#the exciting life of a barnacle

[evilvillain123456789]

cast iron skillet possesses a type of primal consciousness above and beyond that of ordinary mineral life and the ones with decades and centuries of carefully accumulated seasonings almost rise to the sentience of lower animals such as barnacles and mandarakes oh but my point being I have discovered a way to cause them conscious Suffering that I'm very excited about

[flwrkid14]

Always excited to see you post!

If it’s not too much trouble, could we have more Dad!Tim or Tim raised by Danny?

Love your blog!

oh tysm anon!! here u go <3

It starts weird.

Which, considering Danny’s life, tracks.

He doesn’t plan on adopting a traumatized billionaire’s emotionally neglected child detective. But Tim shows up one day—scraped up, exhausted, eyes like dead stars—and Danny just. Offers him soup.

That’s all.

Not a rescue. Not a battle. Just soup, and a blanket that smells like ghost dog fur, and a “you okay?” asked without expectation.

And Tim, for whatever reason, stays.

It’s not immediate. Danny doesn’t even realize what’s happening at first. Tim starts coming by after patrol, sometimes with bruises, sometimes with files. Sometimes just to sit on the couch and watch garbage TV while Danny does dishes.

Danny, for his part, starts setting out extra food. Starts asking if Tim’s eaten. Starts dragging him to bed when he falls asleep face-first into schematics.

And one day, Tim brings his laundry over. Danny blinks. Tim blinks. They never talk about it again.

There’s a moment.

It’s small.

They’re in the kitchen. It’s 2AM and raining. Danny’s slicing fruit for no reason and Tim’s doing… something with string and duct tape. He’s muttering, hair sticking up in all directions, wearing one of Danny’s hoodies like it belongs to him.

And he says, absently, "Thanks, Dad."

Silence.

Tim freezes. Danny blinks. They both look at each other like they’ve been caught doing something illegal.

Danny says, “...You’re welcome.”

And that’s it.

No one dies. The world doesn’t end. Tim just blushes, mumbles something about the blueprints, and goes back to work.

After that, it’s different.

Danny picks up on it first. The way Tim gravitates toward him in crowded rooms. The way he asks for advice, then pretends he didn’t. The way he lets Danny fuss at him about food and sleep and schedules, even when he’s grumpy about it.

The way Tim lights up when Danny praises him. Like he’s still that little kid who wanted to make someone proud and stopped expecting it a long time ago.

What Danny finds most intriguing, is noticing how Tim starts becoming one of those quiet, velcro kids.

He doesn’t cling. He hovers. Moves around Danny like a satellite—close, watchful, drawn in by gravity. Always sitting just a little too near on the couch. Always finding a way to lean against him when tired. Always relaxing when Danny’s hand ruffles his hair without asking.

Danny catches himself more than once with a Tim-shaped barnacle attached to his side, both of them pretending it’s completely normal.

And honestly? Danny doesn’t mind.

Tim's always been a little starved. But now he has someone to curl into when the nightmares come. Now he has a home, not just a place he sleeps in between battles.

Bruce notices it too.

He notices when Tim stops calling the manor “home.” When he starts redirecting all his mail to Danny’s apartment. When someone asks who Tim’s guardian is, and he doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Oh—Danny.”

Not Bruce. Never Bruce. Not anymore. Tim doesn’t even seem angry about it. He just… moved on. Bruce tries to pretend it doesn’t sting.

Danny doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He’s not Bruce. He’s not a Wayne.

He’s not rich or trained or qualified. But he sees Tim, really sees him, and maybe that’s enough.

Maybe Tim didn’t need another mentor or mission.

Maybe he just needed someone to say: "You don’t have to earn love. You already have it." And mean it.

Danny does. Every day. Even when Tim forgets. Especially when he forgets.

Because the thing is—Danny remembers.

He remembers the first time Tim let himself laugh, unguarded and loud. He remembers the night Tim fell asleep mid-sentence, curled into the corner of the couch with popcorn in his hair. He remembers every subtle shift, every quiet moment of trust.

And he knows—deep down—Tim might never say it again. But he doesn’t have to. Danny already is. Dad, that is. And he's not going anywhere.

[cherryite]

seven minutes

summary. you've been a constant in mark's life for as long as he can remember, and he can't wait to spend the rest of it with you too. (word count. 2.2k)

content. mark grayson x reader, fem!reader, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, angst, hurt no comfort

warnings. major character death, blood/gore, suggestive themes, sinister mark because that guys a freak

author's note. yeah um.... im so sorry for the emotional damage this could cause (was listening to all i need by radio head while writing so.... prepare yourselves)

Mark has never experienced life without you.

He first met you on his fifth birthday. It’s one of his earliest memories, and he can always recall with a startling level of clarity. 

Your mom and his mom were college roommates and your family had just moved back to the neighborhood, so of course you had to attend Mark’s birthday party. Your mother had swept you into the backyard like a whirlwind, chatting up Debbie with the kind of excitement that Mark could only compare to opening the Seance Dog figurine his parents had got him earlier that day. You clung to your mother like a barnacle stuck to the side of a ship. Your eyes were wide, curious but cautious as you observed him. 

Debbie crouched down in front of you, tugging his hand gently to bring him closer to you. 

“This is Mark, sweetheart,” she said softly. “He’s your new friend.” 

You hid shyly behind your mother’s legs, peering out at him with the biggest eyes he’d ever seen. Sweet and innocent as you stared at him— remnants of chocolate cake smudged on the corner of his mouth and grass stains on his knees. Eventually your mom nudged you out from behind her, landing you right in front of him. 

“Hi!” Mark chirped, offering a little wave and a gap toothed smile.

You just blinked at him owlishly.

“... Do you like chocolate cake?” Mark tried again, his head tilted to the side. After a long pause, you nodded as a soft ‘yes’ fell from your lips. He grinned, grabbed your hand, and led you to the table, handing you the last slice of his birthday cake. 

You’d smiled at him so sweetly that day, both of you giggling happily with your matching chocolate covered smiles.

That was the moment — though he didn’t know it then — when something rooted itself in his little heart. Something permanent. Something that would never let go.

~

One of Mark’s favorite memories was when you’d said ‘I love you’ for the first time. Right after the moment when he finally got the nerve to ask you out, of course. That memory, too, lived in his chest, beating like a second heartbeat. He’d always remember the way your cheeks had flushed such a pretty color when the words finally tumbled out of his mouth— how you threw your arms around his neck in delight, how you’d kissed him like he was air and you were drowning.

But somehow, it still didn’t hold a candle to the other memory.

It was just like any ordinary night, nothing special about it at first glance. Officially, you’d been dating for three months, after years of friendship, years of loving you quietly. He hadn’t known this level of contentment before, like every cell in his body was sagging with comfort. 

You both lay, limbs tangled in his bed sheets, your face tucked in his neck. Your breath warmed his skin with soft puffs, sending a tingling through him. He ran his hands idly through your hair, carding through gently as he released any tangles. Your body was so warm against his, soft and sleepy as you curled into his embrace. 

“Did you know your brain plays seven minutes of your happiest memories when you die? It tries to comfort you because it can’t save you,” you mumble quietly, placing sweet kisses along the curve of his jaw, “fun fact.”

Mark frowned and looked down at you. “How is that… fun?”

“I think it’s very interesting, thank you very much,” you reply with a puff of your cheeks as you tilt your head back to meet his eyes. Your palm rested gently over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm against his ribs.

“You’re so weird,” Mark responds back, though all that can be detected in his voice is affection. Your eyes are warm as he stares into them, a tired giggle leaving your throat. 

“Says you!” You exclaim, pretending to pout, shoving him away from you a bit. He caught you immediately, dragging you back and peppering kisses along your jawline.

“We’re both weird,” he mumbled against your skin, brushing his teeth against the spot below your ear, where your jaw hinged. “That’s why we work, baby.”

You squirmed in his hold, your arms wrapped lazily around the nape of his neck.

“You’re so cheesy, ugh. Remind me why I love you again?”

Mark froze, his lips pause as he pulls his head out of the crook of your neck. You’d said it plenty of times, but that was before you started dating. Before you spent any and all free time kissing, and holding him like he was the most precious thing you’d ever had.

“You mean that?” He asked. He barely recognized his own voice. Soft and uncertain, he just knows his face is bright red too. You just nod. 

“Yeah. I love you. A lot actually. If you’d believe it.”

And then he kissed you, passionate, sweet, real. Mark mumbled ‘I love you’s’ in between kisses, pressing you into the blankets of his bed as his hands cradled your face.

That’s when he knew he’d always love you. 

No matter what happens in the future. 

Because you were his future, his past, and his present. 

~

You had been so happy, so in love. 

Even after he got his powers. Even after the late nights, the bruises, the guilt he carried when he came home and you’d already fallen asleep in your shared bed waiting. You never made him feel like a failure. You never made him feel like he had to choose. Your lives together had been planned out, he knew he wanted to marry you — he had for a long time if he was honest— but he wanted to wait, make it perfect. Because you deserved perfection.

If he missed a date or a movie night, you didn’t make a fuss. You would just smile, a bit sadly, and press a kiss to his jaw, murmuring against his skin. 

“You have the rest of our lives to make it up to me. Go save the world.”

Mark clung to those words, because that felt like a promise to him. A promise of forever. A promise to love him always.

And then the variants showed up. 

You had been stowed away somewhere safe while Mark fought. You were supposed to be safe. Hidden.

Mark was never very lucky.

He feels like all the air has left his lungs when he looks up, his vision partially obstructed by the swelling of his left eye. Mark gasps as he props himself up from the crater of earth he’s found himself in, his vision swimming with pain as he focuses his gaze on the sight before him.

Above him, hovering with a smile on his lips, is himself. A variant of him, donning yellow and black, a cape billowing behind him just as he remembers his father’s doing. But that's not what scares him. What scares him is how, within his grasp, is you. The variant's hand grips at your face, his palm obscuring your features as you struggle against his hold, like he’s holding a toy. Mark knows that you know you can’t escape, but his heart twinges as you claw at the man who wears his face. Your legs kick, your body quivers. 

He rises shakily to his feet, his goggles almost entirely shattered from his earlier encounter with a different variant. Smoke and copper sting his nose as he calls your name, a broken sound crawling from his throat. He holds his hands out in front of him, trying to find a way to get out of this situation. Mark can hear you call his name back— your voice trembles, your hands coming up to grip at the variant's forearm, trying to ease the strain on your neck. 

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” The variant all but coos, cocking his head to the side, a sickening grin on his face. “You cling to humanity, cling to her.” The variant shakes you a bit in his grasp, and you can’t contain the shriek that erupts from your throat. 

“Stop—,” Mark says, his voice cracks as he lurches forward, his chest tight and his heart burns in his chest. “She has nothing to do with this. You want me. Just— Just put her down.”

“She has everything to do with this,” the variant croons. “She is your weakness. You will be stronger without her. I was. She only held me back from my true potential.”

The variant hoists you higher, tightening his grip, his fingers dimple your soft flesh.

“DON’T–” Mark can’t help the scream that shreds from his throat. He dashes forward, narrowly missing a devastating blow to your captor. He stumbles, his eyes wide and his heart in his throat.

Your voice pierces through the smokey air, shaking. “Mark–!” 

He can see the panic well in your eyes, the way your chest rises and falls as quickly as a frightened rabbit. You’re prey, and the predator has you in his jaws. Mark can see the way your eyes fixate on him, wide and frightened. The variant giggles, a sickening sound that makes Mark’s spine straighten.

“I’m doing you a favor,” the variant replies.

“And I’m warning you,” he rasps, blood in his mouth, blood that stains his teeth and dribbles out of the corners of his lips. “Put her down. And fucking fight me!”

The variant's fist tightens and your eyes flit around in fear. Your voice is so raw when you speak. Mark doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t want to hear you like this. He wants to hear your laugh as he snakes his arms around your waist. He wants to hear the sweet way you say his name when you're tired. He wants to hear the way you sigh when he kisses your neck. Not this— not laced with fear and desperation.

You’re shaking. “Mark. Mark, please look at me,” you call. 

Your voice is raspy and raw, it shakes in a way he’s never heard from you before. Not when his father beat him half to death. Not when he cried in your arms about how this is all too much. 

“I love you. I love you so much and I always have,” you manage out. Mark tenses because this seems like a goodbye, but he can see the defeat in your face. “You’re my seven minutes, Mark. It’s all you. Every second will be you. I’m so sorry, you’re so strong. I lov—”

The variant’s hand closes and Mark freezes as a burst of blood splatters across his face. He stares as your body drops to the ground, limp, like if a kid threw a ragdoll. Discarded like you meant nothing. Mark can’t tear his eyes away from you, still amongst the flames and smoke, as the variant scoffs.

“She always says that. That's all she said when she tried to convince me not to kill her in my world.” The variant flicks a piece of your skull off his shoulder, like you’re trash. Mark isn’t listening though, because all he can think is that the person that took you away from him took your final comfort too. No seven minutes — your brain can’t comfort you as you die if it’s splattered all over. 

It all happens so fast, because one second Mark has the man who wears his face pinned to the ground— blood and gore gushing as he pound his fists into his face until nothing is left but a few pearly white teeth— and then the next he’s delicately lifting the remnants of his heart in his hands. Part of your jaw still clings to your form, the necklace he got you for your four year anniversary rests against your blood stained collar bone. Mark presses his cheek to your chest, right above where your heart should still be beating. He stays like that for who knows how long, holding you in his arms until Cecil has to tear him away from you.

The days and months that follow go by in a blur. 

Your funeral happens. The flowers are your favorites. The faces that come are people who don’t know you like he did.

You haunt him. He sees you everywhere. The bed in your apartment— Mark can’t bring himself to wash the pillow you used, because it still faintly smells like you after all this time. His hero suit— the one he couldn’t save you in. His childhood home— he swears he can still hear your laughter echoing down the halls. The giggle of children— a reminder of the ones he’ll never be able to have with you.

Mark knows he’ll live a long life, a life riddled by loss. He can’t bring himself to move any of your things, because you were a part of him, sewn into the very fabric  of his being. You were the largest part of his heart, so intertwined into his life that he can’t do anything without seeing your face, thinking about your sweet touches.

Mark prays you were right. That when his time comes, his final seven minutes will be filled with you. 

So he can finally see you again. Just one last time.

[redbowedblogger]

The thought of mer!prowl having to teach Jaz to hunt in @keferon 's post apocalypse ponyo au. Just like he probably had to teach his little brothers. Jazz not knowing what or how to eat. So I did a thing

"Prowl.”

“What-?” Prowl was frustrated. This whole damn mess was going on for far longer than he had ever feared. He needed to get back to his pod. His family. Those fragging humans and their twisted sense of “mercy” had almost trapped him in a life of servitude and solitude. All over a little damage to his melon, nothing a proper mer healer couldn't fix, but clearly beyond their limited medical knowledge. And then everything changed when the wave had hit.

Calling it a wave felt a bit misleading. A miles high flood of oceanic rage that all but wiped the human city off the coastline and allowed for his escape. Their escape. This poor strange mer he had met in that box of stone and steel and glass. The one who had weak fins and an iron grip and no memory of the ocean. Jazz, who had been so excited to meet him.

He had been useful enough at the start. Practically hauling prowl along the dry rough pathways before they could reach the floodways proper and swim away. And it was handy to have one person with functional echolocation as they swam through the worst of the wrecked buildings, But after that he had unfortunately become quite the nuisance. Flighty and distracted by every flashy bit of detritus in the water, startled by fish a quarter of his size, and the talking. Relentless jabbering about everything and anything, occasionally bursting into one of those strange human songs, their tones and rhythm poorly suited for an aquatic environment. Prowl didn't really know why he had continued to let this stranger swim with him. Perhaps it was a debt of gratitude for helping him survive and escape. Perhaps it was his sense of duty, this jazz was ill equipped to survive on his own and had almost perished the first time they had hit a rip.

Perhaps it was because he was the only company in these waters that wasn't a bloodthirsty mutation, a shambling wretched gasping thing that was not mer not human not fish but some horrific combination of the three with their gangly limbs, razor claws and rows and rows of serrated ripping teeth.

And his singing was really good, when he chose the right song.

“Prowler I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat?” jazz asked, his posture meek as he floated neutral in the water.

“Of course there is. Just grab something and let's go. We are losing daylight and i'd like to find somewhere safe to camp before it gets dark.”

Dangerous things swam in the dark waters.

“What do you mean?” Jazz asked, thoroughly confused.

