#so much context that is missing but we die like men

[daincrediblegg]

WIP Game

Tagged by @brotherdusk (thank u dear)

The Rules are these:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

MY WIPS:

DIALOGUE BANG BANG (the infamous now 52 page document containing all the dialogue scenes from one warm line)

Chapter 1: Sun Dogs

Tooth and Claw

Paranorma

Untitled Document (that contains francis/lady terror/ jfj throuple stuff that I started last week that may be spoilers oops)

And Now, some Jop and Lady Terror from Dialogue Bang Bang that I wrote exactly a week ago (taking place in the interim between “First Shot’s a Winner Lads” and “A Mercy”):

“Jopson.” “Miss Sinclair, hello.” “Feels like I hardly see you these days.” “Yes, it is hard to get away.” “If… if I may ask…” “How is he?” “He is…” “Please, don’t spare my sensitivities. I want to know.” “He’s in the thick of it now.” “He’s emptying his stomach more often than he’s able to fill it. And sleeps fitfully whenever he calms long enough to do so. His mood swings. Hour to hour it seems. And the tremors…” “I can’t say it’s a good way, Miss.” “You don’t look much in a good way yourself.” “Yeah… but I’d rather lose a little sleep myself to make sure the Captain is well again.” “Jopson, you don’t have to do it all alone, you know.” “Oh Miss Sinclair, you really shouldn’t-” “Jopson. Bless your heart but you need to care for yourself as well.” “Besides I… I want to see him.” “Please, Thomas.” “You’re very kind, Miss Sinclair.”  “But he gave express orders to keep the men out.” “Well, technically you won’t be disobeying orders. I am a woman, after all.” “You do have such a clever ear for the wording of things, Miss Sinclair.” “Here. Bring him this.” “And only sips of water, if he asks. Doctor MacDonald says it may be the only way he’ll be able to keep it down.” “I think can manage that.” “Please, get some rest, Jopson. You’ve earned it well enough.” “Only because I know he’s in good hands, Miss Sinclair.” “Good night.” “Sleep well.”

And in return... I tag (with no pressure attached as ever)...  @prismatica-the-strange @ajokeformur-ray @kittensmctavish and frankly anyone else who would like to participate (but also @trantors knows I’m staring a hole into her soul girl you must show the world some of your wips or I’m going to explode)

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (1)

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

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

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

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

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

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

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

masterlist

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

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

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground. 

No, that’s a branch. 

Or is it a plank? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You have one more option. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wait with baited breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi. 

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

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

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

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

This was bad. Very bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

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

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

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

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all. 

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause. 

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

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

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

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

If it’s his ship that he wants…

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

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

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

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

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

“I can help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue. 

“I want you to kill my father.”

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

“I want you to kill my father.”

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

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

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

Is he about to cut your hands off?

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I’m being serious.”

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

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

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

“I’ll protect you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he was considering it. 

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I led you astray?”

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard.”

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

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

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

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

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost?” he questions.

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

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain! One of the—oh.” 

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

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just saved his life.

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

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

“Not even an inkling?”

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

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you shake him off last time?”

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

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

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

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

“Portwater?” 

“Too far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was something you wanted from him. 

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

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

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

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

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

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

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

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

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

A kid. He was a child. 

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you pulled the trigger. 

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

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

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

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

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

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hasry. Right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused. 

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ten coin.”

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

“I’ll do seven!” 

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

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts. 

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

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

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

You remain silent. 

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

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

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

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

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

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

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

“You’ve looked into my eyes?” 

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

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

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

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That could’ve been your throat.

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

That could’ve been your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

You just pushed Chan overboard. 

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

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

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

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

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

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

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

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

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

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

Hoshi pushed him into the water. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me what? you grind. 

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

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise. 

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

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

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

I hear people are rustling about again saying that if Katsuki called Izuku "Deku," it would be a regression of character development.

Other people have talked about it before, but I'm here to remind you that 1. Katsuki has already called him "Deku" again, and 2. it is actually further proof of his development.

This isn't an "old habits die hard" situation -- we already got that in chapter 327 with "De-Izuku!" No, this is something else.

Why?

Because "Deku" is Izuku's hero name.

Chapter 345

Katsuki is communicating combat information here, so he addresses Izuku as a hero, as opposed to how he would address him in a personal context, and he still uses it when talking to Best Jeanist.

If anybody cares about being addressed properly by their hero name, it's Katsuki!

Chapter 319

He bristles at Yaoyorozu for calling him Bakugou-san during their mission to rescue Izuku.

Chapter 346

The first time Mirko calls him the wrong name, it's during the heat of battle, so he actually ignores it and answers her with the pertinent information.

Chapter 347

He only argues with her the second time she calls him by the wrong name when they are regrouping.

And, wait, okay, look, I actually want to point out something hilarious here--in the English release, they had Mirko calling him "Dynamight," dropping the Great Explosion Murder God part, but in Japanese she actually says Dainama (ダイナマ), not Dainamaito (ダイナマイト), both times.

Which means she shortens his hero name not just by ditching the grandiose title, but also by removing the All Might reference.

I like to think that is what he is most pissed off about LOL.

(Bonus: I highlighted in blue where he calls her ウサギやろー, usagi yarou, meaning "bunny bastard." The word "yarou" is typically an insult directed at men; the etymology itself is masculine. The official English release made this "bunny gal," I'm guessing to avoid readers walking away with the notion that Katsuki is confused about Mirko's gender or that he was insulting her gender. In reality, Katsuki is simply a progressively-minded foul-mouthed youth who does not discriminate between bastards!)

Anyway, see, we have already been shown how Katsuki refers to Izuku when he isn't communicating battle information.

Chapter 362

He uses Izuku's name out loud to himself as a personal aside right before his moment of heroism.

I think everybody is missing out on a much more delightful question. Katsuki has used Izuku's hero name, so are we ever going to get to see Izuku use Katsuki's?

And if he doesn't, if he just blurts out "Kacchan!" on the battlefield like the damn nerd he is, will Katsuki correct him?

I mean, we've never once seen him demand Izuku stop calling him by his childhood nickname, so is he just gonna let that one slide?

What a funny fucking exception that would be, huh?

[aizenat]

This episode was the first full episode where we don’t have Claudia’s perspective to corroborate anything being said. And while her perspective is limited at times, if it aligns with what we’re seeing, it helps to discern truth from embellishment. But without it, this episode was messy in the sense that we got a lot of info but almost nothing to help us discern the facts. So now we have to rely on context clues and what we’ve learned so far, and let’s be forreal with how a lot of yall are NOT up for the task with this.

My biggest personal example being how quick you all were to believe and align with Lestat’s pov. Lestat the drama queen, the man with an admitted temper remembering how he watched Louis clutch at the air desperate for something to grab and stop his fall, who went across the ocean to step on stage and condemn the supposed love of his life to death. The Lestat who watched Claudia die on stage, and would have done the same with Louis on stage had Armand not did what he did to “save” Louis. But because he did it while crying, yall just buying everything he said? What?

Lestat is just as unreliable a narrator as Armand. And even Louis revealed this episode that he’s always going to remember himself in the worst light—or at least pursue that portrayal without argument—much more than Lestat and Armand because he carries his guilt with him in a way they don’t. He BLAMES himself for a lot of things they don’t blame themselves for. I believe Armand feels zero guilt for what he did to Claudia; just irritation it may have affected his relationship with Louis. Lestat doesn’t regret his actions, just that they sour his relationships with his paramours and result in him being alone again.

They regret the impact their actions have on them personally but not the result of their actions. Louis can be selfish too, but he feels the hurt he’s given fully. He feels how he failed Claudia, Grace and Mama Flo, Miss Lily even, and of course Paul. Even when he asks Lestat if he did something to cause Paul’s death, he always wondered because he likely blamed himself for bringing Lestat into their lives if Lestat had been responsible. Even if Lestat had done something, Louis would have found a way to make it his fault.

There’s a lot influencing this, but this episode really hit for home to me that Louis’ issues with guilt and shame, taking on the blame for things that aren’t his fault, also make him an unreliable narrative. Not because “oh he’s making people around him look worse so he looks better,” but actually because he makes excuses for them. He denied Lestat was abusive towards him, sympathizes with his tears of apologies and sob stories both after the fight last season and again at the trial, and he makes excuses for Armand’s inactivity. Even jumps to forgive him the second Armand implies he should carry some of the blame in situations too: he didn’t hesitate to believe he agreed with Armand on what to do with Daniel during that be apology scene. Louis runs to take blame in situations. It’s like he knows ifs hard to reconcile these men who claim to love hurting him so bad, so if he takes some of the blame for their actions, he can understand it.

It’s also, honestly, part of why he is quick to say things that he knows will go for the jugular. So he can say in the aftermath that he said horrible things “too,” as if they will mean he would have deserved what they do to him.

But it’s never that deep and words don’t ever excuse the level of violence and manipulation and control Lestat and Armand have used towards him. And the show is trying to emphasize that. Daniel not buying Louis’ excuses for Armand, insisting Armand sold Louis out despite being his boyfriend at the time; a betrayal that doesn’t justify 70+ more years of marriage. Claudia calling the audience (and subsequently the iwtv audience) out on gleefully accepting Lestat’s apology but not even giving her the opportunity to make one herself. And then I see fans do exactly that, using what Lestat says happened to undermine what we’ve seen so far.

Like all this hard work for the writers to make this shit plain for y’all to miss it every time.

[romanarose]

Man I gotta say I loved the use of tv in The Bikeriders

Spoilers below

The first time we see it was pretty blatant. He’s watching The Wild One, a Marlon Brando movie. Idk if this movie was deliberate or if it’s how it actually happened in real life (I’m gonna get the book eventually)

But Marlon Brando was bisexual. In the 70’s he states “Like a large number of men, I, too, have had homosexual experiences, and I am not ashamed. I have never paid much attention to what people think about me.”

This is what Johnny wanted to be. In the explicit, Kathy stating Johnny wanting to be Benny because Benny didn’t care what people thought of him, to the implicit, the sexual attention between Johnny and Benny.

The “Whaddya got?” Line has a whole historical context, same as the term rebel without a cause. The idea that you should be happy but there’s something missing, something lacking even in this picture perfect suburban, and populux lifestyle. It seemed to surround the Midwest at the time. I see Johnny is having that continued blogging. We even though he’s not shown to have financial difficulties nor marriage troubles he’s not happy. I think that’s because of repressed homosexuality. But he can’t say that, and certainly at that scene he doesn’t seem to know. His wife asking what he said and Johnny brushing her off to me shows how even though things were fine, they weren’t great. She just could not get him, could not be what he needed and through no fault of her own.

His wife is only ever talked about out positively in the movie.

Which brings me to the end. I don’t remember the last line exactly but the scene where Johnny is going out to meet the kid that took over his wife asked him to bring back eggs and he says yeah and you get the feeling that Johnny knows that is going to end badly. He’s going to die or get seriously injured. and just as he leaves the background of the TV echoes, the slide “she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t content“ and I just so perfectly encapsulates their relationship. She was a bad wife. She didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t the life he wanted because he wanted to be like Benny.

But in the end, Benny ended up like him

Even the scene where Benny and Kathy are watching TV. They’re watching bewitched (one of my favorite shows when I was a kid lol I used to watch reruns with my mom) I didn’t see any connections between the lines, but it was used to show Benny happy and smiling and laughing, which was a pretty rare thing for him.

It was really just such an incredible movie and I can’t stop thinking about it

[avelera]

I do wonder if we get the beginning of Brief Lives in the next Sandman Netflix season, specifically with this moment:

If it's going to be played quite the same way? If they end up skipping straight from Seasons of Mist to Brief Lives (which I think is an excellent idea to be clear) it raises a few possibilities:

(cut for comic spoilers & speculation)

Personally I find this moment a bit weird in general because Dream doesn't even name the woman who supposedly just broke his heart and thus launched the action of this arc. Also the fact we later find out it's Thessaly who in the comic at least (the show can always soften the character as they have others) fucking sucks, for her to kick off Dream's sadness roadtrip of self-destruction feels like such a waste. It also feels weird to imagine babygirl Netflix Tom Sturridge Dream going for someone like Thessaly after his whole arc of trying to be a better person and learning important lessons and also just...being a much softer character who is trying to do better, going for someone like Thessaly (who doesn't even like him by her own admission) and who is also terrible feels like a tragic step backwards in his character development. Not inconceivable, just terribly tragic.

Which has me thinking that one possibility is if they go straight from Seasons of Mist to Brief Lives, this moment above could be about Nada, who does choose to pass on after he frees her, even after expressing that she still loves him. That love is just not enough for her to accept his offer to be his queen and stay (after 10k years of Hell, who can blame her?!).

Point is, this moment instead being part of the long tail of Dream's self-recrimination about Nada choosing to pass on would make a lot of sense and be a much more justifiable kick-off for Dream going on a roadtrip that's an expression of his doubts in his ability to change for the better (and therefore, must he die?). Nada's punishment is so heinous I can easily see the Sturridge Dream being conflicted about his own actions for much longer than he appears to be in the comic, leading to this moment after he set her free.

Thessaly is an immortal, so even if/when she shows up, her having an acrimonious "angry ex girlfriend" reaction to Dream need not be because she was the girlfriend who kicked off the Brief Lives arc, they could have just dated sometime in the past centuries and still have vitriol between them.

And finally, and this is just me being a shameless Dream/Hob shipper, I do kind of wonder how one even justifies Dream ending up with an immortal human like Thessaly when Hob is right there.

Look, in the comic, Hob barely seems to remember Dream exists when he's not there, so there's no feeling of "Why doesn't Dream hook up with Hob instead??" when you first learn about Thessaly. But in the show, you've got the 1789 tension, the missed meeting, the devotion of the New Inn. Dream going for another, shitty immortal brunet when Hob is right there feels a bit like a slap in the face in that context.

And let me be clear, it's not because I'm being shipper garbage that thinks Neil can, should, or would alter the story to appease Dreamling shippers or that Dream dating Thessaly in the show as he does canonically in the comic would be an intentional slap in the face to Dreamling shippers! It is beyond wishful thinking to imagine we'd get more than what the comic offers which is a few beautifully rendered, sentimental moments between them for us to build our fanon ship off of. It's not Neil's responsibility to make it canon so don't be fucking weird about it.

It's more that the show is so queer. The comic is queer too but the show absolutely focuses and centers the narrative on predominantly queer couples and people, more than straight ones. They also softened for example the Corinthian and confirmed he's gay and has some non-destructive relationships with men, he's not just a murderer of gay men. So the narrative is even more queer than the comic.

