. You can’t blame him.

There is a good reason for his shell and perhaps, continuing to try and break his walls will do him worse than good. You admit to being pushy and you’re turned down every single time.

Maybe letting go will be better.

Perhaps this appearance of an alter was just him humoring your advances out of pity. And you don’t like that—as an Adeptus, you take pride in yourself- if Xiao is keen with his constant refusal then it is something to be respected.

You haven’t exactly been respecting his wishes—and now is the time to do so.

So when he walks closer -probably to pester you into answering- you hold your hand up to pause him in his steps. Turning and meeting his puzzled eyes, you sigh.

He wants an answer, well, alright.

“I’m like this because of you.”

His lips turn into a cute circle, blinking in wonder at the bluntness of your delivery. Knowing it isn’t enough for him to understand completely, your explanation continues on.

“It’s disheartening but I have no one to blame, really. Everyone has a reason, don’t they? I just realized that I may have been pushing and hoping for things that aren’t meant for me.”

Your cheeks are lit aflame due to your admittance, but venting seems to be the right thing to do.

Besides, he deserves the explanation.

A bland chuckle drips past your lips, recalling a memory as you face your back against him. “He said I was wasting both his and my time lingering by the inn. I never actually listened but I suppose it’s time.”

“Time for.. what?” his voice is soft—like he is a distance away when in truth, he is close behind.

Hearing how small his voice is almost made you pause but you persevere.

There’s no use clinging onto someone who clearly dislikes you. Goodness, and you’ve been lovesick for decades?

“What do you think?” you shrug, “Time to settle someplace else. The contract of the Adepti has been lifted and it is time for the Qixing to govern Liyue. They are more than capable of ruling and protecting..”

The breeze that flutters by is harsh and cold.

“There is no purpose left for me here.”

…

“Oh.” Is his flabbergasted response.

It isn’t one of indifference. In fact, he sounds as if he’s genuinely surprised about your take regarding the change in Liyue. It makes you wonder if he would’ve reacted differently if he isn’t under whatever Aether and Chongyun did.

“Then.. you’re leaving, is that it?”

You hum. “That’s the way I see things. I’ve been thinking of it but never got to think of when…”

Until now.

No one speaks a word for a moment or two—and for a minute, you almost believe that he has left for you are feeling no trace of his presence at your back. It is only the wind making the usual noise, howling past your ears.

But then a voice speaks something near your ear and you jolt.

“He wouldn’t like that.”

The crimson-turned Adeptus has never looked more than the ‘normal’ one until now. One reminder that he’s still different is because of the smile -albeit small- on his lips, though his eyes lack the giddy gleam and are instead blank.

Serious.

You arch a brow, swiveling with folded arms as you look him up and down, surveying his face.

Nope, his eyes are still green.

“He?” you echo, just realizing his usage of a third person. “You are speaking as if you aren’t Xiao. That would be funny.”

The smile on his lips grows. “Oh?”

He takes a step closer and you laugh, slightly grateful that the damp mood you’ve set thanks to admitting your plans is beginning to vanish. Talk about knowing when to create a tangent!

“Yes because- that’d mean you’re sort of a twin and the original Xiao would be out there somewhere listening in on us.” you snort.

It sounds goofily impossible but what a treat it’d be if that were to be the case, no?

The alter gazes at you for a brief moment, the curl of his lips becoming wider and wider by the second until he sighs. In a poof of a second, the materials in his arms vanish into spatial inventory and he places a hand on your shoulder.

He is grinning by then. “I didn’t think you’d figure it out!”

.

.

.

You blink—once.. then twice.

“Excuse me whAT-“

He laughs.

He laughs—like he is amused by your surprise.

“Well, it’s true that the Traveler made that Exorcist guy put some kind of spell unto us at the first try-“

“First try!?”

“—Something with Yang energy, I believe. It worked but s’not as he would’ve liked. See, he wanted us separate.”

What- what-

WHAT?

Shaking your head in complete bewilderment, you raise your voice along with your baffled exclamations. Everything is digested by the crimson alter with a pattern of laughter that somehow only proves to fluster you more.

He peers down at you, inching close with a toothy grin.