“Jazz we are surrounded by fish right now. Pick one and let's go.” prowl gestured to the schools of shimmering fish surrounding them. They were swimming through what had once been a park, the vegetation on the trees now replaced with algae and budding coral growths, the streetlights crusted with barnacles, and what was left of grassy fields struggling to survive as crabs and rays scuttled among the waving green vegetation grazing.

“Yeah that. How do I know which ones are good to eat? And how exactly am I supposed to just ‘grab one' they are all wicked fast.” Jazz pouted.

Prowl closed his eyes and counted to ten, digging deep for the well of patience typically reserved for only the youngest pod members before facing the mer behind him.

“You're a mer. We are the top predators of our natural environment. Everything is good to eat. Well, most of it. Watch me.” Prowl instructed as he swam off a few clicks. His echolocation was still trashed and would be until he could get back to his pods healer, so he would have to hunt by sight. Spotting a fish he liked he swiftly maneuvered around the school, herding them towards an algae covered statue to separate them. With a powerful flick of his tail he changed direction to head the stragglers off and turn them towards the branches of a tree. With another casual turn he isolated the one he wanted and with an effortless burst of speed; caught it in his claws and ripped its head off with his sharp teeth.

Jazz was in awe. Prowl moved so fast! The speed and grace in his turns as he effortlessly put the fish exactly where he needed it.

“Woah! That was slick, man I mean slick. How’d you do that?” Jazz asked with an excited shout and a backwards roll. Prowl finished the fish with a roll of his eyes.

“Everyone can do that. You can too, I know you have the agility for it. It's no harder than those silly dances the two legs made you do.”

“I don't know…”

Prowl sighed. This mer, This clever, happy, sociable mer, had been deprived of nearly every aspect of life prowl took for granted.

No open waves to surf.

No territory to call his own.

No pod to care for him.

He couldn't even hunt his own food.

They had enough time before they needed to bed down for the night.

“Here let's practice.” Prowl offered as he flicked another fish from the herd. Except this time, instead of decapitation he clipped one pectoral and half of its tail fin. As he let it go the fish wobbled back into the school, its progress hampered. When the others zigged it tended to zag.

“Catch the fish. Use any trick you can think of. Flips, rolls, dives. Whatever. Just remember that sight hunting is all about focus. Don't take your eyes off your prey for a second. Catch the fish and you will eat.” Prowl instructed.

Jazz hesitated for a moment. Then the hollow call of his stomach galvanized him to action.

Jazz bolted after the lamed fish and something began to sing in his veins. That feeling started deep in his bones and radiated up to tingle just under his skin. It electrified every muscle in his body from the tip of his tail to the end of his nose. He had never felt so at ease in water. He could feel the movement of the currents and somehow he knew exactly how to play off it. He dove and twirled and the fish scattered in a fluttering cloud of silver. A flick of his tail and he separated the other half of the herd.

He smiled as zeroed in on his target.

This felt good.

This felt right.

This felt fun.

The taste of silver fish in his mouth had never been so sweet.

[duvetchico]

Write me karina mall date n I'll kiss u 👅👅👅

(Pretend I'm a male bird trying to seduce u into writing this)

mall rat

summary jimin’s boredom drags you out of your depression nest and into a mall date full of cuddly crimes, weird juice, and the slow realization that she’s your favorite person to suffer with.

genre fluff / crack / girlfriend brainrot

pairing yu jimin x fem!reader

i hate birds especially when they're male so im only doing this for the ppl

masterlist.

it begins at war. well, not really. it begins with you horizontal on the couch for the fifth hour straight, remote lost somewhere under your ass, half-dead from whatever seasonal depression was cooking up this time.

jimin’s draped over your legs like a stylish barnacle, wearing her 'i’m up to no good’ hoodie (you knew because it was yours, stolen, and she only wore it when plotting). she’s scrolling through her phone aggressively, thumb tapping at light-speed.

“i’m bored,” she said.

“congrats.” you didn’t even look at her. you were emotionally and spiritually one with the couch.

“no like,” she huffed, dramatic as ever, “i-need-to-go-out-and-buy-things bored.”

“what the fuck,” you muttered. “you literally ordered six shirts last night.”

“yes. and now i wanna touch them in real life.”

“jimin i am in a state of complete and total sloth. i cannot mall. my body will evaporate under the fluorescent lights.”

she sat up fast, excited now, like a toddler who just saw a dog. “mall.”

“no.”

“mall.”

“absolutely not.”

“mall date.”

“no.”

“i’ll buy you that overpriced cinnamon pretzel you like.”

pause.

“...fuck.”

- jimin had her sunglasses on even though the sun was nonexistent. she was strutting in like she owned the food court. you were ten steps behind her, still waking up.

you looked like her tired little assistant. she looked like she was about to host a ted talk on how to seduce women in the cologne aisle.

“babe,” she called over her shoulder, “should we get matching tote bags?”

“should you stop financially ruining us?”

“that’s a no.”

- you weren’t even in the squishmallow store for ten seconds before she screamed, “LOOK, IT’S THE WEIRD TOAST ONE YOU LOVE.”

you tried to deny it. tried to act normal. but the squishmallow had eyes. and a smile. and you folded.

“you’re weak,” she said proudly, already buying it for you.

“you enable me.”

“and i’d do it again.”

you walked around the rest of the mall with a giant smiling piece of bread in your arms. at some point she took a photo of you and posted it on her story captioned “baby’s first loaf”

- you sat on the fitting room bench watching jimin do stupid little runway spins in outfits she had no intention of buying. she was narrating herself like it was a documentary:

“here we have the rare lesbian, hunting in her natural habitat… hunting for discounts.”

“jimin.”

“she spots her prey—an overpriced corduroy jacket. will she attack?”

“please shut up.”

“she attacks.”

you laughed against your will and she grinned so fucking smug.

- “try this,” jimin said, handing you a mystery cup of juice from some random vendor.

“what the hell is this?”

“i don’t know. it was free.”

you drank it. instantly wanted to curl up and die. “it tastes like grass and feet.”

“why is it spicy,” she whispered after sipping. “who puts ginger and feet in a drink??”

“capitalism.”

you both made matching disgusted faces and tossed it in the trash like war survivors.

- you were sitting side by side outside the mall now, sun setting, squishmallow between you, her head on your shoulder.

she was humming something dumb and playing with your fingers absentmindedly.

“today was nice,” she said, voice soft.

you hummed. “you dragged me out of the house like a hostage.”

“but did you die?”

“emotionally, yes.”

she giggled and kissed your cheek. “you love me.”

“shut up.”

“you do love me.”

“say it.”

“fine. i love you. now buy me ice cream or i’m taking the squishmallow hostage.”

“deal.”

[hummingbird24220]

Bite by Bite | One Piece x Reade

One Piece x Reader (Hints more towards Sanji x Reader)

TW: Emotional/Physical abuse mentioned, eating disorder, puking hinted at.

—-------------------------------

The scent of freshly cooked food drifted through the air, savory and rich, curling from the galley like invisible fingers. It was mouthwatering, the kind of smell that could make anyone's stomach growl. Yours didn't. It twisted.

You stood at the edge of the deck, fingers wrapped tight around the wooden railing of the Thousand Sunny. The sea sparkled below like it didn’t know how cruel life could be. You almost envied it.

Behind you, footsteps approached—light and carefree.

"Meal time!" Luffy’s voice was unmistakable, bright as the sun. “Sanji made a mountain of food, c’mon!”

You forced a smile and turned to face him. “Yeah! I’ll be right there,” you said, injecting some fake excitement into your tone.

Luffy beamed and bounded off without a second thought, yelling for the others. You stood there a moment longer, inhaling deeply through your nose, then exhaling slow. Okay. You can do this.

The dining room was loud. Chatter bounced from wall to wall—Zoro snarking at Usopp, Nami rolling her eyes, Chopper giggling. Sanji set down a plate in front of you with a flourish.

“For you, mon chéri,” he said with a wink.

You nodded stiffly. “Thanks.”

It looked good. Smelled incredible. You picked up your fork and stared at the food like it had insulted you personally. Everyone was busy, no one looking directly at you. That helped.

You cut a small piece. Just a bite. Just one. Then you can relax. You slid the food into your mouth and chewed, slow, deliberate, like you were trying not to wake a sleeping beast in your chest.

“Not hungry?” Robin’s gentle voice cut through the noise.

You blinked, hand frozen mid-move.

“Oh—uh, no, I am. Just eating slow today.” You smiled too wide. “Trying to savor it.”

She tilted her head, dark eyes unreadable. “That’s wise.” She didn’t push. She never did.

But the weight of that one glance lingered.

You managed to get through half the plate, then tapped your fork against the edge like you were finished. No one noticed, except Sanji—of course he noticed.

He frowned subtly but didn’t say anything. You were thankful for that.

You excused yourself early, claiming you were tired. Once in the bathroom, you braced your hands against the sink, breathing hard.

Sometimes it was easier to just not eat. At least then, you didn’t feel the war happening in your gut—guilt, fear, the echo of words that still rattled around your head from childhood.

"You don't deserve that." "Stop eating like a pig." "You're just being dramatic."

You splashed water on your face, cold and sharp. A reset.

You weren’t in that house anymore. You were on a ship with people who laughed with their whole hearts, who fought for each other like it was breathing, who welcomed you like you were someone worth knowing.

Still. The habits clung like barnacles.

Later that night, you sat on the deck alone again, knees tucked to your chest. The stars scattered across the sky like spilled sugar.

You didn’t hear Zoro approach. He leaned against the railing beside you, arms crossed.

“You didn’t eat much,” he said without looking at you.

You winced. “Noticed that, huh?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

You glanced over, expecting judgment. There was none—just quiet observation.

You sighed, head resting on your arms. “It’s... complicated.”

“Life usually is.” He paused. “You don’t have to explain. But we notice. We care.”

Those two words—we care—struck harder than you expected.

You nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

Zoro looked at you again. “Just don’t starve yourself, okay? You’re part of the crew now.”

And somehow, that meant everything.

—----

The Sunny rocked gently beneath you, the sound of waves like a lullaby for the heart. But even with the ocean’s calm, your mind was far from quiet. Sleep didn’t come easy on nights like this—not when your chest felt heavy, not when the past clawed its way to the surface.

You sat on the observation deck wrapped in a blanket, knees hugged close, watching the stars again. They were a strange comfort. Distant. Untouchable. Safe.

Chopper had given you a mug of warm tea earlier, pressed it into your hands with a sleepy smile. “You don’t have to drink it if you’re not feeling good. Just... I dunno. Thought it might help.” He scurried off before you could say much, his little hooves clacking against the wood.

He always knew when you weren’t okay. They all were starting to figure you out, piece by piece.

You took a sip. Warmth spread through your hands, but your chest still ached. And then—without meaning to—you let the memories come.

You were little again.

Your legs stuck out from the kitchen chair, socks mismatched, face sticky with jam. Your mom leaned over the stove humming a soft tune, flipping something on the skillet with practiced grace.

“There’s my sweet dumpling,” she cooed, turning around and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You excited for pancakes today?”

You nodded enthusiastically, chubby cheeks puffed with excitement. Your mom made the best pancakes—soft and golden, with just the right amount of vanilla in the batter.

She reminded you a little of Sanji, now that you thought about it. The way she cooked like it was a love language. The way she fed people to show she cared. The way she made you feel like you mattered… at least, when it was just the two of you.

But then the door slammed.

Your little body flinched automatically, fingers tightening around the table edge.

He was home.

Your dad’s voice was gruff and loud, already irritated. “What the hell are you feeding her now?”

“She’s just a kid,” your mom said gently, but firm. “She’s hungry. Let her eat.”

“She’s always hungry,” he spat. His eyes landed on you like you were something offensive. “Look at her. No self-control. No wonder she’s so fat.”

The words hit harder than a slap.

You shrank in your seat, appetite gone instantly. Tears burned your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You knew better. Crying just made it worse.

“She’s beautiful,” your mother said, tone tight. “And strong.”

“She’s weak,” he growled. “And disgusting.”

You barely tasted the pancakes after that. And from then on… you started pushing food around more than eating it.

The wind picked up, tugging at your blanket as your eyes blinked back to the present.

The tea had gone lukewarm. You hadn’t even realized you were crying.

A soft thud behind you startled you. You wiped your face quickly and turned to find Sanji standing there, hands in his pockets, a cigarette between his fingers. He didn't look surprised to see you here. Maybe he'd been watching from the shadows a while.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice low.

You shook your head. “Too many thoughts.”

He took a drag from his cigarette, then let it trail out into the night air. “Want company?”

You hesitated, then nodded.

He sat beside you, close enough to feel his warmth. Neither of you spoke for a bit, just listening to the creaking of the ship, the waves lapping at the hull.

“You ever had someone tell you eating made you unlovable?” you asked suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

Sanji didn’t answer right away. He set the cigarette down in the little tray beside him and looked straight ahead.

“Not exactly,” he said. “But… I was starved. Literally. There were days where the hunger made me hallucinate. I thought if I didn’t eat, I’d disappear.”

You turned toward him slowly.

“I guess we’ve both had food turned into a weapon,” he added softly. “But I got lucky. Zeff… he saved me. Taught me that cooking could be kindness. That feeding someone is like saying ‘I want you to live.’”

You swallowed hard.

“I had a mom,” you whispered. “She was like that. She made everything with love. Pancakes, soup, even sandwiches. But my dad…”

Sanji waited.

“…He made me feel like eating made me disgusting. Like my body made me unworthy of love.”

Sanji’s jaw tightened. His voice was calm, but his eyes burned. “He was wrong.”

You looked down, fingers tightening around your mug.

“Can’t seem to unlearn it,” you admitted. “Even when I want to eat… I can’t always finish. Or I feel sick after. Or I punish myself later.”

Sanji shifted, turning toward you. “You don’t have to unlearn it alone.”

You blinked.

“I’ll cook for you,” he said. “Not to make you eat. But to remind you you’re allowed to. You don’t have to earn it. You’re already worth it.”

The tears came again, this time without shame.

Sanji smiled softly and nudged the mug in your hands. “Start with tea. One sip at a time. Bite by bite.”

And so, under the stars and beside the ship’s cook, you took another sip of the tea.

Warm. Real. Safe.

—----

The scent of breakfast filled the galley again, just like every morning. Warm, rich, comforting. Today it was egg sandwiches, seared potatoes, and a side of something sweet you couldn’t quite name—but it smelled like cinnamon and safety.

You sat at the table with the others, hands folded politely, eyes locked on your plate.

They didn’t rush you. Not a single one.

Luffy was elbow-deep in his fourth sandwich, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. Nami was sipping coffee and scanning the latest map updates. Usopp and Franky were arguing over who could eat more, Chopper giggling at their antics. Robin offered you a quiet smile now and then, her eyes kind and patient.

And Sanji? He didn’t even look at you after placing your plate down. Just hummed to himself at the stove, but you noticed the toast was cut in perfect triangles, the food arranged just the way you liked.

You were trying. Really.

You managed a bite. Chewed it. Swallowed. The taste was good. Really good. But your chest still squeezed a little, like eating was something you had to survive, not enjoy.

That’s when Chopper spoke, his voice unusually serious.

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked and looked up. Everyone else quieted. Even Luffy paused mid-bite.

Your heart skipped. “Sure?”

Chopper twiddled his hooves nervously. “I don’t mean to upset you… I’ve just… We’ve all noticed that… you don’t eat much. Or sometimes you eat and then disappear for a long time after. And I’m a doctor, and I—I’m supposed to notice these things, but more than that—we’re your friends. We’re worried.”

His voice cracked slightly at the end, big eyes wide with honest concern.

No one laughed. No one rolled their eyes.

They all just looked at you with the kind of care that made your throat close up.

You set your fork down slowly.

“It’s not about your cooking,” you said first, glancing at Sanji.

“I know,” he said quietly. No ego. Just truth.

You looked at Chopper, then the rest of them. “I… I had a dad who made food feel like punishment.”

They all stilled.

“I was a chubby kid. Always hungry, always happy to be in the kitchen with my mom. She loved feeding people. She was like Sanji—she made food with love, made it feel like a hug.” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. “But my dad... he hated how I looked. He’d mock me, insult me in front of everyone. Call me names. Sometimes he’d take my plate away and tell me I didn’t deserve it.”

Robin’s hands folded gently in front of her. Nami’s face had gone pale. Luffy frowned—an expression that, on him, meant real anger.

You kept going, even though your voice cracked.