In the 80s/90s when Sandman came out, the idea of Dream as the lead protagonist being canonically queer I think would have been pretty unlikely. He's very, very het in the comics, with the closest we get to a whisper of him not being strictly het being a mention of Lucifer once being beautiful and some speculation they might have had a relationship.

But the show is so very queer and the energy so charged between Dream and Hob (and the writers acknowledged and encouraged it!) that there is no, in my opinion, natural conclusion that, "Sure, almost everyone else is queer in this, but not Dream, obviously." If anything, it would be jarring to have so many queer characters only to slam the door shut on the possibility that Dream might also be queer.

Which is my roundabout way of saying: I wonder how Thessaly will fit into this at all. I speculate she might be removed entirely from this beat of Brief Lives, in favor of making Dream more remorseful about Nada in a sympathetic way. Furthermore, introducing Thessaly when Hob, another immortal who actually likes Dream is right there the idea that he opts for Thessaly (a woman who doesn't even like him to the point where she plays an active part later in his death) instead after being tortured for 106 years is actually painfully heartbreaking.

So in conclusion: eh? Who knows!

But also: DREAM, Hob is RIGHT THERE! Date HIM, not fucking THESSALY?!

[neon-junkie]

In the Heat of the Moment - Chpt.1

Summary: "Less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats," accord to Tech and his research, and (un)fortunately, you're one of that ten percent. What else are you meant to do? Trapped during a heat cycle with five men - five willing men who are happy to help relieve you, but not all have the confidence to say so.

Relationship: The Bad Batch x fem!Reader (she/her)

Tags: Heats, Mating, Sex pollen, Friends with benefits, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Sex, Jealousy, Pining, Scents, Knotting, Creampies, slightly A/B/O, Tags to be added.

Word count: 1.5k

[Chapter 2]

Notes: I've had this series in my drafts for a while. I keep adding to it here and there, and I figured I should start to post *something*. Not going to lie, I purely had myself in mind when writing this. I've been tired of trying to write for an audience, and instead, I'm just writing what I want to read. I also miss writing smut-centered fics, so let's scratch all of those itches at once!!

For context: Your heat is vaguely based off the heat cycles that you see in animals. Once a year, your species goes through a heat cycle, where you have a high physical urge to mate. These can last 1-2 months, depending on if/when you mate. I took a lot of inspiration from the sex pollen trope, kinda "fuck or die" but without the death. Just a lot of pain/discomfort. It's a craving, your body NEEDS to fuck or else you're going to get nasty about it. Very nasty. The lads won't be happy with your attitude, but how can they turn down such a pretty and desperate thing?

Chapter 1 - And here we are...

"I should not be doing this."

"I should certainly not be doing this."

"I understand that I am assisting you, but this? This is going to get me reported, shamed, decommissioned and-"

"Tech, please!" you whine. "Stop thinking out loud. I'm only going to report you if you hold back from what you're doing!"

Tech slams his hips forward, coming to a halt. "I apologise," he mutters, and tightens his grasp on your hips before returning to a brutal pace.

How did it come to this? On your knees, your elbows propped up on the Marauder's pilot chair - Tech's chair, in fact. Speaking of the devil, he's also on his knees behind you, with his cock slamming into your slick cunt.

Tech is 'assisting' you through your heat. Yes, because you're no standard species. The galaxy has a vast variety of beings out there, but "less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats," accord to Tech and his research.

He had noticed that something was off with you recently - a slight temper, recklessness, lack of sleep - not to mention that you smell. Like, you really stink, so much so that even Wrecker has pointed out that, "you're getting as bad as me!"

And Hunter, poor Hunter, has kept his distance from you. Neither of you have commented on it, almost like a silent, mutual agreement. The poor man has heightened senses, and you can't tell if your scent is driving him the good or bad kind of crazy.

At least your scent is tolerable, a sweet, yet sweaty lingering flavour. Tech had begun silently researching after noticing that your 'new behaviour' had stuck around for a few days, with no intention of disappearing, which brought him to a series of detailed articles about ruts and mating.

Well, the articles weren't about your species specifically, seeing as there was little to be found on that topic, but it gave Tech more than enough to understand what your body is currently going through.

You're horny, to put it blankly. You're pent-up, frustrated, and desperate to be filled.

The Batch had left for a supply run, leaving you and Tech behind to guard (and repair) the ship, which gave him the perfect opportunity to speak to you alone. He began explaining how he has done some research, and "somewhat understands the difficult time you are going through. Perhaps I can assist you in some way?"

Tech said that line with the intention of giving you medical assistance, supplements or whatever, but the pathetic whine that you let out caused his cock to harden, even more so when you shifted your thighs together and innocently asked, "are you suggesting that you can satisfy my natural urges, Tech?"

Back to the present. Tech's eyes drift to the side when he notices a light flashing on his datapad, resting on the co-pilot's seat. "The others are on their way back," he informs you through gritted teeth.

"But we've barely started!" you whine, knowing that your urges will be lingering for the next month. Minimum.

"And we'll find other opportunities to satisfy you, General," Tech comments. He notices the way that your cunt twitches around his length at that word alone - General - because you are his superior, after all.

This is all so complicated, a desirably defective Clone Trooper mating with his Jedi General for the simple purpose of assisting her during her natural urges. Insane, and incredible.

There's a silent and mutual agreement to keep this matter private, seeing as it would... complicate everything. But Tech had already let some information slip when Crosshair caught him researching ruts. "Do I dare ask?" Crosshair had pried, but it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Another hard slam of Tech's hips causes you to let out a heavy moan, and with it, your upper body practically collapses on the pilot's chair. You're fucked out, debauched, yet still craving more. "Where shall I finish?" Tech sputters behind you.

"Inside," is all you can whimper.

Tech's hips come to a halt, "I may be willing to assist you during your heat, but I am not willing to impregnate you," he comments with a raised finger.

Peering over your shoulder, you explain, "I can't interbreed."

"Oh," Tech blankly sighs, and his finger softens before returning to your hip. "In that case, I'll happily finish inside," he cheerfully smiles.

And with that, he's slamming into you again, his brows furrowing from the pure intensity of it all. It doesn't take much for you to climax, just a few messy rubs on your clit, and you're cumming on Tech's cock with a series of pathetic moans escaping your lips.

Tech practically explodes, his mind fogging up at the sensation of your cunt gripping the life out of him. You're milking that poor man, and all he can do is fold over and rest his forehead on your back, panting heavily as he waits for you to relax and release your death grip on his cock.

"I..." Tech begins, and licks his lips as he straightens his back. "I assume the males of your species have the ability to knot?" Tech observes.

"What gave it away?" you sarcastically reply, and attempt to relax your muscles, allowing Tech to escape.

Tech lets out a pained, "ah!" as he slips his cock out, then tucks his poor little trooper away. "I'll certainly need to get used to that sensation," Tech casually states.

"Did it... hurt?" you ask, and begin cleaning yourself up, tucking your Jedi robes back into place.

"Not at all, but I am particularly sore," Tech replies as he offers you a hand, pulling you up to your feet. You watch as he clasps his codpiece back into place, followed by correcting a few pieces of armour that have drifted astray during his wild turn of events. You needed urgent care, and Tech didn't see much point in removing his armour when he's simply providing assistance.

There's a moment of silence, an awkward pause, and Tech breaks it by nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he states, "feel free to ask for assistance when you next need it."

"Oh..." you stutter. "Yeah, thank you, Tech."

Like the fool that you are, you push up onto tiptoes to plant a light kiss on Tech's lips, before making your way through the Marauder, ready to splash your face with cold water in the refresher.

Everything happened so fast. You were painfully aroused, and ate Tech up like a three-course meal. Your hormonal urge has been filled, but from experience, you know that this is only a temporary fix. Hopefully, before you know it, your yearly rut will be over, and you'll be back for to your standard, witty self.

As for now, you'll need to tolerate it, and redeem your Tech voucher whenever the time is right.

After coming to your senses in the confinement of the refresher, you shimmy out to find that the others have returned, shopping bags in hand. "You look tired," Echo comments as soon as he locks eyes with you, and you're unsure if that's a statement or an insult.

"That's what happens when you spend the afternoon doing repairs," you sarcastically reply, and Echo rewards you with an eye roll.

Wrecker is quick to drag your attention away as he begins going through the fascinating new foods that he's brought, all thanks to your Republic credits. You're starved, hungrier than usual during your troubled times, and before you can pick out a treat and tuck in, somebody else pulls your attention away.

"Here-" Hunter interrupts. He chucks a small prescription bottle at you, the tablets rattling as they come into contact with your hand, and you rotate the bottle to read its label. "For your... new problem," Hunter explains before heading down the ship, obviously trying to keep his distance, even more so seeing as he can't simply hand the tablets over to you.

Wrecker can be heard sniffing the air, and proudly comments, "you don't stink any more!"

How innocent he is, unaware that you've been given assistance to your 'medical problem.' "Yeah," you say with a soft laugh. "Scrubbed extra hard in the refresher this morning."

"I still think your problem is stress related..." Wrecker begins, and waffles on about his thoughts and opinions on the matter. All the while, your eyes gloss over the label, the cure to your problems sitting in the palm of your hand. Yet, your mind is asking the same silly question over and over.

Why don't you want to take these pills?

[rodolfoparras]

from the rdr2 ask

r is reader akssjsjs 😭 and rdr2 is like 1899 wild west cowboys set in usa (for context)

I'm thinking r gets up on his horse (who's actually a horse of one of the men he killed), he looks back once again, the white of his eyes standing out in the blood covering his face, and catches gaz's eyes. it's a silent goodbye, but not one on a good note. r gallops away from where the 141 has set camp, not knowing where to go next or even where he's going to get a meal or sleep tonight. honestly he fall asleep right now from how exhausted he is from the fight and the lack of sleep the last few days, but he keeps riding till he's certain no one has followed him, then finds a nice tree to pass out under.

meanwhile, back at the camp, gaz is at a loss of words. people he considered family, people that Are his family lied to him about you. worse than that, they left you out to die, after gaz had been the one to save you. when they first met you, you were apprehensive of tagging along w them, not wanting to be a burden, and gaz reassured you it's okay. and all he can think of now is how you must think that gaz's promises meant nothing. and he knows you'd be right to think so when the people he trusted the most have betrayed him like this. he asks them one simple thing, "why?" he didn't shout or look angry, but everyone knew better than to think he wasn't. he was fuming.

"kyle, you can't expect us to just up and trust some stranger. you know we have plans in motion, plans that we can't risk anyone else getting the wind of..." price spoke up.

"so you left him to die? if that is what we are now, I want no part of it," gaz said, and he could almost see soap's eyes bulge out at the insinuation of leaving. they might be wary of outsiders, but they still love gaz dearly. and gaz loves them too, and deep down he knows he could never really leave them.

"i wasn't going to wait for him to slit our throats in our sleep, yeah?" soap said in frustration and a second later price and ghost had to break gaz's grip on his throat, pushing them apart.

"why do you even care so much, eh? in love w the lad or what?" soap coughs out, and the look on gaz's face says everything. first the knowledge of gaz possibly caring about this stranger sinks in, then comes the dread of what they did to the man gaz cared about, their heads now hanging low. ghost tries to say smth, but it's too late and gaz is storming off, trying to find some place to be alone.

he settles down near the stream, he tells himself he has to accept the fact that he might never see you again. that is if you're alive. he's so worried about you, wondering how you manage the injuries all on your own, just one horse to keep you company, the blood soaked clothes on your back, and not much else. by god, he's so worried about you he could cry. and he knows even if he sees you again, you'll want nothing to do w him. he can't go after you. he can't bear to see the faces of his family, the people he asked you to trust, after they've all but stabbed you in the back. so he sits alone, and thinks and think and thinks.

he thinks about how you must've felt, when left alone in the middle of an already unfair gunfight. he can't imagine what that feeling of being completely alone in the middle of certain death must've felt like. but then he thinks about how you made it out anyways. always fighting death. he thinks of how he's seen you survive against all odds, cheating death twice in the time he's known you. he hopes that you live through the aftermath of the fight too. and he hopes to find you again some time. he hopes he can get the chance to apologize and maybe, just maybe you'll believe him. he wants to hold you, he wants to tell you all the things he wasn't brave enough to in the 10 weeks you travelled w them. he hopes he hasn't missed his chance.

-❕️

SUGAR THIS WAS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL READ IM BEING SO SERIOUS THIS IS SO WELL WRITTEN I LOVED THIS you can genuinely feel how sad gaz is for reader and how torn he feels being in the position that he is in it’s also very clear he absolutely loves reader please 🧎🏻‍♂️ BUT WHY ANOTHER CLIFF HANGER IM GOING TO SCREAM

[toubledrouble]

In the honor of my uranium post, here are more things my chemistry teacher has said and done:

Explained that actually electro cars are stupidly unecological because they use lithium batteries - creating them ruins the environment and we have no clue how to get rid of them

Microplastics in our blood are his favourite topic

Artificially supplied hormones and how they get from our bodies through the sewer systems to water (we can't filter them) where they mess up fish and make them gay (then the fish die) and then apparently make people gay. Somehow. He didn't elaborate because he was too busy with calculating how many gay people should statistically be in our class (it was like 3.5 btw)

Keeps bringing up how he supports gay people because there isn't enough love in the world ("but you at the last desk please do whatever you're doing at home, this is a chemistry class")

Explained how his hearing and sight work - apparently, now he can't enjoy much music because his hearing makes them sound out of tune

Talked about their fave kdramas with my friend

So many 'fun' stories from his past jobs (like when one of his university students committed suicide by poisoning himself with something they were working with in the middle of his class. Out of unrequited love. It was a very dangerous solution or something and he died before they could help him)

Frequently reminds us that we shouldn't swing on our chairs because he has already seen a human brain on the floor and doesn't really want to repeat that experience (another work accident)

The last class before Christmas break, he came in in full Christmas themed clothing (an ugly sweater, a winter had with a white front that he turned into a snowman, reindeer shoes, you name it)

Calculated how many wind turbines would it take to replace Temelín

Proceeded to calculate that they would make a straight line from said Temelín to Belgium

When our medic group was at a competition, he came to walk with us and our teacher with a tote bag where he had bananas that he then handed out and made us eat them

Also gave us good marks for participating in the competition because safety is important in a lab

Complained that we as a country care too much about other ecological/economical problems when we have our own ("mně je tygřík usurijský srdečně u prdele")

Talked about how our economy went to shit with the nazis and them the communists. Again, in chemistry, for some reason

He follows our school meme page (I'm one of the creators so this made me happy) and he laughs at the memes, even the ones about him

Told me that moravians (for context: I'm moravian but now live in central bohemia) are the best people

Made fun ways to explain chemistry to us when someone didn't understand the original versions (instead of repeating how one atom replaces another and creates a different solution, he made an explanation using relationships so people could relate and understand better)

Genuenly seemed like he was going to cry when I gave him homemade fancy decorated gingerbread (because mom is amazing and decorating it)

Always checks what book am I reading and talks to me about it for a bit

Doesn't mind when I zone out in class and miss a question which is so nice

When he saw our 'time till we leave' countdown, he said we may be happy but he will be sad and will miss us

Said that men are a dead end branch of evolution (loosely translated from "slepá vývojová větev") and had facts to back that claim up

Told us how someone poisoned his coworker by switching ethanol, which he poured into his morning tea, for methanol

Gave us a literal sheet with numbers of classes and exams that we will have. Like "lesson 24: carbohydrates I" so that we could prepare ahead

Cancelled final exam because he didn't feel like teaching (and because it wouldn't fix anyone's grade anyway) but then decided to make it voluntary in case someone would actually want to take it

Played 'calming Japanese music' during a test

Kept the nickname "Gargamel" that students gave him because he seriously looks a lot like him

He keeps all the gifts from his past students in his chemistry classrom/lab (it's 2 in 1)

Always tells us not to sit on the floor because we will get sick and won't be able to have children (aka the most slavic thing ever said)

Always has a speech about trash and the existence of trashcans when he sees some trash on the floor

When someone is being too stupid even for his patience, he says "I get that you have one brain cell that is jumping around trying to find its friends so hard it gave itself a concussion, but-"

Assigned us numbers based on the alphabetical order of our last names and made us sign tests with it to keep it anonymous so he can just throw them out without having to worry about our names being leaked (yeah it's a whole thing) because getting rid of the papers otherwise takes too long

[class-1b-bull]

Can we share some nonsense about class B since they don't get the spot light enough?