“He’s all ‘don’t come near me’ and ‘or else you will regret it’—”

You don’t know whether you should laugh as he imitates the same person sharing his face, so you stand like a fidgeting idiot with your fingers twitching.

“But in truth, he’s just a coward!” the alter guffaws, “Aaah, I shouldn’t be speaking ill of him, though. It’s like dissing myself.”

Since when did Xiao- well, red-turned Xiao, have a.. mortalesque vocabulary?

“He likes you, you know!”

“WHAT?”

He tilts his head, his gloved hand tousling his dark locks with a hum.

“You’re saying ‘what’ a lot of times, is it really that hard to believe?”

“W-well..!”

The red garbed Adeptus wags his finger, implying for you not to continue as he clicks his tongue. He appears more bemused than before if that is possible, although you can detect something you have not once thought you’ll actually see.

Regardless of whether this is Xiao or not.

Fondness. Fondness can be discerned the more you keep your stare at his visage.

He gets wind of your incredibly obvious staring and a cute flush of rose begins to decorate his cheeks. Clearing his throat, he begins, “It’s not like he doesn’t want to be around you or the rest, it’s just—you know.. what with his history.. and all.”

Ah.

“The Traveler was the one who suggested this idea when Xiao refused to admit things to you and, well, you saw how that went down the first time. I had control but since I am still him and he is me, he has a clear recollection of what happened!”

Pushing things further as if it is his life’s mission to kill you with embarrassment, he puckers his lips and sends a wink, reminding you of the quick smooch on your cheek a few months back.

He’s swift to get back on his words when he sees you about to smack him, though.

“It only succeeded today. A rather talented exorcist, that one.” He muses with a hum, “You may be asking why Xiao wanted to separate me, and that’s because he fears that he won’t be enough for you.”

What? You are frozen. Not.. enough?

His hand lands on his nape as he turns sheepish.

“You’ve seen how stoic he is and how he’s not like everyone else. By having me split from him, a part of the psyche of who he used to be—”

Happy. When he was happy—when he could smile and be at ease.

“—Then you won’t leave him.”

Leave.. him?

The finality of his elaborate speech almost sends you stumbling, touched, and upset that it has come to this. You don’t know that the Yaksha had been feeling that way all the time..

He doesn’t.. want me to? Your thoughts begin to simmer. To think that he actually reciprocates—but is undervaluing himself…

Coursing your fingers in your hair, you tug at the strands and sigh, both perplexed and relieved after finding out the truth. Well, change of plans, time for another confrontation, it seems.

“If you’re looking for Xiao—”

Okay but first of all!

“Stop, please.”

He shuts up at your flushed stare.

“Stop speaking as if you aren’t him, you- you technically still are despite your…” coughing and looking away, you gesture at his entire get-up. “Differences.”

A loud guffaw tears in instantly at your bashful aversion.

You see him wipe a stray tear by your sight’s peripheral, a long, entertained sigh leaving as he nods in affirmation. Archons, this is messing with your head.

“Okay, I know what you can call me, instead!”

Oh?

You glance back at this, asking, “Mm? What would that be?”

The rambles that spill past you are overlooked as the alter snakes his arms around your waist, flushing you close and leaning down as if he is dipping you into a dance. You have no choice but to cling to his shoulders lest you actually fall and he suggestively presents a lopsided smirk.

“Your lover.”

Sweet Guizhong, I’ll be meeting you in three, two-

“That’s enough.”

As quickly as it happened, you are yanked by a force that came out of nowhere. Its abrupt emergence blurs your sight, almost giving you whiplash before clearing itself out.

When you came to be, you are seeing the altered Adeptus in front, hands on hips with an indecipherable expression. A protective kind of warmth is around your waist, still, but-

But isn’t it the red one who was just holding you?

But- he’s right there.

Then.. who-

Golden eyes akin to a cat’s meet your [c]s and you almost shrieked in his face as soon as you notice that Xiao—as in the.. the ‘normal’ one—is the owner of the very arms that cage and hold you near.

“Xiao!?” you shriek anyway.

His opposite sighs, rubbing his temple in mock annoyance. “Right when I am declaring my undying love, you decide to come out?”

There is a dangerous glint in those chartreuse jewels—a glint only detected by his own self, who pulls you further as if he can hide you away for himself.

