#i fucking love schooners

[ohtobeleah]

I’d kill for a part two of that strictly scandalous concept where Hangman fucks Mavericks daughter. Just him realizing what he’s done.

HAHAHAHA. I loved this one. Here ya go. Just because I felt this on my bones, baby. and I know I've used the callsign Iris for a blurb once but imma use it again because it suits and I like it. :)

********************

Jakes shitting himself. Imagine it though— he’s in the locker room, zipping up his flight suit when Pete Mitchell slaps his hand down on Jake’s shoulder from behind. It scares the living shit out of him when he realises just who it is standing behind him. 

“You have a good weekend Hangman—?” Mav asked as Jake turned to face him, eyes wide like he’s just been caught red handed and balls deep him Mavericks daughter. 

“Huh?” Jakes trying to formulate a sentence to reply with, but he’s breaking out in a sweat, remembering just how fucked he knew he was when you introduced yourself a Lieutenant Mitchell. Pete Maverick Mitchell’s daughter. “Uh, sorry repeat the question sir?” 

“I asked if you had a good weekend?” Pete always thought Jake was a little weird, a little overzealous and egotistical—but right this minute he could be considered a flight risk. With sweat practically dripping down his face and he looks over Pete’s shoulder to see his saving grace. Rooster. 

“Yeah, yeah nah it was average—“ If you’d call fucking his captains daughter in the back of his truck average. That was a felony around here, a career ender, an act worthy of being lined up and executed point blank. “Listen, great chatting to you, But I gotta go—“ Mav doesn’t get a chance to even register what’s going on before Jake is hightailing it over towards Bradley, dragging him around the corner of the locker room with a clenched jaw and panicked eyes. 

“Dude! What’s your problem!” Bradley’s hissing at Jake’s grip on his bicep. Being pulled away into a more discreet part of the men’s locker room. 

“I’m gonna lose my fucking job—“ Bradley Bradshaw has never seen Jake Seresin so panicked before. He’s usually in control of every situation, every aspect of his life. But this? Whatever had him spooked must have been major because Bradley could see straight into Jake's soul, and he was terrified. 

“What exactly did you do?” 

“Not a what.” Jake groaned, smashing his fist against Fanboys stupid Star Wars themes locker or whatever the hell TV show he geeked over. “More like a who—“ Bradley’s not computing what Jake is trying to tell him. Watching as Jake turns, presses his back against the lockers, and slides towards the ground in complete and utter defeat. He can kiss this promotion goodbye and he hasn’t even made it through a full day. 

“Can you be a little more specific? It’s too early to be deciphering codes.” Rooster just stands there, arms crossed as Jake lets his head rest against the flimsy doors of the lockers he’s resting up against—legs spread out. 

“IfuckedMavsdaughter—“ Jake mumbles quickly and under his breath. Bradley only just makes out what he said as his eyes are blowing out of his head in pure shock. No, no this is too perfect. 

“I’m sorry you did who?” Rooster needs to hear Jake say it clearly and as precisely as possible. “You did not!” 

“I didn’t know she was Mavs daughter Rooster! You didn’t fucking tell me who she was!” Jake was right on that front, but Bradley wasn’t in the loop, when did spilling three entire schooners of alcohol on someone equates to fucking someone. “God! Do you know what he’s gonna do to me when he finds out? He’s gonna make my life a living hell!” Jake groans as he hits the back of his head against the locker in an act of self-pity.

“You fucked Y/n Iris Mitchell, he’s gonna hang you, Hangman.” Bradley loved this probably a little more than he should have. He knew his uncle all too well and he knew how protective he was of the daughter he didn’t know he had until you showed up at his doorstep one random Saturday afternoon. “He’s gonna string you up by your big toe on the flagpole—“ 

“I should just quiet before he has a chance to—“ Jakes squinting his eyes shut tight, all he can see is you riding him like you had nothing to lose in the back of his truck. He can feel your around him still, the tightest pussy he’s ever fucked. So warm and perfect and—young. Fuck, he should have know this would have eventually. “I’m a deadman walking.”

“Does she know who you are?” Bradley’s asking as he finally takes a knee and comes to sit against the lockers with his clearly distressed wingman. “Did you tell her you’re most likely her instructor? Her Lieutenant Commander?” 

“Nope—“ Jake pops the P. “I was just gonna see how long I could go without running into her, avoid her at all costs.” 

“Yeah something tells me that’s not gonna work.” Bradley chuckles, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “But good luck man, honestly I’m rooting for you.” Rooster bumps his shoulder against Jakes as he stands. Looking down at the aviator having a clear existential crisis. “Stop sticking your dick into anything that moves at the Hard Deck—I’m honestly shocked something like this hasn’t happened sooner.” 

“Can you just promise me that if I go missing you’ll tell the cops it was Mav?” Jake is as serious as he ever has been as he looks up at Rooster. “This is partly your fault to you big flightless bird—if I had been told, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near her!” But all Bradley can do is laugh at Jake’s predicament. 

“Sure thing pal, but she told you, you could have stopped and dealt with the blue balls—but I’m guessing the night didn’t end in the truck and you're big enough and ugly enough to deal with the consequences of your own actions.” Bradley feels like this whole situation is an early birth present. He’s beaming, smug even. Of course Jake fucked Mavs daughter, of course he did!  “I’ll see you out there.” 

“You're a bad friend!” Jakes Shouting out as Bradley rounds the corner, he’s laughing as he shakes his head and exits the locker room only to run into you in the hall. Seeing an opportunity he just can’t resist passing up. 

“Iris!” Bradley cooed, grabbing your attention as he jogs up beside you from behind, slinging a shoulder around you. “How’s induction day going so far?” 

“I just came out of a lecture about weapons systems malfunctions with Lieutenant Commander Floyd.” You explained, pretty tickled pink with excitement that you were at TopGun. Not a lot of women got to experience such a feat. “He’s pretty intelligent.” 

“Bobs great—“ Bradley had known you since you were about sixteen, but you weren’t all that close for two people who’d be considered non-biological siblings. “Hey listen, I heard you left the Hard Deck with Hangman the other night.” 

“Who’s Hangman?” You asked as you stopped in your tracks. “And how do you know I left with som—“ All things considered, when Jake had told you that if Hawaiian shirts were what you were into, you should be talking to Bradley, you could have said that you saw him more like a brother than anything else. But you didn’t, you played along and said that guys with moustaches weren't your type. “Oh—no please Rooster I didn’t.” Bradley could see the look of realisation creeping across your face. You’d fucked one of your TopGun instructors, hadn't you? “No—please it’s April fools isn’t it?” 

“It’s October Iris—“ Bradley smirked, his moustache working to devour his upper lip entirely as he does. “Mavs gonna kill him—“ 

“Fuck what Mavs gonna do to him Bradshaw! I’m gonna get kicked out of Miramar if the admirals find out what I’ve done!” You're a mess, Bradley chuckles, hey maybe you and Jake had a few things in common. Your inability to cope during existential crises being one of them. “This ain’t happening! I need to talk to him, where is he?”

“He’s probably still writing his resignation on the locker room flo—“ Before Bradley can finish your sentence, he’s watching as you make a b-line directly for the locker room he’d just come out of. 

On the hunt for Lieutenant Commander Jake ‘Deadman’  Seresin.

[boxboxlewis]

For the made-up fic title game: The Coast Is Never Clear

daniel ricciardo is a PIRATE CAPTAIN and has not a care in the world. he's gripping his cutlass between his implausibly white teeth and laughing as he swarms up the rigging, he's fucking (willing) captives on piles of gold doubloons, he's having a glorious time. he's covered with tattoos and dead to polite society and he wouldn't have it any other way.

one day daniel and his men attack a fat dutch schooner only to find that instead of gold or treasure it's laden with... fabric. daniel is very "fucks sake" about this, because what is he meant to do with a load of damask? but the merchant whose ship it is says hey. if you let me live, i'll help you sell this and we can split the profits. this is sensible for both of us.

daniel is like lol that's cute, you are my literal prisoner, how are you bargaining right now. but also, if you're this relaxed with my sword at your throat you're probably pretty good at negotiating so... fine i guess.

as they make their way to [waves hand] whichever port it is where they'll unload their wares, he starts spending more and more time with the merchant. he's blunt and snide and funny, and he laughs at daniel's jokes helplessly, as though they're the funniest things in the world. he has a weird, beaky face but daniel can't stop looking at it, somehow: doesn't want to stop. they have sex and it feels different than sex usually does, like it means something.

he takes to life at sea, the merchant: the men all respect him and soon he's become daniel's de facto second in command. when they reach port, daniel is like hey, i've just met you... and this is crazy... buuuuut have you heard of this thing called matelotage/fancy ditching your nice safe merchant life and being pirate-married to me? & the merchant smiles so big he almost cracks his jaw and says "i think that would be simply lovely."

[journalsouppe]

THE WIND WAKER AHHHHHHHH I love this game SO much, ranked right below OOT and MM for my all time favorites.

One of my biggest critiques of the game is that I wish Aonuma was given the proper time to develop the game since you can tell that there should be more but a lot was cut out for time constraints. Still an incredible game but what I would give to have a full scale sequel or the full scope of the original game T^T!!!

Writing typed below as well as my game notes! (Game notes won't be typed since it's just a mess of notes for puzzles and things to come back to)

Rating: 9.0 Played: Su 2023 Recommended by: Rylan Version: Original Port: (originally Dolphin emulation but bought a Gamecube and OG TWW bc the emulator kept crashing)

Comments

iPad kid... my son (about link)

love Mkaar

THE LITTLE ANIMATIONS

ww Ganondorf is my favorite

LOVE YOU ARYLL

the kids are adorable

the music and SFX are SO CUTE!!!!!!

the actual GC version is much better than emulating

Link's too small for the door i_i I love him

ooo the upside down triforce in outset

I like the wind waker (the instrument lmao)

oo god of winds

ooo you can control seagulls?

MASSIVE pig...

PEAHATS? >:(

oo a cauldro lemme climb in -> THEYRE SAVE POINTS!!

DARKNUT AND ARMOS

I HATE GOHMAS

link is just a sweet little guy T-T <3

inch resting great deku tree

STUPID 25 LETTERS

LOVE the syrup Korok

LINK IS THE SAME HEIGHT KOROKS

how long has hyrule been flooded and how old is zelda? why is there a statue of link...

Oooo did Link from OOT speak a different language with the Great Deku Tree? (bilingual king)

ooo I love that King of the red lions joins you at the tower of gods

magic is in this game *eye emojis*

ooo ganon's tower theme when stormy

all the OOT sages in stained glass omg :)

NOT TETRA'S PIRATES HOLDING THE BOMB GUY HOSTAGE

there's a lot to process at the cabana

TETRA IS LIKE 10 YOU CREEPS

HYRULE CASTLE THEME

i'm forever haunted by the floormasters

why did zelda lose all of her melanin

is the king of red lions actually the king of jyrule?

PHANTOM GANON DEAD MANS VOLLEY FUCK

the return of tingle...

ZELDA 2 STORY

moe the MOBLIN?

MAKARS WALK T-T

THE MEOW

schooner

love the maze idea

ghost ship next to me!!!!

GANON MOLDORM

I love this game so much holy shit. What a perfect sequel to the Hero of Time story, what a great continuation of Ganondorf's motive. I definitely wish there was more, esp dungeons and zora and towns, but this game was made pretty quick after MM and on the GC so I know there are limitations. Everything from Link, Tetra, the sound effects, the stylization, the Rito, the Koroks, Ganondorf, oh my god I absolutely adore it. Everything about it is so unique yet having the core Zelda elements within it. I also noticed how many future games took a lot of inspiration from this game, esp TP and TOTK. I also love how involved Tetra/Zelda is to the plot, Link could not have succeeded without her help, esp in the final battle and when saving Aryll. This game gives so much personality and background to Link and Tetra, every single cutscene is such a delight. This would be a super replayable game if my GC wasn't so wonky. Hopefully it'll come back to the switch. I love this game :')

[kissmefriendly]

Yo i fucking LOVE this section of the book like yeeeeeaaaahhh

SHIPS!!! SCHOONER!!!!!! FUCKED UP ISOLATIONIST HORROR!!!!! SHIIIIPPP!!!!

And re:Dracula is driving me fucking inSANE with the SFX and narration I’m having the time of my life I’m thriving all these characters are gonna die I’m having such a blast

[tricornonthecob]

I wanna listen to the night

LK 113: Turtle Sundae

(pt1)(pt2)(pt3)(pt4)(pt5)

James, what's your plan here if its an actual monster. Bop it on the head with an oar?

y'all couldn'a pulled the boat in a little further?

Sarah: "Y'all look dumb af rn."

They find themselves on the business end of a musket alot, don't they.

James stfu you don't know what it is, either.

This is giving such Treasure Planet vibes rn. brb, having flashbacks to early 00s deviantART.

Teenager jumpscare

Of course James is the first to squeal.

"...fuck is it that obvious? Act cool, Bushnell."

why is it he's the only one who's figured out they're secret agents.

"she's fuckin competent, bro."

I feel like this is a terrible judgement call.

fuckin' bulldozed. I feel you, Sarah.

"le fever" James you've known him for like six years you know its pronounced Le Fevre. You just don't want people knowing you've accidentally learned French.

I love how the spirit of US engineering has always been a little bit crackhead, a little bit redneck. Who the fuck in 1770-whatever answers the question "How do we beat the British Navy" with "well lets just go under them"??? I wish these engineers had had amphetamines, we'd have colonized Mars by now.

Its the maiden test mission and their fucking target is a goddamn first-rate flagship???? They couldn't have, I don't know, taken out a schooner first?

That is a nautical fuckton of ships.

Okay but why is it so gosh darn cute????

In a way, Henri was right. She wasn't disappointed.

"nuh-uh!"

"yes-uh!"

~*That's the point, Sarah*~

[transwicky]

Ok but superpower au where metaphysicality isn't Johnson's only power.

It's just the one he focuses on.

Johnson's low-key the strongest mutant/meta/super/whatever word you want to use, but he does NOTHING WITH IT.