Wrote most of this during my break at the cunt factory so it may be a little rushed /hj

Not proofread we die like men

Awase - one of his favorite things to go is weld one of his friends shoes to the ground before taking their phone or walet so they have to chase him barefoot.

Sen - during training once he missed a punch and drilled himself into the concrete and they had to get 3+ people to get him out

Kamakiri - once when Kamakiri was training with Tetsutetsu he trew him through a wall only for it to lead to the girls bathroom... they had to clean the entire dorms for like 3 weeks lol

Kuroiro - he tried to compliment his crush one time but the way he phrased it sounded like an insult and he was too scared to correct them when they pointed it out. Rip.

Kendo - there has been multiple times where one of her classmates has called her mom accidentally.

Kodai - she accidentally scared the shit out of Kamakiri once when she tried to ask him a question (he didnt see her walk up to him lmao)

Komori - she has forced awase to help her sew clothes before. He welds the fabric in place so it sticks before she secures it. The only reason awase agrees to do this is because she has a video of him falling down some stairs lmao

Shiozaki - her vine hair has thorns in it so its pretty common for her hair to latch onto one of her classmates clothes. (The class had to spend over an hour untangling her vines from Shishidas fur once)

Shishida - Shishida has a designed spot in the living area because he sheds so much. That chair is covered in fur 24/7 and its vacuumed twice a day

Shoda - he climbed onto the kitchen counter to reach something that was particularly high up once but he ended up falling lmao. He layed on the kitchen floor for like 15 minutes out of embarrassment even though no one was around

Pony - she still cant read Japanese all that well so theres been multiple times where she walked into the guys locker room/ bathroom

Tsubaraba - he tried to impress a girl by using his solid air to ask for her number but he ended up having a panic attack in front of her lmao

Tetsutetsu - he unironically says hes getting hard as a way to say hes gonna use his quirk. He hasent figured out why everyone gives him weird looks when he says that yet.

Tokage - once rin caught her eating an entire tub of icecream by herself on the kitchen floor at like 3am. Poor dude just wanted a glass of water.

Manga - one time he drew and cut out a life-sized version of himself and put his uniform on the cut out to see if vlad king would notice. He didnt.

Honenuki - one time honenuki apologized to a wall after walking into it. Only to then (immediately after) apologize to the same wall for thinking it was a person.

Bondo - he helps manga with arts and crafts all the time. And he was one of the main people that helped manga with his cutout mission (read mangas for context)

Monoma - the one time he said something nice about class A someone somehow got a video of it and showed it to their entire class. Class B treated monoma with that video for almost a full month lmao

Reiko - reiko and kuroiro work together to scare the shit out of there class every now and then but they stopped after it caused Kamakiri to punch an innocent manga in the face

Rin - not really some random nonsense he has done but I like to think if you press the right pressure points he activates his quirk involuntarily. Kinda like when a doctor hits that one spot in your knee and your leg kicks up.

I have no clue why but I really struggled writing for some of the students on this one rip... my mind was empty lmao

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (3; final)

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

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

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

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

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

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

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

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tags: hoshi loves thighs, corruption kink to the mAX, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), breast play, p in v sex (unprotected, 1800s contraception will make you prefer it but pls dont do this irl), making out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please be okay. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for leaving quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he sees puts his heart in his throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could find his freedom elsewhere. 

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

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

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And…?” he asks in silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks. 

“Everything,” you sigh. 

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

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

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

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

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

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you are…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

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

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

“How humble,” you hum. 

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

“Am I a survivor?” you question. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you stay with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Majesty—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked as he picked up some of your documents. 

“Clearly not,” you huff. The papers were mere decorations as you attempted to find an excuse to leave your rooms. 

“You realise you won’t be much of an effective monarch if you exhaust yourself to death?”  

There was no answer to that, especially when you were absorbing nothing of your new duties. You’d expected to fall asleep on the armrest of the uncomfortable settee whenever it was that you exhausted your brain of thoughts, even then refusing to sleep in that large bed. 

He’s awfully persuasive, because as he tucks you into those very sheets, about to leave but not before placing a kiss on your forehead You stop him. 

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

THE CROWN IS HEAVIER than you had expected, even more so when it remains on your head for longer than your previously practised sessions walking around the throne room. The crew was exceptionally good at giving you things to train with, including fraudulent rodent scares to ensure the crown would not topple from your own head the minute you rise from your coronation.

And now, as you finally remove the decorative piece from your head after your actual coronation to replace it with something lighter for the following ball, you find relief in the fact that you’d only ever have to wear the actual thing only a few times in your life. 

Everything moves as smoothly as it could, the decorated pirates that saved their Queen from a horrid shipwreck taking up most of the attendees attention as they either question inquisitively or send snarky remarks to the men who are well versed in how to rebut in true informal manner. 

The past months had taken up more of your time than you had anticipated, and during the latter half of the still twinkling party, you attempted to spot the person you’ve been trying to corner all night. 

Soonyoung stands at the edges of the gathering, empty handed as you watch him reject yet another offer for a drink from the trays that float about. His attire is the most formal you had ever seen, his face scrubbed and hair pushed back for the glorious occasion. 

Approaching him from the sidelines, you take hold of his wrists and pull him towards one of the many doors in the ballroom and into a hallway you knew for a fact was rarely ever frequented. 

“I feel I haven’t seen you ages,” you say once you’re sure you’re alone. 

“Probably best for you to keep busy,” he replies with the smallest smile. 

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

Looking at his covered torso, he runs an instinctive hand over where the wound was. “Just a smaller patch now, but it’s nearly there. Disappointed it won’t scar too much.”

“Disappointed?” 

“These are my spoils of war, miss princess,” he adds with a smirk, before correcting himself. “Ah, miss queen?”

“Doesn’t have the same ring,” you comment. 

“The crown suits you.” His voice is soft and sincere.

Scoffing a little, you answer, “I would hope it did.”

“Although, I do prefer you in trousers and a knife.”

Laughing, you can only agree. Especially in your heavier than yourself dress and jewels. “I think I prefer them too.”

At the mention of your new status, he asks, “Shouldn’t you be milling between your new subjects?” 

Keeping your eyes on his face, you wait until he meets your gaze. “I have more important things to attend to.”

He breaks eye contact first, and you can feel the distance grow further. One reach and you could take his hand in yours. 

But you don’t. 

“I know I’ve been quite busy, but…” you trail off as you attempt to find the words. “Is something the matter? What’s going on?”

With a long sigh, he runs a hand through his kept hair, effectively tousling it a little. “I was going to wait until after the ball to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He makes no moves to look at you when he utters his next words. “The crew and I will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. We’ve taken up enough of your space and it’s best if we don’t intrude any further.”

It’s like you’ve taken a blow to the chest, the air knocked out of your lungs as you register what he’s just said. “You’re….you’re leaving?”

“I would think we’ve both gotten what we wanted. We had a deal.”

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

His head snaps up to finally meet your eye, mouth opening closing as words betray him. 

“What happened to what you said about gaining you? All of you?” There’s a blatant accusation in your words.

“And you have! We’ll visit. Assuming the state doesn’t want my head on a pike anymore,” he chuckles uncomfortably. 

In a moment of desperation, you take his hand in both of yours; his scarred, gnarled hands that tell you even in the dark who’s warmth it is that you feel every night next to you. 

“Stay. Stay with me, please,” you plead. “I can’t live in this place alone, I despised it when I was young and I’ll only despise it even more now.”

Soonyoung brings his other hand to clasp over both of your own, eyes closing as you hear him take a somewhat shaky breath. “I’m doing this for the both of us.”

“So am I! I can’t possibly rule a kingdom by myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

He begins to whisper your name, moving his face away to blink rapidly. 

“How do you feel about becoming a pirate king? I can never forbid you from the waters, that’s your home, and you will have it.”

He does not look at you, but you know he’s listening more intently than ever before.

“But I ask you as someone who loves you more than I have ever anything else, will you stay and marry me?”

Soonyoung falters as he absorbs the fact that you’ve just proposed to him. 

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

“The court wouldn’t dare to deny me the man that saved my life.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer. 

“And even if they do, I'm ready to fight for the man who fought for me. So answer me as a man and not a pirate, Kwon Soonyoung, will you marry me?”

Soonyoungs mouth enclosing over your own is all the answer you need as you feel him break free of your hands to let them find your waist instead. Amidst the pile of fabric he pushes himself into you as close as possible, letting your hands guide his head to move against your mouth. 

It’s everything, as you grip onto the back of his shoulder, pressing unforgettably into his open mouth. He takes in your bottom lip between his own, sucking before letting go, only to engulf your mouth once again. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his lips, feeling the nuzzle of his nose against the apple of your cheek, hot tears spilling from your eyes. “I promise, we’ll figure everything out.”

He shushes you when he feels you shudder in his hold, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. “No need to torment your pretty head. Not right now.”

For once, you listen to your pirate captain without a fight, simply feeling the stretch of your lips as he moves down to capture them once more. 

The pressure of his hands isn’t nearly as strong as it would’ve felt without the layers upon layers of fabric that cover your form, but standing in this desolate hallway, you swear his fingers might as well be caressing your bare skin underneath. 

The thought sends your mind into a dazzling spin, letting go of his mouth with a gasp, suddenly needing to take a step back. 

“I have to—I have to go back inside,” you breathe into his slick mouth. “Meet me outside my quarters at midnight.”

As scandalous as it was, you could not deny how alive it made you feel to be like this, meeting in darker corners in the dead of night. But for now, you allow him to fix the bits of your ensemble you could not see. With the bad of his thumb, he blends in the smudges of your rouge, swiping at your lips ever so delicately to ensure he leaves no trace of himself. Tucking the loose strands of hair back behind your ears, and finally, fixing the encrusted crown on your head, a flash of one of the diamond’s gleams reflecting onto his perfect face. 

“You’re beautiful.” There’s a dazed look that graces him. “Beyond beautiful.”

With one last innocent press of your smiling mouth onto his, you promise him your midnight. 

BY THE TIME IT was finally an appropriate hour for you to excuse yourself for the evening, you were near to exploding entirely. 

Whispers of “Are you alright, your Majesty?” plaguing you through your already racing mind. It was beyond difficult to keep the constant shaking of your foot unobvious, however you could not simply up and leave whenever you wanted—at least not yet. The monarch would remain in an unstable authoritative position for quite some time after ascension, and with the unorthodox situation at hand, you assume you’d really have to push yourself if you were to be of any use as sovereign. 

But when the time finally came and you were escorted out of the grand ballroom, only mere ticks away from the resounding bells of midnight, you were holding back from breaking into a sprint. Outside your quarters it was empty, but you remain steadfast in your refusal for your ladies in waiting tonight, promising you could dress yourself for bed on your own. 

Standing at the double doors of your rooms, still the princess’ quarters as you refuse to move into the Queen’s rooms, you stand waiting. The two guards remain staring straight ahead, and you wait for the clicking of your ladies to go muffled before you ask. 

“Has the Captain approached?” 

“No, your Majesty.”

You try not to feel disappointed, despite knowing the midnight bells were yet to sound. “If he does, allow him in, please.” 

Opening the double doors, you half wish you had let your ladies help you out of the god awful dress, tight and loose in all the wrong places. The jewels are thrown haphazardly on your vanity, needing the heavyweight of them off of your body. 

Perhaps months of little to no bedazzling had rendered you incapable of wearing anything mildly less comfortable than linen and leather, but you suppose you’d slip back into the habit just as easily as you slipped out of it. Your nightgown feels like heaven on your tired, tired body, and the dimly lit interior of your bedchamber is only encouraging you to slip under your covers and fall deep into sleep. 

That was one thing about the ship you doubt you’d ever miss. 

Three rapt knocks outside of the heavy double doors have you sitting rapt at attention, hastily making your way to the door from your vanity. Pressing the front of your nightgown down, you open the door slightly and poke your head out. 

Soonyoung stands at the door, nervous of all things, still clad in his full suit. You smile as you let him in, closing the door to turn the lock. 

“Your guards mortify me.” 

“Oh? So they’re doing their job right?” You walk up to him and grasp onto his lapels, pulling him down to meet the lips you’ve missed so much despite only being hours apart. “Why? Has this big bad pirate found his match in the palace guards of all places?”

“Hmm,” he’s humming against your lips. “I could take them both.”

Giggling like you were in love, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. 

“I hope you weren’t bothered too much,” you say. “The aristocracy seem to have being a pain in the ass written in their birthrights.”

“I think they were too scared to approach, probably thought I’d start swearing and snatching the pearls right off their necks. Some of them were bearable, asked me how long my sword was.”

It’s difficult to not laugh at that, “Well?”

He raises his brows unceremoniously, “Won’t you like to know?”

Taking the opportunity while you giggled uncontrollably at the situation, he goes back placing never ending kisses to your mouth. Sighing involuntarily, you melt into him once again, infinitely more relaxed than in the hallway. 