“You’ve done what I’ve told you,” Xiao firmly states, “You spouted lies about splitting. Now merge.”

“Oh? Well, I admit to having lied about a couple of things, but not about your cowardice.” The red one chuckles, “What about it, Adeptus [Name]?”

Huh?

The Vigilant Yaksha can only hide you so little when his clone leans closer, the mischief in his features candidly displayed. His way of tracing your jaw similarly to how he did so months ago is playful and unabashed.

“If you be with me, I can give you things.. do things,” his voice lowers by an octave as he meets with his original half’s eyes, catching the spike of displeasure in them. “That he won’t be able to give you.”

Holy mother of-

Xiao growls, the grit in his voice sounding threatening and for sure you would’ve slithered out of his hold in fear if not for his snappy retort.

“You should stop speaking on my behalf.”

The crimson alter laughs, uprighting his position with a brazen countenance.

“It’s true though, is it not?” he shrugs, “You are not keen on affection. It is the very reason why you decided to split me from your psyche, I am merely doing things that you can’t—Hey!”

In an effortless move to shut him up, Xiao has done the unthinkable by doing the very thing his clone has just mentioned he can’t do.

His lips are soft and warm against yours, carrying sweet traces of almond tofu. He seems to radiate a flustered heat that you can feel due to the closeness and when he parts, your eyes are dazed.

The Yaksha licks his lips before throwing a glare towards his gaping alter.

“You were saying?” goodness he sounds so smug.

Heavens, that’s hot-

“That’s unfair!” splutters leave both you and Xiao when his red counterpart tears you away and brings you to his grasp. “I’m taking her with me, so shoooo!”

“Don’t I get a say in this-“

“She’s with me.” Xiao growls and the other laughs.

“I am you, you dunce!”

“Just merge with me, darn you.. !”

“Nuh-uh! [Name] would like it so much better if I were to do things in your stead!” the alter states, pressing a firm kiss on your lips the same way done to you a literal minute ago.

The Adeptus exclaims, “What are you doing- cease that!”

Your head is swimming and your face is hot.

Long gone is the composure as Xiao forcefully takes you back in his embrace, the growls that leave him only send you in a loop of satisfaction and- .. death.

“You are trying to outmatch me in this worthless game of affection, is that it?” mutters the golden-eyed Yaksha, the rogue in his cheeks darkening.

“The victor is obvious between us, no?”

It is almost amusing how he’s getting riled up by his literal clone.

Well, you’re not complai-

The grip on your waist tightens as Xiao’s eyes flicker back to yours, the fire in his pools of gold indicative of his refusal to back down.

“Wait- Celestias, wait-“

His thumb presses on your lips and you almost ascended as he leans down, ignoring the shouts of protest coming from the clone.

“The victor hasn’t been decided yet.”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

a/n: this is my take on how a red!xiao exists in teyvat alongside the original one. splitting! much like jekyll and hyde~

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　To the Scrying Glass　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

≿————-　taglist　————-≾

@lehra

[idcallmyselfhuman]

'Briefly' exploring the depths of the meaning of Teppei's death for Aether, his anger, and the way he deals with grief.

So, as we gracefully gloss over the fact that our dearest blonde traveler has not once allowed anyone in Teyvat to see him cry, not even Paimon, let's talk about the gravity of witnessing his own friend's death. (I will talk about that other thing when I am fucking ready okay-)

Now, everything I'm about to say may not all adhere to future canon, as it uses theories and speculation as some form of basis and I'm also a forgetful bitch, but you're seeing this in my fucking blog so take a goddamn seat.

Going back to "The travelers age differently", as well as them typically being described as having lived longer than most, their life as wanderers of different worlds means they've interacted with some hundreds or thousands of worlds and people without ever losing their 'youth' even in their—supposed—immortality.

They've visited worlds with just the slightest differences between them: of worlds where bartenders only require a small bribe to spill their secrets, or alchemy being shunned by the human's culture of that world.

Assuming that Teyvat has been the longest that both twins have stayed in a single world, it must have been jarring to truly attach themselves to people they know they'll abandon once they've deemed the length of their stay enough.

Remember how Aether was so ready to ask Lumine to come home with him and leave Teyvat in their first reunion? Not even hesitating as he asked her to leave and be done with all this, still so detached despite everyone and everything he's come to appreciate about this world, because in his life, it was no different from the rest.