“I started… hating food. Then hating myself for wanting it. I’d try to eat, and then feel disgusting after. I still do, sometimes. I know it’s not rational, but those words—they stick. Even now, when I’m safe. When I know no one here would ever hurt me like that.”

Your hands trembled in your lap.

Chopper crawled up beside you without hesitation and took your hand in his small hoof.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “And I’m really glad you told us.”

“I didn’t want to make it awkward,” you said, a shaky laugh escaping. “Didn’t want to ruin mealtime.”

“You didn’t,” Nami said, voice soft but strong. “You being here with us—that’s all that matters.”

“I don’t care if you eat slow,” Luffy added. “Or even if you just want to sit with us. I like having you here.”

Zoro gave a grunt that meant agreement. Usopp nodded with a tiny smile.

Sanji finally turned around, leaning on the counter. “What they said. I’ll always cook for you. Even if it’s just a bite. Even if you just look at it.”

Tears fell silently down your cheeks, but this time… they didn’t burn. They felt like release.

Robin passed you a handkerchief with a small smile. “Progress isn’t always a straight line.”

You wiped your face and picked up your fork again. This time, when you took another bite, your hands didn’t shake as much.

You weren’t alone anymore. And here—on this ship, with this crew—you had a seat at the table.

Always.

—---

It started with something small.

A sliced apple.

You found it on the edge of the counter that morning, already peeled and cut into neat, perfect little wedges, with a tiny skewer shaped like a dolphin stuck in the center. No note. No big deal. Just there.

You almost didn’t touch it.

But your stomach gave a quiet nudge, and your heart whispered try, so you did. One piece. Then another.

You didn’t finish the whole thing, but that wasn’t the point.

Later that day, Luffy came bounding past you on the deck, yelling something about meat and fishing and adventure. He skidded to a stop when he saw you sitting with a book in your lap.

“Hey! Want to come with me? I’m fishing!” he grinned, eyes sparkling.

You hesitated. “Uh… I don’t really fish.”

“Cool,” he said, already grabbing your wrist, pulling you along. “You don’t have to. Just hang out.”

You expected him to chatter the whole time. But instead, he sat on the edge of the ship with his fishing pole, legs swinging off the side, and just existed next to you. Quiet. Peaceful.

You didn’t say anything either. Just watched the water. At some point, he passed you a small, wrapped rice ball from his pocket with a shrug.

“Sanji made extras.”

You held it for a moment.

“You don’t have to eat it now,” Luffy said simply. “Or ever. It’s just there.”

You didn’t eat it right away. But you kept it with you. That felt like something.

In the afternoon, Nami called you to help her organize the pantry.

It was cramped and warm, and there were a hundred jars of dried herbs and spices you didn’t know the names of.

“I figured you might want to help with something to distract you a bit,” she said offhandedly, balancing a box on her hip.

You paused. “You’re subtle.”

She smirked. “I’m effective.”

She didn’t talk about your eating. Didn’t ask how you were doing. But she handed you little tasks, gave you praise when you got something right, and let you take breaks when you needed to. It felt… normal. Easy.

At one point, she nudged a small jar toward you and said, “Smell this. It always makes me hungry.”

You sniffed the spice and wrinkled your nose. “Smells like Christmas.”

“Exactly,” she said with a little grin. “Even smells can heal.”

Zoro didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at you when you sat near him later during his training session.

But he shifted his position slightly, just enough to let you sit where the wind would hit your face. It was cooler there. Quieter.

And when he finished his sets, he offered you his water bottle without a word. You took it. Drank a few sips.

He nodded, like that meant something.

And maybe it did.

That evening, you were sitting at the table again. The galley smelled amazing, like roasted vegetables and seasoned meat, with hints of lemon and garlic.

Sanji set a plate in front of you. But this time, it was smaller than the others. The portions were perfectly bite-sized, simple, not too much.

You looked up.

His expression was calm. “I figured we’d try something new,” he said lightly. “You finish that, I’ll make you dessert.”

You smiled. “That’s cheating.”

He gave a wink. “Only if it works.”

You ate slowly. And yeah—you finished the plate. Every bite. Not because you forced yourself.

But because you wanted to.

That night, tucked into your hammock, you stared at the ceiling and thought about all the little things. The apple. The rice ball. The wind. The spice jar. The smaller plate.

They hadn’t made a big deal out of anything.

They didn’t hover. Didn’t pressure.

They just adjusted.

To you.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt something bloom in your chest that wasn’t fear or guilt or self-hatred.

It was something soft.

It was something safe.

Maybe even… healing.

—-

You didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because of anxiety this time—but because your mind wouldn’t stop racing. A restless, buzzing kind of energy had taken hold. Not dread. Something else. Something like... purpose.

They’d given so much without asking for anything in return. A gentle silence. A smaller plate. A seat at the table. Space to breathe.

And you wanted to say thank you.

But words never felt like enough.

So you crept into the galley before sunrise, the ship still wrapped in a hush, the sky outside soft and pink with early light. Sanji would usually be in here by now, but he’d had a late night fixing up extra preserves for Nami. You had a window.

And you had a plan.

You started with what you knew.

Your mom’s pancake recipe—light, fluffy, with a hint of vanilla and orange zest. You used the griddle with care, browning the edges just right, flipping with the same kind of love you’d watched your mother pour into every meal she made.

Then came roasted vegetables, seasoned with cracked pepper, thyme, and a drizzle of olive oil. Fresh fruit, sliced neatly and chilled. You even made a honey-sweet sauce for dipping.

And finally, a savory frittata packed with herbs and cheese, because Sanji once said breakfast should feel like a gift.

You wiped your hands on your apron and took a long breath. The kitchen was warm. You hadn’t felt this alive in years.

When Sanji walked in, he froze in the doorway.

The galley smelled like a dream. His cigarette drooped slightly from his mouth.

“What the—?” he blinked, stepping closer. “Did you—?”

“Yeah,” you said, nerves starting to rise. “I just—thought maybe… I could cook. Just once. As a thank you. For everything.”

Sanji looked like he was trying not to cry. Or explode from pride.

“Well, damn,” he murmured, eyes scanning the table. “Looks like I’ve got competition.”

You smiled sheepishly. “I know it’s your domain. I hope that’s okay.”

He grinned and clapped a hand to your shoulder. “You’re part of this crew. You can set the kitchen on fire and I’d still say thank you for trying.” He paused. “But this—this is art.”

By the time the rest of the crew rolled in—some sleepy-eyed, some hungry and loud—the galley had been transformed.

Luffy paused in the doorway, nose twitching, eyes wide. “Whaaaat is that smell?!”

“Breakfast,” Sanji announced proudly. “Courtesy of our brilliant chef-for-the-day.”

You stood there awkwardly as they all looked at you, faces lighting up with surprise and curiosity.

“You made all this?” Chopper squeaked.

You nodded, suddenly shy. “I… wanted to thank you. For being patient with me. For not pushing. For just… being kind.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow, already sitting down. “Well, I’m not gonna complain.”

“I didn’t know you could cook like this,” Usopp said, piling fruit on his plate.

Nami popped a slice of frittata in her mouth and made an impressed sound. “Okay, what the hell. This is better than half the cafés I’ve been to.”

Luffy stuffed three pancakes into his mouth and tried to say something, which you think was “You’re amazing,” but it came out as muffled chaos.

Robin, sitting quietly, took one bite and smiled like she’d just read her favorite line in a book. “Delicious. And filled with care.”

Your chest warmed.

You watched them eat—not with dread, not with envy—but with pride. You fed them. You made something. You gave back.

It felt like reclaiming something stolen from you.

Sanji leaned beside you as the crew kept eating, elbow resting on the counter.

“So…” he said, voice low. “Feel good?”

You looked around the room—at laughter, and crumbs, and second helpings—and smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It feels like love.”

He gave a soft hum. “That’s what food is, when it’s done right.”

And for the first time in a long, long time, you believed that.

[urautismdiagnosis-wistie]

THE OIL RIG Ch.1 "Octo Alert" 3/4

click for higher quality, please enjoy and feel free to comment. A description of the events and typed out dialogue will be beneath the cut. I recommend reading it for a fuller experience as it provides additional context and corrected dislogue. Apologies if they sound out of character 🙏

Dun dun dunnnn... smugglers?? NOT friendly pirates??? Everyone has concerns 😔🙏

Part1 > part 2> part 3 >part 4

Panel 1

Usually Captain Barnacles will always make sure to listen to EVERYONES thoughts, and will often ask for second opinions. Including kwazii's! Kwazii who is NOT paying attention.

Barnacles, just wanting to include Kwazii and get some insight: "Kwazii!!"

*kwazii spins around, abruptly snapped out of his own thoughts*

Barnacles: "Well? What do you think? :] "

Panel 2 and 3

Kwazii, ready to info dump harder than he ever has in his entire life, walking around the room and gesturing dramatically:

Kwazii declaring confidently and way too casually, " Ah! Well them ships yer camera caught clearly be some sneaky pirates -"

Kwazii, softly scoffing as though barely impressed, but slightly amused: "Agh, a classic common cargo ship disguise," he rolls his eyes, " Slippery knaves be hidin all sortsa arnament doohickies in plain sight."

(Non pirate translation and details: yeah so the pictures of ships the camera caught are actually just pirate ships who disguise themselves as cargo ship. Its a pretty standard practice for pirates historically and modern in this au. Also there's certain details of the ships that look abnormal to someone who doesn't know better, but these features and designs are used to hide weaponry and illegal/stolen cargo. Kwazii also noticed the strange locations, heatpaths, and traveling behaviours of these ships and it reminded him of... pirate tactic... Especially since the kinds of ships near the "oil rig" wouldn't make sense for an "oil rig". Not to mention the "oil rig" has warehouses, which is NOT normal... very very suspicious to the pirate eye, he was raised learning this stuff. And honestly he can actually kinda realize some of the purposes of the "hehe normal not pirate" tactics they're using)

Kwazii, makes a horrible realization: " It looks like they be getting ready for a long haul..." and then the details process once hes said some of it aloud... "Only place that'd make sense is...oh no- the BLACK MARKET!"

Kwazii, mumbling heartbroken and melancholy mostly to himself: " Id bet me last life AND me tail those cuttle fishies will meet a terrible fate-"

Kwazii, now determined as a pirate and an octonaut,proclaims with full gusto :

"OCTONAUTS WE MUST SAVE THE CUTTLE FISHIEEEES!!!"

Although Kwazii does have to admit albeit a bit sheepishly, " Although uh... I dunno if they be friendly enough t' not try n' send us t' Davy Jones Locker..."

Tweak interjects, "So..." she gestures pointing in a round circle, " Yer sayin them fellers are smugglers?"

Shellington turns back to the captain, starting a bit quietly, "As sad as it is," he admits, " It WOULD make sense captain!"

Barnacles: "Well,that is an excellent point Shellington-"

Shellingtons face brightens a bit, and cant help but to remark : "Owh! :3 , They might even still be okay!" Shellie quickly keeps going, a bit more excited "We- Why we could report the smugglers-"

Barnacles face falls as he avoids Shellingtons eyes: "Well ah-" *he turns to dashi almost as if silently asking for help to re explain the main barrier for any mission they want to do at the moment-*

Dashi,lightly grimacing and understanding: "Keptain, I- I dunno how to break it to you, but well,"

Inkling gasps softly, " Oh D e a r- You don't mean?"

Dashi sort of.. despondent and sort of strained in that calm way, ready to pull the bandaid on some unshared news: We can't reach out to anyone beyond the octopods radius...

Peso (on of the few that actually understood what kwazii was talking about, having listened to many of his info dumps/tales with full atttention), very validly and reasonably points out with a little tremble to his voice that, oh you know-: "K-kwazii- You uh- Did you say that they'd be willing to hurt us??"

Womp womp womp

[starryeyedwolves]

Drunk in Love (Literally)

Remus Lupin had seen Sirius Black in many states: battle-ready, furious, heartbroken, and once—very memorably—covered in glitter after a prank gone wrong. But nothing quite compared to this Sirius.

Sirius, who was currently draped over Remus like a particularly affectionate (and very drunk) cloak.

They were at a small gathering at their house, celebrating something or another—it didn’t matter, really. What mattered was that Sirius had absolutely no tolerance for alcohol, and yet, he had somehow managed to down what must have been at least six Firewhiskeys.

"Moony," Sirius slurred, his breath warm against Remus’ ear. "You’re so pretty."

Remus sighed, shifting under Sirius’ weight as he tried to maneuver them both toward the stairs. “Alright, love, let’s get you to bed.”

"But you’re so pretty," Sirius insisted, wrapping his arms around Remus’ waist like an octopus. "Did you know? The prettiest. Your eyes? Golden. Like—like, um. Like a... a shiny coin!"

"Mm, very poetic," Remus said dryly, trying to pry Sirius’ arms off. It was like trying to detach a barnacle. A very clingy, very in love barnacle.

"You know what else?" Sirius continued, undeterred. "You have a very, very nice arse."

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, let’s definitely get you to bed.”

"But I’m not sleepy," Sirius protested, swaying slightly. "I am, however, madly in love with you."

“I gathered,” Remus muttered, trying to maneuver Sirius towards the stairs. Unfortunately, Sirius had other plans.

“Did you know I have a husband?” Sirius asked, eyes wide with wonder.

Remus exhaled. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius nodded solemnly, then grinned. "He’s you."

"Fancy that," Remus deadpanned.

Sirius beamed. "I think he’s so sexy. Tall. Handsome. A bit grumpy, but in a hot way. Like, all ‘ooh, I read books and have deep thoughts,’ but also ‘I could pin you against a wall if I wanted.’”

Remus flushed slightly, feeling his heart skip a beat at the affectionate teasing. "Right. Time for bed."

"But Moony," Sirius whined, nuzzling into his neck, "what if I seduced you first?"

"What if," Remus echoed, dragging Sirius up the stairs.

Sirius immediately attempted what could only be described as a wobbly smoulder. "Hey, gorgeous. Come here often?"

Remus sighed. "Sirius. This is our house."

Sirius blinked. "That makes it easier, then! Let’s snog."

"You reek of Firewhiskey."

"That just means I taste exciting."

Remus finally managed to get Sirius into their bedroom and onto the bed, where he collapsed dramatically, limbs sprawled everywhere.

"Moony?"

"Yes, love?"

"You should kiss me."

Remus chuckled, pressing a kiss to Sirius’ forehead. "Tomorrow. When you don’t taste like bad life choices."

Sirius pouted. "Spoilsport."

Remus tucked him in, brushing his hair back. "Go to sleep, you ridiculous man."

As he turned to leave, Sirius grabbed his hand, tugging weakly. "Love you, Moony," he murmured sleepily.

Remus softened. "I know."

A pause. Then—

"But also, your arse is incredible."

Remus groaned. "Go to sleep, Sirius."

Sirius grinned, snuggling into the blankets. "Only if I get to dream about you."

Remus rolled his eyes fondly. This man.

It was going to be a long night.

Downstairs, the others were gathered around the living room, exchanging amused glances as they overheard the loud, affectionate exchanges from upstairs.

“Think we should check on them?” James asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he casually sipped from his own glass.

“Nah,” said Lily, who was sitting next to him, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure Remus has it covered. He’s the one who’s been putting up with Sirius’ dramatics for years.”

“Moony’s always been the patient one,” Marlene agreed, leaning back against the couch, a glass of wine in hand. “Sirius is a disaster when he's drunk. And now they’re married? That’s just asking for chaos.”

“Oh, it's always chaos," Mary added, smirking. “I don’t know how he does it. I’d be pulling my hair out.”

"Yeah, but you’re not married to him," Dorcas pointed out with a grin, sharing a knowing look with Marlene. "And let’s be honest, it’s probably part of the charm."

James snorted. "I thought I was a disaster when I was dating Lily, but Sirius takes the cake. He probably thinks he’s about to propose to Moony again after that ‘husband’ bit."

Lily laughed and nudged James with her elbow. "Well, if you want to talk about chaos,” she said with a wicked smile, “you should have seen him the night we got married. I thought James was going to pass out from excitement.”

"Excitement? More like nerves," James grumbled. "I was just trying to survive the wedding. I can’t believe I agreed to wear that suit."

"You looked very handsome," Lily said, teasing him.

“I still think it was a bit excessive,” James muttered, watching the stairs. "Anyway, back to Sirius. What do you think, Marls—will he end up mournfully declaring that he doesn’t deserve Remus again?"

Marlene smirked. "That’s actually a good guess. Last time, I heard him say something along the lines of, ‘I’m not worthy of Moony, but if he loves me, I must be a saint.’"