Soonyoung’s eyelashes brush against yours in a whisper of their own, only reminding you how close you were to him in the moment. His kisses go from soft and fleeting to something with a little more vigour. The warmth of his mouth goes back to overtaking the lower half of your face, sucking and licking into your mouth like his life depended on it. 

If your mind was reeling when his hands were merely ghosts of pressure over your heavy dress, the feeling of his palms and fingers so distinct over your nightgown, the only thing separating you two, is enough to have your knees begin to buckle. 

From your waist, they move to your back, before caressing back to the sides of your waist, thumb running in circles. Gentle handfuls of your flesh, bunching and letting go of the material of your nightgown. Very soon, his mouth leaves yours and instead moves to your jaw, the air in the room letting you feel the wetness that he leaves behind as a passionate trail.

He soon reaches the junction of your jaw and neck, leaving a particularly long suck in the area that has a gasp leaving your mouth. Remaining in that area, you feel the pleasant graze of his tongue on your skin, only making you tilt your head farther out to let him carry out his loving. 

Your mind wanders back to the hands that grope you in ways that would defame you, the unseemly palms that have you needing to feel him all the same.

With grazing hands, you slip your fingers underneath his jacket, pushing it off one shoulder. He understands the message, flicking it off of his frame before loosening his cravat and throwing it somewhere behind him. 

Unlatching from your neck, he comes round to face you to find your face the epitome of disconnected and dazed. 

“Can you wait for me on the bed, my love?”

“But—” The thought of him being even an inch away was most aggravating, but he cuts you off before you can refute. 

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Soonyoung rests his forehead against your own, taking your hands in his. “I’m right here. I just need to take this awful suit off.”

Your face must have been peculiar because he’s immediately jumping, panicked. “Uh—do you not want me to, we don’t have to, I just thought—”

“No!” you yelp, wide eyed. “I, um, I’ll wait. On the bed, I mean.”

He lets you walk over to the giant four poster bed, pushing the flow of your gown down when you realise how high it had ridden, cheeks burning scarlet at the thought of exposing so much. 

Hearing ruffles from behind you, you cannot bring yourself to look back at him, already extremely lightheaded and afraid that the sight might make you faint altogether. 

Perhaps you were experiencing a delayed case of sea legs, because it’s more difficult than usual to make yourself comfortable on the soft beddings. You make a futile attempt at slowing your breathing. 

By the time Soonyoung is done, meeting you in the middle, you keep your eyes on his face as he’s immediately climbing over to kiss you softly. Hand on the back of your head, he guides you to lay flat, adjacent to the headboard so you’re laying on the breadth of the bed. 

He handles you like you were made of glass, and it only makes the strange ache between your legs increasingly present and uncomfortable. 

Noting a cool feeling on the base of your throat, you open your eyes and catch the leather cord that dangles from his neck, the letter opener charm that’s attached to the end of it connecting you two as your lips part. Just beyond, through the dip of his collarbones and the valley to his chest, you catch the scar  that curls above his heart. Even lower, you find the smaller wrappings of his scarring wound. 

You trace over the edges of the new addition, shaking hands as you try your best to not brush over the wound. 

On the other side, Soonyoung has his hands on shin as his body hovers over you between your legs. Curling around, he caresses the skin of your bare calf, drifting to the back of your knees. He takes the opportunity to lift your leg, urging you to wrap it around his waist. 

The action has gravity doing what it does best, the hem of your nightgown dropping to bunch over the junction of your leg, your entire thigh exposed for the air. 

Soonyoung takes no time to let his hands wander higher, taking light handfuls of the flesh of thighs, dragging his grip further and further up. 

“Nearly tipped the ship over when I saw you in those fucking trousers,” he says, eyes closed as he drags his mouth over the inner part of your thigh. 

The sound that leaves your mouth is breathy, mind preoccupied with how quickly he was making his way towards the apex of your thighs. He’s using his mouth like he used it on your own lips, nipping at the flesh before biting down hard. 

“Soonyoung!” 

Tongue running over the patch, he sucks on the area to sooth the bite. It’s taking everything out of you to not twitch uncontrollably in his hold, the heat in your core reaching temperatures you’ve never experienced. 

Unlatching himself from your thigh, Soonyoung rears his head slightly. The sight has your head rolling back, mind drifting to the face of the man who’d visited you in your dreams, the same man that had now made home between your legs. 

Before you realise it, the bunched hem of your nightgown is flown upwards entirely, fluttering as the fabric lands on your stomach. 

Your heat is bare underneath, evident with the way Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the now fully exposed part of you. Your chest continues to rise and fall as you lift your head to look at him, eyes half closed and mind muddled.

“What…What’re you doing?” 

Soonyoung looks like you’ve disturbed him from a trance, snapping up to look at you as you ask him your question. 

It hardly registers in his mind. What was he doing? Was it not obvious—

Ah. 

If the mere sight of your bare thighs weren’t enough for him to release his load onto the sheets untouched, your unawareness might just end up doing it for him. 

Of course you didn’t know why he was at eye level with your cunt; women from this world were not supposed to know. 

The buzz in his mind renders him useless for a few moments as his vision blurs, the pain in his lower region unbearable. The thought of him being the first person to do this to you, to pleasure you like this; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it till the end of the night alive. 

Screwing his eyes shut, his palms full of your thighs, he drops his head and counts to ten. 

“Will you let me show you how a Queen is meant to be worshipped?” 

Wet mouthed and unhinged eyes, your arousal was doing nothing but multiplying at the sight of him. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.” 

It takes you less than a moment to nod your head, eyes locked with his. 

Bringing a hand closer, he dips one finger into the beginnings of your hole. Bringing some of the glisten onto his fingers. Your lips are parted and he brings a second finger to gather your arousal, rubbing over your entrance ever so slowly. 

The motion makes you let out a heavy exhale, gripping onto the bunched fabric at your stomach till your knuckles turn white. 

With little warning, you feel his fingertips push and drag upwards, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Immediately, he’s rubbing your arousal all over the area, rubbing your clit in rhythmic circles with both fingers. 

You can’t stop it when you throw your head back and let out a slight whimper, relishing in the feeling that overtakes every last sense and capability, anticipating the next surge of pleasure that courses through your entire body like you've been struck by a bolt of something.

Vision obscured, you loll your head to the side when you feel his fingers retract, confused. 

All you catch is the outstretched nature of his tongue, and how it lands directly where his fingers were. 

You let out the loudest moan yet, back arching off the bed as he licks a forceful drag up your cunt before moving back down your clit, circling your hole with the tip of his tongue, right before repeating. He flicks your nub right where he’s found you twitch the most, back and forth as your hips begin to fail at your suppressed stutters, his hands needing to pin you down onto the sheets to continue. 

He becomes more generous, laying his tongue flat now as he massages your nub so good. Your thighs are closing around his ears and he does nothing to stop you, nearly suffocating between them. Hips going from their stutters to a grind, you find your hands flying to his hair, grip tighter than you thought you’d come down with. It doesn’t help that he’s now taken a finger to circle your entrance while his lips suck on your clit. 

“Soonyoung.” It’s all you can say, throat incapable of forcing anything but his name, the burn behind your eyes only making it harder to not say it louder. 

When he pushes the finger in, it has you letting out a moan, the foreign feeling against your walls only forcing them to clamp onto his digit. Gradually, you feel his pace quicken as he slides his finger in and out of your hole, his mouth still doing beautiful things to your cunt. 

It doesn’t take long for him to shove in another finger, stretching your hole as you let out a constant string of noises through the pleasure, ever-building as every passing moment only scrambles your brain further. 

And then you feel him groan, a vibration throbbing through your system. 

It’s suddenly all too much, and before you can tell him what’s going on, you’re rendered incapable. You don’t know where your limbs fly, but all you feel is white hot and overwhelming to an unbelievable degree. 

“Oh–ungh—” Your body is telling Soonyoung all he needs to know as he only pushes into your pussy even further, letting you ride out your high as you claw at him in every way possible. 

Inevitably, the feeling subsides and you realise you’ve been reduced to sobs, tears streaking the sides of your face. Laying flat with your head still on the sheets, you stare at the ceiling of your four poster, trying to remember where you were. 

Barely noticing the man that now hover above you, you hear him whisper. “Are you alright?”

Nodding weakly, you don’t even try to lift a finger in the remaining aftermath. 

“I need words, my love.”

Swallowing thickly, you give him a breathy, “Yes.”

The lower half of his face glistens in the light like unorthodox diamonds, and all you can think about is how you need him closer to you. 

You make an attempt with your nightgown, your trembling arms, still coursing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

Soonyoung decides to help, hands pushing your spine into an arch as he pulls the slip up and over your head, now entirely bare in front of him. 

You watch as instead of throwing the fabric away, he brings it to his mouth to wipe the slick off, tainting the gown with your essence. 

Mouth over yours in a salty kiss, you pull him into you as close as humanly possible, needing to feel his heat, his weight, his scent as close as possible. His mouth reaches your throat again, lips brushing over the expanse as he places open mouthed kisses over the nearly faded marks. 

His hands are lingering once again as they ghost the sides of your breasts, thumbs coming close to your nipples before retracting in a caress. He takes them in handfuls as he goes back to busy your lips with his own, massaging the mounds with a pressure just enough to have you reeling. 

Flicking your nipple lightly, he goes back to circle the bud with thumb again. Making himself further familiar, his fingers begin to pinch and pull at them, pressing down to get a noise out of you, one that you sound as you breathe into his mouth. 

Trailing over your stomach, he pushes himself off of you. On his knees, he takes the distance as his chance to look at you in your entirety for the first time. Your fucked out expression and your lack of words is doing nothing but fueling him, your loud breaths somehow more sinful than anything he could ever do to you. 

In one swift motion, he’s slipping his arms beneath you, pulling you up so he can lay you against the headboards and pillows. You barely register what’s happening, having given yourself up to him long before. 

Grabbing one of the millions of cushions on the bed, he swings one over. Using no strength of your own, he lifts your hips and places it down beneath you, effectively propping you up. 

And then he’s meeting you at eye level, hands cupping your face. “I need you to listen to me, darling.”

He waits for confirmation, of which you can only nod, still seeing mild stars. “Do you want to stop?” 

It's a visceral reaction; the violent shaking of your head, the hand that flies to his bicep. “N–no!”

You pause as he grips onto your upper arms tight, right as you continue. “I just—a moment. Don’t stop, please.”

Leaning down, he places a long kiss on the corner of your mouth before moving his head to fit into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles his nose against the skin below your ear. 

“I’m right here,” he whispers. “For as long as you want me.”

His kisses go from desperate to something with a little more intent, pressing his lips into your neck consistently. Oh so gently, it begins to feel like a draught. He turns into calm just as he could become chaos, bringing you down from the after effects of his own actions. 

The hum that leaves you is unthinking, fingers remaining deep in the roots of his hair. Your own nose is pressed against his hair, his scent mixed with sweat infiltrating your nostrils. It fills your head with a pleasant buzz, one that you feel force a pull at the corners of your mouth. 

“I meant it when I said it,” you murmur into his hair. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Raising his head, he meets your eye, smiling slightly. “I believe you. Forgive me for making you believe I was trying to leave you.”

“You weren’t?” 

He presses his lips into a line, exhaling as he drops his chin to his chest. “I’ve needed to be selfish my whole life just to survive. Leaving…I wasn’t sure how I would’ve gotten on that boat in the morning without taking you with me somehow.”

Moving back to look at you, you realise very quickly there’s more to the mere glassy look in his eye. “For once, I wished to be anything but a pirate, to be anywhere but near the sea. Not when you wouldn’t be there with me.” 

Taking one of his beautifully decorated hands to your mouth, you kiss the soft of his palm. “You’ve done more than anyone ever has to protect me.” 

You laugh against his hand, “This is my turf, captain. Let me protect you… protect us.”

Something injects you with a dose of bold, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his raised shoulders. “But…I believe we were in the middle of something. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

The smirk that graces his lips is immediate, pushing you back down onto the sheets as you let a laugh escape you. 

And then you feel something warm graze your bottom lip, pointed in the way it pushes inwards. He’s brought the glinting letter opener charm up to your lips, the trinket pinched between his fingers as he continues to keep it on your mouth. He kisses you deep as the metal remains between you two, your hands run across the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles ripple as he props himself between you. 

“I love you,” he cuts between the kiss to groan, the charm dropping from between your mouths to your chest. 

“I love you, mmh—” His fingers have found your clit mid confession, rubbing quickly as he attempts to get you all hot and withered again. 

Your legs raise on instinct, back arching as he rubs you mercilessly, the pressure building quicker than it had before. 

“I–I think—” you start to tell him, and it seems it’s all he needs to remove his fingers entirely. 

“Soonyoung!” you yelp, landing on the bed with a thud. 

Looking down, you find his hands wrapped around the length between his own legs, and you realise this was your first time seeing it. Past the white-oozing slit, his tip is a painful looking red. If his hands weren’t already pumping and he hadn’t already lined himself up to your hole, you would’ve taken him into your own palms, done exactly with your mouth that he’d done with his own. 

But you can’t find it within yourself to stop him when you feel the initial push of his bulbous tip against your hole, the stretch causing you to drop your mouth open. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse, and when you look up you find his own eyes screwed shut. His hands grip the plush of the pillow beside your head as tight as ever, face askew like he was holding himself back from combusting entirely. 

Slowly, you feel the stretch turn into something akin to a burn, a sting in the back of your eyes. You let him push himself into you at his own pace, the never ending battle between your mind and your refrained hips ever present as you attempt to keep them at bay. 

He keeps his pelvis flush against yours ince he’s sheathed himself inside you entirely. BOth of your pants fill the thick air of the room, the throb of your walls around his shaft leaving a tremble in his forearm despite your forsake. 

Hand somewhere above your head, you feel Soonyoung pull out ever so slightly before pushing back in. Just like this, in shallow thrusts, he pumps himself in an out of your walls in a slow pattern. 

It begins with a simmering tremble of pleasure that prolongs as he drags his cock in and out, and then in and out, and then—

Your eyes fly open when you feel his hips slam against yours with a resounding sound, fingers gripping his arm as he does it again, your moans penetrating the air. Before you know it, he’s hiked your legs up to wrap around his waist, ankles locking as he goes back to snapping his hips into you. 

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

Your nails are digging into his bicep like it was the only thing tying you to this earth, the only thing keeping you from passing out entirely. He’s taken up a brutal pace, pistoning into your clamped walls with a vigour unmatched. 

All Soonyoung can hear is the stretch of your moans and groans directly in his ear, the obscene squelch of both of your fluids mixing at your middles. Your hands have migrated to his back, clawing at the skin like you’ve been utterly possessed. 