We see this detachment as well in Inazuma, when they first ask him to fight their war, and his immediate response was his rejection. Why should he fight against a god for people he has no relation to? Why involve himself when his intentions are focused solely in finding his sister?

Of course, in the end, he ends up agreeing for two reasons: 1) He's the main character so he has to, duh, and 2) He was able to empathize with their cause and what the decree meant to innocent people who are essentially losing their sense of self because of it.

Aether isn't typically... flighty. He'll face issues presented to him dead on, and he's protective of his friends to a fault. But given the chance to leave with his sister? Before the latest chapter, I genuinely think Aether would have chosen to leave given that he was able to do so.

Now, with all of that said, obviously I was building it up for something, right? Abso-fucking-lutely.

So far, I've tried to establish the following: The twins have lived long enough to have visited worlds and worlds before Teyvat, the twins retain memories of past worlds they've visited but they have never stayed as long as they have with Teyvat, and they would have never stayed any longer but was forced to via taking away Aether's powers.

Now, Kira, this is lovely and all, but how the FUCK does any of this have to do with Teppei? Well, for one, Aether's response to his death.

Aether and Lumine surely have made friends from their journey from all sorts of worlds, be it young, old, etc. etc. but have they ever stayed long enough to be able to develop something deep with the people from these worlds?

Have they ever stayed long enough to see these people evolve into someone different, or stayed long enough to see them grow?

Have they ever stayed long enough 'til their mortal companions slowly reach the end of their days, and they had to watch as Time slowly takes them with the twins being incapable of doing anything?

With Teyvat being the exception for a lot of things, I'm assuming that's a no. That they've jumped from world to world and could only develop a fleeting friendship with both parties knowing it has an endpoint. That they've never had to deal with loss quite so severe than what they've experienced in Teyvat respectively because they've never stayed long enough to see it happen.

Now, the twins are no strangers to death, and with the loss of each other's presence, grief isn't foreign either. But I can't help but feel that the grief Aether felt with Teppei became more personal because of how much time Aether had spent with the people of Teyvat, and the fact that he couldn't flee the situation at all and had to watch it happen right in front of him and was able to do nothing.

He isn't adjusted to it, and his grief showed form through him being reckless and so, so angry. He doesn't allow himself to be sad, but he's quick to embrace his anger and charge at the Fatui the moment Teppei takes his final breath.

Despite how dangerous it was, he was willing to charge against what remained of the Fatui in Inazuma alone, fighting them not only to avenge his friend but because of how easily grief had influenced his actions.

In the end, it blows up at him, and the strength of his anger that Scaramouche had done so well to bring out became the cause of his undoing, with Yae Miko having to step in lest they lose him.

Being stuck in Teyvat forced him to confront feelings he never fully had to deal with as a fleeting presence in countless worlds, and that changed him.

The story does well with how they use anger and Aether. I believe the first time we saw him actually angry was when he found out Zhongli had already made a contract with Signora? It's been over a year, but it's one of the most consistent things about his character.

He isn't quick to real anger (As seen by how surprised Paimon was when he suddenly blew up at Clitopho and Zhiqiong), however whenever he does, it's intense. And a thing with his anger too is that it's fucking dangerous.

Not only was Scaramouche able to weaponize it against Aether because of its strength, but he was also able to sentence Signora to death without hesitation nor remorse because of it, and I don't think either of these things could have occurred if he wasn't as close as he was with Teppei, and that could only have been achieved through staying in a world longer than he's ever had to.

They didn't give him some bullshit power of friendship thing to succeed through it all, but instead used murderous rage directed at the people responsible for the death of someone he cared for deeply enough and harmed people he's put under his protection.

“Hah. Barely two words in and you already look like you want me dead.” - Scaramouche, upon seeing Aether again

After that, he's more guarded, and even more, (and this might be a stretch but I don't think it is), is that it affected how he dealt with Zhiqiong's insistence in the Chasm quest.

He puts his foot down, not even allowing even the slightest chance of putting herself in danger just for the hell of it. He takes no chances nor any excuses, always convincing her to go back in camp where she's safer. He won't allow himself to lose anyone again when he can do something about it.