Lily and Mary both snickered. Dorcas just raised an eyebrow. "I bet he’ll tell Remus he's too perfect for him. But then he’ll fall asleep before he gets a chance to fully make his point."

Marlene laughed, shaking her head. "You just know Remus is going to be muttering about how difficult Sirius is while secretly thinking it’s all adorable."

"And I bet you anything," James said with a grin, “he’ll end up tucking him in, giving him a kiss on the forehead, and calling him a ridiculous idiot.”

"Oh, that’s definitely happening," Mary agreed. "I think Remus secretly enjoys playing the role of ‘long-suffering spouse’.”

"Well, it’s not like he doesn’t love it," Dorcas added. "I’ve never seen him so smitten as when Sirius is being a complete disaster."

"True," Marlene chimed in, "but I still think he’ll be regretting this in the morning when Sirius tries to seduce him with Firewhiskey breath."

Lily shook her head with a chuckle. "The two of them are a mess. But they're our mess."

James grinned and leaned back. "Honestly? I think it's kind of sweet. Remus handles it with such grace. He’s exactly what Sirius needs."

“Well,” Marlene said with a mischievous glint in her eye, “I suppose someone has to. So, I guess we just let them work through it?”

"Yep," Dorcas said with a smile. "Let them be their chaotic, lovely selves."

Back upstairs, Sirius had finally passed out, sprawled across the bed like a starfish. Remus watched him for a moment, a soft smile on his face.

"You’re ridiculous," he muttered, adjusting the blankets around his husband.

Sirius stirred slightly, mumbling in his sleep, “Love you, Moony…”

Remus leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Sirius’ forehead. “I love you too, you idiot.”

And with that, Remus turned around heading downstairs, knowing full well that tomorrow would bring the usual aftermath. But, as always, he wouldn't have it any other way.

[after-the-end-times]

I've Built My Life Around You

💛Rating: T🩷 Words: 865 🤍 Tags: Future fic, Queer Platonic Steddie & Robin, Family Hurt/Comfort and Fluff, Slice of Life 🩶For @genderthings Pride Things Bingo Prompt: Queer Platonic Relationship 🖤Ao3

💛🩷🤍🩶🖤 💛🩷🤍🩶🖤 💛🩷🤍🩶🖤 💛🩷🤍🩶🖤

The front door slammed open and then slammed shut. Steve looked up at Eddie from his spot at the kitchen table. “You get the m&m’s, I’ll get the wine.”

Steve stood, heading to their small wine rack in the pantry, while Eddie dried his hands of soap suds and pulled the chocolates from the freezer. They converged back at the table just in time for Robin to sulk in. She stood in the doorway, eyes unsettlingly distant.

“Do you think I’m a leach? No-she said barnacle. Am I a barnacle stuck onto you guys?”

“What the fuck?!” Eddie stood up straight, his chair screeching backwards.

“What.” Steve slammed the bottle of wine on the table, checked that it was fine, and looked back at Robin outraged. “Who said that? Was is Cheryl? Fuck her.”

Robin slouched into a chair at the table and wave her hand regally over the wine. Steve went to the cupboard for wine glasses, Eddie got the corkscrew out of the drawer; together they poured her a too full glass of red wine.

She took a large sip, sat it down, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pulled the bag of m&m’s over to her side of the table.

“Robin, I don’t know where she got that idea, but we want you here.” Steve said. Looking over at Eddie, he raised his eyebrows while pouring Eddie and himself smaller glasses.

“Yeah,” Eddie picked up, “and it’s not just that we want you here, but we also wouldn’t want you to leave.”

Robin leaned back, tipping her head to look at the ceiling. “So, I’m not just a hanger-on to your guys’ happy relationship? Some roommate you wish would get her own place and life?”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Robin, no, you’re our best friend.”

“What, and I repeat, the fuck?” Eddie reached across the table to hold her hand. “If you didn’t already, break up with her. Who fucking says something like that? A bitc-”

“She broke up with me,” Robin said, squeezing his hand. “after she asked me to move in with her and I said I didn’t think I could- or, well, didn’t want to. I didn’t want to move out of here. Told her it’s my home. She said it wasn’t my home, that I was just a renting a room in your home.”

Steve sat back hard like he was knocked back by Cheryl’s audacity, even delivered second-hand. “That’s fucked up.”

“Robin, if we could marry you in a friend way we would. We need each other. We all balance each other. So yeah, we’re friend married! It’s official.” Eddie spoke, waving his hand around to encompass him and Steve and Robin.

Steve nodded, grabbing onto her and Eddie’s hands so they formed a lopsided triangle. “We’re a packaged set. Anyone you end up with will just have to understand that and join us.”

“And if one day, you and your partner decide you absolutely need to have your own space, we could just build in the lot next door! We’d live next door to each other and we could have a secret passage or bridge connecting them and we could share a huge back yard with a pool that runs the entire length with diving boards on both ends!” Eddie said faster and faster, running out of breath at the end.

“Oooookay, didn’t even have the chocolate and he’s already worked up and excitable.” Steve patted Eddie’s hand and took his empty wine glass to fill it with water, setting it back down in front of him. “No more wine for you.”

Robin laughed, her heart finally felt settled after her fight with Cheryl, and just from watching Steve and Eddie. They were right, they do balance each other. Reading her mind, Steve looked back over to her.

“So, it’s settled. We’re friend married and anyone you’re with will just have to accept that up front. They’ll have to understand that they’ll be moving in here rather than you moving in with them. Your room’s plenty big enough and we have the back craft room that Eddie never uses if they need an office or workroom.”

“Okay, rude. The lighting’s just better in the kitchen. That’s not something I can help.”

“Well, you could help it by going to the eye doctor for glasses. ‘Cause I can see just fine in the back room.”

Eddie reared back in not-completely-faux outrage. “How dare you call me old. What’s next? Telling me I need more fiber and need to take all those vitamins you take in the morning? Hmph! No thank you.”

Steve gave him a flat look, one eye brow raised. “38’s not old, babe, but we do need to start taking care of our bodies now, so that we can all make it to 80 and living in an old folk’s home together.”

Robin took a sip of her wine, smiling as she watched Steve and Eddie continue to bicker like an old married couple- well, like two thirds of an old married couple.

Yeah, she wasn’t going anywhere. They were hers and she was theirs.

For the rest of their lives.

💛🩷🤍🩶🖤 💛🩷🤍🩶🖤 💛🩷🤍🩶🖤 💛🩷🤍🩶🖤

[panties-on-boys]

Gone Fishin’— Chapter 3: Bait

“You don’t even like me.” Wade’s yellow eyes shift to the side a little, then straight back ahead. His stare burns holes in the cattails. “Why’s my life matter more to you than theirs? They’re living, too.”

He hears Logan swallowing behind him.

“The mosquitoes drive me crazy.” Logan replies. He pries off the last barnacle that he can see and chucks it into the lake. “Maybe this is why you’re so damn excitable all the time.”

Pathetically, Wade takes that as a compliment. Excitable. That’s maybe the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to him, actually.

Logan easily could have used a different word. Annoying, insufferable, a pain in the ass, anything… but he chose to say Wade’s just excitable, maybe the one single word that could get his point across without an inherent negative connotation.

Wade turns bright red at that.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61934755/chapters/158481376

[yunwangja]

faultline | 5th shift

masterlist | next shift

“the highlight!” bokuto proclaims, his voice brimming with excitement as he dramatically gestures toward the massive roller coaster towering above the park. “finally!”

it’s clear this is the moment most of your friends have been waiting for. well, except for tobio and you.

tobio stands stiffly, his discomfort palpable as he eyes the ride with growing dread. you, on the other hand, aren’t nervous—just indifferent. you’ve never been the roller coaster enthusiast of the group, and the thought of enduring the ride drains your enthusiasm even further.

amid the chatter and laughter, shoyo’s energy is unmatched as he cheers alongside bokuto. kiyoko, ever calm, walks ahead of the group, guiding everyone closer to the looming attraction.

“alright, everyone,” she says with a clap of her hands, her usual composed voice cutting through the buzz. “group yourselves into twos.”

bokuto wastes no time, throwing an arm around akaashi in a show of exaggerated affection. akaashi, ever unbothered, simply accepts his fate with a small sigh that suggests he’s used to this by now.

meanwhile, shoyo shoots tobio a wicked grin, clearly plotting something. tobio, however, just crosses his arms and stares off in annoyance, no doubt regretting all his life choices that led him to this moment.

and then there’s you—standing off to the side, arms crossed, fully prepared to sit this one out if you could. beside you is suga, who has been stealing subtle glances your way.

everyone else is stuck in the middle of a silent debate: should they play matchmaker and risk your wrath, or leave things alone and avoid becoming casualties in the process?

since suga’s confession, things have shifted. there’s a new awareness between the two of you, but it’s surprisingly less tense than you’d feared. it’s like a weight has been lifted. still, the others don’t know how to navigate it just yet.

kiyoko, however, is deliberate as she steps in. “tsumu,” she says smoothly, her gaze sharp as she assesses him, “why don’t you come with me?”

tsumu, however, has other ideas. with a mischievous smirk, he slings an arm around your shoulders, leaning into his usual playful demeanor. “nah, i’m taking yn. right, yn?”

you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion, already sensing that he’s up to something. but with a shrug, you give in. “okay.”

out of the corner of your eye, you notice suga’s face shift slightly, but he quickly turns to kiyoko, engaging her in conversation as they pair up.

tsumu grins, satisfied with himself. “shall we, then?” he asks with mock grandeur, gesturing toward the ride like a gentleman offering his arm.

you roll your eyes but follow his lead, already bracing yourself for whatever antics he has in store. something tells you that for tsumu, this is less about the roller coaster and more about getting under someone’s skin.

tsumu had been testing your patience more than usual today.

he’d latched himself onto you from the moment you all entered the theme park, like some kind of human barnacle. it wasn’t subtle either; every overly casual arm draped across your shoulder, every little nudge or whispered comment, screamed that he had one goal in mind—to annoy the hell out of suga.

why? who knows. maybe he was bored. maybe he was trying to tease you too. you didn’t care enough to unravel the inner workings of tsumu’s chaotic brain, but one thing was crystal clear: it was working.

not on you, of course. you were too used to tsumu’s antics to take them seriously. but suga? yeah, you could see it in the way his easygoing demeanor faltered every now and then. a brief tightening of his jaw, a quick glance your way before he turned back to the group—subtle, but there.

after a long day of rides, games, and chaos, the group decided to wind down with a leisurely walk away from the noise and flashing lights. the cool night air was a welcome change, the wind brushing past you like a gentle sigh.

you were tired too. the day had been more physically demanding than you’d admit. you had the energy to terrify tobio on the roller coaster, shove shoyo off his horse on the carousel, and splash water at everyone during the log ride because “that’s the point,” but even you had your limits.

beside those, you were just chill, honestly. well. you did enjoy yourself.

bokuto, the birthday boy, was now happily demolishing a free oversized serving of nachos from a nearby food booth, with akaashi silently helping him polish it off. kiyoko and suga trailed behind them, keeping an eye on everyone to make sure no one wandered off. shoyo, jacket-less and shivering, was bickering with tobio, who was bundled up in his hoodie and refusing to share.

you were at the very back of the group with tsumu, who, to your relief, seemed to have finally tired himself out—or maybe he’d just gotten hungry. either way, he’d abandoned his mission to torment you and joined bokuto and akaashi in devouring the nachos.

it gave you a moment of peace, a chance to focus on the night sky. the stars were faint but steady, scattered across the inky expanse like tiny pinpricks of light. you let your gaze wander, letting the stillness wrap around you.

that was the cue.

without you noticing, suga slowed his pace until he was walking beside you. you didn’t see him at first, but you heard the faint sound of his camera, the strap rustling softly against his jacket as he moved.

you glanced to your left, your eyes catching the slight downward tilt of his head. his gaze was fixed on the ground, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

you didn’t say anything. instead, you turned your attention back to the path ahead, letting the silence stretch between you. it wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. you just didn’t know what to say.

so you stayed quiet, the distant murmur of your friends’ laughter and banter fading into the background as you focused on the sound of his footsteps matching yours.

“i wasn’t able to talk to you today,” he said, breaking the silence.

without looking at him, you replied, “well, i was busy.”

“more like tsumu gatekept you,” he said, a pout coloring his voice.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “he didn’t.”

“he did. i just know he was trying to annoy the shit out of me.”

you could tell by his tone he wasn’t seriously upset, but the thought still amused you. before you could respond, shoyo’s voice cut through the air.

“look! there’s fireworks!”

everyone turned to where he was pointing, only to find the fireworks barely visible in the distance.

“it’s miles away. we can’t even see it that much,” tobio muttered, unimpressed.

“still!” shoyo insisted, already pulling out his phone to record. he slowed his pace, dragging tobio along with him until the two of them had fallen behind.

you glanced at suga, who was now looking straight ahead. but there was a quietness to him, a subtle expectation that he was still waiting for something.

“tsumu’s my best friend,” you said finally, breaking the silence. “he’s always like that.”

suga shrugged, the movement casual, but his tone betrayed him. “whatever.”

you turned to him again, and that’s when you saw it—a slight pout tugging at his lips, barely there but unmistakable. it wasn’t exaggerated or playful like tsumu’s antics; it was softer, quieter, the kind of expression that made you realize how much he must have wanted to spend time with you today.

it caught you off guard for a moment, the way he stood there, his camera dangling idly from its strap, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. he didn’t press you for more or try to explain himself, as if he didn’t need to.

turning back to the path ahead, you let a small chuckle escape, soft and almost hidden beneath the sound of the night.

silly, you thought. what just did i do to make him be this way?

notes

A LONGGGG UPDATE FOR YOU GUYS <3

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVERYONE, PLEASE HAVE A GREAT ONE !!!!

i think next update will be within new year AHH!

bokuto has principles. free food over theme park rides. PERIOD.

poor akaashi had to help him finish everything

shobio contributed though

yns gift was an owl mug. and yes bo cried because - "YN KNOWS I LOVE OWLS :(((((" (remember at the character intros hes lowkey scared of yn and stuff)

kags gave him .... a pack of instant coffee. since he said "he needs it". bo loved it anyway because he'll use it together with yn's owl mug <3 my appreciative king

i also want to emphasize that yn WAS chaotic during that day. she doesn't tweet a lot about it but she had so many schemes.

taglist: @lvtilzs @uraviriot @adorawritesalot @nachotrash @staygoldsquatchling02 @gigiiiiislife @rowensboat @frootloopscos @ruwhimsical @mintynoo @chaotic-neutral-ig @zippymaezie @cupidsblonde

[diaryujin]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍

summary: Sunghoon has never felt any spark in his heart, none of that silly love he’s read about in novels in his free time. No one interested him, and it wasn’t like his father, the king, would let him have friends, male or female, for fear of being betrayed or developing feelings for them. He lived a life of isolation, excited for nothing – neither the idea of being married to a pretty princess nor becoming the next ruler of the Park kingdom. He most certainly did not expect you, his new guard, to change all that. He did not expect you to brighten his days and light up his heart.

includes: death, murder, war/battle, attempted murder (kinda), breaking in, royal au, romanticized medieval setting of sorts, forced marriage/proposal, a lot of time skips so it moves somewhat quickly, brief mention of a toxic ex, death by illness, joking mention of jumping off a balcony, blood, wounds, denial of death kinda, graves, lmk if i missed anything!

genre: angst

pairing: prince! sunghoon x guard! fem! reader

word count: 8.1k (woah)

taglist: @kflixnet @kpopslays @jvjsssnaa a/n: it’s finally here! i sacrificed sleep for this and i do not regret it at all. this fic has two milestones for me - being my longest fic + a fic i’m kinda proud of. i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it <3

PLEASE REBLOG/COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC 🫶

Sunghoon was reading over some papers pertaining to the kingdom’s matters when he heard a knock on the door.

“Enter.”

One of the guards came in, before bowing upon seeing him.

“Sire, his Majesty wishes to see you.”

He nodded and set the papers in a neat stack. He then put them in a drawer and locked it for security. He then stood up and followed the guard, maintaining a neutral expression.

His mind was working much faster than normal though.

His father was very strict, and the slightest mistake meant an extremely harsh lecture. He flicked through his memories, trying to remember what he could have done wrong, and what he should say as his apology. 

He pursed his lips as a thought crossed his mind - was his recent trip to the colder regions made known to his father? He had gone for administrative work, but he couldn’t resist spending some time there ice skating, which the king always considered useless since it benefited only the person skating, not the country. He had done his best to keep it under wraps, but maybe one of the guards reported this to the king. Damn it.

He mentally slapped himself for using such crude language. Those were the words of peasants and did not suit a prince like him. Holy moly…buckling barnacles, great heavens…such lengthy words to express frustration, he thought. ‘Damn it’ was only two syllables.

As he snapped out of his reverie, he entered the Throne Room. His father was seated on the grand throne at the end of the airy space. The seats where the ministers sat were empty. Court was always in the morning, and it was probably lunchtime by now - the prince wasn’t sure. 

He stood a few feet away from his father. The guard bowed and left, and Sunghoon made eye contact with the old man in front of him. He didn’t seem angry, so the younger relaxed a bit, letting out a sigh.

“Why have you called me here, father?”

“I’ve received some proposals from other kings. They’ve sent me paintings of their daughters. A lovely selection of princesses, I must say.”

Sunghoon had to physically hold himself back from rolling his eyes.

“Father, I’ve already told you this. I am not ready for marriage and I am not interested in this topic.”

“Yes, but it’s good to start early. Maybe you’ll change your mind after-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you Father, but why have you actually summoned me?”

The king narrowed his eyes at his son but didn’t say anything more about the topic.

“Well, I’ve decided to get you a personal guard. There have been many threats of attacks on the palace, so it’s better to take this precaution.”

“Interesting. Will he be with me all the time or-”

“She.”

“What?”

“Your guard is a female.”

To say he was shocked was the understatement of the century. His father? Hiring a woman? As his bodyguard? What if he-

“Are you serious?” “Yes. She is very capable and I’m sure she will protect and serve you well. I trust you to keep your relationship with her strictly professional.”

It wasn’t like he knew how to have a non-professional relationship with anyone outside of his family anyway.

“Yes, Father. Will she be with me at all times?”

“Indeed she will, except for when you are sleeping. At that time, she will stand outside your door and guard you.” “What about her food and sleep?”

“That is not your concern.”

“But-”

“Silence!”

He immediately bowed his head slightly as a sign of remorse for stepping out of line. This was going to be interesting, he thought. He had little to no interaction with women outside of his mother and sister, and the small talk he made with princesses and duchesses of other kingdoms was always awkward. Now he was having someone of the opposite gender, a woman, watching over him nearly 24/7.

He slowed down his train of thought. Why was he thinking like a teenage boy ogling over a girl? He was the crown prince, he was better than that. It was going to be a new experience, that was all.

“May I meet her now?”

“Of course. She’s arriving as we speak.”

Just then, the door opened, and you entered, a male soldier on either side. Sunghoon’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, but nothing came out of it. 

He was having a cultural shock of sorts. All the women he had met were all dainty, graceful and poised - the epitome of perfection. You, on the other hand, had an air of authority about you — rough and firm. A few scars were on your face, probably from battle. You bowed the full 90 degrees, and he could only respond with a small nod.

Oh fuck, you were gorgeous.

And he used foul language again. Stupid Sunghoon, he reprimanded himself.

He didn’t take back what he said, however. Your beauty wasn’t the type written in books or sung in ballads, but it had to be known to the world, somehow. He was almost tempted to write one himself. 

Hold on, why was he thinking all this? His father had just told him to not think anything about you that crossed the lines of professional, and thinking about how pretty you were was not within those lines.

“This is your new personal guard, Y/N.”

You came over to him and bowed again, although at a smaller angle than before.

“N…Nice to meet you, Y-Y/N.”

Did he just stutter?!

“It is an honor, my prince. I swear to serve you to the best of my abilities.”

“I’m sure you will.”

He managed a small, formal smile, looking completely pleasant and unfazed.

Which he very much was not. He wanted to jump off the nearest balcony when you said ‘my prince’. He didn’t know why - you weren’t the only one who addressed him in that manner. You might’ve even learned it from someone in the palace, so why was he so hot and bothered with the way you said it?

“Your duties start today, guard.”

“Yes, your Majesty. I will not let you down.”

He was going crazy. You were just his new guard. Nothing less, nothing more. He would just have to rein in his thoughts and get it all together. Not a difficult task at all.

As you stood behind him as he walked through the kingdom’s streets a week later, he seemed to keep a little distance from you, which was unsafe. Anything could happen within a few meters.

“My prince, you must slow your pace.”

He turned his face to look at you as he stopped walking.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“There’s a gap between us, and anyone could attack you with that.”

��Ah. I see. In that case…you can walk next to me. Or something.”

You stood next to him now. He quickly looked at the fruits a vendor was selling, trying his best to avert his gaze so that you wouldn’t see his reddening cheeks. It was unknown to him as to why he was so flustered. You were only doing your job, and that was it.

“Our kingdom seems to produce good crops.”

“Indeed they do, my prince. The farmer and the cultivators work very hard. It always seems to go unnoticed for some damn reason, though.”

He heard the angry tone in your voice and the curse word you said. This seemed to be a sore topic for you. He was curious, so he decided to ask more.

“What do you suggest, then?”

“We export more crops so that they get more revenue and in turn, they get paid as well. Increase the demand.”

You shrugged before turning your attention to a little kid who was clinging to your leg. You leaned down and patted his head, smiling a bit. The kid laughed and ran away. Sunghoon watched this interaction with interest and it dawned upon him that you cared about the people and their welfare, like a good ruler. 

Wait, why was he thinking about you being a ruler? You were only a soldier, and with the hierarchy now, there wasn’t much chance you could become more.

It did make him wonder, however, what you would do if the people rebelled. He shook his head, not wanting to think so dark. Your suggestion was smart, though. It made more sense the more he pondered over it. He’d mention this to the old man and see what he’d say.

“Shall we move on, guard?”

You stood up properly before nodding.

“Yes, my prince. Apologies for slowing you down.”

He dismissed you with a wave of his hand.

“Nothing of the sort. Come, let’s go.”

You both continued your stroll and for some reason, his heart was beating very unnaturally. He only had this issue when he was agitated, but there was no reason for him to be scared now, so why was this happening?

It had only been two months since you became his personal guard, yet you were his closest and most trusted friend. He took all your ideas seriously and told them to the king who somehow accepted them, and called him ‘ingenious’ for supposedly coming up with them. He hated taking false credit, but he knew that he couldn’t tell his father that you were the mastermind of them all — he would then question Sunghoon as to why he was talking to them in the first place, which would lead to you being removed from your post and replaced with a boring male soldier. 

He didn’t want to lose you, not when he finally found a change in his monotonous life, someone to brighten his dull days, someone to call a friend, even though it was only known to the both of you and no one else. He couldn’t bear to have you gone.

He was sitting underneath a tree, looking up at the sky in the comfort of the gardens reserved for his family and visitors alone. His father never came here out of his own accord - he always considered it a waste of time. His mother was in her room, and her sister was in another kingdom discussing alliances. This was a moment very rare, just you and him, with no one to interrupt or catch you two slacking. 

You were sitting next to him, only a few inches away. The wind was blowing gently on his face. He closed his eyes and smiled, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Your presence next to him was oddly comforting. He opened his eyes again, turned his head, and looked at you, wanting to ask you something. 

“Guard, you know how I always give your suggestions to the king and how he always says ‘I’ did a good job thinking about them?”

Your face tightened the same way it did every time he took credit for your ideas in front of his father. He sighed.

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I wanted to apologize for that.”

You tilted your head at him, clearly not understanding two things - why he was suddenly saying sorry, and how you doing that simple thing made him go insane. You took over him, body and soul. All he could think of when he tried to sleep was you. It was just two months. Two months, and he was already attached to you. He was convinced, however, that it wasn’t love or anything stupid like that. No, it was simply him forming a close connection to the first person who cared about him. Not everything was romantic affection. He had never tasted this emotion, obviously, but he’d say that he knew enough about it to confirm this wasn’t it.

“Why now, my prince? I’m sorry- I just didn’t expect you to, y’know…actually apologize. Never met a royal who’s done so. They’re all usually stuck-up snobs who think their shit is worth the entire kingdom.”

He snorted at that. It wasn’t like you were wrong, most of the royals he met were indeed very arrogant. He didn’t dare anything about it though, simply doing his best to not behave like them.

“It’s not right of me to take credit for something I don’t even have the brain for. I don’t mention your name for your security. If my father knew I was talking to you about matters like these, then…”

He made a motion of him cutting his own throat, complete with the sound effect. You grinned a bit, which was enough for him to be over the moon, but then you laughed. Not just a ‘teehee’ or a ‘haha’ - an actual, proper laugh. His heart swelled, maybe his jokes didn’t suck that much. Your laugh was indescribable. It was a delightful sound to listen to. It was short, but he wanted to hear it every day at least once for the rest of his life instead of those ballads that were sung in the court all the time. 

The way your eyes formed crescents, the way your face was half in the light and half in the shadow, the way the wind put an orange leaf in your hair like it was an accessory - it was making him sick in a good way. He rarely saw you smile, let alone laugh like this. He knew that you had to keep your expression serious all the time - all the soldiers had that training - and this was a proud moment for him to see you loosen up. He couldn’t help the small smile on his own face.

“My prince, is he really that harsh? I’m aware that he is super damn strict to us soldiers, but that’s expected since we have to be toughened up to protect the land.”

His smile faded before he shook his head in agreement.

“I’d say so. It’s for my good- I am the next in line, after all.”

“I don’t think forcing your child to have no friends is how you raise him to be king. He won’t know how to have proper social interactions.”

There you were again, hitting the mark accurately with your observation. He sucked at interacting with other people. Slowly, he was starting to dislike his father more. The faults he never saw in him earlier were becoming visible, the saint-like image he had of the king since childhood fading away. Was this meant to happen? He wasn’t sure.

“Right. I’m living proof.”

You shook your head in alarm.

“Oh shit- please don’t be offended by my idiotic statement, my prince…I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, really-”

He chuckled at how you were panicking and made a motion with his hand for you to calm down.

“It’s okay. I didn’t take it that way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

He saw your body relax as he rested his head against the bark of the tree again. He gazed at the sky, eyes fixated on the clouds and the way they moved in the direction of the breeze. Two questions lingered in his mind, and his mouth suddenly blurted one out.

“Do you ever sleep?”

It was random, sure, but he had to know. He was concerned for you. He never saw you leave his side, except for when he was asleep, and he already knew what you did then. You were still staring at him, but he didn’t notice.

“I do. I’m a normal person, my prince, I can’t function without food and rest. That’s impossible.”

“When?”

You let out a slight laugh at his curiosity, and his heart started pounding faster again.

“You don’t notice, do you? That means I’m performing the stealth part of my job well. When you’re in the dining room or a meeting surrounded by the best soldiers. That’s when. I also don’t stand watch for you every night. I alternate with another guard.”

His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape in understanding. He didn’t notice it at all, which meant that either you were a master of stealth, as you said, or he was just blind. It was most likely the former since he had no doubt in your abilities.

“I see. I was very worried for you, honestly.”

“I’m honored that I was an object of your concern, my prince.”

He scoffed at your slightly surprised expression. 

“Of course, I would. You’re my personal guard, what reason is there for me to treat you inhumanly?”

That stupid fucking slip of his tongue.

Shit, he just cursed.

Damn it, again.

His tutor and family would go crazy if they could read his thoughts.

Of course he had to refer to you as his, like you were property. Of course he had to emphasize on that word as well. You were making him loosen up too much. It shouldn’t have happened, not at all. He couldn’t continue like this, what if he accidentally cursed in front of people? He would never be heard of again.

“I’d say I had expected that, but you’re different from other royals, so not really.”

“I understand. Also, you don’t have to call me ‘my prince’ when we’re alone. Just Sunghoon is enough.”

Your eyes widened in astonishment.

“My prince, I wouldn’t dare to-”

“Really guard. It’s fine.”

“But his Majesty-”

“He doesn’t have to know. Our secret.”

“If you say so…it’ll take me time to get used to calling you by your name, princ- I mean, Sunghoon.”

“Already getting there.”

“I guess so. In that case, you can call me by just my name. No need for ‘guard’.”

“Your wish is my command, Y/N.”

This was new. Not referring to someone by their title was disrespectful. He learned from a ripe young age that if he didn’t call someone by their title, he could end up with his head on a guillotine block in some places. Were you seriously making all his long years of education unravel? Silence fell upon the two of you before he spoke up again.

“What do you think love is like?”

You must’ve been taken aback, and he expected to see such an expression on your face. Instead, when he stole a glance at you, it was something else. Wistful? Longing? He couldn’t name it exactly.

“Books don’t give it justice. Neither do ballads. It’s…more than that.”

He was intrigued by your response. He raised an eyebrow, signalling you to continue.

“Oh? You’ve been in love before?”

You stared at him, a sad smile forming on your lips, a look flashing in your eyes. One of remorse, he recognized.

“Yeah. It was depressingly…beautiful.”

His chest tightened at your words for some reason.

“Heartbreak?”

“Kind of. We fought a lot…our personalities were very different. Then when we finally reconciled…he died. An illness took him away.”

Your eyes were filled with so much hurt, it almost made him cry. This was his first time seeing you emotional, vulnerable, and while he was honored that you trusted him enough to show you this side of yours, he wondered how much you were hiding away. All he wanted was to protect you so that you would never have to go through something as painful as that. He made a resolve to make sure that he was never the cause of the agony in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry that happened.”

“It’s fine. It was just- unexpected. It’s been a year anyway.”

“I hope this doesn’t bring back memories you buried, but…how would you describe love?”

You rested your chin on your palm, thinking for a bit.

“Love isn’t only about the physical signs. For me, love is always wanting to be by someone’s side, being so head over heels for them that even the littlest things like…I don’t know, something stupid, makes you remember them. It’s being their biggest supporter, but also telling them when they’re wrong. Love is wanting to keep them safe from all the bad in this world. It’s when even the simplest thing they do brightens your day, like a smile or a small act of kindness. Love is when you put their needs and wants above everything and everyone else. There’s obviously more, but that’s my personal experience.”

Holy moly. Sunghoon was in love.

He was in love. That emotion many desired to feel at least once. All his previous notions and confidence about it being platonic flew out the window. He very clearly did not learn enough about this feeling. He didn’t know whether he wanted to be happy that he could say he had loved once in his life, or scream in frustration that he fell for someone out of his league and not some princess who he was supposed to want like this.

God, he hated himself.

“Pri- Sunghoon, are you okay?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He couldn’t let you know, he was a hundred percent sure that you didn’t feel the same. Plus, he was the prince, and if you both were caught, it would mean bad for him and catastrophic for you.

“I’m fine. Come, let’s go. We might get caught if we stay any longer.”

He stood up immediately. You were confused but followed his orders. What he said, you obeyed.

It had been eight months since you became his personal guard, and half a year since he realized that he was in love with you. He tried to distance himself, but one look or word from you and his resolve faltered. He was so deep in this pit, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to dig deeper or climb out. He wanted you to stay away and he also loved the way you destroyed every single one of the walls he built around himself subconsciously. 

He matured, and he was no longer the shy boy who didn’t know how to talk to someone of the opposite gender. He was a confident and charming crown prince now, the man of many’s dreams. You were the only one on his mind though. 

His father was now eager to get him married off, and he had to comply with his wishes, He was no longer the king who served the people anymore - he was corrupted, only thinking about power. Sunghoon did his best to undo the damage inflicted on the population, but the situation was getting tense, and he knew it. Rebels were raising their heads and it was his job to keep them in check. It was difficult, but you helped him through it.

Presently, he was sitting in the dining room with his family, the king, queen, princess, and officials of the Hwan kingdom. This was the proposal his father liked the most because the Hwan kingdom was rich in resources, and this alliance hidden as a marriage would give the Parks access to those coveted precious stones. He was hoping, however, that the other king would say no for some reason and he’d be free.

He had no interest in the princess, however. She was too boring for him. They had zero common likes, and the only thing they related to each other on was the struggles of being next in line. This was probably the worst match he had ever met. She seemed like she wanted this much less than he did. She was at least trying, he had to give her that.

You stood behind him on his right side. He so desperately wanted to turn around and see your reaction to all this. Your face had to have no expression now, obviously, but you both shared secret looks with each other in odd situations, and he was sure you’d find this amusing. The chatter across the table died down suddenly, and all the attention was on the two kings in the room.

“We’ve agreed on this marriage. Prince Sunghoon and Princess Hyeju are now betrothed!”

Sunghoon’s hands, which were tapping the table, stilled. He froze in shock, every voluntary muscle in his body stopping movement.

No, this couldn’t happen.

This was a nightmare, a terrible dream. He pinched his thigh underneath the table and ended up proving to his dismay that he was wrong.

This was the worst day of his life.

His father droned on about the details of the wedding. He tuned it all out. He tilted his head just a little to see your face and noticed that you were gripping your spear much tighter than necessary. You knew that he didn’t want this, not at all. Maybe you were angry on his behalf.

He couldn’t do anything about this, however. This was just his fate, and he resigned to it immediately. 

The meeting ended, and everyone, including Sunghoon, stood up and exited the room. You followed him as he went straight to the gardens to clear his head. His family would be occupied with entertaining the guests and making more plans, so it was just you and him. Again.

He sat in his usual spot underneath the same tree. He buried his face in his hands, frustrated. He heard the sound of you sitting down next to him, before feeling your hand lightly grip his shoulder.

“Hey, Sunghoon?”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s fine.”

“I know how much you don’t want this. Trust me, I don’t want it either.”

The second sentence was uttered in a more quiet voice, and he moved his hands away from his face to look at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Your lips formed a thin line, your body language making it clear that you were saying this with hesitation.

“I don’t want you to marry her.”

You removed your hand from his shoulder. You looked down at the grass, fresh and green from the new spring season.

“Why? I mean- other than me not wanting it personally, there’s no reason you should hate it…this is an amazing opportunity for the people and the kingdom! We will prosper-”

“Fuck the people and the kingdom- I want you, dumbass.”

His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

“What…do you mean.”

“I love you really badly. That’s what I mean.”

He couldn’t believe it. You, the very person he always desired desperately, his forbidden fruit, loved him back? Wanted him? This wasn’t real. He must’ve been knocked out after the marriage announcement and slipped into a pleasant dream.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You want me to prove it?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t know what to expect, but you grabbing his face and crashing your lips on his was the farthest from his vague idea of what might happen. 

It lasted for a few seconds before you pulled away suddenly. You noticed his dazed expression and started to panic.

“Shit, shouldn’t have done that, please don’t kill me, I-”

Your voice snapped him out of his haze before he placed his hand on your waist and pulled you in for another kiss. His hand tucked one strand of hair behind your ear and you melted into the action, calming down instantly. He was so gentle, so careful, he was holding you like you were a delicate object that was to be treated with utmost care at all times. When you both parted, his face wore a lovesick smile, his eyes sparkling like stars.

“I feel the same.”

“Yeah, it was obvious.”

He chuckled at your comment, before frowning. 

“You know this is dangerous, right? We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders slumped at his words, knowing that he was completely correct.

“I do. I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I just didn’t…know how to tell you.”

He shook his head. To him, you could do no wrong. It was his fault. He should have gotten rid of you so that he could nip the blooming flower in his heart from the bud. He shouldn’t have been such a coward.

“I understand what you mean now. I don’t know how to stop it, though.”

“That’s…fine. Just knowing you feel the same is enough for me.”

It wasn’t. Neither for you, neither for him, and you both knew that. The fact that he couldn’t be yours and you couldn’t be his simply because of both of your duties was like a nasty, sharp torn ledged in the soft flesh of his heart. You and him were not meant to be. Your romance was only a fantasy, to be never fulfilled.

“Precisely. This is all it’ll ever be.”

It was night. He had one week until his wedding with the Hwan princess, and he was dreading it. Seeing your face became unbearable for him sometimes — you reminded him that he had everything a commoner could only dream of, but even the poorest of poor could love and he couldn’t. He was ready to throw his entire life away and disappear with you, but his fear of what would happen next to the country held him back. 

He stared out the window in his bedroom which gave him a perfect view of the private gardens. The place where it all started and ended. The moonlight shone on the trees and flowers, giving it a peaceful aura, different from the cheery one it had in the daytime. Even in the comfort of his silk night clothes and soft blankets, he was in a state of unrest. He wanted to run, wanted to be free, wanted, wanted, wanted. He lay down, resting his head on his pillow as he waited for sleep to find him while he closed his eyes. Thankfully, the night was kind to him, and he dozed off almost instantly.

Sunghoon was rudely woken up by you frantically shaking his figure, pleading with you to wake up. When he came to his senses, he heard alarms sounding in the palace and immediately understood that it was an emergency, although what might’ve exactly happened was beyond him.

“Y/N, Y/N, I’m up. What’s going on?”

He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and slapping his face for good measure.

“Rebels. Come, we need to run.”

The first word was enough for him to be fully alert. He foresaw them coming, so it wasn’t a big shocker for him. He put on his slippers and looked at you with determination. He was actually trying to mask his fear, but you didn’t need to know that. You grabbed his arm and ran out of the room. He was a bit startled at your speed at first, but quickly matched your pace. When you both reached a corridor, you slowed down, wanting to be careful of surprise attacks.

“Hide your face to the best of your ability. I’m not sure if they’ll recognize you in non-prince clothes, but it’s better to be safe. They’ll aim for me instead since I have the palace uniform.”

His chest tightened. You were ready to give up your life for his. He knew that was protocol for all soldiers - royals over their own lives. He knew, but you were different. He didn’t want you to die, he couldn’t imagine a life without you. You were his oxygen, he’d suffocate if you were gone.

Suddenly, he noticed a flash of light. He heard a whoosh and he saw the way your hair moved in the direction of the sound. He assumed it was a gust of air along with the lights of the palace shining weirdly, but then he looked at the wall in front of him and realized what it was - an arrow. It was embedded in said wall, and you had missed it by a hair’s breath. Literally. It had scratched your face, but other than that, you were fine.

You pulled him down to remain on the floor, before you stood up and ran to the rebel that shot it, your hands gripping your sword tight. You engaged in combat with her. She was rather buff, and even though she only had a bow and an arrow holder on her, she was slowly gaining ground in the fight. She was blocking your thrusts with her bow, catching your moves with its string. She landed a harsh blow on your chest, and he gritted his teeth seeing your sharp flinch. He had to do something and fast.

He crawl-walked across the floor, making sure to stay unnoticed. He moved to stand behind the rebel before forcefully grabbing her neck. She was gagged, and the sudden lack of air caught her off guard. You took the opportunity and struck her in the heart, and he let go of her. 

You both ran off, eager to get to the safe room specially built for situations like this. Barely some distance away, he raised his head, neck aching from the constant strain, when you suddenly pushed him to the ground and covered his mouth with your hand. He was about to protest, feeling kind of hot and bothered with his position, but then he decided against it. You definitely did this for a reason, and he could repress his feelings for a while.

Your head turned as you stared at a rebel passing by, praying he wouldn’t notice you both. He was blind to your movement thankfully, and as soon as he left, you got off of Sunghoon, pulled him up, and ran. You pushed the door of the safe room which was behind a cupboard open with your shoulder, and he then realized that he was the first one to reach. The door closed, and he glanced at you, relief and gratitude clear in his eyes. 

You gave him a thumbs up and turned to leave to assist the other soldiers with getting the rest of his family to the room when he suddenly grabbed your wrist. You looked at him with confusion, and you opened your mouth to ask him what he was doing when he placed his lips on yours. You let out a soft gasp when he held you closer, one arm around your waist, the other hand on your back, holding you close. This wasn’t like the last time you kissed — this was desperate, filled with emotion. He let go of you too soon, eyes shining with tears. 

You both knew that there was a chance you wouldn’t come back to him, and this could be the last time he saw you.

You squeezed his hand in an attempt to reassure him. He just nodded at the door, knowing that you had your duty. You bowed and left as he watched you in fear, praying that you’d make it.

After the attack by the rebels, there were always new questions about the palace’s security floating around. Quite a few lives were lost. None of them were you or his family, but Sunghoon still grieved for them mentally. He couldn’t imagine the agony their families must’ve been going through, and he managed to convince his father to give all the deceased’s close relatives compensation. 

The wedding was called off for now, much to his delight and his father’s despair. The old man had accused him of doing something to sabotage it, but he had grown a thicker skin, thanks to you. All efforts were now being put into strengthening the forces of the kingdom, and the actual matters of state were being ignored. This would lead to more rebellion, but his father didn’t seem to care. At this rate, he could die if he stepped out of the palace grounds — the people hated him that much. Sunghoon was already preparing to become the next ruler since that future would become a reality pretty soon. 

A surprise attack was inevitable, but he didn’t expect the aggressor to be the damn Hwan kingdom.

They must’ve heard about the damage inflicted on the palace from spies and knew that the Park kingdom would be focusing its efforts on repairing it, thus taking advantage of the situation. It was smart of king Hwan, Sunghoon would give him that.

He rode his horse while inspecting the soldiers preparing for battle. None of them were properly ready for this. Many veteran soldiers were on break and were called back suddenly. They all did come, and he was grateful to them for that, even when they had the right to refuse. The troops were arranging their positions quickly, and a little bit of his anxiety relaxed. Their army was strong, they could face this.

As he rode back, he saw his father, who was seething with rage at being betrayed, Sunghoon’s brain was in overdrive. Many of these brave soldiers would sacrifice their body and soul for a stupid fight that wouldn’t bring much to the land that could have been easily prevented. He knew it would happen, but didn’t do anything that was enough to fix it. He couldn’t keep falling short of what was necessary, that wasn’t what a future king would do. 

Not wanting to talk to the old man, he rode a little further where you were on your own horse, surveying the battlefield. He relaxed a bit more upon seeing you and moved to be next to you.

“This will be a tough fight, Sunghoon.”

“I hope it remains a fight that ends today and not a war that stretches over days.”

“Where we are victorious.”

“Obviously.”

“My- Sunghoon, what will you do in case your father…is killed?”

The slip-up and the way ‘my Sunghoon’ rolled off your tongue so perfectly made him miss your actual question for a moment. He let out a soft giggle, before manning up to think. He hadn’t considered that possibility at all. If that happened, then he would automatically become the next king. He’d rule the land and hopefully lead better than the previous king and his reign would be peaceful. He’d make sure of that.

“Be the next ruler, of course. I’d promote you to my personal advisor.”

You cracked a small smile at that.

“Not enough brain. Plus, what if I don’t make it?”

“Won’t happen. You’re too sexy to die. Your abilities are top tier too, you’ll survive.”

You laughed now, and he smiled fully at you. This was a situation unheard of — right before a whole battle, he was here flirting with you and laughing. So very serious. 

He leaned his head closer to yours, hair falling over his eyes. They were pleading silently with you to steal one last kiss, one last secret gesture of love before you both left to fight, one last chance to hold you. You shortened the gap, about to comply, when the war horn sounded, signaling the start of the battle. He frowned, angry at the lost chance, but quickly kissed your forehead. You pecked his cheek in return, before putting on your helmet and riding off. 

The sound of hooves hitting the ground and the sight of dust flying from them brought him back into the moment, and he rode in the same direction as his own army, intending to lead the fight. His father was weak and made dumb decisions, so it was up to him. He moved directly to the frontlines, pulling out his sword from its hilt as an enemy soldier charged at him. He fought with ease, and soon a dead body was on the ground.

He should have been desensitized now upon seeing gore and corpses, but it still disgusted him. He gritted his teeth and averted his gaze as he parried with more enemies. Soldiers were dropping left and right from both sides. Blood splatters were on his own face from fighting so fiercely. It was a miracle that he was still standing with only minor injuries, the Hwan soldiers were vigorous. 

Time was passing quickly, although for him it felt like an eternity. He just wanted to go back after all this ended. He didn’t care if he had to marry the Hwan princess, all he wanted was for this bloodshed to end. The sound of arrows being shot, horses neighing, grunts of hurt and dying soldiers — it was all too much for him.

All of a sudden, a more experienced soldier was attacking him, he could tell by the moves. His entire focus was on fighting back because this guy could actually kill him, that much was clear. He didn’t notice the other soldier charging towards him from his left with a spear until he heard a clang. 

His eyes darted in the direction of the sound for a second, only to see you had blocked the attack and thrown the soldier off his horse. He was impressed and inspired by you, and with renewed strength, he killed the veteran. He gave you a thumbs up, before looking to his right as someone else ran to replace the deceased soldier. He was ready to fight that person and everyone else with you and for you.

Then, tragedy struck.

An arrow was heading in his direction. Occupied with the current fight he was in, Sunghoon was in no position to dodge it, and you took the blow. Pushing his horse with your own, the arrow lodged in your chest instead. The only reason he noticed it was because of the sound of pain you made. He finished off the man fighting him, and then turned his head to look at you. Your head was drooping slightly and your grip on the reins of your horse had faltered.

No, no, no, this can’t happen!

You were supposed to stay with him, you were supposed to be by his side forever, he was supposed to get more chances to love you, even in secret, not just lose you like this.

He immediately shoved his sword back in its hilt before grabbing your torso to steady you. You were very faintly there, you just had to keep going a bit more for him, and he knew you could.

“Y/N, hold on, okay? Don’t close your eyes, please.”

“Try…ing.”

Fuck, your voice was so weak, you really were trying. He’d end your suffering soon, he promised silently.

Coincidentally, the war horn sounded once more, signifying the end of the battle. It was his kingdom’s, which meant he had won, just like you wanted. 

But you weren’t conscious enough to realize it.

He promptly sat you on his horse in front of him, one arm around your waist holding you close and tight. He galloped fast to the palace medic, the best one in the entire region. He ignored the weird looks and the shouts of his name, traveling with urgency. He had to move fast for your sake, and also for his own. He’d lose his shit if you…no. You weren’t going to, he was sure of it.

“Try to not focus on the pain, we’re almost there.”

That was stupid advice, but he had to say something, anything to save him.

“This doctor will fix you up, I swear. Just- don’t give up yet, Y/N. I beg of you. It’s all I’ll ask for this badly from you.”

Your head was now tilted back, and it rested on his right shoulder. You opened your eyes slightly to look at him, which he took as a good sign.

Then you spoke.

“I won’t…won’t make it. It’s…no point…denying it…my…Hoon, I…love you.”

At your words, Sunghoon’s lips formed a thin line as he squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds to force his tears to stay back. He could feel the blood running from your wound and collecting onto the sleeve of his suit, but he refused to accept it. You would make it, you couldn’t die.

“Shut-Shut up. You’re not dying, not when I’m here. Look, we’ve reached- you’ll be okay, I swear.”

He got off the horse, your limp body in his arms bridal style.

He wished he could be holding you like this in a different, more happier situation.

The doctor rushed out of her house and knew that it was urgent upon seeing the prince at her door. She took you in and he waited outside, pacing around nervously. He was so certain you’d survive, but the wound could be a major setback for the rest of your life. He’d have to make adjustments to accommodate you at the palace. He wouldn’t mind though, it was for you after all.

The doctor came out after a few minutes, and he waited for her to say something along the lines of ‘she survived, but ___’. Not to see her shake her head with a soft sigh. 

“I’m sorry. She didn’t make it. She was gone when you came here. We tried our best, but…the arrow was poison tipped, which reduced her chances of surviving to zero.”

No. No no no no no. This lady was old and wrinkling, she was probably cuckoo and playing an unfunny prank on him.

“Can I see her? Alone?”

“Of course, sire.”

He rushed inside immediately, expecting to see you on the bed bandaged up and smiling at how well the prank worked on him-

She was right. You really were gone. You took your last breath in his arms. Your arms rested limply by your sides. The arrow was removed, but the blood stains were on your armor as evidence that the fatal injury did indeed happen. Useful reminder for a delusional ass like his. Your helmet was off your head now.

He sat down on a chair next to your bed and held one of your hands gingerly. It was already turning cold, and he hated it. He felt freshly made cuts and bruises along with older scars on your palm. His gaze fell on your face. The scratch you got from the rebel’s ambush was still partially healing. He took in your features with intense concentration, engraving them in his memory. He despised the fact that you looked so much at peace right now – when you just left his entire life in turmoil. He needed so badly to shake you back to life or something, but he knew that there was no point now. He lifted your hand up to his lips, kissing it in a tender manner, a weak replacement for the one you both missed maybe an hour or two before. 

Just when he let go of your hand, the doctor rushed in with news.

“Sire, his majesty has passed away due to a…similar poisonous arrow shortly after victory.”

Both the people he knew wanted to win the most were dead just after it happened. Ironic, he thought - this was worthless now.

King Sunghoon walked through the cemetery for soldiers who had sacrificed their lives for the country. He stopped right in front of one which had many flower bouquets, a lot of them from his own previous visits, all of them your favorite flowers. He got on his knees on the right side of your gravestone, head bowed in respect and hands folded in his lap.

“Hello, Y/N. I know I’ve come to see you many times before, but I can’t help it. I miss you so much. You left too soon. I still believe that I should have taken that arrow instead of you…although it was for the better in hindsight. At least your last memory was of me and your pain ended quickly.”

Silence. He quickly wiped his eyes.

“I love you, Y/N. I still do, so much. I should move on by now, but it’s hard. Not when you meant so much to me, not when you changed me. A little for the worse, mostly for the better.”

He laughed dryly, looking at his hands. An expensive ring gleamed on his ring finger.

“I married a queen who I liked a lot. Not the Hwan princess, although she and I keep in touch often. We’re allies now. Kind of ironic, since I lost you and the old man in a war against that same kingdom’s old ruler.”

He wasn’t willing to let himself break, what if someone walked in on him sobbing over a dead soldier's grave? What would they think? He poked his eyes with his fingers, still in misery. No matter how much he tried, everything in his brain led back to you. While he didn’t want you to fade or leave his mind exactly, you were only meant to be a guest, visiting occasionally, not a permanent resident, not someone he still needed. When he calmed down, he quietly lifted his crown off his head and put it on top of your gravestone. He placed a solemn hand on it, closing his eyes. “This is a love stained crown, tainted with you and I, along with all our memories. Your affection will never wash away, no matter how much I try. I miss you and I love you, and I hope you’re doing better, wherever you are.”

[sun-snatcher]

( all gif credits to @bankaizen from this incredible gifset! )

✠ | absolution ; shay cormac

summ.  Shay is dying, but ghosts only haunt the living. Or: 6 times Shay is haunted, & the 1 time it matters most. pairing. gen!fic , implied Shaytham (up to you readers!) w.count.  4.6k a/n. Warnings for body-horror & overall graphic horror elements. Other than that, this fic explores Shay’s canon-typical PTSD!

‘A man who is laden with the guilt of human blood will be a fugitive until death, let no one support him.’ — Proverbs 28:17

i. THE SEA.

Shay crashes into water again.

It feels alot like the too-cold embrace of an empty home. 

“Don’t be pathetic,” says a Sailor. His accent is of French heritage; thick and full of contempt. “You are a man of the sea, not a Man of God. You’ve forsaken that part of you a long time ago.”

Have I? he asks, uselessly. The words bubble out instead; Up, up and far away. His eyes trail instinctively after it, where the dancing reflection of a naval firefight is shining curiously through the surface of the waves.

Shay is… sinking. Yes. He remembers now. His foot had been snared and caught in the whip of a rogue rigging line during some dogfight against a Man O’ War, knocked him out cold, and is sending him down now: plummeting to the seabed.

“Death-bed,” the mysterious Frenchman corrects, and yanks the rope tangled at Shay’s feet humorously, “if you want to drown with me, that is.”

He’s right. There’s no one else overboard other than the two of them. The rigging is frayed, fortunately, and so it doesn’t take much for the Captain to cut through it with his blades and free himself. 

He turns back towards the familiar face as the sea shifts, trembles, ripples. It’s bone-chillingly cold.

Come up, Shay says. The pressure of the water is squeezing his head into further disorientation. He’s fighting to wade upwards against the deep rock of the tides. 

“Why?”

Why else? he replies. We’ll both die, down here.

“Oh, I’ve been down here a long time, Shay, thanks to you.”

A heavy drape of red had appeared from the depths, curling up like a clotting cloud. Shay’s heart begins to pound in tandem with his lungs.

“Swim, or let yourself drown, then,” his old ally says. No bubbles of breath drift up when he speaks. His condescending laugh is everywhere and nowhere. A gaping cut is in the Sailor’s stomach; a mark of death by sword. “It’s my blood you’re seeing, after all. Not yours.”

A bolt of regret. I know. 

But Shay reaches out, nevertheless, still insistent. His reach always seems too little, too— 

“—late for that,” the man scowls.

Stop being a fool, Shay pleads. Just come to the surface. Is it an apology y’want?

“Connard,” the Frenchman curses. 

Torn, bloated flesh glistens at the seams of his rotting, festering wound as he speaks, and deep-sea creatures circle and feast excitably at the cruor and flayed pieces of his decayed skin. Chévalier glares at Shay with a hundred blinking barnacles for eyes and a mile-long seaweed for a black tongue. 

“It’s too late for that, too.”

ii. THE FOREST.

A burning rabbit startles out the ashen underbrush.

“Did you do this?” it cries out between its own flames, voice the rough scrape of tree bark. “Was it you who killed my Brothers?”

“I… Brothers?” Shay says, pathetically. His bleeding ears are still ringing from the explosive blast of the powder kegs he’d accidentally misfired at. It’s a miracle he could hear or think at all. “The forest— It wasn’t my intention—”

“So it was you, then,” rasps another pained voice. A hawk had descended onto a charred bough; its flaming wings are bent and twisted horrifically backwards, feathers singed into its own melting skin. “Look at yourself. We could’ve been greater than this. Do you take pride in burning away everything good in your life, you ungrateful creature?”

“No,” Shay shudders. The black smoke is thick enough to taste. The furious blaze of the forest-fire is beginning to sear into his skin as he wanders blindly for a clear path, trying to reconcile North from South. “I never meant for it to be this way—”

“How dare you,” comes a booming growl. “Look at the damage you can’t undo. Useless.”

Shay recoils. Missteps over the roots of a burning tree and lands hard on his back. “Please— I’ll make things right, you must let me help you.”

The lynx looms over him like an eclipse. A splintered branch is protruding through its blood-weeping eye socket, but its gaze is still vicious as Death while it snarls and snaps its jowls at him. “Is that what you Templar dogs do? Help? Look where it’s brought us all!”

Shay crawls backwards into the haze, frantic, until his arms falter. He snags a loose stone that sends his balance off-kilter— hurtling downwind, tumbling and rolling far from danger until he nosedives straight into a jagged outcrop. 

Everything silences.

Then, when he finally opens his eyes:

River water; poisoned with blood and soot and flesh.

A deer’s corpse twitches. 

It’s long since collapsed beside him, judging by the severity of the rot: 

Its face is peeling off; jaw torn through, loosely hinged by one last tendon. A puckle bullet lodged in its exposed ribcage glints in the waning firelight of the forest, glistening against the sinews of flesh and shards of shattered bone. 

“Do you hear it, Shay?” it whispers, tiredly. “Listen close. Past the beat of my wardrums.”

He pales. It’s not a ringing in his ears, he realises—

It’s screaming.

“Kesegowaase,” he recognises.

“Traitor,” it greets, watching as Shay shifts up to his knees. “You live to see another day, it seems. Good. I hope you live long enough for your guilt to tear you from the inside out, Shay— I hope you end up worse off than how you left me.”

Then the deer breathes out, and stills. 

“I’m sorry,” Shay chokes out at last, “for all of it.”

The forest creaks in protest. Even the riverbank sneers. 

Liar.

iii. THE GREENHOUSE.

A Venus Flytrap slowly unhinges its jaws.

Then a vial rolls out, and lands into his grasp.

“You’re late again,” says his Mentor, nodding to the tiny tincture. “Go on. It’s a fresh antidote.”

He hesitates. She notices, ofcourse, keen as usual. She always does.

“A pity,” she hums, sounding maternal. When she turns the corner of potted snapdragons, he can see the skirts of her elegant dress under the dusk light: a riotous bloom of purple irises and hyacinths, surrounded in wild, flitting butterflies. “I trained you better than this, you know?”

That gets a pained laugh out of him. The poison in his system that he’d inhaled works deliberately slow; makes it burn through his veins like acid. How did he get here, again? He can hardly remember through the fog in his head and lungs—

“By not listening to me,” the beautiful woman says, ducking past a cascade of pitcher plants overflowing with blood, and kneeling to where he’s sat propped against an old trellis of decomposing vines that’s ensnared and leashed him down, “and by being reckless. Now drink the antidote, Shay.”

“Relax.” He inspects the bottle of liquid in his hand, fidgets with the corkstop. “I’m not givin’ up hope.”

The clever play of words makes her laugh. It’s a haunting sound. He hasn’t heard it in a long while. When she sighs deeply after, the air chills until the garden windows frost over, and the life of the plants around her begin to drain and wilt. Carnivorous insects envelop and skitter loudly on the ground now, crunching underfoot and scattering over his feet.

“I just wanted to see you,” Shay admits, sorrowfully, “a little bit longer.”

“Why, you always were a fascinating fellow,” she muses. Her glowing face has turned gaunt at the edges. Putrefied and overgrown with grotesque roots stretching out from beneath her high collars, seeking to reclaim her. “Maybe I’ll just leave and save you the trouble—”

“No. Please.” He reaches out desperately to the black rose petals falling from her hair. “I’m hallucinating,” Shay says, disappointingly. “So y’might as well stay. Y’are goin’ to disappear, again, anyway.”

“Again?” she dimples at him. “Didn’t you make sure I could never be here to begin with?”

The shame burns his soul. She cocks her head, amused.

“Are you looking for absolution?”

Shay ignores the red in her too-wide grin; the blood pouring down her lips; the rapid darkening of her corset. They don’t go away when he blinks, so he imagines they’re just the bright red blossoms of poppies instead. 

He bows his head. Shuts his eyes. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“Oh, Shay.” Hope’s rotting corpse places her hand to his cheek. It’s ice-cold and skeletal— but he leans into the caress regardless; the only comfort he’ll ever be able to indulge in, fleeting as it is. “That changes nothing.”

iv. THE FORT

For a moment, he thinks it’s Chévalier, again.

But this Frenchman is less— spiteful.

“What’re y’doin’ inland?” Shay asks, sprawled against the floor of a fort he can’t pronounce the name of. There’s a telling, guttural ache of a fractured rib in his side from where he’d been struck by a stray piece of crumbling rubble. 

“What are you?” counters the Frenchman. He pulls a chair and straddles it, crossing his arms casually over the open backrest as he stares down at him. Shay can see the mutilating gashes of a swordfight across his chest and stomach, necrotic, with something diseased slithering between his shredded robes. “Come to storm another fort so I see. Shall you take as many down with you, too?”

“I already have,” Shay replies. There’s no pride in his answer. The ashlar walls of the war-room collapsing to dust around him remind him too much of when the world had caved in beneath his feet back— “—in Lisbon.”

“Well,” laughs the Navyman, “like I said: you always were good at your business, Shay. Tell me, how many more, then?” He cocks his head at the singed map on the floor, pinned under splintered barrels and debris. It’s what Shay had originally come for in this mission-gone-sideways, but—

The sketch of the landscape has come alive.

Its paper is now a graft of raw, human skin that breathes instead of flutters; ink replaced with rivers that bleed like fresh lacerations. Pawns march across borders and territory lines to the pulse of their dying heartbeats, the tattooed terrain shifting and clotting to a route that only directs them towards inevitable death. 

The map is a carved out piece of the Navyman’s stomach.

“Stop this,” Shay says, uselessly. “Enough.”

“Me? Oh, I didn’t kill those men, Captain.”

The marked out forts and strongholds are etched of dead, hooded Assassins and soldiers that twitch in endless piles. Something trapped underneath the skin-map writhes and buzzes and convulses, noisily demanding to be let out. It sounds like a thousand insects rattling against each other and beating their wings; burrowing, scratching and eating through fresh flesh—

Le Chasseur stomps hard.

Shay flinches at the squelch.

When the Frenchman lifts his foot, the stringing guts leave behind a twisted, grotesque insignia of the Brotherhood. “There. Retrieve it, then.”

He slides the filthy map closer towards Shay’s outstretched fingers with the toe of his boot. “I’m doin’ what I must,” Shay reasons aloud, swallowing hard as he turns his chin up to face the corpse, “It’s the only way, Le Chasseur.”

A scoff. When he moves to stand and leave, his open wound stretches like a maw with a sickeningly wet, sticky sound. Something alive crawls in, and out. “Right, because what is another great conquest— another hundred souls to leave in your wake, no?” 

“What is it y’want from me?” Shay calls out, hoarse. “Is it vengeance? Remorse? Do y’just want to watch me die?”

“And what exactly is it you hope you can do for a dead man? Bring them peace?” Le Chasseur mocks over his shoulder. “Shay. Captain. Look at what you’ve become,” he declares. “You can hardly find peace for yourself.”

v. THE BLUFF.

On a sunnier day, you’re able to see the horizon clearer from this high up a distance on the bluff.

An old, weathered Captain stands at the edge. 

“You beached the Morrigan,” he points out.

“To save my men, aye,” answers the Younger Captain. An ambush from an armada had left him disarmed and with little choice. He hadn’t fled— he’d tried to make a last stand where he could and spare his crew. Now he’s trapped and being used as bait to attract them. “I learned from the best.”

“Save your flattery for the Devil, child,” the Old Captain says. He walks over to the metal pillory that’s shackled the Morrigan’s young Captain. “Or do you think I’m the Devil, then; is that what it is?” he laughs, caustic. “That we’re all Him? Come to haunt you and punish you for your sins?”

The Young Captain says nothing. Days of pain have left him too exhausted to argue further. His worst wounds have been left to free bleed, and it’s tired him into resignatio— 

WAKE UP, SHAY.

He startles. 

The abrupt jerk spasms across his marred back, and he lets out a rasped choke.

“Younger slaves have suffered worst lashings than you, child,” says the Old Captain. When he pulls his hood down, his old scars are weeping blood: down his cheeks, his neck, his arms. He has a permanent scowl across his face. “Answer my question.”

“Yes,” Shay says, for the sake of it. The pain has jolted him wide awake and alert. “Why else would I be seeing you?”

“You tell me, traitor,” he snorts. “If I were the demon you think I am, I would have crucified you myself.”

The pillory seems to tighten. Sun-baked metal continues to sear through Shay’s bare wrists; bites at his neck; cooks the flesh of his flayed back. His vision swims, and he wonders if he’s imagining the ravens circling him have grown in numbers, too; daring one another to perch closer to him— waiting. Waiting. Waiting to pick him apart.

“Adéwalé,” Shay says, at last, “forgive me.”

The sea level has risen to an impossible height. It’s red, thick. Licking up the cliff face at frightening speed. 

He’s going to drown. 

“Forgiveness is not in my hands,” the Assassin muses, and makes dramatic a show of patting his gaping heart. It’s exposed in a ruptured cavity of his chest, pulsing like it was still alive despite the Hidden blade embedded in it from years ago. “You think me the Devil, after all.”

Shay rattles against his binds. The birds shriek and caw past him in vicious delight over his panic; his growing dread. The blood has covered the horizon, blinding the sun, drowning the Morrigan. It’s gone past his knees, and pools higher still. 

“Adéwalé,” he struggles, “Don’t do this!”

“Don’t worry,” he says, stepping forward. “Hell welcomes traitors like you.” 

“Stop!”

“It doesn’t end here, you know? Matter of fact—”

The tide rises to their chests, Adéwalé leans close to meet his gaze. His mutilated heart is leaking like a rusty faucet. It’s where the ocean of blood has been coming from all this time, flooding higher at each weak, circadian beat.

“The war will never end for you, Shay.”

vi. THE LAKE.

There’s no footprints in the snow.

Neither does his breath cloud.

“That was lucky,” his Brother says. It might’ve been him who’d helped spark the flint for the campfire, despite his gangrened limbs and black fingers. They’re frostbitten; stiff. When he moves, his joints snap and pop like a mangled doll that’s come to life after being put together wrong.

But it’s difficult to make sure. It’s too bitterly cold to think straight after falling through the ice and escaping the arctic  currents within an inch of his life.

“I, I make my— own luck,” comes the reflexive, shivering answer.

“Lose the robes. They’re wet,” his Brother ignores. “Else you’ll be frozen to the marrow come mornin’. Go on. No one’s here to peep the show.”

“You are.” Shay finally dares to look past the crackling fire. Searches for the familiar face just beyond the amber glow. “You— y’are here, Liam. Aren’t you?”

Behind the flicker of the flames, his Brother’s glacial blue lips crack when they smile. They will never again warm to any fire. “We used to jump off that creaky dock together back in New York, arses hangin’ out, Shay.” He leans his shattered, crooked spine to the cave wall with a laugh. “Y’tellin’ me you’ve gone shy, now?”

Shay isn’t amused. “That’s not what I, m—meant. You,” he endures a sudden bout of trembling. “Y’know it.”

“Well. What do y’want me to say, then?”

“That you— you’re here.”

“Alright,” he relents. Underneath the cowl that Shay had pulled behind his head as a farewell all those years ago, Liam’s eyes are milky; skin translucent. It reminds him of stained glass— the ones in church back home, where they were forced to attend as children together every Sunday mass. “I’m here.” 

Underneath the dark ice that’s become his flesh, Shay can visibly see past the frozen capillaries up his cheek; can see the very crack that had shattered Liam’s skull and damned him— violent enough to break him, but certainly not enough to kill him upon impact.

A slow, cruel death.

It makes Shay’s heart twist at the memory; his eyes sting. He allows himself the lie. “You’re here.”

A nod. “Yes.” Something from Liam’s cheek flakes off as he says it, exposing rotten teeth; a purple tongue. Blood and black fluid oozes, viscous and thick.

Do y’hate me? Shay wants to ask.

The words don’t come. It forms like a ball in his throat as he shivers and curls in on himself instead, and makes him choke back tears. “You’re here,” he convinces himself again, teeth chattering. 

“I am,” Liam repeats, patiently. “An’ no. I don’t hate you, Shay.” That makes him blink up. “You’ve always been my closest brother. Nothin’s changed that. Why’re y’surprised?”

The words in Shay’s head are brutal, unforgiving. He can’t bring himself to speak it into existence.

“The fall killed me,” Liam corrects knowingly, somehow, with a dismissive wave of his icicled arm. Then, honestly: “I don’t hate you, Shay,” he says. “I just wish y’died that night, too.”

So do I. He doesn’t bother admitting it. Liam will know, anyway. 

“…I will,” Shay replies, even after he’d disrobed and huddled into his dry pelts. Colour has returned to him. “T—Tonight.”

A laugh. It’s familiar.

“No, y’won’t.” It’s said like finality. As if he’s privy to a secret knowledge only dead men carry. “We trained y’well. It’ll take more than a dip an’ a splash into a frozen lake to kill you.”

The blizzard outside whistles a lullaby. The warmth thaws Shay’s blood back flowing. It unnumbs him; reminds him he’s exhausted. He wants to sleep— but this is the only time he’s been haunted with tender nostalgia above all else.

“Y’need it,” his Brother advices. “Go rest.”

He defiantly shakes his head. I miss you, Liam. I miss all of you. Even Chévalier, for fuck’s sake. Why did it have to be this way? Why me? 

But he couldn’t say that. It would’ve been ridiculous.

“You’ll… be gone,” he laments, “when— when I wake.”

“Shay,” Liam says, sadly. “I’ll be gone even if y’don’t.”

vii. 1782.

He escapes the Willow grove thanks to an old friend.

“What the hell… are y’doin’ here, Sir?”

“Saving you, it seems,” the Grandmaster says, and Shay eventually finds himself up on his tired feet, off the bough he’d been crumpled against. There’s blood pouring down his thigh, and a wound he can’t see torn somewhere into his side. “You’re lucky I chanced upon you, Captain. What? Oh, don’t say it—”

“I make my own luck, Master Kenway.”

“Get on,” he ignores, rolling his eyes as Shay sways and staggers, “Goodness, you’re heavy. I might just save myself the trouble and leave you damned out here like a tragic play.”

The pain blinds Shay as he shuffles onto his whickering horse, but not enough to stop him from apologising for exerting her joints— she’d been trained to kneel to get him on the saddle easier if he ever needed it. “Lovely girl she is,” Haytham compliments, already up and sidled behind Shay to take the reins sometime ago. “Stay awake, Captain.”

“Just— argh.” He winces at a pinch that travels up his leg with a curse as the mare is kicked into a swift and hurried trot back home. “Restin’ my eyes, Sir.”

“Famous last words,” Haytham snorts. “Shay?”

“Yes. I’m here,” he says. Then, as if reminded: “…Are you?”

The Grandmaster blinks in confusion. “I… Yes? I know we’ve just reunited after years— and in an untimely, unfortunate way, no less— but I am here. What do you mean?”

“…Nothing.” It wouldn’t do to tell his boss he gets haunted with whispering voices at every corner and gets plagued with hallucinations of his dead allies; even less to have that be their first conversation after all these years apart. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Bold of you to assume I am,” Haytham says, coolly.

“Time’s… worn y’down, Master Kenway,” he manages through the dull throb from the jostling. “Can see it— can see it in those blue eyes a’ yours.”

“Charitable of you not to say my greying hair.”

But he looks as young as Shay last saw him— what was it, a decade ago? He can’t see Haytham clearly to confirm it. The sun had yet to rise, and the way is paved under a tenebrous darkness that seems to be eating him alive. Or perhaps it’s just the daze in his head clouding his vision.

“Come on now,” Haytham says, when a waystation inn had come into view at last. Shay finds himself dismounted from his saddle— Haytham didn’t seem to bother with tying off the horse. Then:

The lady manning the bar flies into a frenzy of I’ll get yous a doctor, dear! the moment she’d set eyes on the Captain, and had insisted on supporting him all the way up the stairs, where they lumbered into the closest room they had available. “Poor boy. What happened to you, love?”

“Life,” Haytham jokes dryly, just as the woman tuts and disappears down the wooden steps to fetch for help. “Shay?”

The Captain’s voice is hoarse from where he’s sat propped up against the headboard of the bed. All at once, he feels both weightless and weighted. Shay’s been close to death before— too many to count, really— but he’s never teetered this close to the precipice. 

“Still… here.”

“Good man,” Haytham says, instead of stubborn man. “What is it?”

“Y’are awfully still, is all,” he observes, blinking lucidly through the gossamer of his waning vision. The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains has seemingly painted Haytham more sallow. “S’just, strange t’see… Strange t’see y’after this long.”

“I’m not the type to pace a hole into the ground, Captain,” he answers, puzzled. “Have you forgotten?”

“Never,” Shay says, easily. It’s the truth. Not a day had gone by without him thinking of Haytham; of what he’d be doing; of where he’d be; of what’d become of him. “I’ve never forgotten you.”

If he’d been flattered at the response, he didn’t show. Instead, he clasps his hand once more behind his back.

“Haytham,” Shay calls, abruptly.

The first name makes him look up. There’s no Sir, or Master Kenway, this time. “Yes?”

“Will y’tell me somethin’?”

Haytham hums. “Depends.”

“Please.”

“Well, how courteous,” he muses, but nods by way of assent. Go on, then.

“Will y’tell me—” —you’re here, Shay almost repeats. But then he remembers: he’d made that mistake before with another memory already. “—that you’re real?”

An owlish blink.

The Grandmaster gestures awkwardly from the corner of the room, by the door where he stands. “I’m right here.”

“I… I know y’are. But can you— can y’tell me,” he pleads again, desperately this time, “that you’re real, please?”

“I am,” Haytham insists, after a lengthy pause. 

“Will y’say it, then?”

A beat.

“I’m… here, Captain.”

Shay bows his head. “Oh.” Then he focuses his bleary eyes at Haytham. “Oh, no.” 

“Now you’re beginning to worry me, Shay—”

“Don’t bloody lie t’me, Haytham. Please,” he chokes, and an old grief fractures through his heart once more. “Please? Not you. Not you.” Then, in hopeless realisation, “God, anybody but you.”

A silence passes. 

Y’can’t say it. Y’never lie to me, Shay remembers. Then:

“How?” he dares, at last.

Haytham meets his gaze.

Shay braces himself.

“…Peacefully,” he finally answers, after a while. “Painlessly.”

This time, there’s unrepentant truth in his voice. It tears Shay apart more than he ever thought capable. Rips a startlingly horrific grief that stuns him with more force he can ever anticipate— 

“Y’bastard,” he croaks out, shaking his head and grunting through the jolt of pain that ripples through his wounds as he moves. “Y’are a goddamn bastard, Kenway. Why? Fuck— why?”

“That doesn’t matter, anymore.” The Grandmaster steps an inch into the moonlight. The floorboards don’t creak. No shadows are cast. Dust motes pass through him. He’s not here. He— He hasn’t been since the start of it all.

Shay’d been alone: following the muddy trail out the grassy willow grove with no other steps left behind but his own, clambering onto his sweet horse who led him safely and sure-footedly back to civilisation, and Shay himself had been the one to stumble into the first waystation inn he came by. 

Haytham had not been there to pick Shay up from against the tree bough; had not been there to help mount and steady him upon his saddle; had not been there to lead him into the inn, nor with the barmaid to guide him up the squeaky steps to his room. He’d never once touched him at all.

Haytham is not here.

He hasn’t been for a long, long time.

“Focus on holding on just a moment more, why don’t you?”

“Am I dyin’? Good,” Shay bites, cruel, “We’ll… have a proper conversation once I’m, once I’m bled dry.”

Haytham isn’t amused. “I’m not asking.”

“Orderin’ me from the grave, aye?” he laughs, wry. “…You’ve no right.”

A light hum. “Don’t I?”

“Y’left me,” he snaps, which he realises in an instant is unfair: Shay had taken on the task to find the Precursor box at Haytham’s behest, but the choice had always been his to do it. To leave. To sail. To complete the mission. “I wanted— I thought one day I could— come back—”

—to you, is his first instinct, instead of home. 

“Ofcourse,” Haytham says, pragmatic as always, “in due time, you will. But you’ve a mission to complete, still.”

“Oh, fuck you.” But the words don’t seem to affect the Grandmaster, and he couldn’t help but sink in a burst of shame— the sudden pour of overwhelming grief and ache from this newfound knowledge: Haytham Kenway is dead. He will never, ever again return to Shay. “I’m sorry. I’m— I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright.”

I wish I’d been there, Shay doesn’t say.

“There was nothing you could’ve done, Captain,” he answers anyway, and turns his ear towards the door where a thunder of footsteps echoes now from down the inn. The Doctor has arrived.

“I— I didn’t want it to be like this, Haytham,” Shay says, and can barely lift a weak hand to reach for the Grandmaster; one last attempt to touch his hand. “To be the last one standing.”

You’re not alone, Haytham says, and steps back into the corner away from the path. I’m here. 

The door is shoved open in a burst. A doctor and an apprentice begin to crowd him, speaking between themselves as they try to keep Shay conscious in a flurry of questions. 

What’s your name, Sir? Can you tell me where you are? Do you know the extent of your wounds? Have you taken anything?

He doesn’t answer them. Just looks past them and calls out, “Haytham!” over their shoulders, where the door has slowly begun to swing back shut—

The corner is empty.

Shay’s heart twists.

The corner has always been empty.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Celestial Water Monkeys

Was discussing in the notes of this post with @silverlycanthropelover about the possibility of Celestial/Stone Monkeys surviving the Great Flood by adapting to the sea.

One of the jokes is that "Sea Monkeys" (the frozen brine shrimp toy), are actually a misunderstanding of sea dragon records talking about the little mer-monkeys that inhabited their seas.

Basically

Ao Guang: "What are those things hiding in your mane?" Ao Shun, surrounded by tiny mermaid-like monkeys: "I dunno man, they just showed up one day, and they won't stop picking through my fur." Ao Guang: "Why haven't you scared them off?" Ao Shun: "Honestly? They are pretty adorable. They clean my body of parasites, and comfort me when I'm feeling unwell." Sea Monkeys: (*happy chirping + porpoise-like squeaks!*) Ao Guang: "They do seem very useful... How do I go about hiring them?" Ao Shun: "I believe you cannot choose them brother, they choose you." (*cut to hundreds of years later when Ao Guang is lying at the bottom of the East Sea, despaired at the loss of his youngest pup Ao Bing*) Sea Monkeys: "Chirrp?" Ao Guang: (*looks up to see a swarm of brightly-coloured mer-monkeys, all swimming around his gigantic body as they pick off the barnacles and parasites that settled in his depression.*) Leading Sea Monkey, petting the king dragon's face with sympathy in their eyes: "Chirrrrp." Ao Guang: (*smiles for the first time in weeks*) :')

Like pilot fish to a great white, the smaller creatures stick to dragons in a symbiotic relationship. The royal dragons are very protective of their monkeys. Ao Guang refuses to acknowledge the irony of a Stone Monkey being one of his greatest annoyances, whilst tending to his beloved servants.

Wukong has no idea that these little spiritual monkeys exist! To think that some Stone/Spiritual Monkeys survived the Great Flood by changing their whole biology, or existed even beforehand, is an amazing discovery!

The Water Monkeys are a lot smaller than Wukong or Macaque, being roughly the size of tamarins. They don't speak "human" languages very well, their vocal cords are more attuned to the calls of dragons and other sea life. They can still chirp and chatter as monkeys do, allowing for some delightful conversation between the Stone Monkey King (they do not recognise Sun Wukong as their king) and the school of excited fairy-like monkeys.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Unexpected Interruptions (Clara Oswald x gn reader x Missy/Gomez! Master)

Summary: you and Clara are trying to have some fun when Missy interrupts you

Warnings: not full blown smut but it's definitely suggestive

A/N: this is unofficically dedicated to star anon 💕 I came up with this idea and thought you might enjoy it, even if it is a little short

It had been so long since you and Clara were able to be alone together. Between her teaching job and your back-to-back adventures with the Doctor, getting time together seemed more difficult than taking down an army of Cybermen.

But finally, after what seemed like forever, you were able to convince the Doctor to cool it with the constant traveling for once so the two of you could have a break, which perfectly coincided with the holiday break for Clara's school.

You were practically bursting with excitement when you showed up at her place, thrilled to be getting the chance to be alone with her. Naturally, sex was on the forefront of your mind, and when she opened the door in only a camisole and a pair of pajama shorts you knew she had to be thinking the same thing that you were.

"Hi, love, I missed you so much-" You greeted before she grabbed you by your shirt collar and pulled you inside, shutting the door before shoving you up against it.

"I missed you, too." She sounded a bit breathless, a certain look of desperation in her eyes as she leaned in for a passionate kiss.

Your hands instinctively made their way down to her hips as you clung to each other like a pair of barnacles, stumbling through her apartment on your way to the bedroom. You were passing by the kitchen when you were suddenly interrupted by a voice.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

The smooth and slightly condescending tone of Missy cut through the air, and you instantly broke apart from one another in confusion and shock.

"Missy? What are you doing here? This is my flat!" Clara demanded, a rosy hue flushing her cheeks as she became hyper aware of just how little she was wearing.

"I just thought I'd stop by, see how my two favorite little pets were doing," the Time Lady cooed with utter delight, as though she was amused by the current situation. "Which, by the looks of it, you seem to be having the time of your life."

"We were, until you showed up," you grumbled under your breath, not bothering to hide the frustration in your tone.

That only seemed to spurn Missy on even further, a cheeky grin on her face as she observed the two of you, chests heaving and clothes already slightly crumpled. "If it's some fun that you want, I'm more than happy to provide."

A long silence fell over the room at her suggestion. Neither you nor Clara protested as you glanced at each other, silently thinking the same thing: Should we take her up on her offer?

"Now, now. I wouldn't dream of coming between the two of you," she began while making her way over, wrapping her arms around the both of you as she spoke. "I'm just saying it might be nice to try out new things, to experiment. After all, it's in human nature to be curious, or so I've heard."

"We'll have to talk about this with one another," Clara stated in as firm of a tone as she could muster as she moved away from Missy, pulling you alongside her in an almost possessive manner.

Missy's eyes gleamed with a taunting look of glee at her response and the way she seemed to be protective over you. "Suit yourself. But if you ever decide you want to indulge in something a bit more naughty, you know where to find me."

With that, she left, leaving you and Clara to further contemplate her offer.

End notes: if y'all ever want a part two please let me know and I'll absolutely write it for you <3

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[thelunarsystemwrites]

I had the cutest dream where Kwazii got a fever, and Peso made him lay down in the med bay while he recovered. But Kwazii had a fever dream that this creature needed help.

So Kwazii started running out the Octopod, and everyone like captain barnacles, tweak, etc, were trying to stop him.

so he got out, and got caught in a currant thingy, amd they chased Kwazii for a bit but luckily Captain caught him before he swam away.

So now Kwaz is shivering amd Captain is gently explaining he scared them. While Peso is giving him a check up.

Shellington comes in, and uses these four towels and like, laid them out. As Kwaz sits on them. Peso asks what they're for, and Shells explains they're for making a warm little nest.

So they add some fluffy blankets, abd he's in a warm fluffy nest thingy now

Anyways so Kwazii regresses. And The professor is excited because this is the first time he's seen him regress. And Peso shows him how to heat up a bottle of milk and give it to him. And like I need this in my life I love sick fics