He can’t seem to mind, not when they’ll simply become reopening wounds every time he’ll have you like this, all to himself and no one else. He wonders vaguely if your guards outside can hear the way you’re losing yourself in him just as he is in you, wonders if it appalls them that a filthy pirate gets to have their Queen in his arms as her vindictive pleasure. 

One hand rubbing over your slick clit, he pulls back to sit on his heels, the angle allowing him to keep ever part of you occupied, his spare hand coming up to toy with the pillow of your breast. 

It’s all too much, for the both of you as your collective noises become increasingly frequent and high pitched.

And then he’s pushed you over the edge, the shake of your thighs electrifying as you nearly scream out in the bliss of your high. Hands moving every which way to find a grip as you let the feeling crash into you over and over again. 

“Oh, that’s so good, so good, oh my goodness.”

You’re still in the middle of your climax when Soonyoung can’t take it anymore, letting himself release his load inside of you like a mark. It’s a mess of force and pleasure as the both of you lose sight of your strengths and weaknesses, the feeling of his hot cum shooting into your walls only prolonging your orgasm even further. 

He continues to thrust, continues to play with your nub, continues to flick at your nipples despite the orgasm subsiding. It’s all suddenly too much all at once, the sharp jerk of your body and your voice asking him to stop. 

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

Hands coming to a halt and his thrusts slowing, you feel him ease himself out of you. 

It’s a sight Soonyoung doubts he could ever forget even if he tried, your still pulsating walls doing everything but keeping the milky white of his load inside you, globs of the liquid spilling out as you shudder near lifeless on the bed. His hands grope at the inside of your thighs, pulling your lips apart to take in the mess he’s made. 

He can’t help himself when he pushes two fingers into your hole, feeding his cum back into your hole right where it belongs. 

You’ve only barely started to come round when he meets you at eye level, plopping next to you on the bed. 

“Hi,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you breathe back, hands coming up to touch his face. 

He lets you breathe for a few moments as he finds himself getting off the bed to find your tainted nightgown, moving back to you to spread your legs and wipe you clean as best as he could. 

You find it within yourself to allow him to pull you into a sitting position, a cup of water from the nightstand pressing against your tired mouth. 

“Come on, just one,” he urges as you slump against his chest. 

You take a few sips as he coaxes you into drinking the full cup and half of the second helping. 

He gives up as he holds you against his chest, brushing his fingers through your tangled hair to push past your face. 

“Are you alright?” he asks you. Your eyes are closed when he leans down to place a peck on the apple of your cheek. 

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

“Soonyoung, I can’t go again,” you whine. 

He chuckles, “I meant to ask where we could find some sugar around here. You barely ate anything at the ball.”

“The kitchens?” you answer with a floating question mark. 

Soonyoung can’t help it when he squeezes you so tight it has you complaining loudly, not being able to sustain the love just in the tiny expanse of his heart. 

“Come on, let’s get you some cake before both our hearts give out.”

BUNDLED UP IN WARMER clothes, the only thing the palace walls hear is the tiny whispers and giggles of you and your lover as you make your way to the kitchens. 

It’s empty at this time of night, the dying embers of the fireplace the only source of light. Soonyoung uses every last bit of his thievery to manage to find a basket of dough balls, the syrup more readily available at the table in the centre.

The tingling in your brain can’t seem to decipher the overwhelming happiness that floods you from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. Especially when you call out his name amidst his shuffling, your heart can’t take the grin on his face as he hurries to join on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

Arm looped through his own and your head on his shoulder, you decide you’d be quite okay dying like this. 

The dough balls are cold and the syrup is probably a little too sweet, but you can’t possibly complain when it warms you just the same. 

“I’ve despised my name my entire life,” Soonyoung starts in the silence, picking at the insides of his treat. “Some old merchant sailor was giving his ship away in exchange that the taker would take care of it. He’d built his Tigress from the first board to the last sail, but the years had made their mark. It was practically falling apart when I took it off his hands.”

He pushes the remaining bit of the pastry into his mouth, muffled as he continues, “He had a strange name, said it was given to him by his crew when they realised he was born without a name. Hoshi. I liked it well enough so I kept it.”

“Soonyoung—”

“That one. I wanted to replace the name I loathed, the one my own mother gave me.” You watch as his throat bobs as he swallows. “Ash is my birthplace, my mother worked in the brothels where I was born only because she couldn’t get rid of me.”

Taking one of the hands that wrap around his arm, he brings your fingers to your mouth, kissing the tips of each one. “I despised that name, until I heard it from your lips.” 

“Soonyoung.” It felt right on your tongue, like you were destined to say his name. 

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says as he kisses you again. “Thank you for keeping my name, thank you for giving it life.”

You take the opportunity to grab one of the syrup soaked dough balls from the basket and stuff them into his mouth. “Enough, don’t tell me all this luxury’s made you soft.” 

It was a jab but a lighthearted one in any case, you loved to see this side of him and you doubt you would ever get enough of seeing him like this. Vulnerable with his softer smiles and squinted eyes. 

Bringing one of your digits to your mouth, you suck the remaining syrup off your fingers. 

Soonyoung is quick to take notice as he takes your hand and brings your fingers up to his mouth, running his tongue over the pads of your fingers to take in the remaining sugar left on your fingers. 

He keeps his eyes locked onto yours as he sucks on the tips of your fingers, making sure every last hint of sweetness is gone. 

And then he’s kissing you, tongue in your mouth as he moves against your lips slowly. 

Breaking apart, you whisper, “As much as I’d love to, the bakers will be coming in any minute now.”

Soonyoung’s grin is dangerous, and you find out why the minute you feel his arms loop around your waist and under your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor of the kitchens. 

You squeal before you can help it, his lips finding home in your neck as you laugh as loud as your chest would allow. 

You could get used to this. And you will. 

THE SERVANTS CARRYING THE giant stack of plates nearly topple over when you sprint past them, yelling a loud apology over your shoulder as you do nothing but hasten your pace. 

The paper in your hands is clutched tight in your fists as you run to where your carriage awaits, near yelling at the driver to make it to the docks before the streets would be full of the early morning merchants and bakers, slowing the gallops of the decorated horses. 

The town is waking as your carriage races past, the beginnings of the new day making itself known as the sun peers through the gaps of the houses. You’re incapable of sitting still, your heels tapping against the floors of your cabin incessantly as the docks grow nearer and nearer. 

And then you see it, the rush of dock handlers that see the royal carriage slow to a stop in front of the boardwalk. You slam the door open before any of the tens could do it for you, breaking into a sprint as you find the distinct flag of the royal crest wave high on the other end of the docks. 

You had already seen Soonyoung off in the dark of the night as he made his way to the ship that was near ready to depart as you slide to stop in front of the anchored ship. 

There was nothing sane about what you were doing, the chortles and shocked noises of sailors and merchants deaf to ears as you finally spot him near the prow. 

His eyes meet yours and he has to do a double take. 

Panting and needing to hold onto your knees for support, you peer up as you watch him run towards the ramp that leads down to the docks to see you, to ask why you were here when he’d kissed you goodbye mere hours ago. 

By the time he meets you at the wobbly boardwalk, you’ve somewhat recovered.

“Are you alright?” he asks you as soon as you’re within earshot, hands grasping onto your upper arms in evident concern. 

“I had to tell you, this came in right after you left.” You brandish the paper clutched into your fist, smoothing it over as the light catches the red stamp at the bottom. 

It takes him less than a minute to realise what it said, eyes blinking rapidly and mouth gaping like a fish. “They…They said yes?” 

“They said yes,” you repeat, nodding furiously as you break into a smile. “We can get married, Soonyoung, they said yes.”

His arms are crushing you before you know it, wrapped around you so tight as he buries his face into your neck, repeating it like a mantra, “They said yes…”

By the time you part, he keeps his arms around you, still embracing you in front of the entire port. You take hold of his face bringing it closer to you. 

“Three months, and then you come home,” you breathe. “And I get to marry you, in front of everyone.”

Soonyoung lets his lips meet your own in a chaste kiss as he corrects you, “I get to marry you in front of everyone.” 

There’s a thud of something nearby, and you look up to find the crew of the Tigress hanging over the railings of the newly appointed naval ship that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s. 

“He can’t come back home, if he doesn’t leave!” Seungkwan yells over cupped hands. 

You’d like to send him an affectionate gesture involving your middle finger, but choose to save him in front of the crowded port. 

“You’ll miss me, Seungkwan, just you wait,” you send him a pointed glare that he simply scoffs at. 

He might miss you, but you’ll definitely miss the lot of them when you return to a significantly emptier palace. 

“Don’t let the royal snobs walk over you, you’re a better sailor anyway,” you tell Soonyoung. “Not that I needed to tell you, anyway.”

“I promise on our future wedding to be a complete menace.” He grins at the declaration as you admire him in the morning light. 

One last time, you memorise the dips and hills of his features, pressing your final kiss into his lips as the voices telling him to hurry it up grow louder. 

He blows you a kiss from the railings as the anchor is hoisted, and you send him one right back. 

As your carriage trudges its path back to the palace, at a pace more acceptable for both the stamina of the horses and the integrity of the structure, your eyes remain glued to the shrinking ship that fades into the distant horizon. 

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend. 

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings. 

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you. 

Always. 

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

[tododeku-or-bust]

Why do you think Achilles should simp for Patroclus more often in fics???????????

(if you get the gif reference then you know that I ain't bout to Miss)

I wrote y'all a fucking ESSAY because I love this topic so much!

Before I start, I gotta make my requisite disclaimer: I am not one of those uppity people who thinks they're too good to enjoy The Song of Achilles for what it is! I think it is beautifully written, a joy to read, one of my favorite books that inspired my love for my #1 of all time ship!

The Tl,Dr: I just wonder if a lot of people who read TSoA have not read The Iliad, and because of that lack of context tend to have what I feel is a very nonchalant (to use a word), almost underestimation for Achilles' love for Patroclus and how it affects him. I began to want more variation, more of an uplifting of Patroclus both as an individual and love interest.

Here's a link to Extra Credit's summary of The Iliad, bc I find it charming, in case you're curious!

I've read a lot of Patrochilles fics, left kudos and comments bc I'm a good noodle, and enjoyed very many! I encourage everyone who writes them! But I noticed after a while that there was a specific taste I was looking for that I wasn't finding as much (outside of my own particular Pat HCs, which is why I started writing my own shit lmao, the combination of canons explained HERE). The longer I thought about it, the more I realized what it was:

The stories almost always approached the narrative and romance from that near worshipful gaze of Patroclus onto Achilles from TSoA. And I really love that for TSoA, because it makes sense, right? The one guy that actually loved Achilles should be the one to see him in his glory, to tell a softer tale of his love.

But the thing I think we need to remember is... The Iliad is the story that we have been telling for almost three millennia. ALMOST THREE MILLENNIA of a man's love etched in history, and it wasn't Patroclus' love.

The Iliad is the story of Achilles' wrath, of his hubris, of his heartbreak so palpable from the loss of his beloved that he was willing to commit war crimes (on top of the war crimes he was already committing), that was so strong it scared Olympus. The Iliad exposes the messy ass man that was Achilles and his decision making. I suppose Madeline didn't have time to get into all the details (which thank god bc The Iliad is LONG) but her version of what happened to Pat, and Achilles' resulting anger, is very streamlined for pacing and romance's sake.

(The man went Super Saiyan for fucks sake, this is what he looked like out there, armorless, glowing, screaming to the heavens and depths)

(The Trojans fucking retreated, accidentally killing some of their own, in fear upon seeing him!! Book 18, lines 202-238, LOOK IT UP ITS FUCKING AWESOME)

And The Iliad... LOVES Patroclus. It almost make you wonder if Homer had a crush on him himself lmao. Achilles is always fondly speaking to and of Patroclus. There's always some form of "my beloved companion, my dearest companion, my favored above all". In the midst of letting thousands of men die (to the joy of endless Hannigram fans), he told Patroclus that it would be them who would take Troy (which I will never get over, because it says a lot about both his mental state and his devotion lmao bc SIR! There are people dying!)

I just found it odd that out of so many TSoA fics, very few seemed willing to have a focus on Achilles as the truly messy one out of the pair when it came to romance. And by messy, I mean, struggling to be the one to deserve Patroclus' love. Risking looking goofy while trying to get his attention, genuinely being nervous about Patroclus' approval and love. Struggling to be the one to prove himself worthy, to hold himself together because his image and his pride clearly mean a lot but just maybe they don't mean more than his man... that sort of thing. Bc to me, from both stories, Patroclus is the catch! He's the one that everyone loved and would want to be with, if not when he was young, certainly by the time he was grown!

And I get it- it's bc we want happy endings, bc TSoA hurt folks! So we don't want Achilles to be a butthead bc that's what caused half the problem! But...sometimes I feel like Patroclus is rarely given his opportunity to shine as an equivalent in fic (that's the reason I started Fame, way back when; because I wanted to see Patroclus literally stand on the same stage as Achilles, to have his own star power shine, for Achilles to realize that he's been slowly rising and now stands next to him and not in his shadow).

I just think it's a disservice to Patroclus, as well as to Achilles' DEEP devotion and adoration of this man so powerful we still talking about the shit, to act as though Achilles would always be so suave and unruffled about bagging him. To act as though Patroclus should always be the one in search of Achilles' attention without that same energy emphasized in reverse.

And it's not me saying that those stories are wrong or bad or anything! I just... I don't know, I wanted to see more of the opposite. I wanted to see Achilles be the one fumbling too, for him to realize that he's got a King in Patroclus, and that he should have his shit together to keep him. It happened in TSoA; he was quite unnerved that Briseis tried it, Patroclus just quickly handled it lmao. If we take both stories, TSoA is how Patroclus sees himself, and The Iliad is how everyone else sees him, and if those narratives are so different, why can't Achilles be the same? Why can't his inner monologue (in canon, fics, etc.) be a hot mess, but outwardly people aren't seeing it?

It's also why I really liked the growth of Achilles in Hades; it was nice to see him shameful, anxious, vulnerable and trying to hide it, to see him try to contain the mess and try to do right by his soulmate (and still fumble it lmao, i love that man). I liked that it showed that the things that happened to them had an effect and it was painful for both of them. That he adored this man while still not picking the action that would have made them both happy bc it's a character trait atp.

Damn i been talking forever. I've honestly lost my train of thought. Point is, I think that more people should take advantage of the fact that Achilles was clearly crazy in love about Patroclus. Like, lost his mind afterwards with grief type crazy... Like... 'sacrifice twelve men on a funeral pyre', 'stab holes in a man's ankles and tie his rope through it and drag his body because he killed you' type crazy. I don't think it's a far jump, especially in fanfic where we can play with these ideas in a more modern context without including the war crimes, to think that he'd be nervous, messy, and actively simp for the one man that he loved so much more than all others.