Spending so much time in this world changed how he interacts and responds with a lot of things. Could you imagine Aether from early on in the game blowing up at someone for bickering? I reckon he would just look at them unsurely and try to calm them down.

Teppei's death showed an extent of how easily Aether could succumb to and use his anger, in the sense where it doesn't necessarily control his every action, but it's with him in the things he does. Again, I've noted this before, but the way he talks to people has changed. He's more open with his sarcasm, attitude absolutely no-nonsense when he notices the conversation steering to a path irrelevant to what he wants right then.

The way his anger manifests isn't at all like Scaramouche, who snaps at people at a moment's notice. Aether's anger can be venomous and as cold as his sister was written to be, and even allows him to be blasé about a death he'd directly contributed to. He's a patient person, but Teyvat more often than not has a way of abusing that, and he's beginning to crack.

He's lived a long, long life with only his sister being able to understand the full extent of it, but for once, Teyvat had brought him a new experience, and came of it was an extremely weary Traveler who still won't allow himself to settle.

In light of the latest chapter, any detachment he may have still had for Teyvat was gone once he learned what his sister planned to do. He's now allowing himself to ally with Dainsleif against her and directly involve himself with the fight against the Abyss. His intent with meddling with Teyvat's affairs is no longer just for the sake of finding her, but stopping her as well and saving a fallen race of people from prolonged suffering.

I wonder how much that feeling of grief affected the conclusion that Dainsleif wanted him to reach.

“A 1% chance of redemption... versus a 99% chance of suffering and death. Nobody has the right to make that choice on another living's behalf.” — Aether, Requiem of the Echoing Depths

Nobody has the right to choose when someone should or shouldn't die. Not the Fatui, not him, not his sister. Was it wrong of him to have decided when Signora should die? Maybe. But seeing the damage dealt to the people affected in the war, with Teppei being the one to tip him over the edge as he moved through the haze of his grieving mind- all he thought then, was an eye for an eye.

One thing I'm certain of is that he can do so much more damage, and I cannot wait for Scaramouche and Aether to meet again as they bring out the worst in each other.

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

Okay, I'm done lol. Just a reminder, this is all just speculation on my part, and it's just filling the gaps for things the game has yet to fill themselves. In a future chapter, I could be shown that I'm wrong, and this post was dumb in hindsight, but 'til then, Genshin has no say and I'll stand by everything I said.

[rukafais]

Two more from the overdue November pack.

Ancient "In times long past, two mortal enemies faced each other in a duel to the death. Despite the great disparity in their size, they were ever on equal footing, and their clash was one of titanic proportions. Warring tirelessly without end, their combat took them into the skies and across the lands, until at last they crashed into the deep ice at the end of the world and sunk together, still fighting with one another. Legends say that their final battle still continues to this day; they are still together, each trying to finish the other, deep under the ice. Though what they were fighting for, how they felt, what they thought...all of those things are lost to the march of time.

Some whisper that perhaps they still fight because they are the only two in all the world who can possibly understand each other any longer." Mage

"A tireless maintenance worker and his equally uncompromising companion. An old creation of a wizardly city, his work is to survey and maintain the arrays and systems that keep the marauding winters outside at bay. His task is made more complicated by the fact that the most recent inhabitants of the city whose barriers he maintains have little idea he exists, and many of his companions have since fallen silent from overwork or need of repair, turning the task of many into the task of one. Perhaps someday soon he, too, will fall silent, and then woe betide those who still live here when the first storms descend...but until then, he will work without complaint."

[peace-and-light-poetry]

A Hawk’s Burial

She made a point that If it was still there, she'd bury it She happened upon it again

The dead hawk from before

Thus, she'd bury it.

This would be a simple affair Aside from defrosting the ground

Death and mortality weren't alien topics No, this was just another part of it She would make a point

To bury the dead animals she found Giving them little funerals For reasons that make sense

At least, to her

However, for reasons she couldn't identify No, it just made sense to bury them This hawk is one of them

Perhaps, she buried them Because it seems like a nice gesture Burying them so new life could continue

Or, perhaps, in a way, she was becoming at ease At ease with her own mortality In a way she'd been accustomed

She'd never know

Just that she made a point to bury it And she did, after she happened upon it A simple affair