He's like 625 from the lilo and stitch cartoon tv series. He has all these powers and abilities, could cause the WORST hell in the world, but he chooses...

"Sandwiches"(aka just vibing and helping Ngozi with the comic).

It'd be fucking hilarious, especially if like, only 1-3 person of each grad year on SMH actually had powers. He's the only one his year.

Shitty is the only one in his and Jack's year, though John's p sure Jack has one too. Shitty can make anyone trust him, but even Shitty doesn't know that's a literal power; everyone just thinks Shits is a casual (normal person)

Lardo has a power, Holster and Ransom don't, but John thinks they have low-key powers that aren't "powers" (stupid power classification laws). Lardo never tells him what hers is, and that's fine with John - the less he knows, the better.

Bitty, Ollie, AND Wicky all have powers, but they're definitely not "real" according to the super power classification laws - Bitty can alter time for a small bit, not long enough to be a Real Power, Ollie is a power amplifier, and Wicky is a speedster like the Flash from DC Comics, complete with wearing a power suppression necklace under his shirt (he still eats a lot, and the coaches actually made him not follow the diet plan because that's federal law: speedsters eat a lot, even on the suppressors, so Wicky just needs to eat, and John was kinda jealous).

Dex has a power, the other 2 frogs don't. Dex can fix literally anything mechanical. Maybe not technical, but electrical/mechanical? Yeah. Car, an oven, toaster, electric wiring, shit like that he can fix, even if it's DEAD, but that's a temp fix, you have to replace things eventually. It's cool. And handy.

Whiskey is definitely on the government's watch list, John just isn't sure what his power is.

Tango is also on the government's watchlist. His power is telepathy and telekinesis (like Jean Grey from the X-Men). He wears a power suppression bracer on his ankle for it, too, a thing John thinks is bullshit, and it's no wonder Tango asks all these questions, between the autism and his suppressed power, poor kid is confused.

Foxtrot's power is a lot like Black Canary's from DC Comics.

Louis can manipulate sound vibrations, it's part of why he's obsessed with music. Pretty strong, John's a bit surprised he was let into America.

Bully has no power.

Hops has a mundane one that has the potential to be insanely powerful. He can manipulate things if he focuses hard enough, but it's not strong enough to be noteworthy from the government. (It is why he's great at video games though.)

John hopes he gets strong enough, and he'd love to see him and Tango team up for some wicked awesome super hero shit, it'd be swawesome (no seriously, if they went rogue, it'd be devastating, but hilarious).

But then there's the others.

Guy from the Falconers has fast healing, it's why he gets into fights on the ice.

Kent can mildly see the future by at least a few moments - he wears a suppression thing too, during games at least.

Scraps wears a suppressor too, he can mimic voices/sounds.

Georgia Martin does too. Hers is mundane too. Scouting isn't the power, but her power is why she's scouting for the Falconers, despite being the assistant GM.

Snowy has one.

That dickhole Carly has one.

Three people on the Schooners have a power too.

Just people having powers and some not even realizing (Holster), or being painfully aware of it (Ollie, Wicky, Bitty, Tango, Foxtrot).

John feels bad for the ones who know about their powers, or have the government watching them, the ones that are strong enough that they're suppressed.

Maybe that's why John hides his.

He doesn't want to be watched, or suppressed by the government; he's seen how much it hurts Wicky, and he's selfish, and doesn't want to be in pain.

After graduating, John goes into hiding.

[thewaitisogre]

i love how greg does not give a fuck about what anyone thinks. you would think that after tom humiliated him over the deck shoes he would burn them and never wear deck shoes again, but nope. he held on to them and wore them to the “majestic schooner” like tom suggested that day. he is a fast learner and isn’t really fazed by anyone.

[fandomcrazy6226]

Liveblogging Dracula Daily - August 8

I think this is where the Demeter log would've gone? As far as I can tell this is a very long Mina journal entry. Oh and my laptop is very warm again through my keyboard so that'll be fun to type on

Ok big storm, I think we figured that part, but that sunset description sounds amazing. Like how do you get green in a sunset? Is the "foreign schooner" the Demeter? It's not totally obvious from the article, especially if this is an English newspaper. (English = whole island of UK, British = just Great Britain, correct?)

Well that is a very big-sounding storm then! You go townspeople, get that lighthouse working! Save those lives! OK I'm guessing that is in fact the Demeter. Ah, yep, shitload of fog. There we go. Oh shit, there's a corpse! Oh, right. Captain tied himself down

So, wait, if our friend the Count was the one fucking with the ship the whole time is he able to teleport too? Is that a vampire power or is this just like... advanced flying for him (I think vampire's can fly????)

Wait there's been a dog on board? Since when? And why? Oh, and it's gone. Welp. Bye Bye doggo. We knew ye well

Oh that is not pleasant mental imagery. No thank you sir. I would not like to imagine ropes dug so deep into my skin that they're holding bone.

Godspeed captain, and of course everyone's having a tizzy over who gets the rights to the boat. Because that's clearly what matters in this instance when a guy tied himself to the wheel for over two days

Okay, a last look at Mina for this entry. My fan sounds like an airplane engine charging up, here we go

So Lucy is getting sleep-dressed. More than once! Something is solidly wrong with this I think. Not sure what the sleepwalking might be a symptom of though

Don't worry, Jonathan definitely isn't at sea. He is very much on land

I still think it's incredibly sweet that Mina is so frequently talking about Jonathan. Like yes, this is exactly how I talk about my boyfriend. I mention him whenever I get the chance and he's always on my mind and I love him so much

Alright, next up is more from the newspaper it seems. I've got seventeen entries left in August, I'll try to get them all done tonight but I may have to split it up to tomorrow. Oh shit I also have to feed my chinchillas. I'm gonna do that before I start the next entry

[twisting-roads]

I love yachts a lot, but I often have to remember that it always has and always will be a Rich People Thing. And that kinda sucks. It started off in the 1600s with the dutch schooner jachts, and it will continue with the stupid fucking rich celebrity boat with a heli pad

[millipedish]

@tallgirlpetunia It was originally a concept for the Fraggle Rock minstrels in space, because I love those guys and also I was very obsessed with Space Pirate Lars at the time. I wrote a bunch of outline of the various adventures they go on and when i looked at it again this year I realized I really only cared for a handful of characters.

So right. You have the solar system. It's a very kind of- an anachronistic idea of the solar system? Fuck atmospheres, people can breathe in space. And all the planets are capable of hosting life. Space ships look anywhere from wooden schooners to mobius strips to flying saucers.

You have the brrrds. They live on Neptune, where everything is gas and liquid but no sediment, so everything either flies or swims. Or in the case of the brrrds, floats over the clouds on ships. Neptune used to be quite prosperous but it's been colonized to hell and native Neptunians are living in poverty. Hence why many, such as Rogrrr, are pirates. Rogrrr looks like a laughing gull but yanno, a furry

And you have Ike, a nerdy Earthling scientist who [incomprehensible garbling noises] and lost his body and had his consciousness absorbed by his self made flying saucer. He's been wandering the solar system for centuries trying not to be enslaved or turned into scrapmetal by the industrious Martians, while also trying to convince other sentient ships(their sentience is self grown) not to murder fleshfolk of the solar system. There's also a weird robotic being named Ransack being who's become obsessed with Ike lately and is chasing him. So he's got a lot on his plate, but he's still down to befriend and (maybe more?) with a cute seafaring seagull man.

Anyway here's a drawing of Ike https://www.instagram.com/p/CNyGegJn7S5/?hl=en

[colesmemes]

▸   𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣  (2018-𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵)  sentence  starters  &  prompts.

         assorted  quotes  &  prompts  from  tv  show  that’s  ruined  my  life.  some  lines  have  been  changed  slightly  to  be  more  applicable.  mature  content  and  language  may  be  used,  feel  free  to  adjust  as  necessary.

❝  do  you  want  to make  a  deal  with  the  devil?  ❞

❝  what  am  i  gonna  do  with  a  soul  anyway?  ❞

❝  souls  are  boring.  boo,  souls!  ❞

❝  if  we  get  through  this,  is  there  a  thing  where  we,  like,  talk  to  each  other about  stuff...  normally?  ❞

❝  you  mean  you  wanna  talk  about  the  big  shit?  ❞

❝  we  don’t  have  any  feelings,  what  are  you  talking  about? ❞

❝  you  sound  deranged.  ❞

❝  i  was  wondering,  do  you  think  it’s  possible  to  sue  a  person  -  a  grandparent,  for  example  -  in  an  affectionate  way?  ❞

❝  i  love  you,  i’m  glad  you’re  part  of  my  life,  but  i’m  taking  legal  action  against  you.  ❞

❝  the  fucking  belligerent  zucchini  here  is  set  to  close  negotiations  for  good.  ❞

❝  you’re  going  to  sue  greenpeace?  i  like  your  style.  who  do  you  think  you’re  going  to  go  after  next,  save  the  children?  ❞

❝  can  he  do  a  speech?  the  demented  fucking piss-mad  king  of  england?  ❞

❝  the  only  way  they’ll  respect  you  is  if  you  try  to  destroy  them.   ❞

❝  you’re  not  a  killer.  you  have  to  be  a  killer.  ❞

❝  family  therapy,  family  therapy,  family  therapy!  ❞

❝  i  have,  like,  twenty  bucks  left.  the  world  is  so  fucked  up.  ❞

❝  your  principles?  don’t  be  an  asshole,  you  don’t  have  principles.  ❞

❝  this  is  not  fucking  charles  dickens  world,  okay?  ❞

❝  i  just  wonder  if  the  sad  i’d  be  without  you  is  less  than  the  sad  i  get  from  being  with  you.  ❞

❝  are  we  talking  to  each  other  on  the  deck  of  a  majestic  schooner?  is  the  salty  brine  stinging  my  weather-beaten  face?  no?  then  why  the  fuck  are  you  wearing  a  pair  of  deck  shoes?  ❞

❝  you  don’t  hear  much  about  syphilis  these  days,  very  much  the  myspace  of  STDS.   ❞

❝  what  i  think  they  meant  to  say  was  that  they  wished  your  mom  gave  birth  to  a  can  opener,  because  then  at  least  it  would  be  useful.  ❞

❝  when  you  laugh,  please  do  it  at  the  same  volume  as  everyone  else.  we  didn’t  get  you  from  a  hyena  farm.  ❞

❝  they  did  once  call  me  the  cunt  of  monte  cristo.    ❞

❝  you  little  slime  puppy.  ❞

❝  don’t  threaten  me,  i  don’t  have  time  to  jerk  off.  ❞

❝  who  said  i  never  killed  anyone?  ❞

❝  i  don’t  mean  to  be  insulting,  but  having  been  around  a  bit,  my  hunch  is  that  you’re  going  to  get  fucked  because  i’ve  seen  you  get  fucked  a  lot.  and  i’ve  never  seen  [name]  get  fucked  once.  ❞

❝  i’d  castrate  you  and  marry  you  in  a  heartbeat.  ❞

❝  i  just  feel  because  of  my  physical  length,  i  could  be  a  target  for  all  kinds  of  misadventures.  ❞

❝  oh  here  they  come,  the  attention  whore.  ❞

❝  do  you  have  a  fetish  for  nearly  killing  our  dad?  like,  just  the  tip,  but  for  nearly  killing  our  dad?  ❞

❝  the  gang’s  all  here,  it’s  like  the  fucking  sgt.  pepper  for  broken  corporate  america.  ❞

❝  you  aren’t  judas-ing,  are  you?  ❞

❝  sometimes  i  think,  should  i  maybe  listen  to  the  things  you  say  directly  in  my  face  when  we’re  at  our  most  intimate?  ❞

❝  are  they  playing  from  the  approved  playlist?  because  my  thing  was  all  bangers,  all  the  time.  ❞

❝  oh  really?  it’s  not  cool  to  tell  the  president  to  blow  me?  ❞

❝  some  guy  with  an  undercut  just  called  me  soy  boy.  ❞

❝  he  never  saw  anything  he  loved  that  he  didn’t  want  to  kick  just  to  see  if  it  still  came  back.  ❞

❝  right  now,  i’m  the  real  you.  ❞

❝  we  should  be  good  people.  wouldn’t  it  be  nice  to  wake  up  in  the morning  and  not  feel  like  a  fucking  piece  of  shit?  ❞

❝  i  think  you’re  a  super  talented  superstar,  and  i  love  you.  ❞

❝  oh,  you’re  such  a  fucking  bitch.  ❞

[thenewfuture]

So Kamakura (Hajime), do you like boats?

Boats?

Yeah, why would I-

Holy shit I love boats.

Wait wha-

I'm definitely a sailboat kind of guy. My favorite is probably the schooner. Ketches are great too, it's just not the same configuration appeal. Unless you're into racing then.

Uh, what?-

That boat we came on was okay, y'know? It wasn't terrible and it's not great, it's just okay. And in some ways that's the worst kind of boat. It's boring!

Uh, Hajime...? Y-you good?

Here, lemme show some pics of my yaht. You haven't seen a great yaht until you've seen my yaht! Where's my iphone?

Wait wait wait, you have a fucking yaht!?-

*He shows them the picture* Look at this pristine baby. I call her the S.S. Koizumi. And god, is she wonderful! Are you jealous? I think you're jealous.

Don't you see? I love motherfucking boats. BOATS BOATS BOATS BOATS BOATS BOATS BOATS BOATS-

*Hajime smacks himself*

What the fuck was that?!

That should be OUR line!

[pregnant-piggy]

The Crow’s Nest

The Crows x reader

words: 12.1k

warnings: underage drinking, fire, character death, guns

A/N: am I slowly indoctrinating you with my pirate obsession? perhaps... ;) this is based on a dream I had while reading the first book and it wouldn’t leave me until I had written it. Let me know what you think of it! <3

translations (part real languages, part fictional):

Teufel -- devil

Fortell meg -- tell me

Jer elsker pe -- I love you

Faen -- fuck, damn

Goede morgen -- good morning

The grey waves hit against the hull of The Teufel, rocking the ship back and forth in the restless water. The howling wind creeped around every corner, finding even the warmest spots to cool the air and sparing no one from its breeze. The old sails fluttered in the force of the wind and loud slaps could be heard whenever the canvas hit against the mast. Little raindrops were falling from the sky, creating a layer of damp on everything in the open. 