*OSP Red Voice* so.... yeah!

[bethanydelleman]

We need to talk about the Compromise Trope

Tl;DR It makes zero flipping sense because men always face a smaller social cost than women. You cannot force a powerful man to do anything, much less get married for life to someone he hates. And you wouldn’t actually want this trope to be true, because even if a man is forced to marry, he can just abandon or mistreat his wife. (This is a really long post)

Discussion of sexual assault and spousal abuse.

For those who don’t know, this is an extremely common trope in Jane Austen Fan Fiction/Regency romance. I don’t know where it originated, though there are two types of situations in Jane Austen’s works which are close. The basic premise is this: a man and woman are caught alone in a dark room/kissing (with full consent on both sides or not)/just hugging sometimes and a whole bunch of people scream and they are forced to get married.

Often both sides are unhappy with this marriage but it must happen, so they deal with it. This is the most common form of “Forced Marriage Situation” in the JAFF that I have read and heard about.

The two situations that come close are Lydia and Wickham’s elopement and then behaviour that has engaged honour in Pride & Prejudice, Sense & Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Persuasion. With Lydia and Wickham, that wasn’t an innocent kiss in a library, they were living together and most likely having sex for a few days/weeks before Darcy got the whole situation figured out. However, Darcy did not try to force a marriage first, he actually tries to get Lydia away. What we can assume from this is that Darcy recognizes that marriage to a dishonorable man is worse than the blow to Lydia’s (and her family’s) reputation or life’s happiness.

Situations where honour is engaged but no actual touching has happened (as far as we know), are Jane/Bingley, Marianne/Willoughby, and Louisa/Wentworth. In each of these situations, a man and a woman act in such a way that people begin to assume that they are engaged. Word is spread abroad, and the men all absent themselves from the situation in the hopes that rumours will die down. Lastly we have Henry Crawford/Maria Bertram, who do touch in the context of a play and who are acting very flirtatiously even though Maria is engaged. Henry also pointedly quits the scene. Two of these men (or their friends) are trying to exit an engagement situation fairly, two of them are just ghosting because they don’t care.

But here is the problem with the trope: while a man may be honour-bound to propose if he’s been raising expectations, no one can force him. Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Jennings both complain to the world that Jane and Marianne have been ill-used, but nothing comes of it! Bingley comes back eventually, but not because he’s “compromised” Jane and feels bad about it. Willoughby gets married to Miss Grey anyways and he doesn’t suffer that much socially (Sir John forgives him before the novel ends). Also, Willoughby seduced and impregnated Eliza Williams, which is way past “compromise”, and while it’s not clear how widely known this is, he is not shunned socially for that indiscretion either.

This is the whole problem with the trope: powerful men can survive far greater social disgrace than women!!! This is probably partially because women are expected to be virgins and men are not, but also because of the imbalance in marriage prospects. I imagine that a woman with £30,000 pounds could weather a scandal far better than someone like Eliza Williams. Men like Henry Crawford and Darcy would be basically bulletproof, or at least that is how they are portrayed.

Oscar Wilde spends a lot of time on this imbalance of consequences (especially in A Woman of No Importance) and his conclusion is that men can basically get away with anything while women, and sometimes their children, bear the full brunt of social cost. We still see this today! It’s the woman who most often bears the consequences for getting pregnant as a teen, for example, and the largest blow to their future prospects.

In the only “compromise” I’ve read in a contemporary novel, Molly in Wives & Daughters (written in 1866) is caught giving Mr. Preston a letter and meeting with him clandestinely. What happens is nothing like the JAFF compromise trope. Molly’s reputation is trashed, but Mr. Preston is certainly not forced to marry her, people just talk about how they will probably marry. Molly is the one who bears almost the entire social cost, Mr. Preston isn’t even that worried about it until his employer gets involved. He is only a steward and could be held accountable by a higher up, people like Darcy and Crawford have no one who could do the same thing.

Another thing I see now which is just wild is Caroline trying to sneak in Darcy’s room at night. I don’t know how that is supposed to make a “compromise” since there are no witnesses, but also, that is incredibly dumb. A man as powerful as Darcy could have full on sex with a woman and deny it and probably face almost no backlash. Especially since Caroline would have no proof. I mean she can’t get a DNA test in this era and once she admits she’s had sex it could have been with a footman.

And you say, but Darcy is honourable? Sure, but this woman threw herself at him without consent! I am sure he wouldn’t have sex with Caroline without marrying her, but if she started kissing him and then people demanded they marry? It would be perfectly moral for him to throw her under the bus. And then Caroline’s reputation is destroyed and she gains nothing.

The fact is, if “compromise” was a real thing, it would be gamed. Humans will take any loophole and widen it until you can drive a truck through it. All of the nobility would be married by women throwing themselves at them, here, I wrote a farce about it.

If anything, the “compromise” trope is a fantasy where men are actually held accountable for violating women. Which seems like it would be nice, but considering that some women, especially Caroline, weaponize “compromise”, you start to border on some disturbing territory. Like the idea that women who accuse famous people of rape are just doing it for attention/wealth. And that is not great! That is something we also still struggle with today.

The only way “compromise” works as it is presented is if someone more powerful than the man involved forces him to marry. So for example, a father threatens to cut off his son’s allowance or disinherit him, like Mrs. Smith in Sense & Sensibility. However, even married a man isn’t “trapped”, he can just leave his wife behind and fuck off to Italy. Which is literally the plot of All's Well That Ends Well by William Shakespeare, in which the king forces a man to marry. This happens in Jane Austen too! Wickham just goes to London and Bath to enjoy himself and leaves Lydia with her family. Or if you’d like real world examples: Percy Shelley and Lord Byron. Also Jane Eyre now that I think about it...

But that’s not even the worst that could happen! In Mrs. Hubback’s The Younger Sister, (a completion of the novel fragment The Watsons by Jane Austen) which was written in 1850, we have this chilling exchange about a man forced to marry:

"Ah, I am glad I have brought you to your senses, at last; now consider, if we could do as Emma advises, and persuade this Mr. Musgrove to marry, as he ought, there would be an end of all trouble in the affair."

"To you, perhaps, but not to Miss Margaret; I dare say her amiable husband would beat her every day."

This situation was a bit different, they were suing for breach of contract because Mr. Musgrove proposed to Margaret and then pretended he hadn’t. Two women overheard the proposal and would have been able to testify in court against Mr. Musgrove. This was a real thing and could either result in restitution payments or marriage. However, you couldn’t sue for breach of contract over a kiss or a “compromise”, you needed proof of engagement. The real cases I have seen involved publicly known engagements, or letters and tokens of affection (think Lucy Steele in Sense & Sensibility) So again, not “compromise.”

The point though is that a man being forced to marry a woman could abuse her without much repercussion. In JAFF/Historical romance it always works out, but in real life I can see someone being pretty resentful that they were forced to get married and taking it out on the other party.

Also, the entire concept of a man trapped in an engagement and unable to get out because of their reputation/honour is kind of laughable because that’s why breach of contract laws exist! And women, who were technically “allowed” to back out, faced pressure to marry:

“But after a certain time—after the world suspects that two people are engaged to each other, it is scarcely possible for the woman to recede: when they come within a certain distance, they are pressed to unite, by the irresistible force of external circumstances. A woman is too often reduced to this dilemma: either she must marry a man she does not love, or she must be blamed by the world—either she must sacrifice a portion of her reputation, or the whole of her happiness.” (Belinda Ch 18, Maria Edgeworth)

So again, the social burden is carried by women

(Brief note about Edward Ferrars, he is trying to honour his promise to Lucy Steele and is “trapped” in an engagement, but he made that proposal of his own free will. His family would clearly have supported him in a breach of promise suit so he could marry Miss Morton. Lucy only has a hold on Edward because he’s too honourable to jilt her.)

Lastly, duels. I know almost nothing about duels but they just sound profoundly stupid to me. The only duel we see in Jane Austen is between Colonel Brandon and Willoughby, they are both unwounded and go home quietly. I don’t know what duels are supposed to solve, if Colonel Brandon had killed Willoughby he probably would have gone to jail/been hung (I don’t know if he’s rich enough to get away with it). So if he wins, Eliza is screwed, if he loses, Eliza is screwed, there is really no good outcome.

Mrs. Bennet wants Mr. Bennet to fight Wickham, but to what end? If Mr. Bennet killed Wickham, then Lydia isn’t un-ruined? So what is the point? I guess maybe the man agrees to marry your daughter rather than face death? It just seems like pointless drama to me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a duel with a good outcome, illuminate me in the comments/reblogs if you have.

Here is what I imagine is a more realistic scene of “compromise”: A man and woman are making out, some people burst into the library! Social pressure mounts for the couple to marry, but the guy isn’t interested. He goes to Italy for fun, leaving the girl to bear the full brunt of slut shaming and reputation damage.

Five years later, the man returns and is invited back into society. The girl is unmarried and unmarriageable, perhaps banished by her family to some cottage. Or she stuck it out and hoped people would forgive a youthful lapse of propriety, was she rich and pretty enough to get over the stigma? One can only hope.

Now specifically in Pride & Prejudice variations:

There are some cases where Darcy doesn’t like Elizabeth and is mad that he has to marry her. I just don’t think those would happen. After all, he encourages Bingley to leave Jane while there is still wiggle room, I think he’d just leave and hope for the best. He might even pay a breach of contract fine, after all, if he marries a woman he hates or distrusts, that’s the rest of his life and the reputation of Pemberley forever. Paying a fine and waiting for people to forget would hardly hurt him. And he probably wouldn’t think it was morally wrong if he suspected that Elizabeth did it on purpose to try and trap him.

There are other situations where Darcy is happy to marry Elizabeth but she hates him. These may also not result in marriage because Elizabeth is pretty big on not marrying people she does not love for social gain. I mean especially a man who just sexually assaulted her! If she thinks as poorly of him as she does canonically at Hunsford, I can’t see her saying yes. After all, now not only is Darcy someone she dislikes, he just proved he isn’t trustworthy or capable of self control.

Also, there are way too many variations where despite hating Darcy, Elizabeth is totally into the kiss. Which is so weird to me! If someone I hated kissed me they would be slapped! I doubt people are going to be screaming for Elizabeth to marry someone who assaulted her, they’d probably be angry at Darcy.

Lastly, Caroline Bingley. She is trying to compromise Darcy but sometimes ends up in a compromise marriage herself. Now she is actually rich and has a very caring brother. I cannot see her doing something like actually marrying Wickham or Mr. Collins. She could probably survive the reputation damage because of her large fortune or live on her dowry. After all, Darcy has told her Wickham can’t be trusted. It would be dangerous for her to agree to marry him.

Basically, I think any compromise situation in Pride & Prejudice is out of character. If one really wants Darcy and Elizabeth married pre-understanding and reformation arc, I would suggest placing Elizabeth in reduced financial circumstances, like Mr. Bennet dying. Otherwise, you need to significantly change the characters of both Elizabeth and Darcy.

[incognito-lionbeast]

So remember how I said that this was a mundane Cumplane AU? well, I lied. But I said that in the notes, already~

My hand slipped! I wrote a scene from much, much later in the AU. No context, we die like men. Figure it out :3c

---------------------------------------

Shen Mei took one look at the two men standing at the door and blinked, stunned. Tall, handsome beyond compare, imperial… and in full cosplay. Their attention to detail was astounding—better than most of the dramas she watched, to be honest. She recognized the pair immediately, somehow finding it within herself to giggle at them. Oh, holy shit. Well, they had to be here for the two nerds locked up in one of the family’s guest rooms, right? So, she drew a hand up to her mouth to stifle that fleeting amusement, completely missing Luo Binghe’s attempt at a polite, gentlemanly greeting. Instead, Shen Mei composed herself shortly after and waved him off. 

“Hold on, one sec.”

Shen Mei drew a breath; turning away away from her guests, she yelled:

“San-ge! Your boyfriend is here!!” 

Said “boyfriend” was one-part offended—he was a husband, thank you—and two-parts bewildered by the smug aura emanating from the minuscule teenaged… sister?… standing between them and entry into the Shen household. Though, the latter statement didn’t last for long; immeasurably pleased by her declaration, Shen Mei listened for the sound of the guest room door opening and then quickly ushered the two demons inside to wait for her precious elder brother to arrive. If he took too long, she’d simply have to yell again. Don’t think she wouldn’t!

“Sorry, he and um… Feiji have been really busy.” Shen Mei explained. Yes, she still called him Airplane despite everything. And perhaps because she’d never asked for a real name. “You must be friends of theirs, right? Um, well if you aren’t, then this is super awkward, but—”

Pretty sure. Why else would they have Proud Immortal Demon Way cosplayers at their door, if not to hang out with the Author and his favourite hater? She just wished her dearest brother would have said something sooner! She could have roasted him better! Damn it, she could have prepared! Totally unfair. Then again, if this was for more than just hanging out… well, she’d just have to roast him for that, too! (She couldn’t believe that her brother would use their parent’s money for such extravagant, niche entertainment, though. He truly had changed, huh?)

As it was, Shen Yuan, with Airplane in tow, made his appearance before Luo Binghe had time to properly respond to the question. They both looked startlingly perplexed, vexed even—and that was even before sighting Luo Binghe and Mobei-Jun!—lingering at the edge of the room as if there was an arrow pointing to Airplane with the moniker ‘Shen Yuan’s boyfriend’ written clear as day upon it. His boyfriend was already–? 

Wait. Hold on.

They noticed.

“Shizun!” Luo Binghe yelped, recognising the face staring at him from the days of Shen Qingqiu’s Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom body. Yet, this recognition did nothing to assuage Shen Yuan’s confusion—nor his embarrassment, recollecting the way in which he’d been summoned from his work. Um. Hello? 

“Binghe…?” As in, Luo Binghe? As in— What.

Meanwhile, Mobei-Jun settled on staring intently at the unfamiliar face next to Shen Yuan, discerning. Trying to. Was it or was it not..? His brow furrowed, scrutinizing the physique of the poor, chubby—albeit not unattractive, suppose—shut-in of an author. Airplane wilted bashfully under his cold gaze, but could not pry his own away; unconsciously, he even hovered a few steps closer. He’d seen Mobei-Jun cosplayers before—even went out of his way to look for pictures—but this was… extraordinary. Luo Binghe, too, but he was far less interesting at the moment. 

Airplane, as always, had priorities.

“Did— Please don’t tell me my sister invited you here.” Shen Yuan tried to smooth out his expression, casting a glance her way. Brushing through his bangs, a hint of flustered exasperation tinted his body language regardless.

“Me? I thought they were your friends,” Shen Mei defended, adding inaudibly: Or escorts…

“Shizun,” Binghe tried again, a flash of worry marring his formerly composed nature. It could only get worse from there. So, he whined, striding forward to close the gap between them. Surely, it would help if Shen Yuan got a better look at him, right? He insisted, verging on pleading. “You don’t.. remember me? I’m your husband.”

This caught Airplane’s attention, snapping from his daze to genially mock his boyfriend. “Wow, Shen-bro, when were you going to tell me about this? I didn’t know you were already married! I’m hurt!”

“I’m not!” Shen Yuan retorted, thrusting yet another icy dagger into Luo Binghe’s chest. Upon seeing such a pained expression, he immediately recanted, instinct guiding his hand to rest upon Binghe’s head (a difficult task considering their new and improved height-difference, but his alleged husband leaned down to accommodate). There, there. Please don’t look at him like that! Please don’t— get any closer! Help. “I don’t think I am? You’re not—”

What was he saying?? Luo Binghe wasn’t even real! Yet, the giant of a man gazed at him with such sorrowful conviction that those words dried up immediately, never to be spoken. He swallowed, “You’re not mistaking me for someone else, are you…?”

“This disciple would recognize Shizun anywhere.” That fact was provenly false. But romantic. Shen Yuan flushed, startling backward a full step as Luo Binghe softly pressed a palm against his cheek. Yet, he would not allow Shen Yuan a second step, even as he reverted from petting to pushing Luo Binghe away. Never mind their audience, the demon lord gripped his husband with a free hand, holding him roughly in place as if that would somehow facilitate recalling lost memories. Then, simply, he claimed Shen Yuan’s soft lips with his own.

After all, Luo Binghe was used to Shen Qingqiu’s many false denials, thinking little of Shen Yuan’s. He had to remember. He had to. Though, even so, Luo Binghe dared not go further than a single stolen kiss for now. Shizun would be angry… 

Airplane’s feelings toggled between jealousy and amusement at the sight of it. Hey, that’s mine… his inner voice called out. Not that he had any chance if Shen Yuan and— Luo Binghe? A cosplayer? Really were a couple. Somehow. To distract himself, Airplane returned his attention to the duo of Mobei-Jun and Shen Mei. He asked, “Um, forgive me for asking, but Mei-Mei really didn’t pay you guys to do this, right?”

“She did not.” Mobei-Jun answered, to the accompaniment of ‘See, I told you!’ somewhere off to his left. Well, alright then. So, if this wasn’t Shen Yuan’s idea—which, judging by the less-than-consensual kissing and fussing going on, probably not—and it wasn’t HIS idea, then it had to be their idea. Yet, that didn’t make much sense, either. Supposing that the pair were simple cosplayers, how and why were they even here?? He was but an author, and Shen Yuan was…

“And you are?” Airplane tried again.

“Mobei-Jun.”

“Oh.” He should have seen that one coming. “I– yes, I see that. My king, what are you doing here?”

Mobei-Jun’s expression brightened almost imperceptibly at those two little words, so reverently applied even for lack of memory. Imploring. Though there had been doubt before, who else could it be? Who else gazed at him so? Thus, having finally reached a verdict, he stated with such affectionate satisfaction (though perhaps he was the only one who could really tell). “Qinghua.”

“Huh?” Airplane blinked. “Well, I guess you can call me that. I can’t stop you. I don’t think I really look like Shang Qinghua, though — and isn’t, didn’t you?”

I should know, I wrote the damn thing. 

There’s no way Mobei-Jun should be happy to see Shang Qinghua, right?

“My king, I don’t understand,” he said, continuing to play along. Why not! Well, fuck he knew why not. Yet, his boyfriend was too busy being menaced by Luo Binghe. So, he might as well humour this one, too. Maybe this was a horrible idea, maybe they weren’t really cosplayers or whatever at all! They could be in serious danger. The more Airplane thought about it, the more he couldn’t help feeling that they might be, eyes darting over to Shen Mei. Get out of here! They’re ignoring you!! And if these two don’t kill him, then Shen-bro definitely will if you get hurt!

If only she could hear him. Alas.

“You do not remember, either.” Mobei-Jun sighed. He considered briefly following Luo Binghe’s lead and kissing the man before him; yet Binghe didn’t seem to be getting results, either. So, Mobei-Jun was flummoxed. He could try beating him instead? Yet, a little voice whined from the back of his mind that Shang Qinghua didn’t even enjoy the beatings…

“Afraid not. Are you– are you real?” Airplane grasped at straws. That was the silliest conclusion yet, but suppose he had to set a baseline somewhere. Cosplayers or dangerous? Or maybe this was just an elaborate prank, who knows! He’d like to, though.

Mobei-Jun was puzzled. He’d never been asked that before.

“Er, well, of course you’re real. You’re here. Stupid question. I meant, uh… you’re really dedicated to being in-character, huh.” Airplane continued digging his hole even deeper, rapidly increasing Mobei-Jun’s confusion. This was a new game; though it in part felt a little familiar to him, somehow. Like there was some grand epiphany awaiting Mobei-Jun on the other side of this harrowing bemusement. He reached forward, a frown lightly creasing his lips when Airplane shrank from the touch, but Mobei-Jun was determined. His hand met a head of messy, brown hair, petting him just as Shen Yuan had Binghe.

“My king?” Airplane asked in a tiny voice. The hand did not move. It was cold, unusually so. Impossibly so. 

Airplane cautiously placed his own hand over it and brought it down for inspection, feeling the chill of something that couldn’t be accounted for by poor circulation alone. It was like holding a block of ice! Yet, there was a pulse and life flowing through it, too. Was he real..? Was that actually possible?

“I am real,” Mobei-Jun affirmed, allowing the manhandling without question. “You are Shang Qinghua – or, perhaps, he is you.”

“Um, well actually…” Airplane started to correct, but promptly shut himself up. Hole, no deeper. If this was Mobei-Jun and that was Luo Binghe— er, Luo Binghe did not need to know about being a self-insert. If that was the honest truth, and that was a very exaggerated If. He laughed awkwardly, turning over Mobei-Jun’s hand this way and that. “If you say so, my king. I really don’t know. Though, if that guy over there is Luo Binghe’s husband, then what am–”

“My fiance.” Mobei-Jun supplied.

(Shen Mei, who had only recently retired to a chair some ways away, stifled another cackle. Of them all, she found herself believing them the most… as absurd as that was, sure. Yet, with that said–! What the hell, though?! How come she wasn’t greeted with a beautiful, busty wife or something. Incredibly unfair. Still, there was some frivolous joy to be gained from this. After all, no matter how her brother struggled, he had a dirty little secret just dying for Real-Life Luo Binghe to find out about. So, she schemed.)

“Actually, wait– alright, so I’m Qinghua. Your fiance. We’ve established that, right?” (Mobei-Jun nodded.) “Then… fuck, Binghe called Shen-bro ‘Shizun’, so who the hell is he?!”

Mobei-Jun rather thought Qinghua answered his own question. After all, he was surnamed Shen. Shen-bro. Shen-shizun. Shen Qingqiu. All of this made proper sense to Mobei-Jun and Luo Binghe, who’d finally allowed his dear shizun some space (but only with the promise that Shen Yuan would not try to run). On the other hand, none of it made any damned sense to the two normal, non-demon men in the room. But that was only the men in the room. There was yet a woman – one who was having the epiphany of a lifetime!

“Oh my god.” Shen Mei muttered gleefully from her seat. She nearly bolted back onto her feet, brought forth from her scheming with renewed mirth. “Shen Jiu — no, Shen Qingqiu! That’s it, right?”

Shen Yuan balked.

[br1ghtestlight]

getting war flashbacks to the bobs burgers fanfic where louise is doing math homework in the restaurant when nobody else is around and then bob has a heart attack </3 that shit was TRAUMATIZING

love linda shouting four whenever there's a math problem or anything related to numbers. best recurring joke. FOUR!!!!

you can do it gene :D also im so bad at math I 100% would not be able to help either. dumbass rep family

bob trying to help gene with his homework is cute. even if he is Not very good at it. he wants to be an involved dad :(

gene im not gonna lie that math question has gotta be fucking with you. rhat is not a real question. i could NEVER do that not if i was given 100 hours that shit is fake

see this is where when I was in math class i would just write a random number and move on bcuz im never gonna figure it out anyway im not gonna waste time. so that's my advice gene. just Give Up

he says "maybe your mom or tina could get you started" because they're older but I genuinely think louise has a better chance of helping bcuz she is so smart. if she'd WANT to help is another question entirely

because I'm stuck in a safe 😐

AND THEN HE BLINDFOLDED ME ON THE WAY HERE??? HE BLINDFOLDED YOU??????

teddy I think his guy is gonna murder you im gonna be so real right now

unfortunately im kinda following teddy's logic now like. it isnt like fischoeder isn't doing this type of shit everyday just for fun. rich guys are just like that BUT getting their money is nice

"gene was doing homework?? that's new"

WE'RE NOT ALL ECONOMICALLY COMFORTABLE LIKE YOU ARE

"Why did you tell me the whole long story about the sandwich in the drawer if you're running out of battery LOCKED IN A SAFE??" "Context!!!!"

also bob and teddy have such great comedic chemistry lmao they bounce off each other so naturally

louise isn't lying she Does have a certain set of skills 😭 if anyone could find him it WOULD be her the lockpicking genius nine year old supervillain

miss you. see you soon. gotta go!!

has he gotten a new cellphone since that MIDDLE OF THE DAY AND YOUR PHONE IS AT 23% argument or is it that same shitty 2008 blackberry phone that dies almost immediately lmfao

bob is a real one for doing this bullshit for teddy he did NOT have to. they're ride or die fr

I'm not entirely unconvinced that gerald isnt a serial killer but thats okay <3 men can have hobbies

also I'm choosing to believe this gerald is the same one from the taxes/weed cookie episode even though it ABSOLUTELY is not bcuz i think that would be funny. by day he's a regular tax agent by night he is a creepy rich kidnapper who pulls mind games on all his handymen

OH I FORGOT THE SUBPLOT FOR THIS EPISODE IS ABOUT SPORTS PEOPLE why did they do the whole thing with gene's homework then.... are they connected. what is the gameplan

WE PICK A NEW LOVER FOR MOM

i love how bob is apparently the only thing keeping his family from going completely off the fucking rails like. he's the only thing standing between his family and their restaurant burning down with everyone inside fr

your dad never loved that dream :/ because he's a hater :/ AND SO JEALOUS :/

you're not gonna break the world record. another hater. STOP THAT

I might be having a panic attack 💔 I CANT TELL BECAUSE IVE NEVER HAD ONE BEFORE OR IM ALWAYS HAVING ONE soo real teddy

WE LOST HIM 😭😭💔

aww I love them all wearing their lil aprons <3 (crappy photo of my tablet bcuz the app im using to watch this episode doesn't allow screenshots)

SAY SOMETHING SMART LIKE UHH HOW WOULD YOU FLIP A GIANT BURGER. OH GOD THEY DIDNT MAKE THE GIANT BURGER DID THEY. WHO WOULD EVEN AGREE TO EAT THAT. AN OVER FOURTY CO-ED BASKETBALL TEAM. REALLY 😯

sorry this episode has so many good ooc quotes FJDMDJSKSKKM

gene STOP calling him father

bob is being like a whole ass detective meanwhile linda and the kids are currently making The Worst Decisions Ever

h jon benjiman is doing such a good job voicing bob in this episode idk it has so much personality and sounds natural. or it's always like this and im just now appreciating it but either way A+ work

cute bob and teddy moment ❤️❤️

(ignore the awful camera quality. nothing I can do there) also love the fact that teddy can easily lift up and manhandle bob. Good to know

there's so much going on w/ this gerald guy I dont even know WHERE to begin. what a guy. wow

this is so cute and sweet im so happy!!! YOU DOUBLE FAKE WALLED HIM :D YOU SMART SMARTIE. YOURE A GENIUS BOB

"I knew I asked the right person to come help me. Yeah. Mort wouldn't answer."

"What? You called Mort first?"

"No..."

HE ASKED MORT???? LMFAO big win for tedmort shippers. I fucking guess

MORT NEVER DOUBLE FAKE WALLED ANYONE why is bob like genuinely jealous of mort and teddy right now 😭 chill out man you've got a wife at home

"let's just say it's twelve" FINALLY bob follows my very smart advice when it comes to math homework smh

ALSO THIS IS TECHNICALLY THE FIRST TIME WE'VE SEEN THEM EATING BOBS BURGERS FOR DINNER OR IN GENERAL!!! I mean it's a giant hamburger loaf but it technically was served at bob's burgers so it counts

GIANT FRENCH FRIES

aww this episode was so fun and cute!! I love the more adventure-y type episodes where they explore a new location so this episode was great and very stressful lmao. also very funny. I love bob and teddy's dynamic/back and forth throughout the episode and the weird mort mention at the end felt like they were soft launching his and teddy's relationship even though I KNOW they aren't actually. mort could replace kathleen if we believe. very solid 8/10 episode :)

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Alright we're gonna do our first big compilation of my longass notes for a friend of the blogs fic, obviously we mUST start with The Thunder Answered Back by @spicymiilk

Fair warning, I would read the whole fic before reading my notes and laughing/crying along with me. I do think you can go chapter by chapter if you wish. Also a fair warning, I usually cull my notes before posting a fic comment; I really let myself go wild here. Proceed with caution.

Chapter one I didn't have too many notes bc I was deep in it and also there wasn't too too much cringe. Idk if this is well known about me, but I can watch like, hardcore porn or gore and not flinch. I used to watch Animal Planet vet shows while eating cheese its when I got home from school, just munching away while they did surgery on little puppies. But if you write even a tiny bit of cringe it takes me like 5 business days to recover. I fully cannot look at the screen. I will leave the room if an awkward conversation happens in my tv show. I also can't not react to cuteness as well. These notes were mental escapes a lot of the time in this fic, like mother of GOD I want to die even imagining these conversations. Mortifying. Anyways.

Unhinged things I would say on the google doc but here!

DIALOGUE, dialogue, dialogue, dialogue. It can make or break a piece and it CARRIED in this one. It's so very cringe and realistic lol. Dialogue is usually the hardest for writers but I don't think our man here has this problem lol.

Great setting as well, I can feel the heat. A setting you can physically feel is so immersive, it sucks you right in, and my ass has never been to Italy but I've been on a dock and I've been in a hot thunderstorm and I can feel it all.