Thunder sounded far away in the sky, back in the open sea, but The Teufel was going the other way. Kerch was approaching steadily and if the winds didn’t turn suddenly, the ship would reach land before the sun had fully set. 

The coastline of Ketterdam, the city The Teufel would arrive at, was peculiar with its high buildings and built-up streets. The lights of the city lit up the sky like an orange halo in the darkening heavens. 

You leaned with two arms on the railing of the ship, watching the city approach over the water. Behind you the strongest members of the crew were working on the sails, steering the schooner into the right direction. You listened to the shouts and orders with half an ear, imagining what the city of Ketterdam would be like and where you would go after the ship had moored. Unlike many of the older ones in the crew you had never been to Kerch before. In the last two years The Teufel hadn’t gotten close to the island, finding enough profit near the coasts of Novyi Zem. Three weeks ago, however, the captain had ordered to turn the sails and head South, much to your delight. 

Your entire life you had heard stories about Kerch. When you were very little, you had asked your grandmother over and over again to tell you about her trips to Ketterdam. Though you had been too young to understand most of what her stories meant, you had adored how your grandma was able to take you to a different world with her words only. It was a gift that you most admired and one that she had passed on to you. 

Your parents passed away in a futile attempt to protect the town against the brutality of the land’s council. You had been just seven years old and the surviving neighbours hadn’t known what to do with you, so you had been sent to a boarding school in the countryside. Far away from the danger of the city they’d said, but you had known it was just to get rid of you. You had grown up in a strict environment, in a house full of stern teachers and meek children. But even there you hadn’t forgotten about your grandmother’s stories. Although the students thought you were odd, they would all gather around you in the sleeping hall after midnight when the teachers were to bed and you would tell them a story the same way your grandma had told them to you. 

The older you had gotten the more trouble you’d seemed to cause. Obeying the rules had soon proven not to be something for you, at least not when you thought the rules were useless. With every year you’d grown older, you had found more ways to plant mischief. The punishments had gotten harder every time but you had refused to bend to their rules. Eventually they had been the one to give up and they had kicked you out of the school. At the age of fourteen you had been a homeless orphan only good for trouble. 

For weeks you had travelled on your own and you had ended up at the harbour, where you had stumbled upon The Teufel. At first the captain had refused to take you on; he had no use for a child. It had been your talent to speak Kerch, Ravkan and a little bit of Fjerdan that had gotten you on board the ship that would become your new home. 

For the past two years you had travelled along with the crew, learning to live on the ocean. Not a moment you had regretted your decision. The crew had accepted you as part of their family. The captain, Nerseh, had taken you on as his own daughter, learning you the tricks of maintaining a crew. Mayranoush, the quartermaster, was a strict woman who had at first scared you because she had seemed to be so much like your teachers at the boarding school. After a while you had gotten used to her, however, and it was from her that you had learnt how to shoot and how to read people’s faces like an open book. From the sailing master you learned how to read maps and the gunners had tried to teach you how to aim, but you had never mastered that skill. Stefan had taught you how to fight with a sword, Marina taught you the ropes and Hai learned you basic first aid and other cures that were necessary in combat. 

In two years you had learned enough to make yourself useful on the ship and you had grown from just their translator to a valuable member of the crew. The Teufel was your home and you could not think of a better place for you. 

“Are you excited?” Stefan stood next to you and followed your gaze to the skyline of Ketterdam. 

You tore your eyes from the city and looked at the big blond man with his bright blue eyes. When you first stepped on the ship he was the first one of the crew to approach you and you had been surprised by the Fjerdan’s conviviality. Your teachers had always taught you that the people from Fjerda were cold and distant. But ten minutes spent in Stefan’s company proved all of that wrong. He had guided you in your first weeks and now he was your best friend, and your first friend. 

“I am,” you nodded. “I’ve been dreaming about this place since I was a toddler. I can’t wait to see what it's like.” 

Stefan smiled at you and leaned down on the railing next to you, his arm against yours. A warm feeling washed over you and sparkles shot through your upper body. The wind had died down to a light breeze and your hair wavered behind your neck as the wind blew directly into your face. A scent of smoke, burned sugar and oil filled your nose and you closed your eyes, taking in the smell and registering the different scents. This was the essence that your grandmother had talked about and now you were experiencing it yourself. 

When you opened your eyes you noticed that Stefan was watching you intently. You smiled and raised one arm from the railing so you could turn to him. He wanted to say something to you, you could see it in his face. “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” he stammered, his pale cheeks blossoming red immediately. 

“Fortell meg, Fjerdan,” you ordered Stefan to tell you and, though you didn’t think it was possible, his cheeks got even redder. 

The big, blushing man looked away from you and cleared his throat. His gaze was pointed at his feet and then he turned it to the horizon. The wind was playing with the blond curls of his hair, that looked golden in the light of the setting sun. He cleared his throat again and then he mumbled something. 

“I can’t hear you, doofus,” you laughed and nudged your shoulder against Stefan’s arm. “A little louder, please.” 

Stefan sighed and turned his head to look at you. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on your upper arm. The feeling of his warm hand on your bare arm made your heart flutter. Your lips parted and you sucked in a little breath. 

“Jer elsker pe,” Stefan whispered. I love you. 

Your heart stopped. The pulse in your chest disappeared for a moment and when your heart beat again, it did twice as hard. Stefan was no Heartrender but you were sure he could hear your heartbeat too. 

“Stefan, I—” you started, taking Stefan’s other hand in yours. 

However before you could go on, Captain Nerseh appeared from his hut and started shouting over the main deck. “Stefan! I need you up front!” Nerseh said and he walked to the forecastle deck, ordering the rest of the crew on his way. Stefan was still standing in front of you, your hands holding his but his face turned to the captain. This one turned around. “Now, please!” 

The Fjerdan let go of you and hurried away, leaving you on your own. You held onto the railing for support as you felt your weight shift to your legs. All the excitement you had felt just mere minutes ago had now completely vanished and you looked around panicky. Not even a lifetime on sea could have prepared you for that. 

-=-=-

The Jolly Roger was changed for a neutral flag with the colours of Novyi Zem and The Teufel navigated into the Fifth Harbour of Ketterdam. Once the anchor had been lowered and the ship lay still, a small party was sent out to get stock while the others were free to go wherever they wanted. 

Stefan was sent with the quartermaster, Mayranoush, and Hai for food and ammunition and he was off the schooner before you could follow him. You watched him leave the Harbour, standing on the main deck. His blonde hair shone in the last rays of sunshine and he was visible for a long time, until his figure disappeared in the bigger crowd. Gone before you could talk to him. 

“I want y'all back at twelve bells,” Captain Nerseh said and he waved the rest of the crew off. 

Hesitantly you walked off The Teufel onto the docks. The first few steps were wobbly and uneven, as it had been a few weeks since you had last walked on land, but after shaking your feet and legs, you got used to walking again. Those familiar tingles, that you always got when walking on shore after so long on sea, shot through your legs and you were filled with a mix of anxiety and excitement. 

Here on land the scent was even stronger, luring you into the streets. You glanced back at The Teufel over your shoulder and shrugged off the uneasy feeling you got at the thought of leaving your home behind in the harbour. Pulling up your boots a little, you turned away and stepped into the city, finally experiencing what you had dreamed of for so long. 

The streets of Ketterdam were unlike any other place you had ever been. Big crowds of tourists and inhabitants were moving as one through the small streets of the Lid. Men, women and children all walked through each other, barely taking notice of the persons passing them. The lights coming through the shop windows casted yellow and white shapes on the cobblestoned ground, with which the shadows of the people danced. 

You followed the crowd into the buzzing parts of town, falling in step with the other tourists. Many years ago your grandmother had told you that the Lid was filled with gambling houses and it was the place where the most tourists stuck around. And indeed, as you walked on the crowd gradually got thinner with people leaving right and left to fall into the temptation of the colourful buildings decorated with bright lights. Faint music combined with the loud chatter of people in all languages hung in the salty air, like a blanket that was thrown over this part of the city. 

However, all that you could think of was Stefan’s face and his words. Jer elsker pe. In a haze you walked through the busy streets, hearing Stefan’s voice over and over in your head. His touch was imprinted on your skin, the place where his hand had been was burning hot on your arm. 

You had known, that was the worst part. For a few weeks you had known. You had sensed it whenever he was looking at you or when he was touching you. The look on his face was different from before. There had been a softness on the Fjerdan’s face that hadn’t been there before. A weakness. It was an undeliberate thought, but it made its way in your mind anyway. If the past ten years of your life had taught you one thing it was that you had to hide your weaknesses. From enemies and friends. 

It had been a particular hot night at the boarding school and you hadn’t been able to sleep. That day a new girl had arrived at the school and she’d sat down next to you at breakfast. Many of the others had scowled at her but she had ignored them and instead introduced herself as Lotty. It was the first time that someone had voluntarily come to you and the rest of the day you had spent getting Lotty familiar with the school and its surroundings. 

You’d heard the girl stirring next to you and padded over to her. Upon seeing your face, a smile had spread on Lotty’s face and you had whispered: “Want to get out of here?”

Very cautiously you and Lotty had left the sleeping hall and on your toes you had run through the empty corridors of the school building. All the teachers had been asleep already and the big clock in the hall had showed that it was two hours after midnight. 

The front door had opened with a small squeak and the dark night air had welcomed you and Lotty outside. The gardens of the boarding school surrounded the entire building with grass, flowers and low bushes. A sweet, humid scent had hung in the air, the result of the sun that had shone on the flowers all day. 

You and Lotty had sat down in the middle of a flower bed and you had told her about everything. For the first time in your life you’d felt like you had a friend and you had trusted her with some of the secrets you knew about the school’s building. For hours you two had sat outside, until the sun had started to rise and the petals of the flowers had started to collect the morning humidity. As you had gotten up, you’d put your hand on the ground to push yourself up and you felt something crawl under your palm. You had squealed and stumbled back quickly, staring in disgust at the place where you had put your hand. There on the ground a thick spider had quickly crawled away under the flowers. 

Lotty’d started to laugh and you had scolded her. Spiders had always scared you and no matter how much you’d tried to get over it, whenever you saw one you couldn’t help but shudder. 

Back at the sleeping hall you had fallen into a restless sleep for the last few hours, dreaming of a thousand legs and jaws. When you’d woken up, Lotty hadn’t been there and at breakfast she had sat with the other children, not with you. 

The next morning you had woken up with something crawling up your arm and the sound of laughter. 

And now Stefan had shown you his weakness. Though you would never use it against him like Lotty had done to you, there was something that bothered you now you knew his weakness. What if unintentionally you would cause him trouble or danger?

“Watch where you’re going!” a man sneered and he roughly pushed past you. 

You shook your head out of your thoughts and looked around. The bright gambling dens had been replaced by small, tall and crooked houses made by all different sorts of bricks and wooden beams for support. The streets were still busy but this was a different crowd. People with comical masks and cloaks moved in little groups, quickly and rushed, as if they were afraid someone would stop them. A few people wore gaudy suits and moved proudly over the streets, their hands in their pockets. The others wore more ragged clothes in dark colours and they walked with their heads down to the ground. 

You were in the Barrel, undoubtedly. The gambling houses were still there, but more scattered. Still they weren’t much different from the ones on the Lid; a lot of dramatic lightning and flashing colours, all so that the most people would come in. 

The East Stave was on your left. You had refused ever to step foot near the brothels on the West Stave. The horrid stories that your grandmother had told you had already been enough to keep you away and the rumours you had heard from the crew on The Teufel had only added to that. 

Your legs were getting tired from walking so much and the unnerving thoughts were still whirling through your head. On The Teufel you would have searched for Stefan and gotten drunk with him hidden somewhere on the deck, but Stefan wasn’t here and The Teufel was far back in the harbour. So instead you searched for the least ostentatious building and eventually settled on a gambling club called the Crow Club. 

A silver crow hung over the entrance of the club and you looked up to it as you walked under it, entering the building. You stepped into a big hall that was parted in two by a lowered floor in the back. The black lacquered walls had no windows and all sense of night and day was lost as soon as you stepped inside. The little clock around your neck told you it was little after ten bells. That meant that you had one hour and a half before you had to go back. 

You sat on one of the crimson stools at the bar and ordered a drink from the man behind it. He eyed you for a moment and you noticed he was contemplating whether to give someone your age a drink, but he seemed to decide that profit is profit and poured you a drink. You watched him while he worked for a moment. He was not as old as you had thought him to be. The only wrinkles in his face were near the corners of his mouth and the cracks next to his eyes. His skin was dark bronze and his hair pitch black, almost like the walls around him. And what he lacked in height he seemed to be making up in strength, as his arms were muscular and he looked strong enough to throw a man twice his size out of the place. 

The drink burned in your throat, but you threw it all in anyway. For a moment your gullet was on fire and the next moment it was gone. The years among a group of adult pirates had learned you how to take your drinks. 

You asked the bartender for another and you didn’t miss the surprise on his face, but turned the other way, looking at the parlor around you. Most of the tables in the lower part of the room were occupied by a variety of people. In the left corner of the room sat a couple, their feet entangled under the table, but their eyes fanatically looking at the other. 

At a table closer to you sat a woman in a bright red dress with feathers in her hair. From your place you could see the cards in her hand and if you stretched your neck a little you could also see the cards of her neighbour. The table was playing Ridderspel, a simple card game played with the lower numbers of the cards. It was a game to make little money quickly and one of the most played card games in gambling houses everywhere. 

The woman had two sevens, an eight and a four of the crow-marked cards in her hand and she pushed forward four little red chips when the dealer asked to place the bets. Her neighbour pushed forward two grey chips and the man opposite of her one grey and one red one. The dealer collected the chips and stacked them in the middle of the table. 

On The Teufel you had played many games of Ridderspel with the crew. However, after a while they had banned you from playing games for money. It hadn’t taken long for you to see connections between the faces of people and their cards. You could see a pattern in the order they played their cards and knew after showing the first card of the game who would win.

It had started with Ridderspel. One dark night under the light of a lantern you had been playing the game with Stefan and two others of the crew, Vinay and Cilka, when you had noticed that whenever Cilka got her cards the lightest frown would form on her face if she didn’t get good cards. It was invisible to anyone else, but you saw how her eyebrows would twitch shortly. You knew that everyone had their tells, some more obvious than others, but after that night you had searched the others’ signs. Vinay’s shoulders would slump a little if he had bad cards and Stefan’s eyes would flicker shortly over the table if his cards were good. 

After you had learned their signs, you’d noticed that there was a pattern in the way they played their cards. If they had bad cards, they played the highest first, hoping to at least get a little out of the game. If they had good cards, they would hold their highest cards for the end, but they wouldn’t play their lowest card first either. It was a complicated strategy, a difficult trick on your mind, but after months of examining the game, both playing and from afar, you found the pattern. From there on it wasn’t difficult to find the patterns in other games and soon you were banned from playing games on the entire ship. 

However, whenever you were on land and there was a gambling house in the city, the crew would often ask you if you could just play some games so they could get some money. You knew that with you playing at the table the game wasn’t fair anymore, but you would do it night after night if that meant you could do something for your crew. 

Now, you knew that the woman in red had a good chance of winning the game. She tapped her fingers on her thigh and kept staring at her cards. So much for a bluffing face. The dealer asked to play the first card and the woman threw one of her sevens on the table. Not the highest and not the lowest. Her neighbours answered by throwing an eight and a five. 

The next round was played and now the woman played her four, receiving another eight and a seven. She is playing out her opponents. If they wanted to win, they would have to change the course, but you feared it was already too late for them. The woman threw her eight on the table and the others a seven and a five. The last card was played and at her seven, the woman got a six and a four. 

As the dealer started to count the points you turned away; you didn’t need to count the points to know that the woman in the red dress had won the game. 

“Another one, please,” you said to the barman in Kerch and he nodded at you. Curiosity could be read off his face even by those who didn’t have your talent of understanding facial expressions. 

When he gave you your glass his eyes lingered on your clothes and you realised how idiotic you must look in this environment. Though the people in the hall weren’t all wearing evening dresses or three-piece suits, you knew that someone in a black jacket and leather boots to their knees would stand out. Consciously you stroke a hand over the braids in your hair and looked at the bartender. 

“Don’t worry,” he said as he noticed your looks. “Many tourists come dressed up.” 

You tilted your head to the side and hesitated telling him the truth. Figuring there wouldn’t come much trouble from doing so, you sat up and shook your head. “These are my normal clothes.” 

The barkeeper cocked an eyebrow and then went on with cleaning the glasses. You stared at the brown liquid in your glass before you knocked it back and softly placed your glass back on the bar. The movement caught the attention of the man behind the bar and he lifted the bottle, silently asking if you wanted another one. 

“Sure,” you answered and pushed your glass forward. 

The way the man filled the glass reminded you of how Stefan used to fill your glass. While you preferred to drink straight from the bottle, he would always insist on taking glasses from the galley. 

“We can at least pretend we’re fancy,” he’d say, as you were hidden in the shadows of the back of the ship. 

A faint smile played on your lips as you thought back of Stefan, but your inside burned as you heard his last words back in your head. Jer elsker pe. The truth was that you weren’t quite sure if you loved Stefan back. He had always been close to you and you appreciated him being such a good friend to you, but you didn’t love him the way he loved you. At least, that’s what you thought. You had never really experienced love before, so how could you know what it felt like? 

“Maybe you should slow on those,” the bartender said as you placed yet another empty glass on the bar. 

“No,” you rasped, fighting the burn in your throat. “I’ve had worse.” 

“I can stop giving you, y’know?” the man said as you lifted your glass again for another. 

“And not get paid? You wouldn’t.” 

The barkeeper laughed and poured you another glass. This time you didn’t immediately drink it all, but you turned around on your stool and looked at the biggest table on the floor. It was an oval-shaped table, lined with the same crimson of the seat you were sitting on, and around it sat seven people. Dice lay in the middle of the table, surrounded by grey, black and red chips and a stack of cards. 

Even in the noise of the other tables and people walking between them, the conversations at the big table were clear. 

“You’re bluffing!” the man on the right shouted. He was big in all aspects someone could be big. The hems of his trousers were too high up his legs and the sleeves of his jacket were too short. The golden buttons of his blouse were about to burst and his hat kept sliding off his head because it didn’t fit well. His appearance was only mimicked more by his dark red cheeks and the little drops of sweat that were rolling down his face. 

“Am not,” the lanky, dark brown man on the other side of the table said. He had a wicked grin on his handsome face and seemed to be in his element. His feet were lying on the edge of the table and he held his cards loosely in his hand, like they were to fall any moment. 

“How could you—? You don’t— No one—” the big man started and the colour drained from his face. You had missed what the beginning of the conversation was, but surely it was not something the big man wanted to come out. 

“Maybe you should try to keep such information to yourself,” the tall guy said. “Now, are you in or out?” 

The surrounding men at the table nervously shifted in their seats as they looked at the big man. He patted his head with a silk handkerchief and stared at his cards for a moment. A new set of sweat seemed to pour over his forehead and eventually he threw his cards open on the table. ‘I’m out.’ 

The man got up from the table and he hurried away, followed by the other five men. They walked past you in a queue outside and when they were all gone, the guy at the table smiled pleased.

“He was bluffing,” you noted, after taking a quick glance at the cards that were lying open on the table. 

“What?” the barman asked, who had watched the play with you, and you were reminded that you were not alone. 

A warm rush spread in your cheeks and you turned your head to the bartender. “That guy was bluffing to scare the man away.” 

The man squeezed his eyes at you and said a little too late: “Why’d you think that?” 

“Look at the cards on the table,” you said and peered back at the big table. “That man on the left had two of the highest and the person two seats from him had another. I can’t see the cards on this side of the table, but whatever they are, this guy can never have enough to win.” 

The barman looked at you for a few seconds. “How do you know?” 

You looked out over the hall, scanning the games on other tables. “You learn things,” you shrugged and then nodded to a little table closer by. “See that guy? How he is glancing between his cards and the dealer’s hands?” The barkeeper leaned forward over the bar and looked at where you were pointing. “He has good cards and is trying not to let anyone notice it.” 

The man leaned back from the bar and filled your glass without you even asking. He rested one hand on the bar and looked at you. “Where did you learn that?” 

“Well, you have to do something on a ship,” you said, swirling the drink. “Eventually staring at the stars all night gets a bit boring.” 

The barman snorted laughingly. “You’re from a ship?” Then he looked at your outfit again and he nodded. “Now that makes a lot more sense,” he mumbled. “When did you arrive?” 

“About an hour ago,” you answered and pulled the clock from your blouse. 

Meanwhile, the handsome guy from the big table walked to the bar and he greeted the bartender as he sat down one seat away from you. You looked at him from the corner of your eye and stopped at the guns on his hips. The clock lowered without you realising and you gave up on trying to hide your stare. 

The two pearl-handled guns shone in the light from above and you shook your head in disbelief. Zemini-made revolvers were rare, and you would know. You had heard stories about them from your mates on The Teufel, but none of them had ever even had one in their hands. Only Nerseh in his younger years had owned one, but he had lost it in a battle. The Zemini guns were feared among your crew and there were two of them right next to you now. 

“See anything you like, darling?” the guy asked and your eyes shot from his revolvers to his face. He had that same mischievous smile on his lips and there was a glimmer in his eyes as he raised his eyebrow at you. 

“Those are pretty rare guns,” you said, ignoring the guy’s suggestive tone. 

He took one of the revolvers from the holster and let it twirl in his fingers. Though you didn’t want to, you felt a shiver run down your spine at the ease with which the boy handled his guns. You had gotten quite familiar with your own guns, but you had yet to learn that. 

The boy must have seen your googling eyes because he smiled a bit more real now and said: “I know, Zemini-made. You don’t find that very oft—” 

“Faen!” you interrupted in Fjerdan, using the word that you had heard Stefan say so often. You had looked at your watch and realised that it was much later than you had thought it was. It was already a quarter till midnight and it would take you at least twenty minutes to get back to the harbour. You jumped from your seat, threw some coins on the bar and straightened your coat, mumbling: “Stupid windowless walls…” 

Without sparing another look at the two guys you left behind you stormed out of the Crow Club into the street. Rain was pouring down from the sky and you shivered at the sudden cold. For a second you looked around and scanned your surroundings and then you hurried off in the direction you had come from. 

People passed you in a blur of colours and shadows as you ran over the streets, desperately trying to find a way back to the harbour. The captain wouldn’t appreciate you being late and it would most likely cause you a night scrubbing the deck on a night you actually had been free. But perhaps Stefan would accompany you. 

Your mind automatically seemed to find a way to think of your best friend. The situation in the gambling hall had taken your mind off him for a minute but now your logical senses were numbed by the alcohol the Fjerdan was back again. Stefan could’ve easily found his way back. The boy could find a route almost everywhere, even in a place you had never been before. He would just follow the direction of the sun or look at the leaves on a tree and know where you were. 

But Stefan wasn’t there to guide you back. He was probably already back at The Teufel, waiting impatiently on you. 

Every alley looked the same and all the gambling houses had the same flashy lights. You didn’t know if you were moving forward or just running in circles. Somewhere above in the sky you heard the twelve bells that told you you had to be back already. With the feeling you had passed the house on the corner of the street three times before, you ran on, ignoring the protesting people if you ran into them. You almost fell over your own feet and nearly stumbled into a girl dressed all in dark clothes. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, pushing away from her softly but when you turned around to her she was nowhere to be seen on the street. You were too much in a hurry to worry about that and ran on, sighing in relief when you saw the fluorescent lights from the Lid. 

The Lid was filled with more people than the Barrel you ran from and it was harder to manage a way through. You pushed and threw yourself between people, growing a little nauseous from the smell of so many bodies together combined with the smells that came from the kitchens around. As you hurried through the tourists, your breath was high in your throat and you could feel your heart beating in your head. Heavy breaths fell over your lips but you refused to take a moment to rest. 

The glittery lanes were soon exchanged for the dark open space of the harbour. The cobblestones echoed the sounds of your footsteps as you ran. People shot you weird looks as you raced past them. 

The closer you came to where The Teufel lay, the busier it became, but instead of searching for a reason you just hoped that you could still make it past them. However, the crowd became too big for you to run as fast as you had and you slowed your pace slightly. You zigzagged between people and pushed them aside, getting various insults thrown at your head. As you came closer to the inner circle of the crowd, you realised that they weren’t just randomly standing there; they were standing around The Teufel. 

You stopped running completely and approached the busiest part of the crowd at walking pace. Now you weren’t focusing on your own thoughts you heard that the people were all muttering and talking with each other—and that the people closer to the water were screaming and shouting. 

The few people that stood in between you and your destination you pushed aside softly and the closer you got the more you felt a strange heat on your face. When the woman in front of you stepped aside, your jaw dropped. 

There, in the water, right where it had been when you left earlier this night, lay The Teufel completely in flames. Not a single part of the main deck had been spared, flames were reaching high up in the sky, eating the masts like a monstrous creature. Thick dark grey clouds hung above the ship in the dark blue night sky. The flames curled around the hull of The Teufel, like a devil claiming its prey. Wooden walls collapsed, iron melted and ropes caught fire, sending the flames up to destroy the crow’s nest. 

Among the chaos on the shore and the sound of the fire, all you could think about was one thing. My family. The shouting and cackling couldn’t drown out the screams of terror that came from the belly of the ship. Cries for help, prayers to all gods and saints. Your crew was in there. Your people were inside of a burning ship. Your friends and family. They were all trapped. 

It could have been you. If you hadn’t lost track of time, you would’ve been there with them. You would have arrived before the twelve bells, gone inside with the others and would be trapped in there now. It could have been you, but instead it was your crew. And you didn’t know what was worse. 

There was nothing you could do. No way to run on the ship and free your mates without catching fire yourself. No way to stop that fire that was capturing The Teufel. No human could do it, no grisha either. This was more than an accidental fire, this was controlled. Don’t fight a bigger power without knowing its weaknesses. It was a phrase your father would say to you whenever you had been mad at the world as a child. The advice he had ignored before he had gone to fight his way into death. You didn’t know what the fire’s weaknesses were, if there were any weaknesses at all. All you could do was stand on the shore with your hands clasped over your chest and your eyes stuck on what had once been The Teufel. What had once been your home. 

The screams of the crew were engraving themselves in your mind, cutting you open and leaving deep wounds. The last bit of your hope had been left behind on that ship and was now burning away, leaving nothing but a hollow chest. 

Time passed by as you stood on the shore, watching the last remains of your home falling apart. You didn’t look away when the fire burst through the portholes in the hull of the ship and you didn’t flinch as you heard the last sounds you would ever hear from your crewmates. You took it all in, soaked your mind in the pain, feeling the shock and terror making place for fury. One day, you promised yourself. One day you would find a way to get revenge. 

You knew that in a city like this news would spread fast. Surely before sunrise all the people in Ketterdam would know of the ship that had burned away in Fifth Harbour. You wouldn’t be safe; not from the questions of the people and not from whoever had done this. You were sure that they wouldn’t be too keen on having missed someone from the crew before they blew it up. Chances were big that, if anyone ever found out that you had belonged to The Teufel, your days would be numbered. 

Fortunately you hadn’t told anyone you were part of The Teufel’s crew. Anyone but the barman at the Crow Club. You hadn’t literally told him, but you were sure he could put two and two together. 

Once the fire had been settled and the ashes of the wood were only still smoldering, you straightened your back. You would find the barman and ask him not to tell anyone. Or perhaps you would find your ending in the streets of the Barrel. The Teufel had been your home for two years, but it was time to get moving. 

-=-=-

The Crow Club stood proudly in front of you. Rain was running down your face, following the lines of your neck into your blouse. You were cold and your entire body was shaking but you knew that was more from the shock than the rain. In the back of your head you still heard the screams but you tried to block them out as you stepped to the gambling house. 

As you walked closer to the entrance, a boy stepped in front of the door, blocking your way. He was huge with arms full of tattoos and a mouth full of crooked teeth, some of them missing, and when you approached him you realised he was watching you. He expected me. This guy had been waiting for you, he had known that you would come back. How could he?

Hesitating you went forward. You had already seen the gun on his belt and you were quite sure if you turned around and walked away he wouldn’t be afraid to use it. In front of the boy you stopped and leaned to the side to look inside the building. 

“I’m sorry, could I go inside?” you asked, your voice mellow and innocent. “I would really like to warm up a little.” 

The man just tilted his head to the side and his lips turned into a stupid grin. His hand rested casually on his gun, though you knew that all his moves had been precisely calculated. Whether by himself or someone’s orders was your next guess. 

“You better follow me,” the boy said and his eyes glassily looked at you. 

“Do I have a choice then?” 

“No.” The man took his gun from his belt and easily pointed it to your chest. If he shot now he wouldn’t kill you, just harm you. So he wants me alive. 

“Fine, fine,” you mumbled and lifted your arms in the air to show you were defenceless. 

The guy roughly pushed you away from the door and held the barrel to your back as he led you away from the Crow Club. 

You weren’t sure why the boy didn’t just put a bullet through your head. If he was part of whoever had burned down The Teufel, why would he want you to stay alive? The rest had been murdered mercilessly, what did they have in mind for you? 

However, if he wasn’t not part of the fire, why did he want to have you at all? You couldn’t think of anything you had done wrong or of any danger you could be. You were pretty much just a harmless teen in a strange city. 

The man pushed you through the street and over a bridge. You made a few turns into small alleys and streets, passing houses in all shapes and kinds. Behind some windows flickered a soft light, others were dark. You heard screaming from one house and music from the house next to it. Laughter of children and cursing from adults. 

You stopped in front of a house that looked exactly like all the others; crippled and on the brink of collapse. The guy held his gun to you as he kicked open the door and then pressed the barrel deeper in your back to make you walk. Slowly you passed over the threshold and stood still in the hall of the house. 

Much different from what you had expected, the inside of the house was not damaged like the outside. While the colours and construction did look old, the house was built to survive for longer than just a few years. 

“Up,” the man mumbled and he nodded to the stairs. 

You followed his order and headed up the stairs, feeling your legs ache from all the walking on land you had done in the past hours. Though you got used quite fast to the difference, a sudden change from sea to shore did have its effects on your body. Especially if you crossed an entire city twice in one night. 

The staircase led to a landing with many doors. The house wasn’t particularly big and with that many doors, you figured the rooms must be small. You wondered what this house was used for. It almost had the feeling of a hostel, but there wouldn’t be many guests if putting a gun to someone’s head was their way of advertising. 

“That room,” said the guy and he gestured at one of the doors in the corridor. 

The wooden planks creaked under the weight of your body. The door of the room was closed and the man with the gun knocked on it with much more restraint than you expected from someone who had just abducted you from the streets. 

It was silent for a moment as you and the man waited for the door to open. Your heart was beating in your throat and you swallowed deeply. Nerves were running through your body, sending tingles down to your fingertips. 

The door opened and before you had time to look inside, the guy pushed you inside and closed the door again behind you. You were inside a small room, with a bed, a chair and a closet that put half the room in shadows. On the wall opposite of the door was a little window, showing the side of another building that stood next to the house. The window reminded you of the portholes inside the hold of a ship, your least favourite place as there was very little light. 

However, the room didn’t have much space in your mind as your attention was caught by the person in the room. He could not be much older than you yet it felt like this boy had more character than an old man. His face was hidden in the shadows but you could make out the hard lines framed by sleek black hair. His eyes shone like emeralds under his dark brows and there was a malicious glance in them when they rested on you. 

“Sit,” he spoke and the rock salt rasp of his voice sent shivers down your spine. “Please.”

You sat down on the simple wooden chair in the middle of the room, though you rather would’ve kept standing. The boy was towering over you now, standing in front of you, leaning on his cane. Your eyes slid to the silver handle under his gloved hands. It had the shape of a crow’s head.  

 “Who are you?” you asked, trying to calm the nerves you felt rushing through you. You weren’t necessarily afraid of the boy, but you also couldn’t deny the unease in your body.

The boy cocked his head to the side and the smallest wicked grin played on his lips. “An hour ago a ship was set ablaze in Fifth Harbour,” the boy said and you looked away from his stern gaze. “The Teufel. A rather bold way of naming a ship, after the devil, isn’t it? Nothing is left of The Teufel, no plank, no crewmate. Or at least, so is said. That is why you are here, not y/n?” 

Your head snapped up to the boy and your eyes narrowed at him. “You know my name?” 

“I know lots, y/n, and your name happens to be on that list,” the boy said and it was a little harder for him to hide his smirk. He’s enjoying it, you realised in disbelief. This is what he’s trained for. “I also know that you are the only living crewmate and that you visited my club this evening.” 

“Your club?” You frowned—he seemed way too young to have a successful gambling club. 

“Yes, my club,” the boy repeated and he shifted his weight, letting a sigh fall from his lips. “You sat at the bar and ordered more drinks in two hours than an average adult would in four hours.” 

You looked back at your feet. You knew you had trouble staying away from the drinks, but that didn’t make it any nicer when someone pointed it out. At sea it had never really mattered—the others had drunk with you and as long as you did your duties successfully the captain didn’t care if you were sober or not. 

“You spoke with no one and just watched the games, until my barman got some information out of you,” the boy went on and you felt his gaze on you. “He said you were able to determine the outcome of the game after just the first card was played.” 

“So?” you shrugged. Surely that was not why the boy had gotten you there and it was definitely not something that was on your mind right now. All you could think of were the screams and the longer you sat in the dark room, the more cramped it became. 

“Can you?” 

“I don’t see how—” 

“Answer the question.” His voice was hard and cold, but laced with curiosity that he failed to hide from you. 

“I guess I can, yes.” 

The boy stayed silent for a while and the tension in the room reached for your throat. You had never been one for small rooms, that’s why you had chosen for the sea. And now the anxiety of all that had happened that night was piling up on your chest, like someone pressing down on you. The walls were closing in on you, leaving you gasping for breath. Your clothes were still wet and your hair stuck to your forehead and neck, but you were no longer cold. 

You clenched your hands around the fabric of your blouse, feeling it crumple between your fingers. But even in your panicked state you could see the change in demeanor in the boy. He planned this. He had known this would happen, he had deliberately put you in this room, knowing what it would do to you. 

“What do you want from me?” you breathed, looking up to meet his eyes, and then added with an intensity you didn’t know was in you: “Did you kill them?” 

The hard expression on the boy’s face fell for a moment as he looked at you. For a minute he turned into a boy his age, someone with a soul. “I promise you I didn’t kill them. I had nothing to do with the fire.” Then he straightened his back and slammed his cane on the floor, pulling himself out of the moment. “I have business. We’ll continue in the morning.” 

The boy limped to the door and the cane suddenly made more sense. He pulled the door open and stepped through it when you interrupted him. 

“Who are you?” 

He looked over his shoulder and casted a dark glance at your figure. You had stood up from your chair and were still holding onto the back for balance. There was an expression on his face that you couldn’t read and you feared that it wouldn’t be the last time that happened. 

“Kaz Brekker. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

-=-=-

The mattress you were lying on was lumpy and hard, forcing your back to straighten in a way it never had to. The blanket was itchy and heavy and pressed hard on your chest, not allowing you to take deep breaths. 

You were shifting in and out of sleep, unable to tell reality from imagination. One moment you were staring at the dark ceiling above you, the next you were sitting alone in the hold of The Teufel. The room around you moved in front of your eyes, the shadows dancing on the walls. In the ship, water slowly rose around you. You tried to get up, tried to run away, but it was as if you were glued to the floor. Unable to move you sat waiting for the rising water to reach for your throat. 

Something moved in the room. It was a flicker of a shadow in the corner of your eye but enough for you to notice. You forced your eyes open, but the water was rising so quickly it was impossible for you to focus on anything else. The water level was at your jaw now. You took a final breath and the shadow in the room moved again. Closing your eyes against the water, it rose above your nose. 

Then there was more movement. The shadow was coming closer to you, moving with the grace of a cloud. 

Feeling the water on your face, you opened your eyes and shot up in the bed. The water disappeared and you were in the dark room again, shaking and coughing. Yet the threat wasn’t gone; the shadow was still in the corner. 

You shifted to the side and rested your back against the cold wall, looking at the shadow in anticipation. While your heart was beating in your throat, you calmly looked ahead of you until the shadow moved from the corner. 

“How did you see me?” the shadow asked and you shrugged. 

“You move like a spider.” And I’m afraid of spiders. 

Out of the shadows stepped a young girl, hidden in a flowy cloak that moved along with her. The lack of light threw a veil over the room, covering it with a black and white filter, but still you could make out the brown skin of the girl and her almost black eyes, that were staring right at you. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, though it would be no surprise if the girl had something to do with your meeting with Brekker a few hours ago. 

“Look,” the girl said and she moved to sit next to you on the bed. You caught a shimmer of something near her wrists, but when you looked at her she was wearing a light smile. “This isn’t the worst place to end up. You have walked through these streets; you know where you could have ended.” 

You thought back of earlier this evening when you were walking through the roads of the Barrel for the first time. The girl was right; if you hadn’t been brought to where you were now you could have turned into the colourless types that you had seen or, worse, you could have ended up in one of the brothels. 

“Kaz doesn’t just take anyone in,” the girl continued. “He must think you have some use, or he would have left you on the streets.”

You snorted; that wasn’t exactly a much better prospect. 

The girl must have guessed your thought because she chuckled shortly. “I know it does not seem like it now, but trust me—this is the right place to be.” 

Silence filled the room for a minute as you thought about the girl’s words. Instinct told you that you could trust her, and that her trust once lost, was lost forever. There were so many questions you wanted to ask her but you were afraid of the answers. You preferred mystery over knowledge right now. 

The shadow girl was looking at you with pity on her face, like she felt bad for your situation. There was sympathy behind her eyes and compassion in her touch as she placed her hand shortly over yours, giving it the lightest squeeze. 

“What’s your name?” you asked, your throat tightening at the threat of tears. 

The girl stared at you for a second and then she gave you a smile. “Inej,” she said. “But you might hear of me as the Wraith.” 

Inej got up from her place on the bed and walked to the door. Her cloak fluttered behind her through the air as she walked, falling against her legs when she halted. She turned around to you. “Kaz will send someone to get you in the morning.” 

“What will happen?” 

“I don’t know what he has planned,” Inej sighed. “But I advise you to go along with it, or it might be the last you’ll do.” 

She shot you a final smile and left the room silently. The shadow disappeared as quietly as it had come. 

-=-=-

You didn’t know if you had slept at all. Undoubtedly you had dozed off for a while, but for most of the night you had just lain on your back staring at the stains on the ceiling above you. When the morning sun had brightened your room, the hope that it might all be a dream had disappeared when reality came in crashing hard. 

The clothes you had worn last night had dried from the rain, but they no longer brought the comfort they used to. Here wearing those clothes meant that you stood out; you couldn’t blend in. When the same guy as last night had knocked on your door and ordered you to follow him you had left your jacket behind, deciding that the rest of your outfit was conspicuous enough on its own. 

Last night in the dark the house had been silent, but now you heard noise everywhere. There were many more doors than you had thought and behind every one lay a secret. The house seemed bigger now it was light. Although there was no direct sunlight in the corridors you could sense that it was day. Last night you had felt mystery as you had walked through the corridors but now it felt more like the boarding school you had gone to with all the whispers. 

“Where are we going?” you asked the boy who had brought you to this house. 

“Crow Club,” he grumbled and then kept silent. 

You walked the same route you had last night, but now the streets were deserted and the houses quiet. The Barrel was the part of Ketterdam that lived at night. 

The big, silver crow that hung above the entrance of the Crow Club like a guardian quickly came to your sight and you shivered lightly. Entering that club was what had gotten you in this situation and you feared you would only get deeper in this mess when you entered again. 

However, the big guy behind you left you no choice and before you even had time to think he had already pushed you over the threshold. 

Stumbling inside you were greeted by the same black, windowless walls and the same stuffed scent. The crimson stools at the bar were unoccupied but the tables on the gambling floor were played on, despite the early hours. Games of Ridderspel and Spijker were in full motion as you were led through a door on the side of the room. 

“Close the door behind you, Pim,” a voice from the shadows said and the boy who had led you there, apparently named Pim, closed the door. 

You looked at the strange scene in front of you. You hadn’t known what to expect but it sure wasn’t a gambling parlor. There was one big table in the middle of the room and around it stood eight chairs. Only one of the chairs was occupied and with a jolt you recognised the boy from the Zemeni guns. 

“Goede morgen,” he smiled at you as he leaned back in his chair. “Care for a game?” 

“What?” You stood rooted to the ground, staring in confusion at the guy at the table. 

From the shadows on the side of the room Kaz Brekker stepped. The loud, rhythmic thud from his cane on the floor was the only sound in the room as he walked to the table. He stopped in the middle and looked up at you with his hard cold gaze. 

“Play a game,” he said, resting his two hands on the crow head of his cane. 

“I don’t understand,” you tried. 

“It’s easy,” Brekker said. “You said you were good at card games, right? So prove it—play a game with Jesper.”

Jesper, the boy at the table, flashed his smile full of white teeth at you and raised his eyebrows. It felt like a trap, but you couldn’t forget what Inej had said to you that night. I advise you to go along with it, or it might be the last you’ll do. An invitation to a game wouldn’t be your end. 

Behind you Pim stepped closer to you and put his hand on your shoulder to push you forward. Within a second you had turned around and taken hold of his arm, twisting it dangerously close to breaking. The boy looked at you with somewhat of fright on his face and there was a little wave of triumph in your stomach. The emotions of the situation got the better of you and your heart was racing as you felt the anger rushing through your veins.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed through gritted teeth and pushed his arm a little further. “Understand?” 

Pim’s eyes flashed to the two people behind you and he recollected himself. He pulled his arm from your grip and stepped back to the door, avoiding your eyes and looking gruffly ahead. 

You turned around and found Jesper looking at you in awe and even Brekker couldn’t hide his surprise. Then you nodded at the two men and took a seat on the opposite side of the table. “Let’s play then.”

Brekker nodded approvingly and shuffled the cards with his gloved hands. Your eyes were glued to the smooth movement of the crows imprinted cards. They slid through the fingers of the pale black-haired smoothly like water. 

“I assume you know Ridderspel?” the gloved dealer asked as he placed four cards in front of you on the table. 

“Of course,” you said, watching Jesper intently as this one got his cards. 

Because everything in the situation was new for you, it would take you two or three rounds before you would get used to the game. All, from the cards and chairs to your opponent and the dealer, was unfamiliar to you and combining that with the pressure of supposably your life on the line only made it easier to overlook things. 

Therefore you had to pay extra attention, and mostly to Jesper. His easygoing attitude and big smile were dangerous tricks that could throw you off without any difficulty but you wouldn’t fall for them. You were looking for little things that would give him away, like the slightest falter of his smile, a tiny frown or nervous twitch. 

Jesper picked up his cards and you watched him from the corner of your eyes as you pretended to look at your own cards. For this round however those wouldn’t really matter. First you had to find Jesper’s tell. That you might lose and give him confidence was only an additional benefit; people made more mistakes when they’re blinded by the price. 

At first nothing seemed to happen. Jesper kept the same smirk on his face and played the round with nonchalance, taking all but one pair in the game. Triumphantly he leaned his chair back on two chair legs and stacked his chips in front of him. 

“Don’t worry love, you’ll get it later,” he said, giving you a wink.

You shot him a sweet smile back and took the new cards off the table. After one look you had them memorised and you looked at Jesper. He was looking at his cards with sparkles in his eyes, but yet again it was no different than before. 

Silently you cursed yourself. Last night he had seemed so open and easy to read, but you realised now that there were many more layers to the guy with the pearl-handled revolvers. 

Again you lost the game, now with all your cards being lost to Jesper. His pile of red chips was building and yours was only getting lower. You looked at your chips. If you didn’t win soon the game would be over and you’d lose, and you didn’t want to think what consequences that had. 

The third game were the last cards of the deck before it was shuffled again. Your hand was to your benefit with no card lower than six. You knew there weren’t many high cards, if any at all, left in the game since Jesper had beaten you with high numbers every time. That meant that he would have low cards and now was the perfect time to watch his reaction. 

You took a new approach to finding his tell. Instead of focusing on his facial expressions, that he proved to have under control, you now concentrated on his body language. His shoulders hung relaxed and his arms were resting on the edge of the table. Though you couldn’t see his legs under the table, you knew they weren’t standing neatly on the ground but were instead crossed or at least moving. Nothing in his posture gave him away. 

Until it did. It was a flash of a second, if you’d blinked you wouldn't have seen it. For a fraction of time Jesper’s shoulders fell and his arms stiffened. No one else in the room noticed it, but your senses became hypersensitive. 

Then, when you looked at his face, you saw more. His smirk wasn’t genuine anymore and the sparkles in his eyes weren’t as bright as before. It were minuscule changes, but big messages to you. 

“I raise,” you spoke calmly and you pushed forward the last of your chips. It was all or nothing. 

You saw Brekker raising his eyebrow in the corner of your eye, but you were focused on Jesper. His brows furrowed a little and he pushed forward the same amount. Though he had chips left, if you won this round you would have much more than he, meaning you won this game. 

“Let’s play,” you grinned and opened with your six, your lowest card, but still a rather high card. 

Jesper’s card would be crucial. If he had higher than a six, he would play that and you wouldn’t win the game. If he had a six, he would play that one  and the cards would be evened out, but you would know that the six was his highest card. If he played anything lower than a six it would mean that you had won the game, for no one would lose a round on purpose and play a lower card when they had a higher one. 

Expectantly you looked at Jesper. His smirk had gone and made place for a frown as he looked at the card on the table. His joyful bluffing face was nowhere to be seen and a sigh fell from his lips when he realised his defeat. He threw a five on the table and sunk back in his chair. 

With a grin on your face you played the rest of the round and won all Jesper’s cards. At the end of the game, you rested your chin on your folded hands and smiled at Jesper. “You know what?” you started and Jesper looked up at you. “I think I got it.”

-=-=-

Kaz and Jesper had left the room after the game and Pim was standing on the outside of the door, making sure no one would get in. They had not said a word to you when they left and now you were alone in the silent gambling parlor. At least, that’s what they wanted you to believe. 

“Inej,” you said. “Come out please.” 

No matter how focused you had been on the game, you hadn’t missed the little shadow sneaking inside near the end. And you hadn’t missed how Brekker’s eyes had shifted to one particular corner while he was watching your game with Jesper. 

The girl appeared from the shadow and silently walked over to you, giving you a small smile. “How did you know I was here?” 

“Because you wanted to be seen,” you simply said and by the way her eyes widened you knew you were right. “I don’t really know you, but I have the feeling you can be really invisible if you want. Me seeing you is not a coincidence or special talent of mine. You wanted me to see you.” 

Inej chuckled softly and shook her head. “How do you do that? Knowing what I feel by just looking at me?” 

You smiled and shrugged. “I had a tutor,” you said. “Mayranoush was her name. She taught me how to know people before they even see you.”

The memory of The Teufel’s quartermaster hurt. The weird situation you were in had taken your mind off the loss for a moment, but now there was nothing to distract you the pain came double as hard. 

You thought of your crew and how much you already missed them. Captain Nerseh and his brusque manners but warm heart; Marina and her cheerfulness; Vinay, who was the only one who still had wanted to play games with you. You missed them all so much and you couldn’t believe that they weren’t there anymore. 

But the one you missed the most was Stefan. He had been your best friend for the past two years, you had spent every day together and never had you thought you’d have to say goodbye. You thought of his last words to you. Back then you hadn’t known what to say, but now as you were sitting there without him you knew that you loved him too. But it was too late. 

“Jer elsker pe,” you whispered to yourself. 

“What?” Inej asked and you looked up. You had forgotten she was sitting next to you, so silent she was. 

“Nothing,” you mumbled and then turned to her. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Inej answered and she smiled at you. 

“Have you ever loved someone?” 

Inej’s eyes flickered to the door Kaz had just left through and then she looked at you in silence for a minute. “No,” she said finally. “Never loved like that. Why?” 

You stared at the upholstered table in front of you and swallowed away the pain in your throat. “I just… It hurts so much. Everyone always says that love is the most beautiful thing in the world, but no one ever mentions the pain…” 

“Maybe the pain makes you appreciate it more,” Inej said. “Often we don’t see what we have until it’s gone.” 

A tear rolled down your cheek and you shook your head. Inej was right; you hadn’t known you loved Stefan until he was gone. But that didn’t matter anymore. There was no way you could get the Fjerdan back and you wouldn’t turn into a mess trying to find one. You would keep your love for him deep in your heart until it was nothing more than a memory. 

“Life’s not fair,” you said and you wiped the tears from your face. “But I’ll get my even.” 

“How?” Inej asked and you turned to her. 

“I will find who burned down my home and I will destroy them to the ground they’re standing on.” 

“I suggest you find help for that,” the cold voice of Kaz Brekker said. 

You looked to your side to meet Kaz and Jesper. Pim was standing inside of the room again, still avoiding your eyes when you looked at him. Jesper was watching you with a smirk and he winked at you when he caught your eyes. 

Finally you turned to Brekker, who was looking at you with a peculiar expression. There was something playing around his lips that you would almost call a smile and his eyes had lost the ice cold gaze. 

“Who do you suggest?” you asked, looking up at Kaz. 

He shrugged half and said, before he walked away: “I have some connections.” 

Pim and he disappeared behind the door and you were left dumbfounded with Inej and Jesper. The latter placed his hand on your shoulder and chuckled. You looked between him and Inej and raised an eyebrow. “What just happened?” 

“I think you just became a member of the Dregs.” 

- - - - - 

special thanks to @awritingtree​ for the support and encouragement <3

there’s no taglist yet, but let me know if youw ant to be added to the SoC-taglist!

MASTERLIST

[saiiboat]

ok i know yall like boats so: top 5 boats

HII HIHIHIHI

okay okay okay hihihihi

1. Shamrock V. i love her so much. shes a j-class yacht and her birthday is tomorrow. she was launched on 14 April 1930. i love her. she was also originally owned by sir thomas lipton. you know. from lipton tea. wild. She's also one of the few remaining J-class boats, most of which are wooden-hulled!! most if not all of the metal-hulled J-class boats were scrapped for parts during WWII :(( but!!! she is still sailing!!! she's about to turn 92.

okay the rest of these are production boat makes and types. i just really love Shamrock V.

2. sunfish 14'. we dragged our dad's sunfish from when he was a kid out of the barn and learned how to sail and repair boats on one of these! we have a very strong emotional attachment to red sunfish with white stripes and might cry if we see one (ours was backed into by a construction worker while she was in the driveway for repairs. sorry for traumadumping. i miss her)

3. o'day mariner 19 2+2. this was our dream daysailer all throughout highschool and we're looking at bigger boats now that we have the means to do so and put the work in, but the o'day mariner will always have a place in our heart fr fr. its our discord and pluralkit system icon if you ever see that.

4. Flying Junior. We raced these!!! They're like a narrower 420 (hehe) and are super fun. It was also the first boat we ever single-handed!!! This is the kinda boat that WILL capsize but is easy to get back up and get moving again. one time during a race one of the boats on the opposing team called us out on kinetics (rocking boat to generate movement without sails) while we were just trying to catch the wind (bad day for race. no wind. it sucked.) and so me n my crew said. yeah okay. and did a penalty circle and the gibe gave us enough momentum to pass them and win the race. suck it.

okay ik we said it was all production boats after Shamrock V but we have another non-production boat we're attached to

5. Schooner America 2.0. a BEAUTIFUL schooner down in Key West that we once sailed on. We bought a ticket for civilian day cruise bc we're autistic and she's modeled after the first winner of the America's Cup and we ended up talking to the captain for a while and anyways thats how we ended up as the helmsman of a 105' racing schooner for a couple hours. it was possibly one of the best days of our life. it was so fucking windy.

[zimms]

an olliewicks flower shop au to soothe the soul! this is somewhat based on mine and @tingo-tango’s tags on this post. 

fields of flowers, soft beneath my heels

Ollie’s wrist-deep in a pot of soil, sweat rolling down his cheeks and sunlight streaming through the windows of Faber’s Flowers, when the shop’s bell rings and a new customer stumbles through the door. Ollie frowns slightly and hastily wipes the beads of sweat off his chin with the corner of his shirt, before plastering on his best customer service smile to greet whoever needs flowers at 7:30 am on a Tuesday morning. He mentally catalogues the possibilities; maybe they’ve forgotten their spouse’s birthday? Or maybe it’s a gift for someone at work? Maybe it’s an apology present because they accidentally cycled into a fruit stall and ruined a fresh batch of melons? 

(Okay, maybe not, but it would be a refreshing change in the cycle of constant businessmen grovelling for their partner’s forgiveness)

Ollie shakes himself from his thoughts and grins across the counter at the customer, who’s sporting a baseball cap and a t-shirt that sits just right across his broad shoulders. Ollie’s eyes track down the guy’s biceps which are a tad too big for the sleeves. Ollie consciously shut his mouth to stop himself from gaping; this guy was hot. As Ollie’s gaze roams across the customer’s face to meet his eyes, he realises three things. Number one is that he definitely shouldn’t be ogling a customer like he’s a piece of meat. Number two is that he hasn’t said anything to this guy yet. Number three is that at least a minute of awkward silence and staring has passed since the customer entered the shop. 

Ollie rips his eyes away from the customer’s face to stare at a spot slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hi! What can I help you with today?”

The guy shifts on the balls of his feet, scanning the shelves of bouquets and individual flowers. “Erm, I’m looking for a bouquet of flowers for my mom?” His voice raises at the end of his sentence, which is kind of cute, if Ollie does say so. He rubs the back of his neck and his checks flush pink. “I kinda need to apologise to her.”

Ah, a classic apology scenario. Got it. 

“What’s the apology for?” Ollie asks as he turns to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands. “Not that you have to tell me that is; it just might help as we make the bouquet.” He unravels the roll of tissue paper and cuts off a square to package the flowers in. 

Hot Guy winces. “Ah,” he says, “I kinda got into a fight in front of her the other night. She was not happy to say the least, so I figured I might as well get her some flowers to apologise for it.” 

“Cool, cool.” Ollie grins at him. “What kinda flowers do you want for her?” He gestured to the whole shop, where various buckets of flowers lined the walls, each displaying a different species. “We can get her just a plain old bunch that’s all just the same type of flower, or we could mix and match, create a nice piece of artwork that she’ll admire rather than a bunch that’s boring and all the same.”

Hot Guy’s eyes flick up from the counter and meet Ollie’s own, moving slowly up his body. If Ollie was feeling particularly optimistic, he’d say the guy was checking him out, but he pushes that thought to the corner of his mind because he’s made way too many faux-pas in the past by asking out guys that have come into the shop just for all of them to be straight. Hot Guy clears his throat. “Yeah, a mixture sounds good. I know her favourite flowers are hyacinths if that helps?”

“That’s perfect.” Ollie shoots him the most reassuring smile he can think of, eyes softening. He grabs the bucket of blue hyacinths that sit behind him. “These alright?” 

“Yeah, those are great,” Hot Guy says a little hoarsely, squinting at Ollie’s name tag, “Ollie.” Something settles in Hot Guy’s voice and he seems a bit more comfortable. 

“So, why'd you get into a fight in front of your mom?” Ollie reaches for the bucket of Narcissus behind him and waves a bunch at Hot Guy for affirmation. He nods in return. “Doesn’t seem like the best idea to me-” Ollie trails off, hoping that Hot Guy might get the hint and finally introduce himself. 

“Oh, uh, Pacer.” He coughs and the remaining tension leaks out of his posture. “Nah, a guy said something about Ma, and you know, I had to rush to defend her like the rash idiot I am.” 

Ollie laughs. “At least, it’s one of the more noble reasons to get into a fight. There’s a bit more chance of forgiveness, then.”

Pacer nods and his gaze wanders away from where Ollie is deftly making the bouquet to settle on the purple Clematis. 

“You like them?” Ollie makes a ‘gimme’ motion with his hands and Pacer passes the bucket over to him. Their hands briefly brush each other during the exchange and Ollie does everything in his power to ignore the jolt that goes through him at that brief skin to skin contact. “You’ve got a good eye; I was just about to grab them myself.”

“Yeah, my mom loves blue and yello-” Pacer cuts himself off with a sneeze. “Also, aren’t they the colours of the local hockey team around here? The Falcons?” Although he has a completely clueless tone to his voice, Pacer is studying Ollie’s reaction as if it might reveal the secrets of the universe. 

“Yeah, the Falcs! I only get to see them every so often, but they’re great,” Ollie says, doing his level best to ignore Pacer’s sudden intensity. “I was actually on the same team as Jack Zimmermann in college, which was pretty cool.”

“Really?” Pacer’s enigmatic expression becomes even more indecipherable. “That is pretty cool.” He looks slightly over his shoulder towards the street before meeting Ollie’s eyes and flashing a genuine smile at him. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself, you know.”

Ollie tries to convince himself that the bubble of excitement that rushes through him is because Pacer is such a good conversationalist and not for any other reason, like the fact that they have a couple of things in common, or that Pacer is one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen. 

(He fails.)

_X_

Pacer leaves about forty minutes later, with a bouquet and handwritten note in hand and a smile fixed firmly on his face. When Ollie goes to scrub down the counter and start repotting the plant he’d abandoned when Pacer had arrived, he spots a scrap of paper that definitely hadn’t been there before. The note is pretty cute; it’s a string of numbers and a smiley face, accompanied by a couple of lines from Pacer.

Would you like to go I would have asked you out earlier, but my tea friend always says it’s bad form to hit on workers whilst they’re on shift. Anyway, here’s my number if you want to go out some time? Call m Don’t worry if you don’t though!

- Pacer 

Ollie grins as he opens up his phone to add the number to his contacts, but pauses as he sees a Google Alert come through that he’s set up for the Falcs. The text reads, Providence Falconers acquire forward Pacer Wicks from Colorado Avalanche in exchange for a second round pick in the 2022 NHL Draft, and immediately underneath the caption, Pacer’s smiling face stares out at him. 

Pacer’s voice echoes in his mind. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.”

Played a bit of hockey himself? Ollie cannot believe this guy. He plays in the fucking NHL and all he says is “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.” 

However, Ollie thinks as he opens up the article to see a picture of a bruised Pacer from his last game with the Avs, it would explain why he needed to apologise for fighting in front of his mom. 

_X_

Now that Ollie is aware of Pacer Wicks’ existence, he seems to follow him everywhere. Well, not Pacer exactly, but his name. 

It begins, like many things, at the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” the cashier asks, as she’s scanning his groceries two days after Pacer first came into the florist’s. “Are you that hockey player? Pacer Wicks?” 

Ollie furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t think that him and Pacer look that similar, but then again, Pacer’s only been in Providence a couple of days, so people don’t exactly know what he looks like yet. “No, sorry.”

The cashier purses her lips, taking a moment to study him again before ringing him up. “Huh, sorry! You guys just look really alike is all.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Ollie gathers up his groceries. “These things happen sometimes.”

(He almost texts Pacer to tell him about it, but, as Ollie looks at the clock on his phone, he realises that Pacer probably isn’t going to want to receive a message about how someone thought they looked similar mid-way through his game against the Pens.

Also, he’d have to wish him luck and honestly, as much as Ollie loves the Falcs, he wouldn’t wish them too much luck against his hometown team.)

_X_

ollie

hey! i’ve finished off that other apology bouquet for your ma!

let me know when you want to swing by and pick it up!

also i was watching the game tonight; do you need me to make up another identical one for your ma, or do you wanna come into the shop to choose this one?

pacer

thanks ol! i’ll probably swing by to pick it up tomorrow and then help make the next one at the same time?

ollie

sounds like a plan!!

_X_

When he said these things happen sometimes to that cashier in the grocery store, he didn’t expect them to happen all the goddamn time. Be it at his favourite café, on the street, or on the commuter rail, someone always, always, asks if he’s Pacer Wicks. 

_X_

ollie

oof that hit from eriksen looks like it’s gonna leave a mark

pacer

yeah, half my face is swollen

ollie

yikes

pacer

i assume we’re still on for dinner in a couple of days right?

even if my stunning visage has been marred by the fists of a schooner

ollie

that was a very weird way of putting it

but yeah, i still wanna go out with you even if your face looks like a dodgeball

_X_

A girl taps him on the shoulder at Bitty’s Bites downtown. “Excuse me, are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie smiles sheepishly at her, brandishing his coffee cup with a scrawled Oily on it as if it might keep the Pacer Wicks fans away. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong dude.”

He hurries out of there as quickly as his legs can take him after that, hands fumbling for his phone so that he can text Pacer about it.

ollie

jdshjkdsjh a girl just asked if i was you

pacer

oh?

ollie

yeah, i don’t really know why so many people ask if i’m you

especially as they usually ask when you’re on a roadie??

so i don’t get why they know who you are without knowing the falcs’ schedules

pacer

maybe they’re a fan of my dashing good looks rather than my hockey?

isn’t that why you agreed to go out with me after all?

Ollie grins to himself before sending back three words.

don’t push it

_X_

He’s less generous to the guy on the commuter rail, but in fairness that’s mainly because he stole the last seat just before Ollie could get there and it’s 6:30 in the morning. 

“Hey, aren’t you that hockey pl-?”

Ollie barely looks up from his phone before cutting him off with a sharp “No.”

_X_

Today, someone even asks him at the flower shop.

“No,” he says, heaving the deepest sigh he can whilst still remaining in customer service mode, “I think Pacer Wicks might have other things to do on a Saturday afternoon than work the till at a flower shop.” He shuts the cash drawer on the register with a bang and hands the customer their change and bouquet as quickly as he can. “Thank you for shopping with us! Enjoy your day!” 

He collapses back onto the wooden stool that he keeps behind the counter, taking a breather for approximately five seconds before a laugh echoes through the shop. Ollie jumps half a foot in the air before locating Pacer, who’s stood in the corner of the shop inspecting a piece of sea holly. 

He’s dressed up pretty nicely considering hockey players’ notoriously bad fashion sense, wearing a button-up, a nice pair of jeans that do all the right things for his hockey butt, and his ever-present baseball cap, but this time, unlike his first visit to the shop, it’s sat backwards on his head. He spins around to face the back of the shop, grinning his face off. “I’m impressed by the fact that she asked you that whilst I was standing in the shop and she still didn’t notice me.” He laughs, smirking across at Ollie. “Does that happen often?”

“Yeah, some people are surprisingly oblivious sometimes,” he says, “but also, I don’t look that much like you?” He pauses, trying to work out what Pacer’s face means. He places his hands on his hips and jokingly rounds on Pacer. “Do I?” 

Pacer chuckles, taking a few steps closer so that he’s leaning against the counter. “Not that much, but would it be so bad if you looked like me?” A mock-wounded expression plays across his features as he presses his hand to his chest. 

Ollie takes off his apron and hangs it up behind the counter. “Nope, because you are extremely hot.” He threads his fingers through the hockey player’s belt loops to pull him closer, feeling emboldened by Pacer’s flirting. “And if that means that people are inadvertently calling me hot whilst asking if I’m you?” He shrugs. “I can live with it.”

Pacer has to lower his gaze to meet Ollie’s eyes, the two inch height difference between them clearly obvious, even if Ollie is six foot, thank you very much. “You were right about something though,” Pacer murmurs, “I do have better things to do than stand in a flower shop on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Like what?” Ollie raises an eyebrow.

Pacer smiles softly down at him, taking his hand and interlacing his fingers with Ollie’s. “Like taking the cute florist that works there on a date for starters.” Pacer starts to move them towards the shop’s entrance. “There’s this lit-” He sneezes abruptly.

Ollie tilts Pacer’s head downwards. “That’s like the fourth time you’ve sneezed in the shop.” He rubs his thumb over his cheek, frowning when he sees that Pacer’s eyes are slightly red. “Are you okay?”

Pacer waves him off. “Yeah, it’s fine; my antihistamines just wore off.”

His-? Ollie furrows his eyebrows before leading his date out of the shop. “Pacer, are you allergic to flowers?” 

“No?” Pacer’s sheepish and slightly bunged up reply says everything that Ollie needs to know.

“Fuck, Pace, why have you been coming to the shop so much if you’re allergic? Surely you don’t like the aesthetics of flowers that much that you need to torture your sinuses every spare minute of the day.” Ollie pinches the bridge of his nose, voice full of exasperation.

Pacer holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defence, the first few times were because I did need to buy Ma flowers, but I didn’t keep coming back because the flowers were pretty.” He pulls Ollie close and frames his face with his hands. “I came back because the florist was.”

_X_

The final time Ollie is mistaken for Pacer is five years later as he’s heading towards the arena for Pacer’s final game of the season. In fairness, dressed in a Wicks jersey and a Falcs snapback, he probably looks more like Pacer now than he has at any time since he first got mistaken for him in the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” A teenager taps him on the shoulder, their arm slung around a friend. “Are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie grins at the kid. “Nope,” he says, trying not to take too much joy in the hope fading from the fan’s eyes before he drops the bombshell, “I am his husband though.”

“Really?” The teenager’s eyes light up. “You’re not kidding, right?”

“Nope.” Ollie holds up his phone screen to show the kid a photo of Pacer kissing his cheek, just so that they know he’s not lying. “D’you wanna meet him after the game?” He smirks at them. “After all, I do know a guy.”

[platypanthewriter]

Soda

This is for Harringrove April day 12, Soda!  The dude in Steve's night class is a little grouchy, and a little beautiful.

Steve locked up his photography studio, set his shoulders, and drove to the college.

He rethought all his choices as he stared around at all the children in the college classroom, and wondered for a second whether he’d wandered into a highschool.  The thought made him shudder, and he stood rooted with dread in the doorway as somebody edged past, growling under his breath.  

The dude dropped into a seat in the middle of the class, shoved the hood back on his burgundy hoodie, and looked like he was Steve’s age, so Steve headed over.  He’d just walked up when the guy squinted at the whiteboard, muttered furiously under his breath, and moved two seats closer to the front.  He had tawny curls pulled back in a messy bun, a stubbly, well-defined jaw, and crow’s feet, and Steve shifted forwards to stay next to him, breathing a sigh of relief.  He grinned as he listened to the muttering.

“Hey,” Steve said, then watched the guy bury his head in his arms, pulling the hood back over his face.  “...glad to see somebody else who isn’t twelve,” Steve tried again.

The guy snorted.  “Yeah, we’ll see how long I last,” he groaned.  “You know how sometimes when you know you’re gonna fuck up, you might as well sooner than…” he rolled his head to smirk over at Steve, and then his blue-gray eyes widened, and he trailed off, licking his lips.  Steve waited politely as he cleared his throat.  “...later?” he whispered.

“You have to stay in this class,” Steve hissed as the teacher came in, grinning.  “You’re the only one I can talk to, you won’t fuck up, come on.”  

The guy blinked slowly at him, then ducked his head, smirking again, and grabbed a tumbler off the floor and slurped at it.  “It’s soda,” he shot over, rattling the ice.  

“Okay,” Steve said, laughing, and nodding at the low sun pouring in.  “I won’t rat you out, man, I wish I had something cold right now.”

The dude laughed, and Steve jumped on his chance.

“Come back tomorrow and the next soda’s on me,” he whispered out the side of his mouth, and got back a warm grin.

 After class, the guy climbed up to sit on his desk, facing Steve with a smile like a lighthouse beam now he was awake.  He had circles under his eyes, and it looked like he didn’t have a shirt on under his hoodie, just tan skin all the way down, but Steve had had rough mornings too.  “I’m Billy,” the guy said, leaning in and cocking his head.  “You wanna go for—”

“Uh, Steve, I’m Steve,” Steve said, wincing at his own lightning wit.  “What kind of soda you want me to bring?”

“Oh,” said the guy, going still for just a second, like Steve had said something weird, and just as Steve was trying to figure out what it was, he laughed and hopped off the desk.  “Sprite or something, whatever’s fine.”

Steve jogged to catch up.  “No caffeine?”

“...doesn’t matter,” Billy sighed, walking faster, and Steve slowed down, and let him get away.

 The next day Billy had on a rainbow chainmail bracelet, and Steve grinned as he handed over two cans of sprite.  “That’s neat,” he said, pointing to it, and Billy narrowed his eyes, studying Steve’s face like he was acting suspicious as hell.  After a few seconds, Steve laughed nervously.  “I’m not gonna steal it,” he said, and Billy groaned into his arms.  

He agreed to study before class at the picnic tables outside, though, and Steve got treated to hours of his freckled face sipping his soda, and grimacing faintly, like it was a depressing surprise every time.  When Steve went to take a piss, he grabbed some root beer and some Squirt, to see if that got a better reaction, and Billy blinked, then grinned his laser beam grin.  

Didn’t look like he liked them better, though.  The next time Steve was at the grocery store, he hit the fancy aisle.  He bought elderflower soda, and ginger brew, and orange cream.  At the last minute he stuck a kombucha in his basket, just to see what face Billy would make.

It was satisfyingly revolted—betrayal, and disbelief—but Steve grabbed it back, laughing his ass off.  “Don’t drink that,” he cackled, “—I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“See if I take notes for you again, you fuck,” Billy grumbled, wiping his tongue with a napkin, but his ears and cheeks were turning pink, and Steve couldn’t stop snickering.

 As the semester went on, Billy started wearing a rainbow lanyard, and rainbow clips holding his flyaway curls, and a big ol’ sticker of a cat shitting rainbows on his soda tumbler.

“Wow, you sure like rainbows,” Steve said when the barrettes appeared, instead of his first impulse, which was to offer his ex’s little sister’s abandoned hair care collection.  It had pink plastic poodles clips.  Billy’d have looked hilarious in them, grouching about midterms and scratching his graying stubble, and Steve bit back a smile.

Billy stared at him, then grabbed his soda tumbler and drank, holding eye contact.  It was full of the lavender lemon artisan soda Steve had found on sale, and Billy spluttered, coughing.  “Where do you find this shit,” he asked, grimacing, and Steve laughed.  

“I can stop.  You just make this face when you drink soda—”

Billy’s mouth quirked, and he sighed.  “...nah, it’s...uh.  It’s...nice.”

“Don’t fall all over yourself in gratitude,” Steve told him, and Billy kicked at his legs under the table.

“It’s not like you aren’t having the time of your life feeding me this shit,” he hissed, and Steve snickered.  

 Billy started talking again about dropping out around midterms, fiddling incessantly with his soda, and losing sleep again, if the crinkly, bruised skin under his eyes was anything to go on.  “I’m gonna fail anyway,” he breathed.  “Why did I even register, I always do this, I get—”

“You’re not gonna fail,” Steve hissed, then stared at the whiteboard.  “Are you?!  You said I was getting it!  Are we both failing?!”

“No!” Billy laughed.  “No, no.”  He reached across the aisle and squeezed Steve’s shoulder.  “No, man, you’re good, you’re fine—”

“Don’t say that shit then,” Steve told him, narrowing his eyes, and Billy took a deep breath and blew out, swallowing.  “Look,” Steve said, steepling his hands—like he always had to stretch them after basketball—the way Robin always said looked like a supervillain.  “Look, okay, come over.  Before midterms.  We can get a pizza.  Stay the night.  We’ll play Super Mario and go to bed at like eight pm like we’re in first grade.”

Billy cocked his head, biting his lips together.

“I’ll make sure you study and get to sleep,” Steve said, leaning closer, and Billy laughed, kind of darkly.  “Lemme know,” Steve said, and slid the weirdest soda he’d found recently—Schooner’s Coffee Cola—over like they were making an under-the-table drug deal.

Billy looked down at it and burst into snickers, curling forward to rest his face in his arms on the desk, and then kinda sighed tiredly, and half-smiled over at Steve, and Steve wondered what he’d said wrong.

 Steve came early every day to grab their picnic table, and Billy showed up more and more, in rainbow sneakers, and after a while, a purple button-up, unbuttoned, with rainbow pinstripes.  Steve watched him wave his soda and cigarette around, and swear about the people calling tech support.  “I get my degree, they said they can promote me,” he said, sighing.

“Sounds like you deserve it,” Steve told him, with a suave double thumbs-up into finger-guns that nearly made Billy spit his soda.  

“I brought you cherry-lime,” Steve told him, waggling his eyebrows, and the bottle, and Billy groaned, holding his hand out, and Steve pulled it back.  “You can say no,” he pointed out, and Billy laughed, waggling his fingers.

“I’m weak to peer pressure,” he said, grabbing it, unscrewing it, and dumping it right in with whatever was in there while Steve looked on in horror.  He tossed back a swig, and then grunted, grimacing, and pressing his lips together, his eyes shut tight.

“Spit it out!  Spit it out!” Steve yelped, snickering.  “My feelings won’t be hurt!”  

Billy pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, and swallowed with a shudder, and Steve tried to yank the tumbler away from him, but Billy jerked it away, waving it in the air.  “Not so bad,” he gasped, lying.  “Want some?”

“Don’t do it!” Steve hissed, trying to grab it, but laughing so hard he was clumsy.  Billy finally chugged it despite Steve’s melodramatic pleas, and Steve threw an arm around him, cackling and leaning into Billy’s shoulder.  Billy had an enamel pin on his denim collar of a carton of milk that said 100% HOMO, and Steve snorted, laughing harder, yanking out his phone.  “Can I get a picture of your pin?”

Billy turned to frown at him, then frowned and patted his collar, and bit his lips together, raising his eyebrows.

“My best friend’s a lesbian,” Steve told him.  “She’d love it.”  That got him a slow blink, and then Billy nodded.  

He seemed distracted after that, and didn’t look at Steve during class.  

 “...I have a really horrible soda I was saving for after midterms,” Steve told him after class, running to catch up.  

“If it’s shitty, why’d you buy it,” Billy hissed at him, and stalked off, and Steve watched him go, squeezing his bag with the terrible-sounding dandelion-burdock soda.  

“I fucked up,” Steve told Robin, sitting in his car.  “I don’t know, he’s pissed—”

“This the guy with the 100% HOMO pin?” she asked dryly, and Steve blinked.

“Yeah, but I mean, I wasn’t a dick about it, or anything?”

“Hrm,” she said.  “I saw some of that soda.  Maybe he’s mad you poisoned him, you ever think of that?”

“I guess,” Steve sighed.  

“Maybe he’s just not into you?” she suggested, with what sounded like a grimace.  “I mean, just because he’s gay—”

“Wait, what?” Steve asked.  “No, I—I didn’t hit on him, jesus—”

“...wait, what?  What are we talking about, then?” Robin asked flatly.  “What’d you fuck up, if you weren’t asking him out?”

“...he might just stop talking to me,” Steve said, wincing.  “He stomps off a lot.”  He considered.  “Uh, I could—I could wear that bi pride shirt you got me.  See if he says anything.”

“...he might just think you love pink and purple unicorns,” Robin said, but it sounded like she was snickering, so he took it as a win, and when he got home, he puttered around through the bi stuff he’d gotten at Pride—he tied on the friendship bracelet, and relaced his shoes with the pink, blue, and purple laces, and put the belt buckle on with the speech bubble that said ‘Be Gay, Do Crimes’ like his dick was talking.  

He looked like a very pretty princess in the mirror, but a hot one, he thought, taking a couple of selfies of the way the tight unicorn shirt clung to his biceps and pecs.

 Billy didn’t show up the next day, or answer texts, though the professor said he’d emailed in.  Steve texted a picture of ginger ale, grimacing.  “I got you an antidote, I’m sorry,” he sent, but he didn’t hear anything until the day of midterms, when Billy was already slumped on his desk when Steve came in, even though he’d have had to walk the whole long way around the building to avoid their table.  

Steve settled in and tried not to nervously click his pen, or tap his foot, or squeak his shoe against the leg of his desk, but eventually Billy shot him a glare, and then just...stared.  Steve glanced over at him, cautiously, and the instructor cleared her throat.  “Eyes front!” she called, and Billy swerved his glower back to his own test, staring down at it until he shook his head, and started scribbling with a will.  He was one of the first to turn his test in, and then he stood by the door with his eyes on Steve’s pen, as Steve tried to write an essay.

 The classroom slowly emptied, and there Steve was, dressed like a unicorn princess man, and utterly failing his midterm.  His teacher glanced up from her book occasionally, and then glanced at the clock, and once, she sighed, and Billy stood there watching Steve be a moron.

He had to already know, Steve figured, rereading the question one more time, and understanding less.  Billy’d helped him with homework assignments, and notes, and seen what an idiot he was, and that was why he’d never said anything despite being 100% HOMO.  Steve bit his lips as the words ran together.

He gave up on the last question, and turned in his exam with a sinking feeling of finality.  He grabbed his bag, heard the swish of the definitely-gross soda in there, and groaned in the back of his throat.  

“Do you just fucking like unicorns,” Billy asked, falling into step with him as he left the room, and Steve was left with the announcement he’d been trying to avoid, so Billy wouldn’t have to avoid him.  “...bi...corns,” he mumbled, and Billy said “Fuck,” and grabbed his face, kissing him hard, then laughing awkwardly and gentling it.  His lips were soft and warm, and a little chapped.

He tasted like soda.  Steve ran his fingers over the rainbow hair clips, and through the curls at the back of Billy’s neck, kissing that smile finally.  Billy sighed shakily against his mouth, yanking Steve closer by his unicorn-shirted shoulders.  “Jesus, why didn’t we do this sooner,” he breathed.

“Why didn’t you,” Steve muttered, cupping Billy’s jaw and kissing him again, instead of letting him answer.  “...wearing all that Pride shit, but you never asked me out, I figured it was kinda obvious you—”

“I what,” Billy hissed, and then scowled.  “No, wait, you shithead, I waited that whole damn time, I drank like four cans of Sprite, and then I couldn’t miss you coming out—”

He’d been nervously sucking it down the whole test, and Steve thought he might have grabbed more while he waited—and sure enough, he shoved Steve away, as Steve laughed, then leaned back in for one more hard press of lips, and said “Shit, I gotta take a piss, I’ll be right back, don’t fucking move.”

The whole school was quiet in the early evening, as everyone ran home after night classes.  Steve waited.  When he heard the squeak of Billy’s sneakers echoing in the silent halls, he dug out the awful soda.

“I got this for you,” he said, as Billy ran around the corner, looking around like Steve might be gone.  “—but I wanted to ask if I could—let’s go out, somewhere,” Steve said, laughing nervously.  

“Jesus, anywhere,” Billy said, laughing as he took the soda, and Steve’s hand.  “On a date, right?  It’s a date.  For real.  This time.”  

“This time?” Steve asked, leaning in to kiss his smirk, and then again, as Billy’s eyes closed, and he made a contented noise in the back of his throat.  Steve snickered, kissing along his stubbly jaw, and then had to kiss his mouth so he’d grin again.

Neither of them wanted to stop, but finally Billy pushed him back, laughing and flushed.  “Don’t wanna get arrested for indecent exposure,” he said, smiling, and then looked down at the soda Steve had handed him.  He raised his eyebrows.  “...dandelions?  That’s a new low.”

“You really probably shouldn’t drink it,” Steve laughed, giddy at the feeling of Billy’s hand in his.  He leaned in for another kiss, feeling Billy’s root beer-flavored lips part against his, and Billy’s lips curving in a wide, irrepressible smile.  “Come on, there’s a bar around the corner.  I’ll get you something better.”

Billy stilled for just a second, and then ran alongside him, like the bar was gonna run away.  “So we’re dating now, right,” he said, and Steve laughed, grinning over.

“You expect more?  You greedy fuck, after I bought you like a shipping crate of soda.”

“You owe me for that soda,” Billy told him, laughing.

 When they reached the bar, Steve hauled him to a table.  

“What can I get you,” Steve asked him.  “Not soda, not if it’s running my debt up.”

Billy’s fingers whitened on his soda tumbler, and he licked his lips.  “...don’t think you’re gonna wanna pay?”

“Come on, it’s a date,” Steve told him, laughing, and Billy echoed it, softly, glancing at the menu above the bar.

“...I am bad against peer pressure,” he said, swallowing.  

“No pressure,” Steve said quickly, “—just it’s a date, I’ll treat you—”

“Wonder how bad I fucked up the test,” Billy said, laughing.  “Where’s today going.”

“What?” Steve asked, feeling like the conversation was getting away from him.

“...double whiskey,” Billy said, with a crooked grin, dropping into his chair.  “Go big or go home, right?”

“I didn’t…” Steve paused, thinking of the way Billy’s hand always reached for the tumbler, but he always looked startled and kind pissed off by what was in it.  Peer pressure, he thought, grimacing, and remembered how Billy had been excited about a date, but stalled out when Steve suggested a bar.  “No, no, I didn’t—they’ve, um, they’ve got...mocktails.  Billy.  I just—you don’t like soda, maybe—um, iced coffee, or—”

Billy stared at him, his hands tightening further as his shoulders hunched.  “Shit,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to drink,” Steve told him, pretty sure his guess was right, and wondering how badly he’d fucked up, this time.  “Fuck, I’m sorry, this place was just—close, we can go, uh, what—what if—dinner?!”

“You just—you fucking figured out I’m a fucking alcoholic, and you want dinner?” Billy growled, rubbing his face and groaning.

“I should have asked you where you wanted to go,” Steve admitted, grimacing.  “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—make you, uh, make you tell me...anything.  D’you still want a date?!”

“Yeah, I fucking want a date,” Billy snarled back, and Steve laughed with relief, dragging him back outside by the hand, and leaning in to kiss him around his bared teeth.  

“...let’s get you something that’s not soda, though,” Steve whispered against his lips, laughing.  

“Fuck, you seriously don’t care?” Billy asked, pulling away to stare into his face.  “...I’m a mess.  I’m working at a fucking call center.  I kept my commuter mug full of whiskey.  I had my last drink the morning we met.”  Steve listened, running his fingers up the back of Billy’s neck, and into his warm curls, as Billy’s explanation of why they shouldn’t date started to turn into why they should.  

“I agreed with my little sister to taper it off last year,” Billy told him, watching his face.  “I did, I swear.  Started drinking less.  It was less,” he said again, like he thought Steve might not believe him.  “I was just having one now and then when somebody was around to stop me before I went too far.  I’m not—shouldn’t go in bars and order doubles, I just thought—I—” he laughed shakily, and Steve leaned his face in close enough to kiss, but not so close he was cutting Billy off if he had more to say.

Billy leaned into the kiss with a soft whine, and as Steve kept kissing him, he started smiling, and let Steve drag him for bubble tea.  He liked it better than soda, Steve was pretty sure, from the look on his face, but they agreed the boba wouldn’t fit through the mouth of the cup.

“Gotta start buying you different drinks,” Steve told him, stroking his chin, and Billy burst out laughing.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, leaning his head on his arm, and grinning up at Steve.  “Anything but that.”

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done