Obsessed with the way Spider steps into the house and Neytiri's like "dinner, gayboy??" like she was on his ass instantly skskskks. HER LITTLE SLIGHTS AT HIM?? EXPLAIN, LOL. WHAT DID THE CHILD DO? Reminds me of the time my friends mom asked me to stop calling her Chris and I didn't understand why and just blurted back "Okay, Chris." It's just so funny to me when she hates Spider in modern fics, because there's no systemic context it's just her beefing with a small child oddly lol. Having read the whole fic now, it's just Quarich's racism connection, I believe.

I am obsessed with the plight of the boys. Obviously Spider needs to leave, but I'm hoping Lo'ak escapes the military industrial complex lol. I'm so torn. I had Sully fam on the brain, and I wanted Spider's continuing relationship with them all so badly. Maybe I simply need for them to ask Spider to stay with them? Like "live with us for a year buddy, get yourself ready for college. You can do anything king but also ur part of the family, now go deflower our son."

Here is that clarifying question I asked: Did Kiri and Spider have sex??? Or did Mandy tell her about Spider's dick? OR BOTH? I simply could not figure that out. Also missed opportunity to name that character Ninat for the lols. The next generation of Ninat's beefing with and over Sully men.

Now that you've given me my answer, truly hilarious comedic content for everyone around.

Kiri, at night: want to hear about Spider’s dick?

Lo’ak, charcoal and paper out, ready to create an impressive sketch: ew, no, go ahead.

Chapter two, FUCK OFF Jeytiri flirting karaoke is adorable, that’s hilarious. The whole scene made my heart happy bUT NOT HAPPY ENOUGH not enough comfort I need more of it.

Spider turning to Lo’ak who's aLREADY LOOKING AT HIM cause they’re both like “oh you mentioned love, let me look at my best friend,” I’ll die.

Lo’ak literally BEGGING Spider to sing so he can swoon in the corner. I love this headcanon that seems to be cropping up of Spider being like a really good singer, it's very interesting to me.

JAKE UNDERSTANDING SPIDER I’ll die. Jake’s adopted that child you can’t convince me otherwise. Dude, even Neytiri fucking sees him as part of the family, I’ll scream. The tooth gem thing??? Iconic. Loved it. She’s giving Spider specifically cookies??? I’ll die. She's included him in all their shit. Not just anyone can do family game night karaoke. The karaoke, I am obsessed. Adorable. The Kiri and Lo’ak banter means the world to me. Their limp wrist agenda, the limp wrist bullying. What will he do when he can’t hold that against her? She must be unbearable to him in return when Spider isn't there. We love a homophobic gay. It's like what I said about my roommate i slept with twice (who follows me on here and we all better hope doesn't perceive this post); "I only get offended when SHE calls me slurs because I know then it comes from a place of true homophobia."

Kiri is literally begging Spider to understand Lo’ak wants him. BEGGING LO’AK TO UNDERSTAND SPIDER WANTS HIM. Kiri trying not to die at how obvious they both are. Kiri, going to beat the shit out of Lo’ak for asking about Mandy of all people bc of how far he's gone to avoid learning about that. I STILL AM UNCLEAR AS TO IF HIS ASS ACTUALLY DIDN'T KNOW SPIDER BROKE UP WITH MANDY OR HE WAS JUST BEING AN ASS.

Also fuck u for underestimating the importance of Tuk to Spider, he wants Tuk to remember him please I swear.

Also I have noted you have hinted at Spider’s praise kink. I can see it clearly. Nothing more will be said on that topic, but sometimes a praise kink simply makes sense for a character.

'IT COMES OUT MORE LIKE GAY' that was just for me, I know. So was Ninat's kid, obviously. Now that it's cONFIRMED for me I love to know that I am the target audience of all locorro fics ever.

Spider: *calls Lo’ak baby and gets embarrassed*

Lo’ak: *rebooting*

Lol Spider punching Lo’ak for saying slurs is so funny. Lo’ak's like if I say it I ain’t it, and that's on falling for the guy that is punching me for saying the slurs.

This little "I knew" reveal was CERTAINLY not what I was expecting. Not at all. A delightful little twist huh? A little trope subversion? AN EXPLICIT DRUNK CONFESSION IS SO HEART-WRENCHINGLY AWFUL OH MY GOD. WHAT HAPPENED THEN WHAT DID THEY D O I MUST KNOW. "It’s not a big deal bc I… like u too obviously lol." That's the end of the sentence and the end of the communication. I was driven insane by that, I just finished XO Kitty, worst show ever, and I was reminded how much I despise when communication would solve legit every problem but it's handled realistically here. Communication is so hard for the boys Kiri will throw hands. And I brought your inhaler with me obvs cause I’m in love with you.

I’m sad about an asthmatic fist fight but it’s so appropriate. I am sad tho. I am a hurt/COMFORT bitch where is my COMFORT. I don't think my body is ready for a nocorro fic from u @spicymiilk my blog is about to become all comforting headcanons and we're going to ignore the plethora of Hunger Games ones I got today.

Now we have to sit here in this world where Lo'ak thought Spider was emotionally(?) cheating on Mandy with him if he thought they were still dating, the fucking clown idiot fool.

FINALLY, for the third and final chapter, with some bonus answers Andrei has given to my demanding all caps questions.

I’m so mean, I’m laughing at the idea of Kiri waking up at an ungodly 7:34am to Lo’ak ugly crying over Spider’s fake bed on the floor like he’s gone off and died in the war. She’s just like the pizza box community meme like uhhhh. Now I know this must happen oFTEN so I again figure that she must have gotten really good at sleeping through his ugly sobbing.

JHUST FUCKING LEAVE QUARITCH THIS IS SO ANNOYING GET OUT OF MY PLOT I’M TRYNA SEE KIRI’S TEXTS, ugh I'm so biased I despised how much he was in this chapter he should choke I wish asthma was contagious. Although, for some reason Quaritch calling Spider Lo’ak’s wife did things to me personally, The sweet homosexual love line then took me out back and popped me (I mean this in a like, Italian mafia putting me down outside way and not like, doing poppers outside a club although for some reason both are giving the same energy).

Neytiri murdering Spider for both turning her son gay and also making him sad can be something so personal. I still am in denial of every universe where she doesn't like him, and in this one I just love the idea of them slinking back to Italy having eloped or some shit where Spider now has to build that relationship but now having deflowered and stolen her son in the night. Hilarious. They must bond over talking about how stupid he is. They're so similar, how can the people with Jake and his clone not be.

Lol I also forgot Lo’ak got a black eye, that makes Kiri’s texts earlier so much funnier. Kiri was like they made out so hard he was struck with love. Developed a bruise. His gayness punched him in the face.

SPIDER KILL YOURSELF IM IN YOUR ROOM KICK YOUR DAD OUT IS SO FUNNY TO ME THE KYS SPECEFICALLY KILELD ME.

Oh my god the crying was all a lie, a fantasy, I’m so disappointed. More realistic, sure, but still. I am unclear as to if it was rEAL.

I had the cunt thing spoiled for me when I was catching up on posts I missed; never did I imagine lol. Almost as hilarious as Lo’ak telling Spider to die because he didn’t look at him, gay.

Spackle covering the hole in the wall, hmm, I wonder who punched that there?? Also abusive Quaritch giving romantic advice is making me want to puke up all my organs. I know Andrei says say the hole in the wall was nothing, but you can't have an abusive dad character and then mention a hole in the wall and nOT have us thinking that Quaritch punched a hole in the wall. Every reader is gonna think that.

Lol those Kiri texts and what she says is sO MEAN god I totally get why she did it but omg way to ruin a man over something that is not his decision or his fault. She’s just so so mad about the gays being dumb. Can’t believe she finally coughed up this info. Also the way Quaritch could probably hear all this through the wall makes me wanna die.

Speaking of Quaritch, what an interesting portrayal of their relationship. As a Quaritch hater, there's very few fics where I don't just fully skip long interactions with him. I gotta have really been sucked into the world, and I was with this one. I can't tell what of my feelings on the characters have made me biased on the relationship and what are my feelings on what the text portrayed. The feeling of too late in their relationship is there, overwhelmingly and devastatingly, but part of me found myself unconvinced by the attempts from Quartich. I literally can't tell if it's my own bias (most likely) or if it's my own lack of explicit background knowledge.

What we do learn of the past we learn in fragments, passing lines from Spider's internal monologue. They aren't the focal point of the story, but they are deeply important to the world created, and it leaves me with a feeling like I'm in an unfinished paint by numbers; I don't quite have the full picture. (Again, as I always say to you in my beta notes Andrei, these are incredibly harsh comments for fic. It's just good enough I'm treating it as though it's more lol (bc it can be)).

As to why everyone is finding Kiri mean; yeah she's neurospicy and we do clearly get the vibe that they talk to each other in this way, this casual banter that doesn't really mean anything. That being said, casual "kill yourself" or like "this is all your fault" and shit like that when the character is clearly upset and angry comes across as serious. Knowing Kiri as a character I didn't think she was, but reading it took me aback because as a standalone I don't have that context. In arguments and serious moments those words pack a punch, especially to a reader in such close third as we are with Spider in this one. We are WITH him and seeing only his thoughts and perspectives, his hurt is front and center so it's easy to feel hurt and defensive as a reader. I digress.

Lo’ak’s like every man in a crime show calling his wife to hear her voice one last time before he goes to to the dangerous mission and almost dies. He's like "I'll hear Spider's breathing and then know the US military is the way for me." Spider, the barrier between Lo’ak and the goddamn US military. That’s so funny to me. This is another reason to feel confused by Kiri's vitriol; it's not Spider's fault what Lo'ak chooses to do with his life and it is unfair to blame him. One line of her doing it I get, but she does it several times and the only excuse we get for her is from Spider.

Kiri is better than me I’m an awful secret keeper. But also maybe she could’ve coughed that bad boy up earlier, huh?

Tbh tho, on a serious writing note; it’s so well written because from the beginning we know exactly what is happening. They both like each other and Kiri knows both sides. That was obvious to me. You tell us from the get go that Spider is leaving when he turns 18, and that Lo’ak is leaving to join the military, WE KNOW WHATS GOING TO HAPPEN. And yet the train chugs on and each event sets it in motion instead of derailing it, leaving us with an inevitable tragedy we all saw coming. Well done. If I was giving line edits on a publishable work, I’d say speed up the timeline. Make the whole fic (so excluding prior events like the party) all happen like. A few days before Spider leaves. I want to feel it all in real time, up close, as it happens. No breaks in time. I also want that memory convo with Lo’ak earlier lol, so that the realization of it can hit later. And honestly, if it wasn’t fic I’d leave it with the Kiri and Spider convo. No happy ending. BUT NOW LET ME GO READ MY WELL DESERVED HAPPY ENDING. U would've been SICK for not including one.

Extremely uncommon fanfiction Jake Sully W here. It should be more common I am an unapologetic stan.

Them going to find each other is so funny to me. Kiri was personally sending them on a wild goose chase as revenge.

OH THERE IT IS THE COMMON JAKE SULLY L. Although driving your gay ass son to do an airport rom com moment at 5:45am is actually quite the parenting w, where the fuck was Neytiri she would’ve been much more efficient. I mean she wouldn't have let him go, but she would've been efficient about it.

The idea of Lo’ak making his final decision to go to the military earlier in the day and then not actually doing it until he wakes Jake up at 2am makes me cackle. Jake: you go get that dick son, your mother can kill us both later.

ALSO WHY’S HE PULLING HIS SHIRT COLLAR SO HIGH, HMMM, ANDREI??? Showing up to meet his grandmother absolutely dEFILED. Does Lo'ak even have a change of clothes, that monster.

It’s 2:18am (when I originally write this), I have work tomorrow as I do literally every day of the week, and I’m just smiling to myself at this shit. Criticism: not enough of them being happy and also I didn’t get to learn what depraved things Spider wanted to do to Lo’ak that he drunkenly told him about that Lo’ak then had to live with torturing himself (and Kiri) over for months.

Andrei's response on what Spider drunkenly said to Lo'ak for the people: The depraved things are as follows— spider sat his ass in Lo’ak’s lap, completely and utterly gone, and waved poetry about Lo’ak’s long and strong fingers for at least ten minutes. He also made sure to mention his borderline tank top kink. Lo’ak definitely did not internalize that

I just have to say; I should've expected that. Those two gay ass losers to simply lose their minds over tHAT, which is like nOTHING. A REGULAR CONVERSATION I'D DARE SAY. ONE OF THE FIRST CONVERSATIONS I HAD WITH ONE OF MY ROOMMATES WAS ABOUT HER HAND KINK, SO I RECIPROCATED BY SAYING I THOUGHT THE DWARVES IN LOTR HAD GOOD HANDS. LO'AK WAS DEAD, SIMPLY MURDERED, A BLUSHING FOOL OVER THAT.

Lo'ak, stumbling into his and Kiri's room: Spider confessed his love for me and said... depraved things.

Kiri: OH MY GOD WHAT DID HE SAY.

Lo'ak: He said he likes my tank tops... I can barely speak of it out loud.

Kiri: Oh. 🙄

Also lowkey Kiri has to be enraged they’re normal now that they’re away from her. ALSO DOESN’T THAT BITCH LO’AK HAVE SCHOOL?? Hilarious all around. Lo’ak brings Spider back because they cannot be apart and then keeps him in his and Kiri’s room for the next year until he finishes high school. They see how long they can go without Quaritch finding out Spider’s nearby. Kiri hates them so much, especially now that they fuck in her space.

Andrei said in response to this: Lo’ak finished school in Florida!! Pulled a fast one on the school system and said hey I’m smart enough to finish like two classes here. Kiri didn’t speak to EITHER of them for months. Neytiri would call to check up and Kiri would be whining in the background about how she’s betraying her

They make up when Spider saves up to get her a ticket to visit them for a summer 🤸

The idea of Lo'ak never returning is so funny to me in so many ways. First of all, Spider dropping him off and picking him up like he's the sexy older boyfriend in every romcom ever. Second, the idea of Spider bullying him for having to go to school still. Three, they just squat with Spider's grandma, and she's like god I expected one gay loser not TWO. Four, Neytiri calling to check up just resulting in her and Spider both bitching about Lo'ak and Kiri respectively here is how the Neytiri and Spider fanboys can win-

Also, the idea of someone having to tell Neteyam about this makes me want to cry real tears of laughter. He’s in his first semester of college someone free him.

Andrei said: Let neteyam live in blissful ignorance. He knew Lo’ak was a raging homosexual for their entire lives and the second he saw spider he was like. Oooohhh okay. And then he never looked again the mental strength required to deal with it was just too much

Kiri, on facetime: so Lo'ak followed Spider-

Neteyam, opening a textbook in his Harvard dorm room or some shit: