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moonchild-in-blue · 5 months

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"Well I am yours tonight, so will you lay in my arms?" // "The past, the future, trough death my arms are open" // Caught in the careless arms of lust again" // "We tangle endlessly like lovers entwined" // "My arms belong around you" // My arms keep you in the room, barely let you move" // "We were tangled up like branches in a flood" // "And you (...) make me yearn for your embrace" // "The angels tonight are suffering, as I am, to merely behold you, as we lie down together"

"And I'll live like I've got missing limbs for you"

#are you in pain like i am??? i don't think you areeee #it's sad hours over here #you spend a few days not listening to Sleep Token and the comeback slaps you on the face and gnaws at your shins #Vessel baby I have listened to your music countless times. Why must you hurt me like this all over again.#someone bring me some tissues i am weeping over here #sleep token

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cryptidblue1 · 1 year

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akdadjadf I got distracted by XIV hangout, starrail, and work. But! We now gonna actually talk about the Imbalanced AU aka the counterpart to Balance AU.

Okay so Unbalanced basically keeps the scope of the fact that gods need to be balanced, but instead of passing the stop fighting one another challenge they kept the same sort of attitude as they do in canon. Where they have that itch to find a balance, but most don't realize that is what it is and instead think they need to have more people worship them and such.

So this means a lot of things kinda happen the same as canon because these higher beings are looking for something, but are going about it the wrong way. So, everything up to Pale King arriving happens the same. Then the vessel project is proposed when Radi starts infecting people after the Moth Tribe left her.

The eggs are placed into the Abyssal Sea and that sort of stirs the Void because that spark of Light from the children in the eggs while weak due to being unborn is enough to sort of cause the connection to form. Sadly, since it is children of the Light not even born yet, the Void is basically eating them in an attempt form this link to balance itself. So while again most of the vessels don't make it, a nice group do manage to survive long enough to see Pale King's light. Though because of the Void basically trying to find what it is missing through the vessels, it fundamentally changes them in way that isn't just the void taking over the body of these kids.

This is where things slowly start to change from canon since this spark means that the vessels kinda have their own network/hivemind with one another. Which aides them in their kinda nonchalant way of dealing with their siblings returning to the void sea, since they're still connected because they are all just one part of the void after all. Though since they still have spark of Light from their first parents they actually have more distinct personalities from the onset. Which makes it a lot harder for Pure Vessel to pretend to be empty when they climbed up and met the Pale King. PV actually following along because the spark in them was basically using instinct to try and balance not only themself to Pale King, but balance the Void with the Light from both the Pale King and White Lady, hence why they didn't just wander away.

Which is what their other siblings did when Ghost sorta fell and found another way out when Pale King closed the doors to the void sea.

So while Pure Vessel is being raised into whatever a Hollow Knight is. Because a lot of why the vessels didn't go !!! over this is that remember they basically have no idea what is going on when they first got out of the void and only know things as one another learns about it. So by the time they kinda got an idea of what was in store for the Pure Vessel it was too late. In fact at first when the sealing happens they are a bit confused and worried, but PV is still able to talk to them as they kinda just sunk themselves into the void and connection to their siblings upon being sealed.

So because PV is basically out of reach of Radi at first while sealed due to this connection and the siblings basically shielding them from her. The infection seems to have fully stopped as the Pale King wanted. Only it was more a stopgap because as we know vessels are not truly empty. However, this respite is seen as a great success and the Kingdom starts to flourish a bit more. (Meaning that despite their guilt both royals have to remain and run the kingdom.

This of course leads to a lot of rumors since the other vessels are roaming the kingdom or out of it and I feel that the feel of Void is kinda there, but like subtle if you don't know what it is. So they all feel a bit off, and maybe those who worked in the palace when the sealed vessel was being raised and trained may start to connect the feeling of these free roaming vessels to the sealed vessel after a time. Which likely is going to alarm the hell out of PK because there was only one vessel, he made sure of that after all.

Bonus points in this is that the other vessels also 'grow up' too like PV since they are out and about, and because I feel this void network between them would also share power so the Light PV was soaking up being around PK and WL, mostly PK because I feel he'd have been more hands on with them then WL. Though ofc they all like have differing heights and such since they had that spark of individuality from the Light of PK they were born with that they managed to keep when they got assimilated/adopted/bonded to the void.

So after a time of everyone thinking everything is going perfectly and nothing can go wrong, Radi kinda figured out why she couldn't like even get a sliver of control on something she knew on some level was alive and had a will, because everything living dreams in some way no matter what. So she realizes and thus does the one thing to get you on the Shit List of every void touched being under the sun.

She starts to rip Pure Vessel's being out of the hivemind/network with the other vessels. The shock of this and suddenly actually coming into actual contact with Radiance in their mind is what causes the Event that starts canon off. As well as basically send every vessel into a feral state because She STOLE one of their own. Dying is one thing all return to the void and are still connected, even if distant and muffled, yet what she did ripped one of their own away from them. There is now just a gaping wound like empty space in their network, yet they know the one missing is alive, but they don't know what is happening to their now lost kin. Add in the infection is starting to show up again, causing the non void bugs to start freaking out as well, and well, yeah. things start to go bad, doubly so since Hallownest is still a living kingdom by this point instead of being dead like in canon. Which makes it when Ghost and a few other Vessels come kicking down the door and basically going "What did all of you DO!?"

(Not me giggling and picturing the vessel network like a discord server and all of them freaking the fuck out when Pure Vessel kinda just poofs out completely)

Though, yeah because of this. Things kinda wildly, but not really diverge since Ghost is still going to be kicking down doors to fix this, but there are now actual people who are like "We kinda live her pls stahp" as well as there being other living siblings also likely helping to kick down doors. Which kinda leads into them being lead to Seer due to them wanting their sibling back and going "Nope" at anyone suggesting killing Pure Vessel and one of them taking their place as the only solution. And this causes a bit of an odd resonance when Ghost kinda attunes to the Dream Nail because while this is all going down Pure Vessel is kinda trying to fucking survive being alone in their own head for the first time in ever and dealing with the raging screeching of the sun moth that is clearly half mad from the isolation caused by her not being able to influence Pure Vessel since the time of the sealing until now. This madness and the fact that she is so unbalanced is causing Pure Vessel to kinda instinctively attempt to do what the Void did to them and their siblings when they were placed in the Abyss Sea, and thus they are kinda devouring her power without realizing it. Which was not something anyone really thought about, despite the fact that Void is you know, meant to be what all things will return to.

So like you kinda should have thought on that, but then again when your only plan was to sacrifice your children to the void in hopes one would become a perfect automaton of void soup...well...

But yeah, Ghost is attuning to the Dream Nail and basically, even with Pure Vessel being cut off is still void so still semi connected and thus is being balanced by Ghost becoming more intuned and strengthening said nail due to them basically taking the spark of Light they got from WL and PK and infusing it with the Light of Radi that they are kinda taking away in their attempts to get her out of their being and use it to once more reconnect with the rest of their siblings.

A side effect of this is that instead of using said nail to fight and kill the dreamers it kinda connects Ghost to them, and for a brief bit Pure Vessel as well and so they kinda try to figure out a way to not have to you know, solve everything with murder, and this kinda makes Hornet even more on their side since this means there is a chance that Herrah can live, and so Ghost kinda ferries info between the dreamers as they kinda plot and figure things out, this also kinda bleeds power from Radi as well since it's now feeding into both Pure Vessel and Ghost. Ghost who is then feeding it to the rest of the siblings vie the hivemind and this is draining a lot of the power Radi had since she is actually being opposed in a way. Which means when Ghost figures out a way to open the Egg without killing the dreamer.

(Don't know the method of such. Kinda a nebulous idea that some of the siblings had gone on adventures and learned more mystical and arcane knowledge and so kinda cobble together some weird concoction of foreign magic to create temporary shields to keep the infection at bay, but let the dreamers be woken up to physically unseal the egg. IDK it's kinda a nebulous idea right now.)

So when the Egg is opened there is no puppet fight of Radi using PV as weapon, but there is a scuffle because she is trying to take control, but PV doesn't need to do the whole stab myself thing to break the control. Though he probably does throw himself at a wall a time or two trying to fight Radi for control during this. And holding PV down is purely to make sure Radi can't do a surprise take over as Ghost charges up the Nail to go fight Radi in the dreamscape. There PV is also there to help from the start, though it's not like a lot of help because they've been in a constant back and forth with Radi since she snatched him out of the void link and into the dreamscape proper. Yet, he can do enough that the siblings together can drive her into a corner allowing PV to reconnect with the rest of the siblings and thus kinda giving them a path into the dreamscape to do the whole Void vs. Light showdown in the Dream no More ending. Only they don't all fucking die afterwards. They all just go back to their bodies afterwards.

Of course PV is banged up and exhausted after all of this and Hornet kinda has to drag both of these tall assholes out of the Egg, at least until someone else shows up to help who may have been waiting at the edge of the infected zone.

What PK is doing, and thus the Knights is kinda hazy to me outside of PK having a crisis of faith when the infection starts again, denial when the vessels start popping out of the woodwork all feral and angry over what was done to their sibling, going into depression when they finally accept they basically set their child up to die a second time when they sealed PV away, and kinda being forced to cope enough with all of this to keep the kingdom going and not go into full bedlam if they think their king is gone. Then going into a depressed panic when they realize these vessels, these children that were meant to be theirs did what he couldn't and he has no idea how to address not only that but them as a whole. Because let us all be real, PK probably got attached to PV when raising them to be a Hollow Knight and he just got good at burying those feelings under the weight of This Must Be Done.

So what happens once everyone has time to heal and the vessels to realize they kinda are now connected to the void, but also the dreamscape is kinda hazy to me. Since a lot of different things could go down. (PV and Ghost are the most connected to dreams due to blatant reasons, and thus are now kinda able to visit people in the dreamscape as well as the physical world. The vessels are also just void shadows in the dream world so that's a fun thing to suddenly see randomly stroll through your dream.)

I also kinda have this thought that since PV was kinda taking Radi's powers their physical form also sorta starts to slowly shift and be more moth like to show this, but instead of orange coloration they have like this void black with speckles of the White/Silver of their first parents, and like a darker shade of orange then what Radi used. Mostly because I want them to have these dark and fluffy moth wings that have the white, silver, and dark orange specks like stars sprinkled over them. Okay let me dream. I also feel that while they didn't lose an arm since the infection didn't have as long to drip out of them like in canon PV still gets the crack in their mask from when Radi yoinked them out of the void hivemind. Like a physical reminder of what she did and how horrible it was to all the siblings, but to PV in particular since they were completely alone when that happened.

I could probably add other random thoughts into this, but this is getting really long now.

#hollow knight #blue rambles #au ramblings #Imbalanced AU #Vessel discord network #I mean hivemind #Pale King kinda has a Time in this AU considering #you know Herrah woke up and slapped PK upside the head over this #You don't know how much I want a fluffy Lord of Dreams but still voidling Hollow #with their Feral Knight of a sibling Ghost who can kick your shins in dreams and reality now #also shaman vessels #think about it

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highvern · 7 months

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Heart of the Sea

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: angst, romance, adventure, pirate!au, royalty!au

Content Warnings: weapons, graphic depictions of violence, blood, mentions of drowning, prostitution, depictions of parental abuse, torture, drugging, alcohol, death, eventual smut, unhealthy relationship dynamics/toxicity, they're pirates and not the peter pan silly goofy kind.

reader warnings: reader has breasts, long hair but i try not to describe more than length, she/her pronouns, and referred to as "princess"

Length: ~22k

Note: ITS FINALLY HERE!! longest fic I've ever written. my pride and joy. this is a dark fic and i tried to make the warnings as clear as possible. the romance is a slow burn. please do not interact if you may be triggered! take care of yourself first!

extra warning: MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY! You will be hard blocked!

read more here

Old Friends

Salt water on the stale air caresses your senses awake, rousing you from your deep slumber as the gentle rocking of the tide tempts you to return to its depths. In the belly of the ship, only the gentle flame of an oil lantern hanging from the ceiling illuminates the dark closet you call your room. Just wide enough that your palms lay flat against each wall when your arms are extended, deep enough to hang a hammock for restless dozes through the night.

Something is wrong.

A ship full of thieves, criminals, and other degenerates never quiets to an eerie silence such as this. The lap of the ocean at the wooden sides of the vessel drowns most noise but she seldom comes away with a clean sweep like she does currently.

Something is very very wrong.

Twisting out of the hammock, your feet hit the floor with a slash. The black oily surface of water reflects in the dim light, consuming the entirety of your boots, soaking up to the middle of your shins. A quick survey of your space shows your only possession, a small leather trunk, bobbing in the corner.

The real prizes decorate your figure. Daggers tucked in their sheaths, littering their usual hiding places: one tucked under each cuff of your shirt, the largest one strapped to your thigh, one in the lining of each boot, and several strapped to the leather belt across your chest. Your revolver sits on your hip, golden neck polished, loaded like you left it before dozing off.

The door to this room is one of the few that sits less than an inch off the ground. Meaning the water in here is likely nothing compared to what's beyond the thick piece of wood. You need to get out of here. Out of this room and out to the deck.

Steadying yourself, you plant your feet in a fighting stance, preparing for the force that will race in once the door opens. Barely a turn of the knob, a click of the latch and the door is blown wide; smacking into the wall behind as the sea rushes in, informing you that the water beyond is up to your thigh as it threatens to knock you off your feet.

The worn wood of the threshold threatens to rip your nails as you hold on for dear life. If you fall into the flood, it's over. You won’t be able to get back up, crushed under the weight of the ocean’s will. It's the first thing you learn on a ship: the sea takes and takes and she doesn’t return what she’s claimed no matter how much you plead. And if you do get away, she’ll come to collect eventually.

Arms straining and thighs burning, you force forward against the onslaught. By the time you exit the confines of your room , the water is at your chest. Caressing your collar bones, lapping at your neck like a crude noose. The jostle of your movement claps waves into your face.

I’ve got you now. The sea whispers. Finally ran out of borrowed time, little bird.

Salt water burns your nose with each bob of your head as you work towards the stairs leading up and out. The tang floods your mouth, pooling in the back of your throat; choking you, silencing your scream for help.

Give up. The seductive voice purrs in your ear. Come to me. Let me give you oblivion.

When the ocean finds home in your lungs, you let her take what she’s owed.

A knife to the throat is a less than friendly way to greet your second but Wonwoo should have expected it. His mistake for standing too close to wake his captain.

Wild eyes stare up at him, cataloging his features as the cool metal point pinches his airway. Sharp eyes, firm mouth, scar from temple to chin. He doesn’t flinch as you press a little firmer, forcing the dagger into the pale skin of his neck. Finally, safe triggers in your head.

Still, it takes a few seconds before your muscles relax enough to let you retract the small piece of steel.

“You’re needed on the deck.”

A shuddered breath is all the response he gets before you wave him out.

Wonwoo refuses to move, pointed gaze burning yours.

“Handle it.” You bark.

“Told me not to make deals in your name.”

That peaks your interest.

“Who is it?”

“Stragglers from a sinking ship.” He reports. “Seokmin pulled them from the wreckage.”

“Of course he did.”

If Wonwoo was a stupider man he’d mistake the exasperation in your tone for fondness. But he’s not. If Seokmin was less valuable then his ass would have been at the bottom of the sea months ago. But the strikes against him are stacking higher and higher, and your goodwill is running out.

Today, you’re in one of your better moods. Seokmin will probably end up back in the wreckage with the sorry sailors he saved if none of them prove to be of any use. That is, if you let them take a breath after finding out just who exactly is standing above you.

“What colors?”

Their allegiance. The flag had been long gone by the time the three men were pulled from the chilly depths. But the brands on their necks tell it just the same. A circle with a vertical line through the middle.

“Krakens.”

You're out of your bed and up the stairs before Wonwoo can blink.

Face cold as the winter wind that screams from the north, you hone in on your target the second you're in the daylight. Seokmin doesn’t see it coming as you round on him. The brass knuckles swirling around your fingers rips a sizable gash across his cheek as the crack of your hand rings out, silencing your audience.

He falls to his knees as his own hands move to protect his face, a pained “Fuck!” leaving his lips.

“You’re lucky I don't shoot you!” You spit, lips curled and teeth bared.

Garnet blood dripping from his chin to the wooden planks only furthers your disdain for the man in front of you. The gun on your hip sings like a siren but you have bigger problems to deal with. Seokmin won’t get the bullet with his name engraved on it today but tonight he should pray to whatever powers be that it finds another target first.

Whirling to the three strangers backed against the main mast, you eye them up and down. Wonwoo was right to wake you, because looking you in the eye with a shit eating grin is the demon you’ve been avoiding for years. The reason for your nightmares. The reason for the lump of hardened charcoal where a beating heart should be.

“Miss me?” he smirks.

In a flash, the revolver is in your hand. The shot hits dead center of the scant inches between his feet, smoke rising from the hole embedded in the surface of the deck. Whisps still rise from the muzzle of the gun as you cock the second bullet and raise your arm to aim for his heart.

His cocky facade slips for a fraction of a second, but it pulls the infamous bloodthirsty smile to your lips.

“You’re a dead man, Jeonghan.”

The hesitant rap at the door rips your attention away from the creased parchment sprawled across your desk. Tallies of loots, debts, bribes, and more litter the ledger in tight neat script; providing nothing more than a swelling vein throbbing across your temple.

“Come in.” You beckon, eyes glued to your ledger.

Tracking his movements in your peripheral, Seokmin’s entire presence screams terror. He doesn’t dare look up when he cracks the door to your office open, barely enough for him to slip inside. Even the click of the latch is silent as he shuts it, releasing the twisted knob once it’s back home; attempting to make himself as small as possible, like a mouse trying to escape a snake’s nest. He knows it’s judgment day and he’s been found wanting. The weight of his sentence hangs around his heart where he just might find a bullet in the next few minutes.

“Sit.”

He isn’t a horrible crew member. Bad pirate? Absolutely. But he’s loyal as they come, works hard as anyone else with something to prove to the world.

Seokmin was a farmer's son. One of several and the last in line to inherit any crumb of wealth his family could ever offer. At least that's what he told everyone. On the Hydra, a person’s story was their own. You didn’t care who they were before they inked their loyalty onto the base of their skull, just that no one would come for them with a debt to settle while aboard your ship.

The farm hardened his body but his heart was soft as wax under a flame. In spite of the obvious flaw, it’s why he’s the best at collecting information. Pure face and a familiar warmth, naivety rolling off him in waves. A few cheap secrets swimming out his mouth, misinformed beliefs regarding the way the world worked spoken a little too loud and viola! Some fool would step up to the plate to correct him, spilling their guts on the table just before Seokmin’s knife spilled them on the floor.

Despite what he cost you in sanity, he’d been worth his weight in gold when it came to finding leads on loose lips. Sometimes even loose legs. The women at brothels adamantly refused to take the coin you padded his pocket with. Always sending him back hours later than expected with the familiar jingle of a full purse and an unmistakable swagger in his step. You swear the velvet pocket is sometimes heavier than when it left.

You deliberately drag your gaze up to Seokmin’s face, unhurried in pace, blinking lazily, almost sleepy. Jaw relaxed, and shoulders loose; your entire posture screams threat. Each of your crew needed a different captain when it came to reprimands. Soonyoung, eager to please and prove, suffered most with silent dismissals. Jihoon, the rare times he earned your ire, only responded to direct threats.

Seokmin’s master and executioner was guilt.

“Do you know how Wonwoo got his scar?”

Schooling your face into a neutral expression, you wait for his response. Providing nothing, refusing to allow him comfort in this moment.

Seokmin doesn’t raise his gaze from his worn leather boots as he mumbles, “No.”

“It was my fault.” You share, picking your nails as the weight of your admission settles. “I thought I was helping a kid escape some cons. Told her she could follow us to town but after that, she was on her own. Turns out she was leading us into a deathtrap. One of her little gang took a swing at Wonwoo’s face and almost took his eye with him. Luckily, Wonwoo got him first.”

Apparently, this was one of the rare instances Seokmin had the sense to stay quiet.

“He’d thought it was a bad idea, but I tried to help her anyway. Didn’t listen to his advice that some things need to be left to the fates.”

Standing from your desk, you snag the bottle of whiskey resting on the cluttered bookshelf behind you. One of the few luxuries you afford yourself. Pouring two glasses, you slide one across your desk to the frightened man before continuing.

“I didn’t listen, and he got hurt.” Your tone so sharp it bites with blood stained teeth. “Wonwoo almost lost his eye, Min. Tell me, what kind of shooter would he be with one eye?”

“Not a very useful one?”

“Just about as useful as a spy you’d be without your tongue.”

Seokmin’s pale face balks at the implication. Hands wringing in his lap, you think he might piss himself.

“I’m not in the business of charity so I say this once: pull another stunt like you did today, and I’ll have Shua make you wish I killed you this morning.” Sitting back into the ancient leather chair, you jut your chin hauntingly. “Understand?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Get out.”

The door clicks shut before your next breath.

Your head drops with a heavy thud against the wooden trim of your seat, eyes sliding shut. Holding the stretch of your lungs as you inhale, attempting to do the same to the stiff muscles corded around your shoulders as a squeak alerts you to a new presence.

“That went well.”

You don’t have the patience for Wonwoo's taunting tonight.

Sprawling in the now abandoned chair, he leisurely sips at Seokmin’s untouched glass of amber liquor before speaking again..

“I didn't almost lose my eye.”

“I fail to see how that's of importance.”

“Too many rumors flying around means someone will eventually ask for the truth.”

“Do let me know when they approach you, I’d pay good money to watch you stutter your way through the story.”

In truth, Wonwoo’s trademark scar came as the result of too much lager and a very short pier. You both were still fresh as spring lambs to the cruel world beyond the high walls of the marble palace, but quickly figured that anything you could use to your advantage needed exhaustion. The rumors you’ve stirred up around the jagged silver mark spanning half his face granted him a reputation beyond the edges of the ship, carried further by those who managed to escape your wrath.

Legends across the seas of the Viper’s second painted a terrifying character. Wonwoo’s quiet nature and intimidating features served to fan the flames further. He was mean with a blade, even meaner with a gun. Only those with a deathwish knowingly went toe to toe with him. Those unfortunate enough to cross his mark were dead before they could even hear the cock of the pistol.

When Wonwoo doesn’t answer, you continue. “If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“Oh?”

“How many fights have you gotten in since I started telling people your scar was because you made a deal with a daemon?”

“Several.”

“Which is certainly less than otherwise.”

“Certainly.”

“And I don’t even get a thank you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He grovels, cocking his head forward.

“I’m not in the mood for your poor humor.”

“You seemed to be generous with Seokmin.”

Knocking back the remnants of your cup before pouring another drink, you respond. “When he fucks up and I let Shua cut him to a million pieces he’ll see generous as I am, I’m good on my threats.”

That’s why they called you the Viper. Lethal. Calculating. Even when things don’t appear to be in your favor, luck seems to find you as a friend. Everything could be a lesson or another method for you to strengthen your alliances.

Even Seokmin’s fatal mistake of pulling Jeonghan on board would serve a purpose.

“Speaking of threats. What are we doing with those Krakens?”

“Eager to take a swing?” You jest, ignoring the sheen clinging to his lips.

“I have no interest in hearing them screaming at all hours for the next week. Kill Jeonghan, dump the other two and let the sharks claim them.”

“But then Jeonghan won’t see how we greet old friends. The other two are insurance.”

There isn’t enough time in the universe for you to deal Jeonghan what you owe him. The hunger to see him suffer would have terrified you in a past life. Even the hit on Seokmin this morning came with a swallowed trickle of sympathy after your rage cooled to a smolder, but no room for regret on the sea. Strike first and strike hard. You’ll pay for it all in the end and guilt wouldn’t spare you.

But what grows in you now isn’t concerned with what you’ll face on the other side of the light. The poison you’ve collected in your veins for years pleads for the chance to fruit in his blood and stop his cold heart.

“You think he cares that much?”

“He’s captain, they’re his crew.”

“So you’d squirm if Seokmin got under the knife?”

“Ask me in a few days.”

Silence finds the space between you like a familiar companion. Wonwoo is the last piece of home you have. You��d grown up together, run away together. Found each other again and again, no matter how long you ended up separated. A friend like him was difficult to come by when everyone had a price. Wonwoo’s turned out to be too high to ever hang you out to dry, and you the same.

“Tell Jihoon I want us at port by midday tomorrow.”

A humorless breath leaves his nose, “Oh, he’ll be thrilled.”

“I don’t pay him to be happy, I pay him to get my ship where I want it to go.”

You’re snappier than usual. The fury you feed in front of the crew protects you from the whispers and speculations. You’d won the vote fair and square when your processor had been ousted, a man nothing more than a relic from the old days, lazy and more than willing to let others do his dirty work while he soaked in riches. You’d sewed patches of discontent after years spent aboard, earning favors and friends along the way, mastering every job to be done on the once dingy ship.

Tentative friendships were easily gained, but respect? Respect was on the bidding block everyday. It wasn’t enough to stain your hands whenever needed; the price for respect was razored words and padded pockets.

Unfortunately, Wonwoo earned his fair share of both.

“When we get to the pier, we’re dropping Chan.”

“What?” Now anger heats his tongue.

“He’s not making progress.”

“Guns take time.”

“I've got enough mediocre gunslingers, I don’t need another.” Your focus is on the parchment again, searching for the cost the youngest member of your crew is having you foot. “He’s wasting ammunition and gunpowder as if it falls from the sky.”

“No.”

Occasionally Wonwoo argued with you, pressed you to see different perspectives but rarely did he disagree completely. Even more rare was flat out refusal.

“Pardon?”

“We’re not dropping Chan. He’s better than Vernon, and better than I was when I’d been doing it as long as he has.”

Your eyes slink to his, slow and purposeful. A lioness toying with her prey, gaze sharp as the knife you raised to his throat earlier that morning. Head tilting to the side, you open your mouth with a venomous smile.

“So when he catches up, I drop you?”

The threat is empty as the decanter perched on your desk, but there is always a sliver of Wonwoo’s heart that freezes at the possibility you’ll make good on it.

“You’ll never drop me.”

“After today, I might.”

The charade drops in an instant. Eyes closing once again, you scrub your face until stars burst against the black backdrop of your lids.

Nights like these rip open the place in your mind that rains endless questions. What if you remained in your little piece of the world? What if you accepted the frilly dress and silly parties? Allowed your father to make your marriage match as he saw fit for his own gains, a marriage to the cold Duke of Nas-Shost’s son or one of the brutish princes of Uspar. Perhaps you’d only be subjected to the violence of one man rather than dozens. Certainly there'd be less blood, fewer scars climbing your body like grotesque ivy. The warm arms of lavish life would embrace you, dull your mind till you were pliant as your peers. Produce babe after babe for whatever loveless man you’d been bound to, allowing nannies and wet nurses to care for your children while you indulged in cards and gossip like your mother.

Destined to be a mirror image of her dreamy smiles and distant eyes. A glance at your mother’s face showed her spirit miles away, blissful nothingness constantly clouded her features. Perhaps it was her own method of surviving your father.

She mindlessly prattled in the few hours you spent with her as a child, typically spewing tattles of the neighbors and other society ladies as if it was of great importance. Laughing at her own quips and snarks that you couldn’t quite grasp the humor of. Only one conversation of substance ever occurred amongst dainty tea cups and porcelain plates of biscuits and cake.

During one of the numerous lessons with your pious governess, Madam Atina, a hunched woman with a face like an old leather satchel; she’d hauntingly informed you everyone was born in the world with a cardinal flaw sealed in their soul. You’d run right to your mother, sharing the new knowledge with electrifying excitement. Her jeweled fingers brushed your hair as you sat in her lap, recalling the seven faults like it was an examination.

Your governess is right. She smiled.

What’s father’s? Pride. And yours? Envy. And me? You, my little bird, were born greedy as they come.

Barely seven at the time, you squealed as her fingers tickled your ribs, joyously unaware she bared your deepest secret so easily. But now, you understood why she always had a heavier hand in your upbringing than she had in your older sisters’.

From the moment you left the womb, you’d wanted. Even with every luxury available, any whim granted, you’d always been greedy for a different sort of satisfaction. A different life. What use was having anything if you needed the approval of another to get it? Even as a child you’d resented the way your father had the final say on your mother’s choices. On your sisters’. On yours.

Imagination taking you to the stables every morning, pulling the shy stable boy from his chores to appease your need for a new identity. Finding freedom in the far edges of the palace gardens, pretending you were soldiers on the front line between roses, using the bushes as cover before shooting make believe pistols at a fictitious enemy. Or two warring monarchs set to duel, branches becoming gilded swords as the day lilies provided their rapt attention. Sometimes you played pirates, forcing each other to walk the plank before breaking into maniacal giggles at the ridiculous accents you donned by the crystal lake.

The garden’s behind the estate remained a stage until your mother had you moved out of the nursery at twelve and into a private room down the hall to prepare you for balls and parties. New lady’s maids combed your hair up and tailored the hem of your dress down to brush the ground, signaling to everyone in court you were now of age. And then you were tasked with mastering a new kind of performance. The type that ends with your hands, neck, and crown covered in diamonds and your name on a contract to the highest bidder.

You and Wonwoo didn’t play anymore after that.

But now, even as misery loomed like a cloud over your head, at least you were alive with the knowledge that you created your own destiny. Now, the entire world is your stage, the gods your audience.

Wonwoo crosses to the door with a few long strides, the shuffle of his feet intentional to alert you to his movement.

“Make sure Hoshi checks on Seokmin. Don’t need his face getting infected.” You mumble into your glass, attention on the flame jumping from the black candle to the left of your desk. “And no food for our guests.”

“How long?”

“Three days, longer if they start fighting. Only enough water for them to stay alive.”

Wonwoo’s exit is silent but his absence prickles the back of your neck, threatening to rip you to shreds. You try to focus on the pop and crack of the fire burning in the hearth across the room. How your throat burns raw with another swig of booze. Even the habitual press of your thumb across the silken abalone handle of your revolver does nothing to numb the world inside your head.

Waves crash below the windows of your office as you cut through the endless sea, pounding surf singing their nightly hymn of the souls you’ve banished from this world. The haunting tune echoes louder with the knowledge that their master is shackled in the belly of your ship. An atonal ballad filled with the ghostly rattle of the chains crossed around his wrists and throat.

Ventparsk

Sunlight glares from the vast waves, the harsh beams attempting to blind you, as an infinite blue sky supplies nary a cloud of reprieve from its brutal warmth. You’d never speak ill of a scarce blessing such as the weather of today. Glittering open sea as far as the eye could see, not a single blip in sight save for the dark mountain rising from the horizon.

Your crew has stripped their torsos down to their scarred and inked skin, only keeping the dignity of pants as they trudge back and forth below your watch from the quarterdeck. Braving the threat of a scarlett backside rather than risk fainting over the sides of the ship and into the depths. The roughspun linen of your undershirt tears across your skin as wind breathes and snaps into the white sails above, propelling the vessel closer to the crowded harbor of Ventparsk.

Weeks at sea had depleted the stock of provisions and riled the crew. Only so much entertainment to be had when surrounded by nothing but endless ocean and air. Even you found the monotony of the days tiresome despite the never ending responsibilities of being captain. Drinking and merriment kept everyone content enough, card games as well before Soonyoung inevitably ran his mouth directly into someone’s fists. He might have maintained a tight ship under your command but when everyone gathered at night to loosen their limbs and cheer their minds, a hit on Soonyoung was fair play. Sometimes encouraged.

But the typical vices were no longer keeping their grumbles quelled. The gash on Seokmin’s cheek only fanned the flames higher. It was understood why you dealt him that hand, but their fondness for the newer member of your crew bred unconscious resentment. You’re not a physician but even you knew if you let the disease of discontent fester, it’ll kill the entire body.

The cure was simple enough. A few days wreaking havoc across dank gambling dens, cramped taverns, and numerous brothels in the great pleasure city would easily alleviate the tension rankling on board. Ventparsk opens its doors like an old friend to anyone with a few coins in their purse and your latest voyage ensured each of your crew would be welcomed like an emperor.

Ventparsk marina is a hodgepodge of every style ship and boat imaginable. Steel military ships from the cold north of Uspar tower above humble longships no doubt belonging to eastern traders of Truyso. Even oared ships from the dark days speckle through the thick rows of docks, Proera’s trademark. Your ship resembles one of the military fleet from Nas-Shost, swift and agile unlike the large square-rigged ships flying the blue and silver of the Islearain navy visible on the opposite end of the marina.

A cacophony of colors sail high above. The privateers and pirates aren’t stupid enough to announce their colors so boldly, but the armies foam at the mouth for a chance to intimidate the easily impressed. Amongst the other sheets flying in the wind, you recognize ally as well as foe. The sullen gray of the Usparian army here, a sheet rich maroon from Proera’s northern waters there. A rare flash of orange announces the Gulls, a band of Shostian mercenaries, are a long way from home. Even the maroon flag of the Seven Sirens flies high. If the Krakens had a ship to sail, the royal purple complete with a white circle and vertical slash would snap in the wind above all others. Cockiness bordering on stupidity, a bold challenge to anyone willing to follow them out of the harbor borders. But that tacky piece of cotton had been returned to the depths of the sea, finally resting where a Leviathan belongs.

The lush green flag with a golden ouroboros is hidden in the navigation room of the Hydra, far away from any prying eyes that may look your way. Men may be eager to have a public pissing contest, but you appreciated the fine art of minding your own business. The element of surprise and stealth could never be undervalued, only underappreciated.

The hodgepodge of pirate crews, merchants, and soldiers neighboring one another along the decrepit docks only exist in the assumed neutrality of the city. If you’re caught fighting in Ventparsk, breaking the delicate truce that exists within its borders, there is no trial. Your entire crew is sentenced to hang as gull food above the gate that separates the docks from the city; staked with an iron rod through one end and out the other. And anyone is willing to sell out those that defy the rules, eager to abide by the code for the guarantee of a good time without the cold sweat of a knife to the back.

After securing the Hydra, a portly man with watery eyes and a thick mustache waddles aboard. The worn olive green of his wrinkled uniform means he’s the customs master of this section of the marina.

He sidles up to Wonwoo, assuming his status of captain based on who can say what. Frustration lights a flame to simmer your blood, but it's better this way. The old men who run the ports won’t respond to a female captain, and if they do they’ll rip you off before finding a reason to banish you back to the open water.

“Cargo?”

“Nothing to sell.”

“Crew?”

“20.”

“Captives?”

“No, sir.”

“What’s the purpose of your visit?”

Wonwoo gives a lazy charming smile, “Just some men looking to enjoy the unique pleasures your lovely city has to offer.”

“Seems like you have something already on board.”

The desire to send a bullet through his skull swells riots but you reign her in. Last thing you need is to get your crew barred from the island city. Wonwoo would kill you himself.

Ignoring his comment, Wonwoo tosses the bag of coins at the officer. The old man fumbles to catch them but his assistant, a nimble tawny skinned boy who can’t be more than eleven, snags the jumbling coins before they hit the deck. In silence, they count and mark the toll in their book before smiling at the crew.

“Welcome to Ventparsk.”

You’ve tasked Wonwoo and his first mate, Seungkwan, with stocking up at the trading post. The younger man could barter with anyone and you only trust Wonwoo with the extra store of coins. It’ll take them the better part of the day to haul the crates down the docks and oversee the other crew organize them in the hold.

The night crew remains on board, dozing in hammocks strung between heavy cannons below deck in the berth to avoid the blaring sun. Jihoon remains on the quarterdeck, straw hat tucked low to cover his eyes; content to stay in his corner of the ship while others explore, never one to be tempted by the pleasure houses or bidding halls. The rest of the crew looks at him with pity for not lacking the desire to hand over his time to the intoxicating pulse of the city, but you know better.

Back home, Jihoon has a lady. He hasn’t seen her in years but sends her a stiff share of his wage at the end of every job. The few letters he’s received during his time on your ship are kept in a wooden cigar box tucked under scrolls of parchment in the navigation room just above your own quarters. You’re only aware because the box was stashed with an abandoned codex you’d needed regarding the islands dappling the eastern waters of Truyso. In haste, the small wooden trunk clunked to the floor, spilling several envelopes stamped with a teal wax seal. Skimming the first few words of swirling script, the woman was rather…descriptive in how much she missed him. Jihoon chose that moment to shuffle into the space, fuming as you gapped over his private collection of personalized smut.

Leaving the treasure of your heart in his capable hands, you stride through the rusted iron gate welcoming you to the much tamer southern district of Ventparsk.

Rickety buildings line the streets, each advertising their services. Thick crowds bubble out of rowdy taverns and into the street, patrons unashamed to imbibe so heavily under the midday sun. The mismatched symphony of music pouring from open windows and crevices in the slats to greet them, seduce them back inside. Scantily clad brothel workers curl around banisters and press out windows, beckoning customers with a curl of a finger and twitch of the lips. The independents work hard to lure those with less pocket change to the shaded alleyways for a quick tryst against the dirty walls. Perched on the corners of cross streets, conmen rob those stupid enough to get tangled in their cheap card tricks.

The kid pressing past you barely makes it a foot before you snatch their wrist in an iron grip. Whipping the little pickpocket back to your person, you twist their arm at an angle that’ll force it to break if they so much as breathe the wrong way. Anyone looking, and no one does, will see a dotting sister ushering their younger sibling through the crush of the crowd.

“Where I’m from, thieves lose their hands.” You snarl down at the grubby face glaring up at you.

“I didn’t take anything!” She cries, voice thick with faux tears under the tattered hood of her cloak.

Your other hand reaches into her pocket to retrieve the polished silver dagger usually kept strapped to your side, flicking it into view between you. The cheap piece of steel was worth next to nothing. Best way to keep your coin is to let a thief think they bested you by giving them an easy target, too hard to resist.

“Liars lose their tongues.”

The fury at being caught brands her features. She’s barely skin and bones, moth eaten velvet cloak weighing more than her but blazing in her eyes is fire. The same fire that burned in your own as you learned the ways of the streets when you’d first left the cushion of your father’s kingdom.

If you rat her out to the city guard she’ll be used as fish food. Or worse, one of the brothels will bid on her bond.

“Next time you wanna lift something, think about why it’s so easy before letting your hands get sticky.”

Retching her hand away, you brush her to the side, refusing to look at her face as you slip back into the crowd. She’ll find the coin you slipped in her pocket quick enough.

Each room of the Lion’s Den is draped in tacky swatches of gold and all variations of red. In this particular keep, a plush mattress is perched in front of the blazing fireplace. The garnet velvet bedspread trimmed with gold tassels clashes with the blush pillow cases, both jarring against the white oak bed frame and sheets of pale silk floating down from the bars. But the design of the room interests Wonwoo far less than the woman who inhabits it.

“How’s our little friend?” Yeseul calls over her shoulder.

She’s perched at her vanity, using the light of an oil lantern to carefully fix the greasy smudges of red staining her lips. Wonwoo isn’t sure why she’s bothering with it. He’s paid for the entire night, she might as well remove wretched stuff. Laying back in the satin sheets of her bed, he lets one arm prop up his head as he watches the woman he’s visited for years tsk over her reflection. The swirl of smokey incense hazing her figure.

Yeseul was a few years older than he, versed in the ways of the world and determined to educate the once bright eyed boy he’d been. She’d imparted him with the knowledge of how to pleasure a woman even though he’d only fallen into bed with one other person. Taught the value of secrets in this world. Most importantly, Yeseul was the one who let Wonwoo know that the desire and devotion he feels towards Y/N was love, not just friendship.

“As pleasant as a spring breeze.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Wonwoo.”

“That gunk doesn’t suit you either but I settle for it.”

“You don’t pay enough for me to remove it.”

“And that’s my fault? You try to send me back with half every time I visit.”

“You’re more of a friend than a customer at this point.”

“You’re growing soft.”

“Mingyu says the same.”

“He wrote you?”

“Bribed a guard to get a letter out. Probably had to bribe him to write it too since he never learned to read.”

Wonwoo doesn’t ask if Mingyu will get out of the Iron Isle. Even with the guarantee of a fair trial, it takes years, sometimes decades. More men die waiting than in the gallows at the base of the prison.

Yeseul isn’t a fool but she is a romantic. Consumed too many novels where ill suited love wins over all and anyone can be together if they just believe it. All wrapped up in a couple hundred pages. Her way of dealing with the ugly truths of the world. Yeseul is chained to the Lion’s Den the same way her lover is chained in prison. The same way Wonwoo’s heart will always be chained to his princess. Useless in hoping to be free.

“But she’s well?”

“A stretch of the word but I guess as content as she can be.”

“So you still haven’t told her.”

“If I was, do you think she’d allow me to run to your bed?”

“With how quiet you were earlier, I assumed it went poorly.”

“It would go poorly. Especially now.”

“Perhaps it's best to give her time.”

Wonwoo knows time isn’t what she needs. The only hope for anything beyond swift rejection would be a miracle performed by the gods themselves. If he were a smarter man, a stronger man, he’d stay away. Wouldn’t submit himself to the torture of her presence, her trust and reliance. But he’s not. Wonwoo is weak in all the ways it matters when it comes to Y/N. Ever since she walked into the stables when they’d both were barely knee high and demanded he submit himself to her friendship. He’s listened to every command since.

Few things in the world were certain but the one constant Wonwoo relied on was the sure way to lose Y/N was giving himself permission to want. Want her the way he has since they were teenagers, running away from curses of her father and his servitude and towards the unknown. Since she’d pulled him down into the hay in that dilapidated barn after too many swigs of the wine swiped from a merchant stall. Wonwoo never saw the smile she’d flashed him that night again. Bright and hopeful, a little shy as he covered her mouth with his own. Now the only stretch of Y/N’s lips carried a coldness, the gleam of teeth sadistic and sinister.

Hope is a fragile thing. Like a blooming spring flower just before the last frost, or a house of cards. Delicate. It has no place in this world he’s landed in. So Wonwoo doesn’t let himself hope for a chance to be free of the love in his heart. Accepts that in this life, there was never a chance for him to have Y/N the way he wants. Because the way he wants her fundamentally opposes who she is.

So Wonwoo allows himself the memories of before. Before they became Serpents, matching stains of ink at the base of their skulls. Before Jeonghan snatched her away; the scars marring her body nothing compared to what he’d done to her mind. Before Y/N found her way back, to him, to the crew, to the world of the living.

Memories of the palace and her uncanny talent for finding him wherever he was on the grounds. The way she snatched him away from whatever task he’d been charged with to play her silly games, allowing him to be a boy instead of an indenture. How she snuck into the servants quarters and into his bed the night Jeonghan finally came to visit the kingdom. When she called him her friend for the first time. When she’d let Wonwoo hold her to his chest, warming them both against the frigid air after laying each other bare.

“Time won’t change anything.”

Wonwoo can never have anything more than what he has now. So he settles his heart at Y/N’s feet, and lets his body find distraction in another.

Always privy to his moods, Yeseul crosses back to where he lies. Perching herself in his lap, her ebony robe splits open to show the creamy skin of her stomach, the soft swell of her breast peeking out from behind honey waves of her hair, long neck split with the ruby choker all girls at this pleasure house wear.

Maybe in another life, Wonwoo would still be a stablehand. In that life, Y/N would have married Jeonghan and the childhood friendship between a stable boy and the youngest princess of Iaslera was nothing but forgotten memories.

Yeseul’s finger traces from his lips to his chin, following the dip of his scar to his ear. It had taken him years to stop flinching when someone touched it, the sting of that rusted blade still haunting him. When her nail scrapes the hollow of his throat, Wonwoo shivers for an entirely new reason.

Flipping her beneath him, Yeseul’s flit of laughter tickles Wonwoo’s lips as he claims her mouth.

“Another.” You beckon the woman behind the mahogany counter, tilting your empty cup her way.

“What’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?” A disconnected voice murmurs too close to your ear, a waft of booze and snuff slipping around your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, the same dagger the orphan girl tried to claim is in your hand and pressed to the soft wood in a second. The presence behind you disappears when it catches the lantern light.

The Twin Star is one of the better taverns in this part of the city. Drinks are cheap enough, other patrons keep their heads down and the barmaids tend to turn a blind eye when one needs to implement less than friendly means to ward off drunkards.

“Keep it up and I’ll have to cut you off.” Inri snarks but fills your cup with brandy all the same.

“You’re a cruel woman.” You mutter, cradling the cool glass to your chest.

“They say the same about you.”

“I’m flattered.” you mumble with a mock salute, loopy smile splitting your mouth.

She leaves you with a sigh. You’ve been here all afternoon, hoping to drown your dread at the bottom of a bottle. So far, you’re failing.

For the first time in years, you have no desire to return to your beloved vessel. The warm fondness for the Hydra replaced with frigid unease. A drunken stupor is the perfect excuse not to go back, at least for the night. Even with the unbending laws of the island, an unaccompanied woman roaming the streets of Ventparsk was unlikely to make ten paces before she ended up pushed into an alley. One under the influence of several hefty pours of whiskey might make five if she’s lucky.

“There’s my favorite captain.”

You’re in no mood for company. Soonyoung must have been born under unlucky stars.

“Can a woman not enjoy a drink in peace?”

He’s in the chair next to you before you can object, signaling Inri to bring him a glass as well.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this drunk before.”

“What are you doing here, Hosh?”

Soonyoung has the courtesy to look bashful. Just down the street is the theater you know he favors, the Temple, with dark mahogany walls and swaths of dark blue silk curtains hiding what takes place beyond the doors. The shanty building housed dozens of artists, dancers, and singers. Acrobats and fire tamers. Entertainers and actors. He had been one of them before you'd lured him away with promises of adventure and riches unknown to a poor merchant’s son. Everytime you stop at the isle he walks right back home to greet his brothers and sisters.

“In the neighborhood.”

“Your family?”

“My ma is finally speaking to me.” He lights up. “Something about a fortune teller telling her to let go of old grudges or some other nonsense. But my sister is starting to do high ropes without a net! And my younger brother, San, he’s gotten better with the knife throwing and—

Soonyoung continues to ramble as you tuck your smile into your cup. At least one person has a good relationship with their family. If someone asked, you couldn’t confidently say which of your sisters were still breathing; only aware your mother and father were alive from the whispers of Iaslerian merchants complaining about royal levies to pay for the queen’s jewels.

“One of the younger kids showed me some slight of hand with a coin and it looked alot like the ones we lifted from those traders in Uspar.”

Swallowing a mouth full of liquor you stay quiet. The little bastard just had to be one of Soonyoung’s kin because why not? The gods had a strange sense of humor.

“Strange.”

“I thought so too. Probably just a coincidence.”

“Probably.”

“Would my captain do me the honor of escorting her back to the ship?”

Pointedly ignoring the knowing smile Soonyoung flashes, you take the arm he offers.

Nightmares

The three days in Ventparsk pass quickly. More booze, a tumble with a nameless man at the Winter Garden, and enough snuff to kill a horse provides a blissful mindless haze. You even managed a quick scrub down at one of the bath houses. Soaking in the heated tub for hours, muscles loose and pliant from the herbal steam and hot stones. Jeonghan’s rotting body in the moldy damp brig of the Hydra is nearly forgotten.

Nearly.

Dreams always have a way of reminding us of the realities we wish to forget.

“You’re a dead man, Jeonghan.”

The bullet is screaming to make a home in between his ribs. Every muscle in your body pleading for the same. Sink the shot in Jeonghan’s heart and be free from him forever.

“Take them to the brig.” You instruct Jun.

“Never could just get on with it, could you?”

The next sound from Jeonghan’s mouth is a shrill scream as blood gushes from his thigh. It swirls with the sea water still dripping from his soaked clothes, scarlett inking through the growing puddle, opaque tendrils soaking into the wood.

“Shua’s gonna have fun with you.”

Finally skating on the waves of the vast ocean, you descend into hell.

The consuming stench of stagnant water and mold invades your nostrils as you transverse through the cargo hold to reach the brig. A rat squeaks as it scurries past, looking for its next meal no doubt. You loathe this part of the ship. Too deep, not enough exits, no clear path up and out. Just another gift courtesy of Jeonghan.

Three bodies hang from their hands, bound up and over their heads, feet barely brushing the ground as the sway with rhythm of the tide. Burlap bags obscure their faces but you know which lithe form belongs to him.

Shua sits at his desk, a collection of mismatched knives organized in neat lines like soldiers prepared for battle on one side. Jars of different poisons clink against one another in the wooden tray in the middle, the rainbow array of liquids each lapping at the sides of the vial for the chance to escape. On the far corner rests crude torture devices he’s collected over the years. Thorned strips of leather, several cat-o-nine-tails, and a lump of metal looking like a fruit with a knob attached at the narrow end.

The entire aura of Joshua’s corner of the ship screams anguish. A slaughterhouse for those unfortunate enough to stumble his way. It’s why no one visits him of their own volition. Not that he seems to mind, more than content to study the ways of the body than talk to one.

You take a seat across from the man dangling in the center of the room, nodding to Joshua to remove the sack from Jeonghan’s head.

Dark circles shadow his bloodshot eyes, cheeks sullen and pale, chapped lips bleeding. Nearly four days on board without food and possibly longer before they were rescued from the hunk of drift wood they’d been floating on while waiting to die has certainly done a number on him. You’d ordered Shua to provide the barest sips of water, just enough to keep them on this side of consciousness.

A metal goblet brushes against Jeonghan’s lips, urging him to tip his head back and swallow the cool liquid. Gulping down the contents without a thought, Shua refills it as fast as he can from a crystal pitcher. After a few shuddering breaths, another full cup is brought to his mouth and he downs it as well.

Idiot.

When Jeonghan eyes finally adjust to the pale light of the solitary lantern illuminating the cramped space, he sees you. Raising your chin, you know he won’t resist the opportunity to try and knock you down a peg despite his compromised position.

“Just couldn’t stay away.”

Joshua busies himself with arranging the necessary odds and ends on an empty wooden tray. He’s meticulous in his grisly craft, hands sure and perfunctory. The jostle of metal fills the room as he sets down the curated set on a stool next where you sit.

Not deigning to respond, you simply flash a sweet smile. The kind of smile a girl throws a man she wants something from, woefully out of place in the dark room you're standing in. But that’s precisely what throws Jeonghan off.

Standing, you snag one of the smaller double sided blades glimmering like a prized jewel amongst the collection. The ring at the bottom sits loosely around your pointer finger as you spin it round and round. Your steps are slow and calculated as you circle him, surveying his form from head to toe. Jeonghan is smart enough to try and keep his eyes on you but the metal collar around his neck prevents him from turning his head as you round him. Someone had the sense to remove his shirt before tying him up. Even if the shirt he came with was tattered to gossamer shreds, the fabric would find a use somewhere amongst the crew.

A clammy sheen glosses his dull skin, the ring of red around his bound wrists blistered and raw. Curls of dark hair stick to Jeonghan’s forehead and the column of his neck, matted to his scalp with sea water, sweat, and blood. A spray of dark bruises along his ribs are slowly healing, no doubt from whatever destroyed his ship. They labor his breath, his chest barely moving with the shallow swallows of air. The dark stain of blood is dried near black around the hole in his left thigh.

As you stand back in front of him, toe to toe, your gazes meet. Frigid steel tip of the dagger dips into the valley of his throat before you trace it down his sternum to the soft flesh of his belly. Muscles twitch as he clenches away from the sharp bite of the blade, freezing his breath to avoid pressing into it.

Slowly blinking you don’t turn away as you ask, “Shua, how long did you say it takes for the draught to take effect?”

“At least a few minutes, but on an empty stomach much less. He should already be feeling it start to kick in.”

“Do you Jeonghan?” Digging the knife in the soft flesh just above his naval, “Can you feel it?”

Shua had explained the effects when he brought the vial to your office. An oily concentration of some exotic herb from the deepest reaches of the Proera, tasteless with only the faintest smell of damp earth. Typically used as a mild sedative, fond amongst those looking to see beyond the veil of reality and into the curtain between worlds. But a heavy enough dose tortures whoever ingests it with terrifying visions, nightmares come to life. Not fatal in the slightest but after the walls melt and the person in front of you turns into a demon, one might wish it was. Unknowingly, Jeonghan took a large enough dose to incapacitate a third of your crew.

An emotion you never imagined he felt takes root on his face. Eyes wild as he focuses on the copper cup now sitting at the corner of Shua’s desk, before they flash back to yours. You can see his brain turning, attempting to decipher what you’ve slipped him, how long he has before entering the unknown.

Jeonghan’s shuddering breath puffs against your cheeks, a small whiff of the herbaceous tincture carried along it. His feet roughly scrape against the floor as he tries to maintain his footing, chains around his wrist and neck relaxing for a moment before pulling taunt again as his damaged leg buckles under his weight.

Jeonghan quakes with the effort to remain quiet. Even with poison flooding his veins, he clings to years of training to resist succumbing fright. But nothing has prepared him for this.

A crack in the facade spreads soon enough. Broken pleas force past gnarled lips, chest heaving as he struggles to inhale. Soon he’s nothing more than a child lost in a crowd. Frantic, panicked, desperate.

Horror consumes his face, the whites of his eyes visible as his eyebrows arch to his hairline, mouth opening to scream. Air rushes from his lungs as he wails, thrashing in his shackles without concern for the way the bitter metal rips into the flesh of his wrists and neck.

You’ve already pocketed the knife that was pressed into his stomach. No satisfaction in killing him when he’s out of his mind, but watching him descend into madness will bring its own pleasure.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

Turning to return to your seat, he screams again, “What did you give me?”

Jeonghan’s voice is shredded and raw already.

In the corner, Shua is rapt with macabre attention. Carefully jotting down notes in his journal for later examination. If one person on the crew terrified you it was the fawn eyed man sitting next to you. Being handy with a weapon was nothing when someone knew how to destroy your spirit by barely lifting a finger, dead before you knew what happened.

You observe as Jeonghan’s expression grows distant. Fear festers along the surface, bubbling under his skin. Muscles flex and twitch painfully. Ugly fat beads well in Jeonghan’s eyes to spill down his cheeks, wads of snot dripping from his nose. Splotchy red patches bloom across his pale skin, fevered flesh prickled with goosebumps. The rusted shackles bite into his skin again and again as he attempts to shake free, nearly strangling himself in his effort. Silent pleas for relief, for mercy from whatever phantom of his subconscious haunts him now.

The two other men in the back of the room thrash in their chains as well, bashing their skulls back and forth to cast off the hoods over their heads. Frenzied as their brave captain’s curdled screams pierce their ears.

The nightmares chasing Jeonghan follow you up to your room that night.

“My little bird tried to leave the nest, did she?” Your father snarls.

The piece of cloth tied around your head doesn’t allow you to answer beyond muffled groans as you struggle.

“Perhaps I should teach you what happens when a bird leaves its cage.”

“Captain!”

You wake with a gasp, the sound of gunfire and cannons shaking your core. Jun stands in your doorway, soaked to his skin with soot covering half his face.

“Captain, we’re under attack!”

The deck is a flurry of activity. Bodies running to and fro, some headed below for the gun deck to return fire. Walls of water pour from the sky, obscuring the view beyond the corners of your ship. In the distance, flashes of light from cannons on the ship attacking yours is the only indicator of a presence beyond the moon and tide. They’re running diagonal to your port side, that much is clear. The mainsail is shredded to pieces over head, damp canvas whipping from cruel winds. The Hydra won’t outrun the ship attacking, the only end is to fight.

Scrambling to the quarterdeck, you join Jihoon at the wheel. He does his best to steer clear of enemy range, careful to maintain momentum you can’t afford to lose.

“Cut the wheel!”

“Are you crazy?”

“They’ve got too much speed, they can’t turn. Cut the damn wheel!”

Jihoon launches the wheel clockwise, shifting the rudders to turn starboard. The attacking vessel continues their path straight, unable to correct in time to cut you off as you slip behind them. But a second too late you both realize another ship lies in wait.

The second enemy ship attacks from behind, capitalizing on the attention monopolized by the first ship. The crew launches grappling hooks tangling around the Hydra’s rigging for them to swing aboard. They flood the deck like ants emerging from their hill, easily out numbering your crew.

You pick off two swiftly, bullets wedged deep in their skulls the second their feet land on the quarter deck. Rain stings your eyes, blurring your surroundings. Friend and foe indecipherable as you jump to the fray on the main deck.

Chaos runs free as blows are exchanged back and forth. It’s impossible to tell in the crowd of bodies who has fallen and who remains below deck to continue cannon fire.

Wonwoo and Soonyoung are back to back, facing off against five enemy fighters. Soonyoung nimbly dodges the swords aimed at his throat, returning his own killing blows with incredible fluidity. Charges of gunpowder sting the air as Wonwoo deals his own damage, sinking the shells into hearts and bellies before moving to the next.

Whipping around, you catch sight of Seokmin pinned down against the main mast, a giant of a man exhausting him with a sword. On reflex, you duck under a swinging arm as you charge forward. Sinking your dagger between the oaf’s shoulder blades you drag down with all your strength, ripping through the muscles tethered to his spine. The scorching gush of blood slips between your fingers, freeing the handle from your grip. Kicking out a leg, you land your foot along the back of his knee and bring him down. Over his head your eyes meet Seokmin’s. You barely catch the flash of horror on his face before the crack of a fist lands against your temple.

Blood and rain and sea water soaks the deck, nearly sending Wonwoo to his knees. The wretch of death fills his nose, sulfurous gunpowder and bile sharpening his mind. He’s surrounded on all sides, the glint of steel flashing as lightning splits the sky. The teeth of a sword split his side open from the bottom of his ribs to his navel. Wonwoo can tell the damage won’t kill him but he’ll have a hell of a time recovering. The sting only dulled by the rush of a fight flooding his veins.

Soonyoung is on his left, picking off enemies one by one, dodging the most damning blows and weaponizing their momentum to his benefit. Wonwoo would stop to watch if he wasn’t busy preserving his own life.

Pushing his way to the center of the ship, he spots the door below deck fly open; Jeonghan and the other two prisoners ushered out by a small group armed to their teeth. In the same second, Wonwoo locates Y/N in his periphery; just in time to watch her crumple from a cheap punch to her head.

Rage thunders through Wonwoo’s veins. In a flurry, he cuts his way to the main mast, prepared to kill whoever he needs to. Seokmin rips his knife out of the person who knocked Y/N out but another of the enemy crew manages to drag her body over to the side where their ship is latched to the Hydra. They rush to get her aboard their ship, sensing the change in tide of the fight behind them.

Clearly they’d been hoping to have the entire ordeal dealt with swiftly, not prepared for the force the Serpents are capable of. Minghao is already working to cut the ship away from the Hydra, nimble feet carrying him along the thin bulwark as he slashes the ropes snaring them.

Jeonghan and his cellmates are already securely on the opposite side of the gangplank, but the man holding Y/N’s body hasn’t crossed yet. If Wonwoo can provide enough of a delay, then Jihoon can get the Hydra back to the open sea.

In this moment, Wonwoo decides to commit the most ill-considered act of bravery he’s ever mustered. Launching himself on to the enemy ship, he lands with a thud on their deck, guns blazing. He’s able to pick off one, two, four crew members before they realize what’s happening. Bodies dropping to the floor around him in quick succession.

A final shot rings out before his ammunition runs dry and he switches to his dual swords strapped to his back. Wonwoo swings in wide arches, forcing his opponents back and away from the side of the ship to avoid the tips of his blades. Using the brief reprieve, he turns to kick the plank away, sending it to the crevice between ships just in time for Jihoon to tear free. Leaving his captain and her captor on the Hydra, and Wonwoo marooned with the enemy.

Saying a silent prayer, Wonwoo turns back to the crowd of what are no doubt Krakens, only managing to sink his sword's edge into one more before he’s overwhelmed.

A Tale of Two Ships

The Leviathan

“Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan says, shaking his head. “Always running to save the princess, aren’t you?”

Standing before him, Jeonghan resembles a rotten pile of horse shite. Y/N’s torture strung him out, made him weak and unstable. Wonwoo watched the strain in his muscles, the moisture on his brow, the labor of his breath. Fresh, angry halos circle his neck and wrists, blisters drying and scabbing to an ugly assembly of yellows and browns.

With his hands shackled above his head and his feet chained to the floor, Wonwoo attempts to calm his breathing. Jeonghan wants him worked up, wants him to slip and play right into his hand.

“What she sees in you is beyond me. Bastard stable boy, with nothing to his name except a whore mother and drunk father.”

In four beats, hold four beats, out four beats, hold another four. Repeat.

“She’d sell your soul the second it became advantageous for her. You know that, right?”

In four beats, hold four beats, out four beats, hold another four. Repeat.

Wonwoo desperately tries to zone in on the lantern, to let his mind wander in the vast recesses of emptiness. Anything to spare him from the lies Jeonghan spews.

“I know you love her. Pathetic how obvious it is, Wonwoo. Reminds me of a story actually. Once upon a time, there was a stable boy who fell in love with a princess. Now the princess was clever and made the stable boy believe they were equals, friends even. Can you believe that?”

Jeonghan rounds to face Wonwoo, a sickening smirk spoiling his face.

“She knew the stable boy cared for her and would do whatever he could to protect her. So when it was time for her to stop playing make believe, she let the stable boy take her punishment. She let him die for her and the princess never lost a second to sleep. Because the princess, no matter how she sullied herself, knew he wasn’t worth the dirt under her fingernails.”

In an effort to stay quiet, Wonwoo grinds his teeth so hard they are on the verge of shattering.

The defiant tilt to Wonwoo’s chin sends a flash of fury across the shorter man’s face before a serpentine smile curls on his lips.

“You don’t need to speak, stable boy.” Plucking a knife from his belt, Jeonghan flashes it into Wonwoo’s view. “But you will scream.”

And Wonwoo does.

The Hydra

Crowded around the large oak table of the Hydra’s navigation room, Jihoon, Soonyoung, Jun, and you spread over the atlas of the world. Attempting to decipher what Jeonghan’s plan for Wonwoo proves to be more difficult than anticipated. Even more so when you refuse to provide details on why Jeonghan would stage such an elaborate effort to capture you.

Your crew knows he’s disavowed and wanted by the Atterast, Nas-Shost’s military. They know you’re the reason why but you’d carefully smothered any true details of how you and Wonwoo were involved. Rumors of Jeonghan being a disgruntled lover, while half true, were enough to satiate their curiosity.

“He hates Wonwoo but he hates me more. If his desire is to torture me then he’ll leave Wonwoo alive somewhere I’ll never get him.”

“Iron Isle?”

“Do you think he plans to have himself arrested too?”

“Nas-Shost is unstable. Would he take advantage of that?”

“They’ll kill him before he speaks.”

“He’s in no shape to attempt crossing to Uspar or Truyso.”

“What about Iaslera?”

Iaslera.

Jeonghan isn’t a fool but he is ambitious and vindictive. If your father promised him something in exchange for his original target then Iaslera is a likely place for him to go. And Jeonghan knows you’ll fall right into his hands.

The knife you’ve been spinning into the wood grain digs a fraction deeper.

“How many days till Iaslera?” You ask.

“With the damage…at least five.” Jihoon breaths.

“Five?”

“At least. And that’s assuming it’ll only take us three to patch the hole in the sail and get it rigged again.”

Five days. Wonwoo will be Jeonghan’s captive for five days.

“Set course for Iaslera.” You bark, “And I want every spare hand helping patch that hole!”

The days of skidding across the ocean proved fruitful. If you didn’t keep yourself busy then a rut would wear into the wooden planks of your office from the endless pacing.

If Jeonghan is truly in your father’s court then you owe the crew an explanation of what exactly the Pearl Palace of Iaslera holds. You were no artist, but luck shined on you once again with Minghao. Even the barest memories regarding the servant’s quarters or the stables were included. He sketched every detail, every crevice you could remember with shocking clarity. Reworking sections over and over until the proportions equaled out. Finally, the drawings resembled your home.

Home.

No, not exactly home. Maybe when you’d been a child, when the pearl and silver tiara felt like magic instead of a lead weight; eager to spend days lounging in the library, mind lost to far off lands and tall tales; riding along the familiar beaches, outpacing your chaperone; hiding in the gardens with Wonwoo, playing whatever new game your imagination supplied you two with.

Iaslera was the place you grew up, but the sandy shores and rolling hills only held beauty, not familiarly, the sleek marble walls bearing no warmth or fondness. It wasn’t the place you longed for when out at sea or deep inland.

Home is the worn wood and white sails of the Hydra. Home is your mismatched crew of criminals, ex-soldiers, circus performers, and farmhands. Home is a stable boy who has been by your side since you decided Iasleria was home no longer.

Hours spent in the navigation room, your best fighters and strategists circled on either side of the heavy table, scanning the map detailing each floor of the palace.

“What do you know about the guard rotation?”

“Nothing. Princess, remember?”

“Hard to forget. Can’t believe we didn’t realize before.”

“The way you strut about the deck did always seem particularly royal.” Jun scratches his chin, as if picturing you flouncing about with a tiara on your head.

“Would you like to know what princesses do when they’re angry?”

“Huff their nose in the air?” Soonyoung laughs.

“Maybe if I didn’t have a gun.”

“The guards.” Jihoon reminds.

“I don’t know. My father knows we’re coming and he’s cocky. He’ll probably let us walk right in and assume we’re weak.”

“Sounds like an idiot.”

“So if we walk right in, what do we do?”

“Kill them.” Enea offers from her end of the table.

“If he hasn’t killed Wonwoo already he could have him hidden.”

“If he’s cocky enough to let us walk through the front door, do you really think he’d go through the trouble? He obviously isn’t thinking you have a chance of walking back out.”

“We probably don’t.” You say solemnly.

“What?”

“Best case scenario, my father dies and we walk away wanted by the throne. Most realistic outcome is I’m captured. If that happens, you grab Wonwoo and leave me behind.”

More than a few voices protest as the room descends into yelling.

“I’m your captain and you will listen!” You roar, silencing any objects with a swat of your hand. “Either we all die or I do. I will not pull you into this mess.”

“Not to seem uncaring but do you honestly believe we want to deal with Wonwoo with you not here?”

“He’ll be fine.” You assure.

Wonwoo would have to be whether he liked it or not.

“He won’t.”

“The month the Krakens had you? Wonwoo shot me. Twice.”

“He got into a brawl with Soonyoung.”

“He didn’t talk for two weeks.”

“We leave with both of you. Or we die trying.”

“No one is dying for me! This isn’t some silly brawl in a washed out tavern or a rival crew we’re ambushing. My father is capable of suffering worse than anything you can imagine.” You pause, nearly choking on the horror twisting out of your stomach as you remember the king's most egregious acts. “When I was a child, I spoke out of turn at dinner once. Would you like to know what my punishment was?” Circling your gaze around the room. “He put a poker into the fire until it glowed red—”

“He hit you with it?” Seokmin opens his mouth in horror.

“No,” you swallow, “He couldn’t do anything that might leave a mark in case it made us…undesirable. We had servants assigned to take our beatings while we watched. I was five, and so was she. He hit her across the face with that poker. When I cried, he did it again. When I screamed, he hit her harder. Even if he can’t touch me, he will make sure someone suffers and I watch. I will not damn any of you to the cruelty he’s simmered on in the past ten years. Am I clear?”

The wooden door claps shut as you exit without waiting for their response.

The King of Iaslera

Wonwoo doesn’t remember summers in Iaslera being so cold. Perhaps the bloody purple bruises blooming like a grotesque garden across his flesh have made him susceptible to the biting chill clogging the air. Or maybe the blood coating the inside of his mouth and nose. Or the cold dig of gray stone in his side.

He recognizes the damp dungeons of the king’s palace from the guards uniform, pale blue smocks with a silver lotus blossom embroidered on the back. They haven’t chained him to rings jutting from the floors or walls. Unnecessary given that Wonwoo’s right shoulder is dislocated and his ankle is broken, jutting his foot out at an awkward angle. Even if the planets aligned and the gods blessed an escape, he wouldn’t make it three paces before collapsing onto the ground.

Wonwoo doesn’t have enough knowledge of anatomy to set his shattered bones, likely to do more harm than good if he makes it out of this cell to see another day. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to Shua’s ramblings on the intricacies of the human body when he had the chance.

But he knows his arm can be saved.

The webbed pain coming from his shoulder is familiar enough. When Wonwoo turned thirteen he’d been assigned with helping break a new stallion for the captain of the guards. The stable master only let Wonwoo watch from the fence of the ring, eyes locked on the magnificent midnight steed. Proving to be a fatal mistake when the horse, Balius, charged right at Wonwoo, knocking him off the fence, down to the hard ground below. Once wind returned to his lungs, Wonwoo got a taste for the pain of a dislocated joint for the first time.

It'd happened twice since. Once thanks to the same dock he owed his scar, and another courtesy of the first time Jeonghan tracked Y/N across the waves to Uspar. Wonwoo knows what he has to do, but he craves to postpone the inevitable until the last possible moment.

The guards patrol in front of his cell every time the clock in the palace yard gives a large chime to signal the top of the hour. Shuffling to the bars on his bum, he uses his good foot to push himself across the weathered stone of his cell, before leaning his damaged arm between the thick shafts of iron.

Folding the bottom of his shirt between his teeth, Wonwoo prepares for the sear of pain. Even the faint memory of agony shoots gooseflesh down his spine. No matter how many times he’d done this, tears stung his eyes for hours till the pain sent him into a dark abyss.

Wonwoo knows if he screams, the guards will come running and eagerly dole more damage. A deep breath to corral any rogue shout that may escape his throat, and then he gives a sharp twist at his middle till he hears the sickening pop! A hefty grunt escapes into the fabric as fat pearls well in Wonwoo’s eyes, leaving clean streaks down his filthy face. Vomit rises in his throat as his vision blackens and whisps float through the haze. The surging throb curdles through his blood in time with his pulse as it rushes through his veins to every inch of his body.

The pain eclipses any of the other injuries he’s sustained so far but he tries to count his breaths, sucking in four beats and trembling out another four. His jaw feels as if it might break from how hard his teeth clench, fighting to keep the groans of agony on his tongue at bay.

Folding in on himself, Wonwoo attempts to focus on how he will survive. At least he has the advantage of secrecy on his side. Perhaps he can get in a surprise swing if it comes down to it. Wonwoo won’t die without a fight. He’s come too far.

“I brought you the boy, now give me what you promised.”

“Our deal was for you to bring my disgraceful daughter, not some pathetic peasant.”

“If he is here, she will come.”

“You better pray to the gods she does, boy. Because if she doesn’t, I will show you there are worse punishments than death.”

Two days pass before a soul outside of the guards visits Wonwoo’s cell. A fever claimed him yesterday, sending his body into a fit of chills and muddling his brain. The thin fabric of his bloodied shirt and trousers stick to his clammy figure like a second skin. Wonwoo figures it’s finally gone for the kill when Y/N appears in front of the bars. Back in the finery of court, gown and jewels pristine. Hair tamed on top of her head in a style Wonwoo knows she hated, beautiful face weathered with age.

No it wasn’t Y/N. It was her mother, Queen Demetria.

Wonwoo had no quarrel with the Queen. She’d been as powerless against the king as everyone else. But even in her limited ability, she’d cared for him and his plight. When his parents dumped him at the palace gates as an infant and allowed him to find refuge within its walls. Tasked a maid, Miss Ele, with his care. When he turned five, Wonwoo was brought back in front of the queen. He remembers how the queen asked him his name, told him it was the name of a boy who would grow into a strong man. And she let him stay, working in the stables to earn his keep.

There were worse fates for orphans.

With great effort he tips his head in a bow, nearly toppling over as his balance abandons him. “Your Majesty.”

“Is she alive?”

“I—”

“Please, is she alive?”

“Yes.” Wonwoo breathes. If Y/N was dead he’d like to think he’d feel it somewhere in his gut.

“What is she like?”

Wonwoo isn’t sure what to tell her. Few things are as solid as his loyalty to Y/N. But he owes the Queen his life. If she hadn’t been there, he'd have been dead long before he’d met her daughter.

“She’s,” he pauses, trying to figure what he can say without telling too much. His mind working at half speed under the fever, thick as molasses. “She’s incredible.”

The Queen gives him a watery smile, prodding him to continue.

“She’s brave, and smart. And she looks just like you. She’s a lot like you actually.”

“Really?” She swallows thickly.

“She tries to be like the king, but she… She’s…”

Good? Wonwoo knew the extensive lists of crimes and cruelties Y/N committed, the unknowns easily assumed. Good was a stretch but she wasn’t bad. She fell somewhere in between, beyond an easy answer. It's the only way to describe the princess turned pirate. A low bar to say she hadn’t been as cruel as she could have been but it's true. She’d done horrible things but at her core she was as good as someone in her position could be. Like a flame. Able to burn down villages if left unchecked, but eager to keep a freezing family warm if given the opportunity. Fire burns because that's its nature, but you can’t damn candle for the crimes of the pyre.

“I remember when you were brought here, Wonwoo. Just a baby. I’d still been carrying my daughter at the time. And I knew once Y/N came, she’d find you. A mother just knows.” The clamor of keys tickles his ears. “Your mother asked me to protect you and I promised the gods I would. She risked her life to save her child. She inspires me to do the same.”

The door to his cell swings open, ear splitting as rusted metal scraps against stone.

“I can’t walk,” Wonwoo pants. “they broke my ankle.”

The Queen pauses at the sight of his foot and Wonwoo can’t help but stare at her. The furrow of her eyebrows and twist of her lips remind him of her daughter.

“I have several guards that are loyal to me, not the king. I’ll try to have one fetch you and help you through the tunnels.”

“I don’t know where I’ll go after.”

“Even when she was little my daughter had a talent for finding you. I’m sure she’ll be here to collect you soon enough.”

“Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you, Wonwoo. You’ve taken care of Y/N all this time.”

“She makes it easy.”

“Love has a peculiar way of doing that, doesn’t it?”

Before he can say anything else, she’s turned to exit down the same hallway she’d come, heels echoing as she goes.

Jeonghan paces in front of the cell like a tiger circles its cage, like he is the one trapped inside and not Wonwoo. His hair is disheveled, eyes wild, tension stringing his muscles tight. Agitation consumes Jeonghan, even Wonwoo’s infection riddled mind can see it.

The sting of vomit and other refuse in the corner of Wonwoo’s accommodations stains the air. This morning, his urine was tinged pink. The sliver of hope of seeing anything beyond these walls ever again left when the Queen turned her back to him yesterday. No guards came to help him. Only ones providing small buckets of water for him to clean himself and drink from.

“She’s going to let you die in here.”

No reply. Not that Wonwoo has the energy to open his mouth, let alone goad the man. Let him drive himself mad for all Wonwoo cares.

“It was supposed to be her!” Jeonghan’s nostrils flare as he presses his face between the bars. His hands shake as they squeeze around the biting steel. “You ruined everything, you stupid piece of filth!”

The pieces of the mysterious puzzle click. Perhaps its infection induced delirium but Wonwoo finally understands why Jeonghan despises him so.

Jeonghan hates Wonwoo because he has what Jeonghan can’t get. No matter which way Jeonghan tried to rub his unworthiness in his face, she didn’t want him. Y/N chose Wonwoo, or that's what Jeonghan believes. A peasant-born bastard beat the son of a Duke. In Jeonghan’s world it was unimaginable.

In Wonwoo’s world, it's unimaginable too.

He can’t help but laugh. Scratchy and unpleasant given his condition but full bellied laughter fills his mouth, splitting the silence of the dungeon.

“You think it’s funny? You’re going to die here and no one is going to care.”

Snorting around caked blood and snot, Wonwoo’s hysteria continues at Jeonghan’s words. Wonwoo is laughing at his own funeral. Wildly inappropriate, but the irony of the gods sends him into a fit.

Jeonghan turns to the guards, furious at Wonwoo’s inability to respond to his attempts to instigate a fight. “Move him to the throne room, the King is waiting.”

The guards manhandling him upright might have hurt if Wonwoo’s body wasn’t begging for death. He’s slipping away into the recesses of his mind, barely able to snag the thread of reality that continues to unravel before him as he giggles manically. The jostle of his ankle sends bile to his mouth, acrid burn flooding his tongue.

Spots paint his vision, the movement fatiguing him quickly. His head lulls to and fro, muscles retired as they carry Wonwoo out of the dungeon and through the palace. Wonwoo’s eyes refuse to open, but he can listen. Every footstep thuds like a pulse, whispered words coming to him as if he’s deep underwater. A sharp gasp greets him when the guards finally pause.

The crack of his skull on marble is the last thing Wonwoo registers before he returns to darkness.

Onyx skies weep as a small dingy enters the harbor of Amesstino, welcoming the long lost princess home after years of separation as angry waves attempt to claim her for the tide.

Disguised as a gang of traders, you and your crew silently dock and flee the tiny craft. Thick sheets of rain provide plenty of cover to sneak to the palace unseen. No one speaks, crashes of thunder shaking the earth and bolts of lightning splitting the sky. Even the wind whips against your body, lashing at your back. The gods are angry.

Your fury is more dangerous.

The King anticipates your arrival, welcoming you with abandoned guard posts and open gates. You walk through the front door with baited breath, not even a servant ghosts through the empty quartz hallways.

Several pairs of eyes take in the finery that is the Iaslerian palace. As if sculpted from a single piece of white marble, smooth ornate columns support the massive structure, free from any blemishes or ware. Pale blue tapestries embroidered with silver lotus blossoms hang from the ceiling in even rows like icicles. Exactly the same as the day you left, frozen in time, eagerly awaiting your return.

Imposing silver doors seal off the throne room, gleaming like two teeth waiting to bite. Their thickness prevents any sound from breaking free, leaving you woefully unprepared for what will greet you on the other side.

A single beat of breath passes before your crew heaves the doors open to meet your maker.

Guns cocked and teeth bare, your eyes quickly scan the throne room. In the center, your father lazes in his throne, eyes alight with cruel mirth. Your mother is poised next to him, mouth wide in shock, face pale as if she’d seen a ghost. Guards line the walls, swords drawn; tense for a fight.

But the heap sprawled to the right of the lotus emblem on the floor stops heart. The familiar mop of hair inkling across the braided silver and blue veins of the seal. His chest doesn’t move, almost unrecognizable through bloody bruises swelling half his face.

Denial shrouds your mind. Wonwoo isn't dead. You’d feel it. In your gut, in your heart. Somewhere, you’d feel his soul leave this world and escape to the next.

“I gave you the princess, now give me back my title!” Jeonghan demands, emerging from the line of guards to the left.

“You’re as much of a fool as your father Jeonghan! Did you truly believe I’d let you roam Iaslera? You ruined any chance to return to civility when you took that brand on your neck!”

“You said—”

“Silence!” Carnos bellows, voice echoing between the walls. “My dear daughter has finally returned.” he smiles, “I wish to welcome her back.”

Your breath stutters in your lungs. You’ve had countless knives to your throat, guns to your back, brawled with the rowdiest of thieves and criminals. But the bravery curling around your edges shrinks back in the face of your father.

Suddenly you're five again watching Dirce cowering on the floor, with a bloody welt across her face. Helpless as your father unleashes the monster that lurks under his skin. It’s all your fault. Your greed. Your pride. Your envy. No one is to blame but yourself.

“You wanted me here.” You manage to steel your voice. “ He’s of no use now. Let him go and I’ll do whatever you want.”

If your father wants your submission, to see you beg, you’ll do it. He can break you if it means your crew will be left whole.

“What I want is for you to finally learn your place. And you will, in due time. But first, you’ll watch your little bastard lose his head.”

“No!”

“Be silent!” He demands, guards taking a threatening step forward. “You insolent little bitch! You thought you could escape me? I am a King! You are nothing. Less than nothing. You couldn’t even escape that pathetic excuse of a pirate on your own! You needed a peasant to—”

A gunshot rings through the room. A hole in the king's chest releases a trickle of blood down his front, staining the creamy linen shirt. King Carnos shakes as he dips his chin, mouth open in shock as he realizes he’s been shot.

The smoking revolver in Jeonghan’s hand quivers, his eyes wide at what he’s done.

An eerie smile creeps across your father’s face, blood staining his teeth. His last words are indecipherable as he chokes on the next rush through his mouth.

Not even a mouse squeaks to break the fragile silence hanging in the air, bodies frozen to the floor as the great King of Iaslera falls.

Then chaos explodes.

Your mother wails as she registers what's happened, guards rushing in an attempt to aid the king.

Every muscle in your body screams to flee but your mind keeps you on your knees. The king is dead. Your father is dead. Mouth slack, you shiver as death brushes past you, her chilled hand resting briefly on your shoulder before she steps forward to claim his soul. The once faint whispers of the sea trickling into your ears again. I’ll collect you eventually, princess. But not tonight. Death will have to wait once more for you to trail behind her.

Soonyoung drags you by your armpits, screaming something in your face that you can’t hear, the ring of the bullet replaying over and over; as if you’re under the waves and life is happening far above on the surface. Wonwoo’s limp body still rests in the corner, face bruised and caked with flaking patches of deep maroon.

Everything rushes you at once.

“Come on Y/N!”

“Wonwoo, get Wonwoo!” You shriek hysterically over Soonyoung’s shoulder as he pushes you out.

“We’ve got to get back to the boat!”

“Please!” You beg, voice horse as tears streak your face.

Hand iron tight around your wrist, Soonyoung doesn’t let you break from his grip. You barely make out Jun and Jihoon carrying a third body before you’re outside and nearly falling down the cliff to the shore.

Seokmin fights to keep his hold on the dingy as it batters against the sand. You and Soonyoung are the first to make it. Minutes pass by as you watch the remaining members of your crew fly down the stairs, slowed with the added weight of another. You can’t breathe.

Jihoon hauls Wonwoo into the ship first, followed by himself and the other men.

Nothing else matters, just the weak rise of his chest. It’s the tether your sanity latches on as you return to the sea.

Dreams

In the liminal space between life and the abyss, Wonwoo dreams.

He dreams, and he remembers.

The first time Wonwoo meets the princess, he discovers she’s insufferable.

The little girl glides his way, the self-righteous air of importance swirling her stiff shoulders. “What is your name?”

Wonwoo just gives her a slow blink, she’s woefully out of place amongst the smells and sounds of the stable.

Turning to the older woman, the snobby girl asks, “Is he simple?”

“I’m not simple!” Wonwoo objects.

“Then what is your name? You have one don’t you? Or do you prefer I call you ‘stable boy’?”

“My name is Wonwoo.”

“Nice to meet you.” She says, nose high in the air as she extends her hand.

Wonwoo hesitates before shaking it like he’s watched the older men do when they settle a deal.

“No!” She objects, snatching her palm away. “You don’t shake a lady’s hand.”

Her scolding confuses him, twisting his face.

“You do know what a lady is?”

“Of course I do!” He stomps. “You’re just a girl!”

“Ladies are girls, you idiot!”

An older woman steps in, “Ma’am, your horse is ready.”

Huffing indignantly, the little girl twirls to flounce to the other side of the stables. She walks as if the ground only exists to rise and meet her foot with each step. The princess is headed where the caramel colored mare that bit Wonwoo two days ago waits. Figures. Crazy horse for a crazy girl.

—

“Would you like to play with me?”

“I have chores.”

“They can wait until after we play.”

“Go on, son.” urges the older groomsman Wonwoo assists. “I’ll take care of your stalls.”

His eyes shift as he stammers for another excuse. Play with the crazy girl? He’d rather shovel the entire stable twice over.

Wonwoo doesn’t get the chance to speak before she snagged his wrist, pulling him towards the wide entrance. “Come on!”

Once tucked away in a secluded corner of the garden, both panting, Wonwoo looks at her. She looks about his age, only an inch shorter than he is at seven years old. Wisps of loose hair float around her face with a few tiny braids and twists pinned here and there. Delicate threads of silver intertwined throughout. Her dress is simple stormy blue but the fabric clearly indicates it isn't a hand me down like all his torn and patched clothes are.

“Do you know how to play soldiers?”

“Yes?”

“Teach me.”

“Huh?”

“My sisters don’t know how and when I ask the boys in court they won’t play with me.”

Wonwoo spends the rest of the afternoon running around the garden with Y/N. She’s decided they’re nations are at war, and this is the final battle.

“Yield!” She cries.

“Never!”

“Your majesty! What are you doing?” The shrill voice of an older maid rings out. “Young ladies do not roll in the dirt with servants! Certainly not princesses!”

The wrinkly woman grabs Y/N’s wrist, shooting a glare at Wonwoo.

“And you! Don’t you have chores that need finishing?” The maid spits before whipping around towards the palace.

The little princess mouths a silent apology over her shoulder, remorseful round eyes only leaving Wonwoo when she’s dragged behind a hedge.

“No way to behave! Your governess will have my head when she sees you…”

—

“Do you like burnt sugar cake?”

Wonwoo continues to ignore any effort for conversation, focusing on raking the new hay he’s laid down in the stall. Now that he’s twelve he’s given more responsibilities than just tossing the soiled hay into a cart.

“How long will you be angry with me?”

More silence. It’s the only thing Wonwoo can control in the unbalanced dynamic between himself and the youngest princess of the court. If she wished, she could command him to do whatever she wanted, the threat of whips at his back. But she allows Wonwoo to be angry. To be silent. She’s sat and mopped for the past two hours, huffing and sighing as Wonwoo refused to acknowledge her bids for attention. He ducks into the next stall and begins the same repetitive steps he has all morning, allowing the sweat on his brow and pull of his body to dull his mind.

What business was it to the princess that he couldn’t read?

When he exits, he finds the piece of confection wrapped in a silk handkerchief on the wall of the stall, Y/N nowhere to be seen.

The stables aren’t warmed with her presence again. Wonwoo never admits to missing it.

—

“I’m going for a ride!”

“My lady, Muriel has oyspox and there is no one else to escort you.” A stammering maid attempts to placate the fuming princess.

“If my mare is not saddled this instant I will take someone’s head!”

“You cannot ride without accompaniment!”

“He will escort me.”

Wonwoo knows she’s referring to him without looking away from the saddle he’s rigging onto one of the guard’s horses. A rambunctious sandy colt named Athos with a penchant to buck at strangers. He’s one of Wonwoo’s favorites.

“Ma’am, he is a stablehand!”

“Which is of no concern to me.” The rich timber of her voice is decidedly royal. “He will be my escort and that is final.”

Handing over the reins of the stallion to another servant, Wonwoo sets towards the tack room for the appropriate gear. The dark leather saddle and matching bridle is in perfect condition despite going years without use. Wonwoo would know, he’s the one charged with oiling them.

The familiar caramel colored mare is clearly excited for a ride, baying over the door to her stall. Wonwoo can’t stop the grin from spreading to his lips. Over the years, Kalsta had become as familiar as the back of his hand, only nipping his shirt when he refuses her a treat.

Once Kalsta and another stone gray mare are prepared, the fuming princess mounts her and dashes from the stable. Her hair blasting behind her as she pushes into a dead sprint across the hills leading to the coastline below the cliff housing the dazzling white palace.

Wonwoo’s eyes roll, but follows nevertheless; careful to remain several paces behind, even when the horses tire to a trot. From this distance, Wonwoo catches a few muttered words about some royal from the next continent over the crashing waves.

“If you were to marry a girl, wouldn’t you care to know more about her than which season she prefers?”

It takes Wonwoo a moment to realize she’s finally addressing him directly. When he does, he fumbles for an appropriate answer.

“I–,” he stammers, “I don’t know. I guess.”

“Then it is of no coincidence if you disagree with her about other more important topics?”

“Such as?”

“Such as… well I’m not quite sure but certainly there are more important things than my preferences in tea.”

“Surely there is, Your Grace.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“A humble servant would never mock their sovereign.”

“Humility is a virtue you lack in spades, Wonwoo.”

The grin pulling at the corners of his lips wins the tug of war with his mind. “Ahh, so she does remember me.”

Rolling her eyes, the first smile Wonwoo has seen all afternoon blooms on her face. “Of course I remember you. A girl never forgets the first boy she beats up.”

“You didn’t beat me up!”

Her warm chuckle brightens the atmosphere despite the nipping autumn breeze.

“So you’re to be married?”

“If my father has his way, yes.”

“What’s he like?”

“My father?”

“No, the prince you’ve been mumbling about.”

“He’s not a prince, he’s the son of a duke in Nas-Shost.” Y/N picks at the seam of the saddle. “We’ve been engaged since I was twelve, but I’m not sure what he’s like. We’ve only written a few letters.”

“A few letters since you were twelve?”

“Marriage wasn’t as looming when I was a child.”

“And you haven’t learned anything about him in all that time?”

“He tries to charm me but I find it quite dull.”

“Picky princess.”

“Is it so wrong to want a man of some substance?”

“Like what?”

Wonwoo hadn’t thought much about marriage at all. He’d caught a few of the younger maids staring at him when he worked without his shirt on but paid them no mind. No one ever gave him reason enough to think of anything more than some lighthearted touching. He was barely sixteen after all.

“I don’t know. His words tell me nothing about who he is or what he enjoys. Only that he is an incorrigible flirt who takes interest in trivial matters of taste.”

“You don’t want a man who charms you?”

“I want a man who has meaning beyond a made up title.”

“‘Made up title’,” he rolls the words around his mouth. “I believe that borders on treason.”

“Does it count if I’m referring to myself?”

Wonwoo continues to ride with you in silence, this time matching your pace.

—

Wonwoo wakes to whispers of his name, urgent calls for him to break the delicate surface of dreams. He fights a shout when he finds Y/N hovering over him, hand covering his mouth. Brushing it aside, he throws his gaze around the tiny space of his quarters before returning to her.

She’s cloaked in a gauzy dressing gown, the thin cream cotton of her nightgown peeking out between the deep blue lapels where the soft skin of her chest disappears; bedraggled tendrils of hair curled around her shoulder. The gentle flicker of candlelight casts her face in a hazy glow, flame reflecting in the dark center of her eyes. The princess is in his room, perched on the side of his bed, face inches from his own. Wonwoo must still be dreaming.

“He’s here.”

Wonwoo’s brain is thick as cold honey, the day in the stables more grueling with the additional horses the king’s guest brought. “What?”

“Jeonghan. He’s here.”

“And you’ve come to my room to tell me this?” Wonwoo turns his back towards her and closes his eyes.

“He’s horrible.”

Her admission gives Wonwoo pause. Glancing over his shoulder, he catches a wet trail of tears glossing Y/N’s face, chin tucking to her chest to hide her visage amongst her hair. Pitiful whimpers spill from her lips. Wonwoo nearly chokes when she throws herself into his chest, hot beads streaming onto his bare skin as the walls of control crumble.

“He’s awful, Woo.”

Wonwoo has never navigated such an emotional response from Y/N, from any woman really. When they’d been children, she’d stomp her foot and storm away when upset. Or sometimes tackle him to the dirt and pin him under her till he apologized and begged for mercy. He’s completely out of his depth..

Remembering how his mother would comfort him, Wonwoo lifts a hand to stroke the top of her head. A fresh round of tears erupt, shaking her against him. A loud bawl escapes Y/N, freezing Wonwoo’s blood. He cannot get caught with the princess in his bed. Not in this state; thin cover pooling around his waist, his chest bare and her’s barely covered by thin scraps of fabric. Both states of dress were courtesy of Iaslera’s brutal summers. But a coincidence wouldn’t save his sorry hide if another servant walked in.

“Y/N,” Wonwoo whispers gently. “It will be okay.”

The lie does nothing to stifle her sobs.

Trying again, “It will be fine, I promise.”

Wonwoo has never been a master of words.

“It won’t!” She shudders. “He’s awful, and rude. And he looks at me like nothing more than some prized horse.”

“They’ve only arrived today. Surely he cannot be that bad already.”

“He’s exactly like my father.”

Y/N’s father. Less of a man and more of a waking nightmare. Wonwoo barely interacted with him but the King’s reputation was well known across the kingdom.

Any words of comfort die in his chest. There’s nothing Wonwoo can do. That anyone can do.

“I wish I’d never been born.”

If Wonwoo had been born in her position, he’d wish the same thing.

“You’ve always wanted to see Nas-Shost.”

“How wonderful it will be from the confines of a palace.”

“Perhaps he’ll allow you to travel. You said the King hardly visits the Queen since you came about.”

“So I’m to pray he takes up a mistress after he’s had his fill of me?”

Telltale signs of her fury take root. Huffed breath and shaking hands, a husky scoff punctuating each sentence. Perhaps anger is better than sorrow. Wonwoo has placated her many times when the princesses' temper emerged. This would be no different.

“I’d pray he takes up several, then he’d be too busy to bother you, and let you do as you please.”

“I’d do as I please anyway. He’s barely a duke and I’m a princess.”

“Yes, as you’ve reminded everyone with every breath you take.”

“Jeonghan is the one who acts like his title is of importance! ‘Future Duke’ this and ‘when I am Duke’ that. He squawks like a bird.”

“You’re not quite dazzling to be around either so he might bore quickly.”

“I could have you arrested for speaking ill of the royal family.”

“And what do you plan to tell the guards, your highness?” Wonwoo smirks. “That you forced yourself into my chambers past midnight for some gossip and found yourself offended?”

Wide eyes glace down to his naked chest, jumping to her own as she pulls her dressing gown around herself tighter. The apples of her cheeks warm enticingly as she realizes the precarious position she’s arranged them in, still half in Wonwoo’s lap, perched between his legs.

As if burned, you jump away from his bed to the wall only a foot away. “I—. I didn’t, it isn’t.”

“Isn’t what, princess?”

A pause before indignation takes flight. “You truly are insufferable!” She quietly shouts. Spinning to exit his room with a dramatic sigh.

—

“I wish for a ride.”

“I’m occupied, ma’am.”

“Well make yourself un-occupied.”

“Her Majesty wishes it, so it will be.”

“How I hate when you call me that.”

“What would Her Royal Highness prefer?”

“For you to shut your trap!”

“Such foul words from a lady.”

“I have several more for you if my horse isn’t ready soon.”

“Your Highness, would you mind if I accompany you for your ride?

“I prefer to go alone.”

“You’re going with the stable hand.”

“It’s required that I have a chaperone. Since he’s a servant, he doesn’t count as company.”

Wonwoo tries not to take offense to the subtle insult to his station. He knows she doesn’t mean what she says but the words resemble the same ones he’s heard from other, less friendly, lips many times before.

“I see. Well, I hope to speak with you when you return.”

“Of course, Jeonghan.”

—

“You want to what?”

“Leave. Go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

“And just how do you expect to do that? You’ve never left these grounds.”

“That’s a lie! I visited Anlehm when I was thirteen!”

“With a royal escort! A girl on the road by herself is completely different.”

“I won’t be alone.”

“And who will join you?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Please keep up Wonwoo, we don’t have much time to discuss.”

“Why me?”

“You are the only person in the world I trust.”

She speaks as if the admission is little more than declaring the day's weather, but the weight rests heavy on his shoulders. The only person the princess of Iaslera trusts is a bastard stable boy with nothing to his name.

“And as such, I will need your assistance.”

“I’ve never left the palace.”

“But you understand peasant things like money.”

It’s not a slight, simply the truth.

“So I am nothing more than a guard for you?”

“Of course not, you’re my friend.”

Friend. Friends with the princess. Gods help him.

“A friend would tell you your plan is madness.”

“And you?”

“You’ll do it anyway.”

“You know me well.”

“If we’re caught, I’ll hang.”

“Then we won’t get caught.”

“Because it is as easy as that.”

“‘If her majesty wishes, so it will be.’ Remember?”

“So it will be.”

—

“What do you know about sex?”

Wonwoo chokes on the large bite of apple he’d been munching on. “Pardon?”

Rolling to her side next to him under the shade of the lush fruit tree, Y/N starts again. “Sex. What do you know about it?”

“I— This isn’t an appropriate conversation for a lady.”

“Well I’m no longer a lady, considering I’ve run away with a servant. I’m thoroughly disavowed from the crown. No need to worry about corrupting me.”

Corrupting her. Him corrupting Y/N.

Oh.

The thoughts were already there, smothered by his own guilt of imaging his friend in that way. Wonwoo suddenly pictures the first time Y/N wore trousers, the roughspun fabric hugging her rolling hips as she glided by. Worse, she didn’t even realize what she was doing, having his tongue nearly hung out of his mouth like a panting dog. And now she’s asking him about sex? Perhaps leaving the palace was a bad idea.

“It's something people do to pass the time.”

“I know what it is, Wonwoo. What is it like?”

“I don’t know. Probably like kissing I suppose.”

“And what's that like?”

“You’ve never?”

“Princess, remember?”

“Well it’s…sort of wet? And feels nice. It’s hard to explain.”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me what kissing is like.”

—

“Wonwoo.”

“Yes?”

“You’re really quite handsome. Do you know that?”

The burn of whiskey on an empty stomach loosens even the lips of royalty, it seems.

“High compliment coming from a princess.”

“I’m not a princess.”

Y/N huffs, stumbling back into the mound of hay Wonwoo collected for sleeping. Fall looms on the horizon and the chill of the evening air requires sharing the ratty blanket. Wonwoo would happily sleep in his own pile but her disposition after a cold night left much to be desired.

“You’ll always be a princess. You still walk like a princess, talk like one, even order me about like we never left the palace.”

“I do not order you around!”

Shrilling his voice in mockery, he does his best impression of what he dubs her ‘princess voice.’ “Wonwoo, fetch us breakfast. Wonwoo, teach me to fish. Wonwoo, show me how to use a knife.”

“Well you listen so well it’d be a shame to waste a talent.”

A pause.

“I like when you order me about.”

Perhaps he’s indulged too much as well.

“Wonwoo.”

“Yes?”

“Will you teach me about kissing now?

That night, Wonwoo teaches you everything he knows. He also learns sex is much more than passing time.

The Edge

Dark. Wonwoo registers darkness and warmth first. As his soul slowly returns to his body he realizes he’s laying down in a cot, the unmistakable sway of the sea rocks him to consciousness. And then, Wonwoo realizes he hurts.

A sharp pounding echoes through his bones in time with his weak pulse. Each breath stretching his lungs to the point they feel as if they’ll shred. One of his eyes is swollen shut and the other waters uncontrollably under the pain.

A squeeze around his hand anchors his attention. Using whatever reserve of strength he has left, he tries to squeeze back.

“Wonwoo?”

The voice is familiar, buttery smoothness pleasant to his ears. Wonwoo hopes the Voice will continue saying his name. Maybe it will lull him back to sleep and away from his torment.

“Wonwoo?”

How lovely the Voice is. Perhaps he is still dreaming, the smooth slide of a warm palm against his forehead comforts him before the roughness of a damp cloth wipes at his brow.

A pause before the Voice removes what Wonwoo assumes is her hand. He calls on the reserve of strength again to protest, coughing a weak groan into the space above him.

“You’re awake!” She says, as if it's some marvel.

When she dives into his chest, Wonwoo nearly screams. His ribs protest her weight, his lungs on the verge of collapse. But on his skin he feels her hot wet tears, her nose digging into his breastbone. Even her lips brush against the sensitive flesh as she cries his name over and over. The desire to wrap his arms around her is quelled by protesting muscles. It feels as if he’s wading through wet sand.

She must sense his pain because she removes herself from his person and coos for him to sleep, raking her fingers across his scalp gently as something foul and oily slips between his lips. Sleep, what a wonderful idea.

The shallow rise and fall of Wonwoo’s chest has been the subject of your attention for three days. A part of you fears that the moment you look away it will stop.

He’d woken for the first time in the early hours of the morning a few days ago, the sun barely rising from his bed beneath the horizon as Wonwoo breached consciousness. Shua lectured on and on regarding the significance of rest to healing. Better for Wonwoo to sleep fitfully than wake in agony. But the more frequent he broke the surface of slumber the more anxious you became.

A brief shift of your focus to the vial of murky sedative Shua left for you to administer gives Wonwoo enough time to wake with a heart wrenching groan.

“Shhh,” you coo, settling the cool cloth back on his forehead. “You’re alright.”

“Y/N?” Wonwoo mumbles, eyes firmly shut but his eyes moving rapidly behind his lids.

“I’m here.”

You move your free hand to his own on the side of the bed, thumb stroking the backs of his fingers in an attempt to sooth him.

“Princess.” he slurs.

The pained sobs you’ve released quietly over the past few days return, watering your entangled hands as you rest your forehead against them.

Even in death, your father still torments you.

Wonwoo becomes fully sentient after a week. Weak from hunger and dehydration, but alive. Shua fusses over him at all hours like a mother hen, mixing vials and brewing all types of teas to speed his recovery along. Luckily, with all of the commotion from the crew to see Wonwoo with their own eyes, you’ve been able to fade to the shadows.

Taking the wheel yourself gives Jihoon a chance to descend below deck. Or offering Soonyoung the opportunity to share a meal with Wonwoo as you man the rigging. Anything to stay away from the room next to your own.

Somehow Wonwoo awake and aware is worse.

But only so many distractions exist in such a small space as your ship. The crew begins to brush aside your offers of assistance, urging you to have time with Wonwoo now that he’s healing. You’re at the end of your rope when Seungkwan informs you of Wonwoo’s request to see you.

You can feel Wonwoo’s eyes watching you in the corner of his room, your own tracing the whorls in the wood grain of the floors, walls, and ceiling.

You break the silence first, “Are you angry with me?”

“When have I ever been angry with you?”

“I’m angry with myself.”

“That’s why you’re you and I’m me. I chose to go on his ship.”

“It’s my fault he was here in the first place!”

“Do you think I’m incapable of making my own choices?”

“I’ve never,”

“If given the same chance, I’d do it again. I don’t regret it.”

“I—”

Wonwoo cuts you off before you can protest. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

This is the start of the conversation you’ve been running from.

“I haven’t.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

He’s right. And rather than continue to lie, your feet carry you out the door and back in the safety of your office.

Two more days pass before you gather enough courage to brave him again. You’ve never been afraid of Wonwoo; never shied away from his presence. Even after tense moments, having him around was a comfort and he indulged your desire to ignore whatever bubbled between you two. But not anymore. Wonwoo is demanding answers you don’t have to questions you're terrified of asking.

He sleeps thanks to the sedative Shua slipped in his tea before re-sewing some of the garish stitches along his ribs.

Resting in the chair next to the top of his bed, your eyes catalog his features. Even through the swelling and bruises, Wonwoo’s still handsome. From the sharp tilt of his jaw to the gentle pout of his lips, even his scar warms your heart as he dozes. It's hard to settle the panic hanging over your shoulder, a swirling mass of fear and dread.

So lost in your own mind, you don’t realize his good eye is open and glaring straight at you.

“You’re back.”

Jumping at the rasp of his voice, you launch to your feet. “I was just leaving.”

“Of course you were.” He scoffs.

The venom in his tone freezes you as your fist clenches around the doorknob.

He continues, “I asked Jihoon to take us to Ventparsk. I’m going to find a new crew.”

“What?” You’re trembling.

“You don’t want me here.”

“I never said that!”

“You don’t have to! You can’t even look at me without running in the other direction!”

Wonwoo just stares. He’s patient in the worst ways and the injuries littered across his face obscure any emotions he may be experiencing himself.

“I don’t know how to do this, Woo.”

“You’re too scared to try.”

“Maybe I am! But if I’m a coward, what does that make you?”

“A fool.” he spits. “I can’t pretend to not feel for you. Not anymore. If you truly do not want me then I’ll make it easier for the both of us and allow you freedom from any guilt.”

What can you say? The man you’ve bound yourself to in mind, body, and spirit, who has risked his life for you more times than you can count, is willing to walk away for your comfort; unconsciously taking half your heart with him. The idea saps the oxygen out of your lungs. You without Wonwoo. Like a flower without the sun. The sky without stars. Ocean without a tide.

Wonwoo has never asked, only allowed you to take endlessly. Perhaps it’s time you give something to him.

Tears are welling in your eyes before you can speak. “I don’t want you to go.” Shaking your head, your voice breaks as you cry like the little girl you were so long ago. “Don’t go.” Quivering like a leaf in a storm you beg. “Please.”

Through the blur of tears you can make out Wonwoo attempting to rise out of his cot. The extensive wounds and injuries make it a Herculean effort, causing him to nearly topple to the floor before you approach him. Strong arms tangle around you as you bury your face into his neck, pleading for him to stay.

“I don’t know what else to do.” He whispers into your hair.

You continue to bawl, plagued by images of your lonely figure, missing the better half of your soul. The only steady presence in your life, the one person who played witness to your weakest moments. Months of separation at the hands of fate were child’s play considering the bleak future Wonwoo suggested. Nothing sacrificed or gained would be worth the pain if he isn’t there to share it with you.

“Please.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“If this makes me selfish then yes I’m selfish! I’m selfish and I’m cruel because I can’t imagine a world where we separate. Please!”

“You’ll make do.”

“No I won’t.”

“So you ask me to stay by your side, knowing how I feel, and do what? Ignore it? Pretend it doesn’t exist?”

“When have I ever asked you not to feel?”

“When have I asked you for anything? Any wish or whim in my power I do. Why can’t you try?”

“I do not know how.”

“That’s a lie.”

“What do you want me to say?” Your voice cuts like glass, tears of sadness transforming into tears of frustration.

“I want you to tell me the truth!”

“I am! I have no idea what any of this means!” Your back up and pacing, hands nearly ripping your hair out in an attempt to ground yourself. “I thought you were dead Wonwoo. I thought my father killed you! And for a moment it felt like I died too.”

“And you don’t think that means something?”

“My apologies that I’m not able to write sonnets about feelings I don’t understand!”

“You refuse to even try. I nearly died and you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!”

“Because it’s my fault! I decided to leave the palace! I decided to pull you into my mess! How can you even look at me?”

“Because I love you.” His eyes burn. “For years, I’ve loved you and I tried not to but—” Wonwoo swallows roughly. “It’s become something I live with.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Because telling you served what purpose? You had one of the crew tortured and tossed overboard because he guessed we rolled around in some hay when we were children. Didn’t inspire confidence you’d be receptive to the idea!”

“So you decided for me?”

“Impossible as it might be, please attempt to consider how I felt.”

“And now I’m selfish? You decide to keep secrets and it’s somehow my fault?”

“Then it's my fault for not being brave enough to face your rejection?”

“I wouldn’t—. I haven’t rejected you.” You blink. “It’s terrifying. Want you the way I do. I can’t think, I couldn’t breathe until you woke up. What happens to me if I let myself have you, and you disappear?”

“I would nev—“

“What if someone comes for you again and this time they do kill you? When I saw your face at the palace, I felt…” Another hot wave of tears emerges. “I couldn’t do anything. All I saw was you. I begged my father to kill me so I wouldn’t have to live without you.”

Silence.

“Did it feel like no matter how many breaths you took there wasn’t enough air? Like you were drowning on dry land?”

“Yes—“

“Like the sun fell out of the sky and the tides stopped? Because that’s how I felt. When Jeonghan took you. My body was here but my soul was with you.”

Of course the one person who understands you is Wonwoo. He sees and he knows. And for all his claims that words aren’t his strength, he gives you courage.

“I wasn’t raised to understand this. My mother told me the most I could hope for with a man was friendship, maybe fondness. Love isn’t a privilege I’d learned to understand.”

A pregnant pause passes.

“Then we learn together.”

Sitting back on the cot, you allow the warmth of Wonwoo’s calloused palm resting on the knobs of your spine to calm you. Sniffling pathetically, you listen to his heart drum in his chest. It reminds you all the times you pressed against him for warmth when you first ran away. The beat of his heart lulling you to rest better than any lullaby your nanny sang in the nursery.

Wonwoo breaks the delicate silence shrouding his room.

“A liar and a coward. What a pair we make.” He chuckles, humor in the irony.

Releasing your own puff of air, you hesitate before asking.

“What do we do about it?”

“About what?”

“These… feelings.”

“I don’t know.”

From all the stories you read as a child, confessions of love and wanting meant joy and happiness. But in its stead is something like sorrow, a firm pain of a crossroads without a clue where either path led.

“Wonwoo?”

He hums.

“What do you want to do about it?”

Wonwoo is silent as he ponders.

“Right now, I want to hold you.”

Moments pass as you trace shapes along his chest, careful to avoid the bandages crossing over his shoulder. The pressure of his lips against the crown of your skull turns your head up.

Wonwoo’s face is soft, staring at you with undeserved fondness. The same way he did that night in the barn, the same way he has always done in private when he thinks you aren’t looking. If Wonwoo is brave enough to tell you, then you owe him the same.

Tracing his features with your fingers, you carefully avoid the wounds still dappling his face. Starting at the temple where his scar begins, you follow it to the plush of his lips, the skin chap under your touch. Before following the loop of his nose and the curve of his brow.

“I love you.”

Your whispered admission floats in the air above your heads.

Wonwoo shuts his eyes and lets you do as you please, leaving a gentle kiss to the pad of your pointer finger as it returns to his mouth.

The smooth slide leaves you craving the contact across your own mouth. Rising up, you gently brush your lips across his. Barely a ghost of flesh but Wonwoo chases the contact. Lips slip against one another, soft passes filled with tender longing.

One the next stroke, you suck his lower lip between your teeth and allow the tip of your tongue to trace it. You faintly register the copper taste of blood and the salt of the sea. The drag must ignite something in his blood because Wonwoo attempts to twist you underneath him before he yelps in pain.

“Stop! You’ll tear your stitches!”

“Damn the stitches,” he grits, claiming your mouth again.

Carefully maneuvering out of his reach, you break the kiss as you rise from his cot. A genuine smile of joy returning to your face after years of drought.

“When you’re better,” you whisper.

“You’d have us wait?”

“I’d rather have you when your face no longer resembles the wrong side of a horse.”

He fails to make a grab for your sleeve, huffing as he rests back into the mattress. “I thought I charmed you with more than my looks.”

“Unfortunately, I’m quite shallow.”

“There should be an old scarf in my desk drawer, perhaps that can be of use?”

“Woo,” you gently coo. “You can’t even sit up straight.”

“I believe that’s a matter of opinion.”

You chuckle. “When you’re well enough, I’ll lock us in here for as long as you wish.”

The simmering displeasure is clear on his face. Wonwoo isn’t angry with you. He’s angry with his injuries. With Jeonghan and your dead father. With the fates.

“As long as I wish?”

Humming in agreement as you rest one knee onto the bed, you lean over his form before whispering.

“You should try and listen to Shua so I don’t have to wait much longer.”

“Fine.”

“It’s a deal.”

Three months.

Three months of silently mourning the death of your father in the dead of night, when you’re safe from prying eyes and your mind wanders free. You hardly knew him, he was as much of a stranger as a merchant you stumbled passed in a busy market. Guilt whispered across your mind as each tear slipped down your face. Mourning the man who terrorized a nation and his family, who paid for your execution, who tortured Wonwoo.

Three months of Wonwoo downing every greasy concoction and bitter remedy Shua prescribes. One month for the bruises to yellow and fade into memory, for his cuts to scab and scar. Two months for his shoulder to cease its insistent throb. Two months of keeping his body firmly planted in his cot until he’s cleared to rise with the assistance of a mahogany cane courtesy of Jihoon. Another month of hobbling along the deck, relearning his center of gravity under the threat of toppling into the sea.

Ninety two days of heated gazes and longing brushes of hands in passing, conversations littered with double entendres verging on obscenity. More whispered confessions and declarations. Twenty four nights of you visiting his room under the cover of the moon, sitting by his side, clasping his hand while he slept fitfully, administering more oily sedative when the nightmares chase him awake and one night he pulls you down beside him. Then seventy two mornings blinking wake, curled against one another under the thin sheets like you had all those years ago, whispering promises in the gentle dawn.

The first night Wonwoo shuffles across the deck without the assistance of the familiar piece of wood, you nearly take him against the main mast. Instead, you settle for pulling him to your cabin as the oil lantern begins to burn low, when the eyelids of the crew droop from exhaustion and their heads turn away in consideration.

A choked groan leaves your throat as his hips settle between your thighs, molding together so tightly there’s no deciphering where you end and Wonwoo begins. Mouths refuse to separate as you roll against one another, a cacophony of breathless whimpers and husky moans blending between lips.

Your bodies burn with the inferno of a pyre, every hair stands on edge like lightning is about to strike a hair width away. There’s no air to breath, but the space you’ve descended into thankfully requires none. Only you and Wonwoo exist, not time or the sea or the stars.

“Say it again,” he whispers into your mouth.

“I love you!” You gasp back, eager to seal the words with another suck of his tongue.

Calloused hands palm your chest, breasts heavy and full, nipples growing to stiff peaks as deft fingers brush and pluck. Wonwoo laps at the smooth dip between before latching onto one, nipping and sucking as you writhe in the sheets, thrashing wildly against him. Your own hands make busy twisting and pulling his hair, nails scraping against the dip of his neck and across his broad shoulders.

“Again.” Wonwoo bites into your skin, punctuated with another harsh curl of his hips into yours, so deep he’s in your lungs.

Sobbing your reply, eyes closing as your forehead presses to his, you nearly choke on air as he drives into you again and again.

“I love you.”

“Again.” He pants desperately.

“Wonu!” You keen, back of your head pressing into the pillows as your chest collapses from his precarious rhythm. Streams of light rupture across your vision, tension swelling in your veins and ripping you apart.

“Love you, I love you,” He mutters like a prayer into the crease of your shoulder, face buried in your neck as he snatches your wrist, twining your fingers with his next to your head, grip so tight nails sting into the back of each other's hand.

Another prayer of his name rips from your throat, cannoning Wonwoo into a frenzy. He pummels into you with such force the crown of your skull knocks into the headboard. His hips stutter as he finds his release, filling you with his seed as he cries your own name into your lips.

Stuttered breaths settle for a moment.

“Again, Woo.”

He eagerly follows your orders, just as he’s always done.

Epilogue

Once upon a time, an unlikely friendship between a princess and a stable boy bloomed in the gardens of a king’s palace. The stable boy followed the princess wherever she decided to go, and the princess knew that if she ever needed to turn back, the stable boy would welcome her with open arms. Even when age led her to the other side of this life like an old friend, the stable boy couldn’t help but follow. Though he was eager to return to her side once more, the princess had remained behind to welcome him with a smile when he walked over the hill.

Some say that when the moon dips below the horizon of the sea each day, it's the princess returning to the warmth of her lover's embrace. Always destined to find one another in each life, never to be kept apart, no matter what came between.

#svthub #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #svt wonwoo #svt jeonghan #svt angst #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan angst #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo angst #seventeen angst #svt #wonwoo smut #🫡 highvern

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wynnyfryd · 8 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 15

part 1 | part 14 | ao3

“Please please please please pleeeeease,” Dustin whines, tugging hard on the hem of Steve’s shirt.

“Dude get off me.” He slips the last of the leftover containers into the fridge, slams the door shut, and turns to glare at Dustin, who oh-so-conveniently had to step out after dinner to ‘walkie Lucas about a homework question’ and left Steve and Eddie to do the washing up.

In the absence of a Henderson buffer, the air between them had pretty immediately gone stale. Hesistant and charged, overly formal; fucking weird. Eddie moves like a weirdo, sways his hips out of the way of counter corners instead of walking a straight path, like some swaggering drunken pirate, and he spent the last ten minutes awkwardly traipsing around the perimeters of the kitchen as if Steve were a landmine he might set off at any time.

So yeah.

Steve’s feeling a little ungracious at the moment. “Seriously, what is so important that you can’t just show it to us tomorrow?”

“Ummm, scientific discovery? Wonder at the natural world around us?? Where’s your sense of adventure, Steve?”

“The last time I followed my sense of adventure out to your cellar I almost got—” His eyes cut sharply to Eddie, who’s doing a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop. Steve scrambles for a way to end his sentence that isn’t eaten by a creature with a razor flower for a face. “—uh, mauled.”

“Mauled?” Eddie asks, eyes bugging out. “Henderson, I’m not following you into the woods to get to turned into some feral thing’s chew toy, man.”

“It was fine,” Dustin insists, covertly kicking Steve in the shin.

Steve thinks of his NDAs and plays along. “Y-yeah. Totally fine. It was just, like, a rabid raccoon or something.”

“That… does not sound fine.”

“It’s cool,” Steve tries to reassure him (no idea why, really; that cellar’s nightmare fuel.) He throws a dish towel over his shoulder, nods his head decisively. “I’ll bring my nail bat with us.”

“You’ll fucking bring your what?”

—

Steve drags his nail bat through the leaves on the narrow trail, the wood thudding along behind him as they make their way to the cellar, a detached storm shelter at the far edge of the lot. It’s dark out here. And cold. His breath hangs in a puff of wet fog when he mutters, “Seriously, Dustin, this better be Noble Prize worthy stuff.”

“It’s Nobel,” Eddie says.

“Huh?”

“The, uh- the prize? It’s No-bel.”

“….Well, that’s stupid.”

“Why would it be Noble?” Eddie snorts, but his eyes are curious and kind.

“Because— because you have to be Noble to earn it? I don’t know!” Eddie laughs like he finds the answer cute. Steve doubles down. “That makes perfect sense, and you know it. A Noble Prize for a Noble Effort. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Dustin grunts as he unlocks the cellar doors. “Now come on.”

—

The cellar's just as creepy as Steve remembers: low ceiling, dusty cement blocks, a single, sad lightbulb dangling on a string. He eyes the dark corner on the far side of the squat room, bricked up now but it wasn't before; there were tunnels under here, once, vast networks like blood vessels to the beating heart of a monster Steve still can't fully comprehend. He grips the bat a little tighter.

"—Shit," Dustin says suddenly, cutting himself off mid-ramble about how cool his latest science project is, how it puts Cerebro to shame. "I forgot the remote." "You want me to go get it?" Steve offers. "No!" Dustin says it in a rush, then stammers, "No, that's okay. You won't know what to look for." He seems nervous. Jittery. Maybe the cellar creeps him out, too. "Be right back, just wait here."

"Grreeeat," Eddie replies as Dustin jogs back up the stairs, cupping his hands around his mouth to call sarcastically after him, "We'll just be loitering in your murder basement, then; take your time!"

With Dustin gone, there’s nothing to do but stand there metaphorically twiddling their thumbs. Steve’s idly swinging his bat in a wide sweep around his calves, and Eddie’s staring at the ground, scuffing the toe of his shoe into a streak of dirt, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed. He’s humming something that Steve can't quite make out, but it doesn't sound like the stuff he usually blasts from his van. It's softer. Easy. Almost pop.

“Hey, wait a sec...” Steve holds up a finger, turning his good ear toward the stairs. The leafy crunch of footsteps isn’t getting any quieter, and now it sounds like there are two pairs, getting louder; circling back. “You hear that?”

Eddie nods. Looks serious and spooked. Steve raises his bat, a sudden spike of fear; he creeps over to the stairs. “Hey,” he calls to the darkness. The rustling noise picks up, a swish of movement through the brush, and then the crrrrroak of something metal. Something heavy, groaning on its—

Hinges. Hinges. Son of a bitch, the cellar doors. “Hey!” he shouts, breaking into a run. “HEY—!”

BOOMMMM.

The doors slam shut with a heavy crash and the grating clink of more metal scraping metal. Steve bolts up the stairs, shoves with all his strength against the slanted doors above him. The doors don’t budge. “What the fuck?” Eddie shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

Steve pounds against the doors. “HENDERSON?”

Eddie comes up to join him, using his forearms like battering rams to try to bash the doors open. His voice cracks when he hollers, “Henderson, for real, man! I-if this is some kinda- some kinda sick fucking joke it isn’t funny!!”

“It’s for your own good!!” a voice that isn’t Dustin yells through the gap in the doors, and Eddie squawks, “MIKE?”

Mike?? MIKE?? Oh, that goddamned ungrateful, conniving little—

“We just wanted you two to talk to each other!” Mike says.

Dustin adds, “For real this time."

“Yeah, for real this time!”

Steve punches the doors, and Eddie bares his teeth like he can scorch a hole through the metal with the heat of his glare alone. “Wheeler, you are SO dead!!”

“So fucking dead!!!” Steve agrees.

---

part 16

tag list below the cut, comment if you want to be added tomorrow (or dm me if you want to be removed)

@acedorerryn @ahsokatanoss @annabanannabeth @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awolfstudio @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @burymestanding @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cr0w-culture @cuips-not-cute @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @fandomfix8 @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @goodolefashionedloverboi @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @heartsong18 @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @messrs-weasley @nburkhardt @noodle-shenaniganery @novelnovella @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #st fic #my writing #my fic

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p1nkcanoe · 27 days

Note

mushy may has so many good prompts but also u could consider feral mountain fuckin swiss up against a tree in the forest idk

mushy may is always fantastic, but unfortunately i can never commit to a month's worth of prompts, so i'll take your second suggestion for a ride.

1.2k words of feral, unglamoured murder ghoul mountain and swiss who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

tw: murder ghouls, blood, minor injury

The summer night is far too quiet for the chase that is happening. It seems that while Swiss runs for his life, that even the crickets have gone to hide and the birds have abandoned their nests. Far from the inner grounds of the abbey there is nothing out here except for himself and the beast silently prowling the earth.

Swiss isn’t normally this loud, this clumsy, but every long stride he takes as he weaves through the trees feels wrong, like this is new land instead of miles and miles of trails and hills that he knows by heart and feel alone. He’s been running for an hour and the muscles in his thighs feel like jelly, his lungs like smoldering ashes, but he can’t stop now. The earth ghoul is always right on his heels. Before the moment that his toes hit the dirt, Mountain is already three steps ahead of him.

The sky had opened up in the morning to release a heavy blanket of rain that turned the ground to mush and thickened the air. Swiss is covered up to his neck in mud. His heart beats out of his chest in such a rapid pattern that he fears the vibrations are echoing throughout the forest and not just pounding in his ears. It’s so loud that he can’t even hear the coo of the creek as he approaches it, the one that he’s waded through a million times and more, and the sound that his bare feet make as he tears through the surface is deafening. For the first time since he tore through the iron fence gate to escape the gardens, he hears the earth ghoul make a sound. He laughs.

Swiss realizes far too late that the creeping current of the creek is his bane. He continues to run and the water grapples at his ankles, wraps around his shins, and in barely a foot of water, he trips, landing hands first in an uneven bed of water stones and algae. The pain that shoots up both of his arms is immediate, and a gash in the meat of his palm begins to stain the water pink. He’s fucked. He’s already dead, he’s decided. As a last attempt at saving his borrowed vessel he sucks in a breath and makes a last attempt to run for it.

He gets further than he expected he would considering he’s leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to follow as the blood continues to drip from his fingertips and swirl within his senses, overwhelming and rich, but that little ounce of hope dissolved altogether when he feels the crunch of scorched earth beneath his feet and realizes in a terrible flash of petrification that Mountain had purposefully been herding him since the moment he found him, not chasing him.

In his fits of panic, Swiss had led himself right into Mountain’s den.

A clearing in the woods, a nearly perfect circle of nothing but the remains of his victims, animals and unfortunate siblings alike. It stinks of the lingering stain of death and decay, and the ground is rough no matter where he tiptoes, still etched with the scars from when he pulled himself up from a crack in the core so many years ago.

Swiss has been here before, but he was a hunter then. They’d worked alongside each other on the frigid night of a new moon and carried out the bloodiest hunt and sacrifice that Swiss had ever seen in the mortal plane. That was the first time he’d ever experienced Mountain’s earthen form up close, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see it again. While the soft summer breeze swirls around him and whispers terrible things in his ear, he fears he’s about to see it for the second and last time.

Trapped in the center of the circle, he blinks and shifts into his shadow form and in an instant disappears into the pitch black of the night. It won’t be enough to save him, but it should at least confuse the murderous beast for a moment while he plans his next move.

A twig snapping to his right sends his neck swiveling in its direction only to be met with the towering form of his hunter. Mountain, nearly eight feet tall and enhanced within his natural form, molded somewhere between humanoid and a bone-dry, deer-like megafauna. Equally as bone chilling to his core. He reeks of iron and gore and evidence of an unfortunate, slaughtered sibling caught out past curfew stains his chin and drips down the planes of his chest in deep shades of crimson. That poor soul… they never stood a chance.

The creature stalks forward on elongated limbs that are nothing but stretched skin and lean sinew, creeping far too precisely to be searching blindly for the ghoul who has disappeared into the night. He can’t see you, Swiss assures himself. He’s camouflaged and blended seamlessly into everything around him. Mountain is simply searching him out… But what Swiss doesn’t know is that his fear and adrenaline have betrayed him, and through the darkness of the void his golden eyes glow bright, cutting through the nothingness with the light of a thousand suns.

Mountain comes closer, huffing through the empty nasal sockets of the buck’s skull that has contorted his bones and taken the place of his handsome face. Swiss glides out of his way and watches in horror as Mountain tracks his every move down to the twitching of his fingers. Fuck–

“Mountain,” Swiss calls out, inching backwards and tripping over discarded skeletons. His voice booms through the space between them and falls onto deaf ears. Mountain bends forward at the waist, unsheathes his blade-like claws, and prepares to strike. He tries again, one last time, voice desperate to be heard.

“Mountain– hear me, please–!”

The earth beast rushes forward and grapples the multi ghoul precisely by his neck, lugging his body backwards until his spine meets the rough, uneven texture of tree bark, and he gasps out in pain. Feet flailing, he’s been lifted from the ground.

“Mountain!”

The earth beast crowds him, smothering his much smaller body with his own and covering him in the stinking remains of his last victim. Clearly human, the scent is distinctly sweet and sends Swiss’ head in a swirl. Mountain growls and snarls, digging his fingers unforgivingly into his flesh and contorting Swiss’ limbs in directions that he’s sure will break them, but yet they do not break. They ache and his muscles burn beneath his skin as they’re pushed to their limits, but the other ghoul does not tear, does not maim like he watched him tear and maim the terrified Sister of Sin in this very circle. Instead, he realizes in horror that the creature is maneuvering his body. Scenting him. Testing his vessel for something entirely different.

He feels as his spider-like fingers trace the trembling planes of his flesh down to the waistband of his pants, and it’s at the same moment that he feels the strange shape of the earth beast’s cock throbbing hotly against his stomach.

He isn’t here to feed on his flesh. He’s here for something entirely different. He’s chased him here to breed.

this was supposed to be so much longer and i had like another 1.5k words of smut but couldnt figure out how to end it, so lmk if you want the rest and i might get back to it.... toodles

#tw blood #murder ghouls #mountain x swiss #mountain ghoul #swiss ghoul #p1nk ficlet

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dinoberrypress · 22 days

Text

Rottlings are a mischievous type of Found Soul. Sometimes, impatient souls will bind themselves to raw root veggies before they're prepared as magically preserved vessels. They’re known to bite, kick shins, and tip over plant pots.

In time a rottling’s body will rot away, but until then, they tend to play pranks and get into all sorts of trouble. Sometimes they pretend to be mandrakes by screaming when they’re unearthed to scare unsuspecting gardeners.

There’s a rumor that one of the local goblins is actually of a stack of rottlings in a trench coat. Will you help investigate?

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

Text

Jungkook: By Chance

In which Jungkook, simply by chance, meets the soulmate he didn't even believe existed.

Tags/Warnings: Soulmate AU, Idol!Jungkook, angst, fluff

Length: short

Additional Content: Short 1

■▪︎━━━━━━━━━••◇••━━━━━━━━━▪︎■

'Jeon Jungkook, the Idol without a Soulmate...'

'Fans suspect to have found Jungkooks soulmate, company responds...'

'The truth about BTS' Jungkooks soulmate-curse...'

Every article seems to be the same these days.

It's true that a lot of people call his soulmate bond a curse, and he himself sometimes believes it is as well. Because he's not only unable to see color until he looks into his soulmate's eyes, he also has a mark on his wrist, suspected by specialists to be a bond. A red line reaching out for his future partner and lover. It's essentially like a thin blood vessel that sits so high under the skin it appears bright red, and it develops in teens at around 15 years old.

The only issue?

His line looks more like scribbles. It's scrambled, chaotic, broken, doesn't reach anywhere. Research and multiple doctor's visits had only given him the most dire answer there could be.

A broken bond.

His soulmate had passed away before he'd ever gotten to meet them.

For a long time, It hurt. Knowing the only one who could love you fully wasn't alive.

He tried to maybe move on, but falling in love with a person that's not your soulmate is nowadays almost impossible. It's just not the same, and it's always stressful and bound to end in bad blood. It's been seen numerous times before, from celebrities and 'normal' people as well.

Jungkook has simply accepted it.

There's no use in crying over what he can't change, so he rather throws himself into his work and deals with it by distraction rather than daydreaming. He'd done that enough as a kid.

Fans always dream of being his soulmate, and he can understand that. He himself yearns for a partner just as much, so if his existence can give them a bit of a soothing feel, then he's happy to provide it. They won't ever have to deal with watching him find someone that's not them, after all. So he just calls himself everyone's soulmate.

It's him until they find their own.

It's dark tonight, windy, snow still on the streets, making everything a bit slippery, dangerous. He wonders how many people must've fallen at this point. He hopes no one had been seriously injured yet.

Just as he thinks that, something is heard in front of him, and he can only helplessly watch as a short girl slips and crashes onto the concrete, bag of groceries spilling out. "Oh God, are you alright?" He asks eagerly, forgetting for a moment that he shouldn't be seen out as an Idol, rather occupied with trying to attend to you, who's still shaking on the ground, holding your knee. Your black and slightly sheer tights had clearly ripped, stripes of broken fabric already decorating up to your thigh and down your shin. "Hey, let's get all that back into the bag yeah? Did you hurt yourself?" He wonders, because you're clearly crying.

Or are you? Because that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

"Oh my God!" You clearly laugh out now, head thrown back, cat-shaped earrings dangling freely as you cringe with closed eyes for a second. "What a waste of eggs." You giggle, looking at the few broken eggs already spilled out.

"A few are still okay. Is your knee alright? Anything broken?" He asks, a but relieved that you're not in too much pain it seems.

"Yeah yeah, just scratched. AND I can throw those out." You huff, pulling on the broken fabric now before letting it snap back against your skin. Your hands are bloody, just a bit, but it doesn't seem to bother you. "Thanks. God how embarrassing, I hope it's caught on CCTV at least so someone's got a good laugh out of that." You grin, slowly getting up to brush your clothes off of any dust and dirt.

He smiles to himself, putting all your things back into the paper bag- but it's ripped. There's no way you can carry all that on your own. "Uhm.." he says, showing the broken brown paper to you, and you whine bitterly.

"Oh come on!" You complain, crouching down next to him. "Maybe.. ugh I don't know. God I was looking forward to eating that shitty lasagna." You mumble bitterly, probably contemplating what to leave behind.

"I could help you carry some stuff?" He asks, and you look at him for a second.

"Really?" You grin, and he looks oddly frozen now. "You- huh?" Now you notice it too. Then your gaze falls down to the ground. To the orange light from the streetlamp. The green of the bell pepper, and the red packaging of the lasagna.

That's color.

"Holy shit." You gasp out, before you hear Jungkooks quiet voice.

"Thats.. not possible." He almost whispers. "My soulmate is dead." He murmurs more or less to himself.

"I-what? No, I'm clearly alive! Okay a bit scratched up but hey, damaged goods are still okay?" You joke, but he seems genuinely confused. He shows you his wrist, his oddly shaped bonding line, and you compare it to yours.

It's tiny. Barely there. Just a single, short line.

"Oh, I think I get it now." You say.

"Huh?" He wonders, looking at you. His heart is beating out of his chest.

"I had an accident when I was younger, around 11 or 12. They had to resuscitate me four times. I was basically dead for like, I don't know, really." You explain. "Maybe that fucked up your bond? I'm really clumsy, sorry." You laugh, and suddenly, he laughs too. Because One look at you, and he knows.

Not just because of the colors-

But because he would've fallen in love with your smile anyway.

♥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine

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louveshin · 9 months

Text

scared of love | shin hati x fem!reader

summary. after rescuing you from pirates, shin gives in to her desires when she’s finally alone with you back on her ship.

content warnings. minors dni. shin hati x reader, yandere!shin, dom!shin, afab!reader, bottom!reader, smut; dubcon (?), choking kink, marking, fingering (r receiving), a little blood (not really), overstimulation

word count. 2.9k

notes. mostly a part two of “your savior” but this can also be read as oneshot. i had two similar requests asking for dom!yandere!shin and decided to combine them into one hehe, i hope u like it

The darkness settled around you as you walked through the dense forest on the way back to Shin’s ship. Your steps felt heavy, and the silence weighed on you like a suffocating blanket. The only sound was the crunch of leaves underfoot, and it seemed as if the forest itself was holding its own breath. It was quiet, yet there was an underlying tension in the air. Shin trailed closely behind you, her presence a constant and protective shadow. It was clear that she was determined to keep you within her sights, her watchful eyes scanning the surroundings with a vigilance that ultimately sent a shiver down your spine. And though you were grateful for Shin's rescue, the closeness in the dark forest made you nervous. You had to admit that she was undoubtedly scary tonight, and you weren’t exactly sure if the pirates were much less dangerous than she was. The silence between the two of you felt heavy, and the sense of being followed closely by her unwavering gaze was both comforting and unsettling.

Curiously, you eventually turned around to check on Shin, and the sight that met your eyes made your heart skip a beat. There, in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees, you saw Shin with traces of dried blood staining her clothes and her skin. The fear that had gripped you began to ebb away, if only slightly. Shin still bore the traces of the battle; her expression remained solemn, and the intensity in her eyes hadn't faded. But she saved you. She protected you. And you were grateful.

Relief finally washed over you as the familiar silhouette of the vessel came into view. But your sense of security was short-lived as you approached and noticed the telltale signs of the fierce battle that had unfolded earlier. Scratches and scorch marks were littered along the ship's hull, clear evidence of the desperate struggle that had taken place when the pirates had captured you. And although you put up quite a fight, in the end, there were too many of them and only one of you.

"I’m sorry about your ship," you said, slowing down as you came closer to it.

Shin didn’t even stop to say a word. Instead, she lowered the ramp with a push of a button and walked right past you. With a heavy sigh, you accepted her silence as you followed her into the ship. The atmosphere inside was as cold and silent like the forest you had just left behind, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in Shin’s head. You couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Shin was upset with you for getting captured by the pirates in the first place. It was a thought that gnawed at you, filling you with guilt and regret.

You watched as Shin took control of the ship's controls without uttering a single word. Her skilled hands moved with grace and precision, manipulating the ship's systems with ease. It responded to her commands, its engines humming to life as it lifted off the ground and gracefully ascended into the dark expanse of space. The silence between the two of you was palpable as the ship hovered in the void, the stars outside casting a soft glow over Shin's determined expression.

"What about your mission?" You asked, halfheartedly expecting to be met with another period of silence.

"I have what I came for."

Her tone was cold and firm, just as it usually was. With a small nod, you retreated to your small room on the ship. It was a modest space, just large enough for the essentials—a bed, a place to put your weapons and your clothes, the walls adorned with faded star charts and a few personal mementos. You sat on your bunk, lost in thought, replaying the events of the night over and over in your mind. The silence around you was stifling, broken only by the soft hum of the ship's systems.

But, your thoughts didn’t linger for long as a shiver ran down your spine and an eerie feeling washed over you. Without warning, you turned around quickly, and to your surprise, you found Shin standing silently in your doorway.

"For kriff’s sake, Shin," you breathed, meeting her eyes with both a sense of worry and shock.

Shin remained wordless, her gaze fixed on you with a look that held a multitude of unspoken emotions. It was as though she had something to say but chose to express it in silence, intensifying the tension in the room. Like she couldn't tear her eyes away from the person who had been absent for what felt like an eternity.

"I think we should get you cleaned up," you say softly, taking a careful step towards the light-haired woman.

You reached out carefully, your fingers lightly touching Shin's gloved hand, and offered a reassuring smile. To your relief, Shin didn't resist. Instead, she allowed you to guide her towards her room, which was slightly more spacious than your own. You gently guided Shin to sit on her bed, and she complied, her earlier intensity giving way to trust in your actions. She watched silently as you moved purposefully around the room, and before long, you returned with a wet rag and a small bowl of water. You stood before Shin, your eyes meeting hers with a reassuring look, as if to say that everything would be okay.

With utmost care, you began to gently clean the dried blood from Shin's face, dragging the wet rag against her skin softly. Shin sat patiently, her eyes never leaving yours. And you had to admit, you were nervous being this close to her, especially after what she had done. It was for you; you had to remind yourself. She did it for you. And you had to thank her somehow, at least.

After finishing cleaning her face, you set the rag down and began to move your hands to the hems of her bloodied robes. But with a strong grip closing tightly around your wrists, Shin stopped your movements, gazing at you with those intense eyes once again. She stood from the bed suddenly, her tall figure towering over you.

"S-Sorry," you started, squirming a little bit under her touch. "I know you can do it yourself; I-I just wanted to help—"

"Are you afraid?"

You blinked up at her sudden question, "N-No."

"You’re lying," she said, using your wrists to pull you closer. "I had to kill them... Anyone who hurts you. Anyone that touches you. They have to die. You have to understand that. I’ll kill anyone who lays a finger on you—even anyone that dares to look at you."

Her words sliced through the air like a blade. Her eyes, wide and crazed, bore into yours with an unsettling fervor, and a small, but twisted smile curled upon her lips. The weight of every word hung heavily in the room, and you trembled in fear, not just from the pirates but from the intensity of Shin's unwavering protectiveness. It was a declaration that revealed the depths of Shin's devotion for you, but it also left you uneasy about the darkness that lay within your savior.

"You’re mine," Shin continued, pulling you even closer until the front of your body pressed against her bloodied robes. "Do you understand? I’ll protect you forever... So, don’t be afraid."

Before you could respond, Shin leaned down, closing the distance between the two of you, and planted a rough, lingering kiss on your lips. Oh, she always wondered what those lips would taste like... But, as your lips met, you hesitated, confused by the uncertainty that filled your stomach. With a slight push, you gently but firmly distanced yourself from Shin, pushing lightly at her chest and breaking the kiss.

"Shin, we can’t," Your voice trembled as you spoke, avoiding her eyes in the process, "We shouldn’t…"

Instead, Shin ignored your words as her hand crept up to your jaw and pulled your face back towards her. The next kiss she pulls you into is suffocating and rougher than the last. Shin is far too impatient; far too greedy. With the thoughts of you submitting to her, forcing you to beg for her, making you moan and scream for her—it dirtied her brain in the most pleasurable way. She groaned against your mouth, her other hand traveling downward to palm your ass. There was no way she could’ve restrained herself if she knew that everything that came before would lead up to this very moment.

Her tongue delves into your mouth when you moan and squeezes the flesh of your hips, lapping up every bit of your taste. Shin greedily swallows your whimpers, muffled against her lips. But when your arms reach up to wrap around her neck, Shin nearly loses her composure and turns to grab you by the waist, lifting you up and throwing you onto her bed. You’d be lying if you said that her manhandling you wasn’t one of the most attractive things you’ve ever experienced.

The blonde’s mouth waters at the sight of you, laying there looking up at her with innocent and anxious eyes. You had her wrapped around your finger, and you didn’t even realize it. Shin brought her hand to her mouth as she stared at you, biting the fingertip of her glove and pulling it off, her eyes never leaving you. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as she tossed her heavy armor and her lightsaber down onto the floor like they were the last things she cared about. Her hands reach the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your hand before going lower to work on unbuckling your pants and pulling them down your legs. Then she hovers over you, placing a hand by your head to support her weight and the way you look up at her, with nothing but your underwear on, god, it makes her absolutely exasperated with desire.

Shin immediately drops her head down to lick, suck, and litter kisses along the skin of your neck, down to the valley of your breasts, marking your skin with bruises at every inch she can get her lips on. And when your hands started tugging on her bloodied robes, Shin grabbed your wrists and pinned hard them above your head with one hand.

"Stay still," she commanded you, her face hovering just centimeters over you with her eyes boring in to yours, as if they were saying that there would be consequences if you were to disobey her—and angering her was the last thing you wanted tonight.

In a swift motion, the blonde rips your bra right off of you, causing you to gasp at the sudden action. For a moment, Shin almost forgot how to breathe as she stared down at your breasts—oh, how soft and plush they looked, like they would fit perfectly in the palm of her hands. And they do. Your whimpers fall on her ears while she massages your breasts slowly and carefully, relishing in the feeling of how perfect they were. With an occasional pinch to your nipples, Shin can’t help but smirk when you tense up and your quiet moans go an octave higher. Unable to control herself any longer, her mouth finds it way to wrap around your nipples and sucks hard. Each second, your moans got louder and louder, and Shin decided she’d make you scream tonight. and by the stars, you looked so, so beautiful.

Shin eventually releases your nipples with a pop, traveling and littering kisses up your neck once again, right on top of all of the bruises she left for you. When she reaches your mouth, she wastes no time pressing a rough kiss against them, pushing her tongue past your lips with no warning. She swallows your moans once again before pulling away slowly, a string of saliva connecting together from your lips.

"Open your mouth," she says again in that commanding tone.

You don’t hesitate to follow her order, eagerly parting your lips immediately, only for her to slip two of her fingers in, pressing them against your wet tongue. A sigh falls from Shin’s mouth as you slurp and wrap your tongue around her digits. She pushed her fingers deeper into your mouth, losing her mind over the way you gagged around her fingers.

Shin smirks at the sight, "Good girl."

After a moment, she pulls her fingers out of your mouth, carefully inspecting how wet you had made them. She kisses you again, distracting you from the way her hand treads lower down your body until her fingers reach the hem of your panties. With her face pressed against your neck, breathing in your scent, Shin slips her hand underneath the fabric as the pads of her fingers prod at the flesh of your sex. A gasp escapes from your lips the moment she presses your clit on accident, dragging her digits through slick folds until she’s forcefully shoving them inside of you. Shin jaw drops at the feeling of your warmth wrapped around her long fingers as you throw your head back and moan, your neck straining against her face. The words Shin was planning to voice out die at her mouth before they could leave, getting lost in the feeling of your spongy walls.

The ship is filled with lewd sounds that fell from your mouth and the wet, squelching noises, and only the vast expanse of the stars outside of the window seemed to bear witness to all of this. And it drives her absolutely insane to know that she’s the only one who could hear this right now, floating in space inside her ship with just the two of you inside.

Shin’s eyes flashed with intensity as your moans got louder and louder each time she fucked her fingers into you. She had never been one to be gentle—it showed in her training and her daily routines. And despite her natural inclination towards aggression, Shin had made a conscious effort to temper herself around you. But, god, there was no way she could hold herself back anymore after this.

Pulling her head back, Shin watches you moan and writhe underneath her, throwing your head back each time she hits that sweet spot—a spot that she found in a matter of seconds, like it was second nature to her. It felt so fucking good; almost too good. And so she presses, and presses, and presses until you clench around her fingers and come right onto her hand. Your juices trail down her wrist, and it only takes a second to admire the way you shake and tremble after she’s given you one of the best orgasms of your life. But Shin goes right back into fucking you once more, all while her thumb circles over your clit, at a faster and harder pace than before, barely giving you any time to catch your breath. You scream and squirm underneath her, whining pathetically about how it’s too much for you to handle, but she only smirks and makes no effort to slow her movements, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you. She was going to fucking ruin you.

“S-Shin, please,” you tried calling out to ask for a chance to catch your breath. Even when you try to push her hand away, Shin holds you down, and you’re stuck with feeling the overwhelming pleasure build up again and again. “T-Too much—”

"I told you to stay still," Shin says, completely in awe as she watches the overstimulation rack through your entire body.

Without even thinking, Shin wraps her hand around your neck and squeezes, your broken moans turning her on even more than before. She loses herself at the sight of your mouth agape as you gasp for breath. The way you moan her name nearly drives her to the edge. Your mind was numb from the pleasure, and your grip on her wrist loosens as you throw your head back in euphoria. She pumps and pumps and pumps her fingers into you over and over again, until she brings you to your high once more. Then she makes you come a third time, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth—you couldn’t even count anymore—up until you gush all over her hand for what seemed like the third time tonight.

And she’s all you can think about. Shin, Shin, Shin. She presses her mouth against yours once again, moaning against her lips as you try your best to calm down. Your body shakes against her own, quivering as Shin uses her other hand to palm your thighs soothingly. Your essence leaks all over her bed, her hands, and her pants and Shin thinks it’s perfect. She thinks you’re perfect—the prettiest thing she has ever laid her eyes on. Your body goes limp as soon as you come back down from your high, still trembling slightly as Shin slowly pulls her fingers out of you. For a while, she just stares at the way your wetness coats her fingers. You watch her lick a long stripe over her fingers, and the way she rolls her eyes back at the taste of you.

Before you could even form a singular thought, your eyelids fell closed, and it was almost like your brain melted away. Shin seemingly fucked every brain cell out of you, and you could barely even think anymore. She smiles when you pass out right in front of her. A part of her wishes that she went a little gentler on you; maybe then she’d get to fuck you for a little while longer. But she was too impatient. You laid in front of her on her bed like a gourmet meal served on a silver platter.

It was perfect. Shin was obsessed with you. She needed you more strongly than the word love could imply. And she was going to slaughter anyone who dared to take you away from her.

— navigation!

#★ — louveshin writes #thinking about shin with a choking kink makes me go feral #shin hati x reader #shin hati x fem!reader #shin hati #star wars #ahsoka #ahsoka series #star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction #ivanna sakhno #sw x reader

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daily-new-vessel · 2 months

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....Meanwhile...

"(More) Follower Awaits Indoctrination"

#cotl lamb #cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl au #Shin Vessel #Bumpy #hollow knight #hollow knight oc #new vessel #vessel #little ghost #the new guest

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equinox-86 · 6 months

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Noctis Character Profile

"Greetings. Kaminashi's top Vampire Hunter squad at your service. Please report any sightings to HQ immediately."

C a n y o u h o l d h e r h e a r t ?

Most of the info listed here is still a work in progress :P Some things might change. Note that Noctis is very cold in the beginning but gradually warms up to the vampires, which results in forming strong connections and friendships later on.

General

Kanji: アエクアリス・ノクティス

Romaji: Aekuarisu Nokutisu

English: Aequalis Noctis

Also known as:

Pyromaniac, Jirai-Onna, Alcoholic, Chichinashi, (and many others, by Ayato) Bitch-Chan (by Laito) Livestock, Lilith (by Ruki) M-Neko-Chan (formerly by Kou) S-Neko-Chan (currently by Kou after witnessing Noctis kicking Ruki and Yuma in the balls during MB's Prologue) Drunkard, Punk, Mesubuta (by Yuma) Lilith (by Azusa and Karlheinz) Woman, Vessel, Bloodbag (by Carla) Chew toy (Shin)

Her Nicknames for the DiaBoys:

Ayato: Ayarou (Ayato + Yarou) Laito: Netorare/Cuck Reiji: Megane/Four-eyes, Mom (jokingly), Old man Shuu: Old man Ruki: Ojou-Chan (jokingly) Kou: Gigolo Yuma: Gorilla (due to his strong physique), Meathead Carla: Old man (jokingly after getting along) Shin: Cyclops, Eyepatch-bastard, Ankle Biter, lap dog Most of these nicknames aren't in use anymore or used jokingly after More Blood and Dark Fate.

Personal Information

Age: 18 (Physically)

Status: Alive

Race: Demon/ "Lilith" ( She is from a demonic species higher ranking than a Founder.)

Gender: Female

Height: 5'3

Hair Color: Black (natural) and Fuchsia (dyed)

Eye Color: Blood Red

Occupation: High ranked Vampire Hunter, 3rd year Student at Ryoutei Academy

Relatives: Unknown

Hobbies: making cocktails

Favorite Food: Alcoholic Beverages

CV: Yoko Hikasa

A mysterious figure with an unusual name. Affiliated with the church lead by Seiji Komori, Noctis was sent to the Sakamaki Mansion under false pretenses as a "Sacrificial Bride" in order to ruin Cordelia's plan and gain the Sakamaki brothers as allies for the sake of the assassination of Karlheinz, as well as to stop future women to be sacrificed to vampires. Unable to bear the thought of dooming his adopted daughter Yui Komori, Seiji forged a plan to train and send a powerful demon whose memories he took, to doom the Vampires. If Noctis were to die as a result of the plan, he would feel no guilt, as she is not human. She believes she is human, as she spent her time living among them.

Personality

Noctis is a very calm and patient person, who could snap fast if someone acts unreasonable. She's very defiant to the vampires and doesn't tolerate their abusive behavior towards her, often engaging in physical fights with some of them. The mistreatment results in her getting dependent on alcohol and she is sometimes seen drunk during school hours in HDB. Despite appearing like an honor student at first glance, Noctis tends to engage in delinquent behavior. Despite of this, she is a responsible person that manages to complete her tasks decently, such as supervising Ayato and Laito to make sure they do not to cause trouble at school under Reiji's order. Noctis likes to throw sassy remarks at the vampires. She often gets in unnecessary trouble for running her mouth. She takes joy in teasing Ayato and Shin, who are quick to lose their temper, which she finds humorous. Noctis' has a resting face which makes her seem cold and serious, but it is easy to get a reaction out of her. She keeps her thoughts and feelings to herself and rarely shows compassion towards the vampires as to keep herself safe and not give them an opportunity to use her weak points against her. Rather than showing pity, she gives them advice from a rational perspective. She's very analytic and observant. Laito managed to break her cold barrier by constantly toying with her emotions for his own amusement, mainly enjoying the new expressions she makes by provoking her and putting her in situations that would cause her to show fear. His little games of psychological manipulation slowly resulted in Noctis showing more emotion and eventually warming up to the Vampires in More Blood.

Appearance

In most outfits, Noctis is seen wearing a heart choker on her neck and on her thigh to make biting more bothersome to the vampires. It serves as an extra protection measure.

She is always carrying a lighter with her.

Relationships

WIP

Trivia

With her drinking habits, Noctis developed spitting fire using alcohol and a lighter as a special skill.

Noctis hates cranberry juice as a result of drinking it too much to restore her iron levels.

When Reiji nags her too much, she jokingly starts calling him "Ossan" (おっさん) meaning "old man." Here, she refers to him or any other vampire as a grandpa due to how old they are.

Opposite to Yui, Noctis is a demon with a "human heart." Due to her memory loss, she was treated like a human by the church and learned their morals and values.

Noctis has a reflex that causes her to punch what causes her fear. For example, If someone were to jumpscare her, they would get punched by accident.

As a result of sharing a roof with 6 men, Noctis started to adapt manly speech mannerisms, such as using "ore" instead of "atashi" when referring to herself.

#🖤noctis #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #dialovers #diabolik lovers oc #otome #otome game #dialovers oc #🍵tea party

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operation-ultra · 5 months

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Zoffy...

"Greetings "Ultraman" as they call you on this world"

"What...what's happening?"

"I've come to retrieve you, I've dealt with the...Zarab problem for you"

"Cap? What's going on man"

"You do not have to refer to me as "Cap" or "Captain" any more. I've taken the identity of this human just as you have but it seems my time in this form is done, just as it is for you"

"you're not making any sense"

"...You don't seem to understand, we don't have to play this role much longer-"

"Where are we!?"

"...I see. This is no persona, is it? You both share this body. Have you really become so fond of humans, Ultraman? To merge with one?"

"..who are you?"

"Hayata you are not part of this conversation, I am speaking to the one who lays dormant within you"

"Like hell! what did you do with Captain Muramatsu"

"...There never was a "Captain Muramatsu" Hayata, or at least the one you knew. I had to possess this vessel through force"

"Zoffy, why have you come to this world"

"Ultraman! You arrive, though I must admit talking to each other in these lowly forms is less then ideal"

"I ask again, why have you come to this world"

"I have come to commend you on your efforts at combating the monstrosities of this world, and to relieve you of them as your work is desired elsewhere"

"...."

"The Garrison has gone through with the plan already Ultraman, it's forming"

"I do not wish to participate"

".....excuse me"

"I do not wish to participate in this"

"That is not your decision, besides it is the honor of all Citizens of Light to become one in Zetton"

"The Zetton is a danger to existence"

"...I see, Ultraman I absolve you of your connection to Land of Light and it's people, may your end be as swift by the hand of Zetton as everyone else"

File #8 Reappearance of Red Light Phenomenon.

This morning at 2AM, the red light that was seen during the Greenmons attack (See file #6 for reference) was seen floating miles above the Pacific Ocean

VTOL's were launched to intercept the light but to no avail. After a lengthy period of time the light dissipated and in it's place was Officer Shin Hayata, who subsequently fell into the ocean. We were able to retrieve his body and miraculously he was unscathed as well as breathing (Ide was more focused on his living coworker rather than being told his pay would be cut)

#Teehee #ultraman #character redesign #charaterillustration #godzilla #redesign #fanart #kaiju #tsuburaya productions #ultraseven #character design

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santoschristos · 27 days

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The Tree of Life - Binah - Kabbalah and the Sephirot

Binah is the womb from which all souls are born, Chokmah the energy that the soul is made of, and Kether the idea of the soul within the Monad itself. In fact at the level of the Supernal Triad, Kether is the self-realization of the Supreme Being that emanates from En Sof, Chokmah is its Living Spirit and Creational Force, and Binah is its Supernal Soul Body through which the Spirit may interact with the lower realms of creation. The soul has always been associated with a feminine energy by Kabbalists as well as many other traditions. Similarly Binah is the Supreme Feminine Archetype, while the Spirit, Chokmah, is the Supreme Masculine Archetype and Kether, the Supreme Union Archetype. Chokmah and Binah are El and Eloha, the creator God and Goddess of this system, together in Divine Union and balance they are Elohim. Kether, however, is neither masculine nor feminine, it just is. The god name associated with Kether is EHEI (Eheyeh), which means “I Am” or “To Be”.

The supernals are the “3 mothers” associated with the Hebrew Letters Shin (spirit/fire), Aleph (air), and Mem (water), which are also the 3 mother rays of Amon Ra: numbers, letters, and sounds that are used to write the name of God, from which all creation comes. The third ray, Binah (Mem), being the one from which all other rays and creational energies are birthed or emanated out from. We see this in the Kabbalah by the path that the lightning bolt or ‘flaming sword’ takes as it carries the creational energies down from source to Malkuth. Binah is the last of the supernals that it enters before coming into the lower realms. Thus, Binah is the closest of the supernals to the world of form, hence it is the original archetypal form, whereas Chokmah is the original archetypal force. These roles of form and force can also be explained through the beginning stages of creation.

Before the beginning of creation there was only En Sof. En Sof was everything, yet no-thing, everywhere and nowhere, all potential but nothing manifest… At this stage En Sof does not even know it exists and has no concept of creation. And then a contraction occurs. En Sof contracted within its own being and from this withdrew from an infinitesimal point. This point became the center and it was a void. But even in its state of void, it still contained the memory of the essence of En Sof that previously was there. This center point of all existence is called the Shekinah by some Kabbalists – the feminine aspect of En Sof. In the very instant that En Sof contracted and this void was formed, so too did the infinite capacity of En Sof move to fill the void, for there can be no place that is not one with En Sof. As the energy of En Sof moved into this infinitesimal point it became a concentrated and intensified spark of light. This spark of light is Kether (the Center Point of the Universe). In the same instant, the intensity filling this point became so great that there was an outward explosion of light and energy moving in all directions. This dynamic expansion is Chokmah (the Big Bang and the photons/energy of light). But the influence of the feminine aspect to define the space and allow for creation was still present as a reflection of the Shekinah, and this influence served as a vessel for the energy to pour into and then subsequently be channeled through towards manifestation. This vessel or womb that channels and directs the light is Binah (Primordial Matter, which leads to Gravity, which is an attractive force that draws things into form). Einstein’s famous equation E=mc2 can be related to the supernal triad, where E is Energy, whose essence is derived from Kether; c is the speed at which light travels outward from its source, which is Chokmah; and m is the mass of matter, which can be likened to Binah. The union of matter and the speed of light (mc2), Binah and Chokmah, releases an extraordinary amount of energy (sourced from Kether) that can be used for creation below the Abyss.

Thus the light flows on across the Abyss, through Daath, and on to Chesed then down the rest of the Tree until it finally reaches Malkuth. But it is Chokmah that generates the life force energy that enlivens the process of creation, while Binah is the womb that holds the egg that, once impregnated by Chokmah’s life-giving seed, becomes the vessel that gives birth to the other 7 sephiroth.

Geometrically, these initial stages of creation are represented by nothing (En Sof), the empty/black point (Shekinah), the full/white point (Kether), the line (Chokmah), and the triangle (Binah). Thus Binah is also the foundation of the entire Supernal Triad, whereas Kether is its root/source, and Chokmah its life force, and En Sof is the unseen/unknowable essence that flows through all of it. The triangle is the first form created and thus it is the primary key to the powers of heaven (the square and circle being the other two keys).

The supernals are in a realm that is beyond the human mind, thus any discussion of them can only be limited to metaphors and symbolic language. And because they are all just three aspects of a unity, it is difficult to say anything about any one of them alone. To say anything at all is to define, separate, and limit, thus not a true representation of the supernals. And yet, often in books these are the three parts of the Tree that are given the most attention – perhaps because they are the furthest from what we are acquainted with and hence the most mysterious and alluring. But truly, the only way to come to know and understand the supernal realm is through direct experience, which is the purpose of the ascension up the Tree of Life, which culminates in the crossing of the Abyss. This ascension brings one the vision of seeing God “face-to-face” – the inner and outer God. This experience may only be a momentary glimpse, but even that is enough to change your life, and it will give you the experience through which wisdom and divine light may illuminate your entire being.

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ch0wen · 7 months

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༝ ˚ ༝ My Lady is the Sea ｡ ˚ ༝ - Prince Eric x Fem!Reader | NSFW

𖠳 ᐝ warnings: brief smut, 18+ (minors dni), unprotected sex & cursing

Sea salt tickles your nostrils as you step out onto the wooden dock. Nose twitching like a bunny to rid the salty air from your sensitive nerves. You glide forward only a few feet, and your left shin knocks into a wooden pole. A barricade lined the perimeter of the landing. Fencing that stops you from falling into the unknown below. An oil lantern illuminates a portion of the dock and the gradually darkening surface of the deep. The expansive waters lurk just beyond the fading arc of light. Your body gently sways with the sounds of the waves stirring.

Instinctively, you flex your hold on a roped handle. A heavy, disgusting mixture of beer and spit sloshes in the bucket that you have been entrusted to dump out. Polluting the ocean, you think. An unfortunately common attribute of living in a coastal town. It's second nature to dump and forget. Water appears to be along every horizon you look to. It surrounds you, yet it's ever-moving. Continuous. Traveling away.

How you wish you could be out there now. Just like your father had moons ago. Oh, the precious things he gifted you with when he returned to the marina! The carefully selected treasures. He always seemed to know which new object would earn an excited squeal from you because of its sparkles or funky shape. Whispers at bedtime of now fictitious-sounding tales on how he acquired them. To you, his trips were like storybooks. Too embarrassing to admit, you used to go to sleep late into your teens with visions of exploration dancing in your head. Dreaming of the uncharted waters and cloudy faces of the friends you'd make. He'd promise to you, that you would soon be old enough to explore the world with him.

But you couldn't truly treasure the last retelling of his adventures because no one foresaw he would leave it on a cliffhanger. He never came back. Your mother forbade you from speaking of his expeditions as time passed. "Don't go towards the beyond." "This is your home." "You're safe here." she chided. Here, on land. The hope soon ended with the stories. You grew accustomed to the familiar. You were raised here. It's all you have known. Is it worth it to leave at this point?

However, there are instances when you fall back into childlike wonder. In the quiet lulls, similar to the brink of falling asleep, you can't help but contemplate what else the waters hold past their horizons.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

A faint, muffled tune begins inside and wafts out into the silence. The merry-sounding song envelops you. You blink out of the reverie to adjust your vision in the darkness.

You can hear the pub's piano, in desperate need of a tuning, as you push open the door. A gaggle of men are singing a sea shanty in the dining space. They look disheveled but have dancing smiles. You can't help grinning as you watch these men celebrate life.

“Just docked," Gwen, your co-worker, calls from over her shoulder. She fills up two cups and then slides them over the bar top towards one of the waiting men. He slaps a few coins down and moves back to the crowd, like rejoining a school of fish.

Gwen wipes up the liquid he left, “I heard one of them holler that they came in from the Carribean.”

“I feel like that's only the third ship from around there this season."

"How do you manage to even keep track? There have to have been hundreds of vessels that have passed through here."

You blushingly shrug at her knowing smirk. Teasingly, her fingers reach out to flick at your slightly tarnished necklace. A chain made from Spanish silver with a locket bearing some type of ruby gem.

Leonardo was the one who had graced you with this last year. He was a buccaneer. He and his crew docked in town for a fortnight. He was charming and proud. In the tavern, he was always drunkenly boasting about the treasures he had found. The people he'd fought. The Lords he'd impressed. The people he'd fucked. He was so fun.

When your birthday happened around the time he was in town, he came stumbling into the bar with this necklace. He said it was nothing and that he had dozens of more valuable findings in a chest on board his ship. But he never showed you to prove that to be true. However, you did thank him ever so graciously that night.

He sailed out a day later. No harbor was his home. You're used to this life working as a bartender in a popular trading port. You see hundreds of thousands of faces. All of these handsome men ranged from sailors to buccaneers. They all share with you the amazing stories of their lives. They fascinated you. Inspired you. Seduced you. - You can't help but be attracted to the rugged, good-looking, and ambitious type.

A man unexpectedly calls out from the crowd towards the pair of you. His voice grabs your attention like a Siren's song. There were too many bodies to place where it was coming from in the mass of people, but you swear you briefly saw a hand in the air on the left side of the room.

“My lovely bar maidens, a round of your finest ale, please, yeah?"

“Right away, sir,” you nod curtly while pivoting obediently to fill the dregs.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

The rosy-cheeked, rowdy men cheer even louder as you approach with their fifth round of booze. Their attention has been won, not by the promise of refreshments, but by the beer sloshing over the rims and onto the pair of bouncing breasts carrying it all.

Low whistles scatter around the table at your cleavage while you lean over to set down the ale. Mucky hands grabbing for the foaming tankards. You catch a handsome man staring through the limbs. He gives you a dimpled smirk. His eyes betray him as they glimpse down to what you can assume is your chest. Well, he's no better than any man.

Your retreating form hears the same voice from before exclaim, “Here is to another voyage through uncharted waters! I am grateful for all your hard work, boys. And thanks to Grimsby for laying off the scolding because we're three days past schedule."

You're back at the bar. A crewmate, with a red kerchief pushing back his straw-yellow hair, heaves an overfilled mug in the air toward the handsome man,

"And a special thanks to our Captain, whose mother would keel over from learning the adventures her dear boy has taken us on. Prince Eric!"

"Prince Eric," they unanimously cheer!

Together, as they collide their drinks, fat drops of the golden liquid splash onto Prince Eric's tunic and wet his chest. The strings of his shirt are untied. Making the neck loosely hang open with his chest hair on full display. Your eyes are drawn to it. Tracing the outline of his defined pecs through the thin fabric. You're no better than a man. Worst yet, he notices you staring. His stare seems to darken, and he motions his mug towards you as a 'cheers' gesture before returning focus to his companions.

Clearing your throat and dirty mind, you turn back to tend to one of your regulars, a local fisherman slumped over on a stool at the end of the bar.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

Eric strides over as you scrub up the beer rings on the bar, left by the patrons who previously occupied the empty stools. He fluidly pulls one out to sit and drums his fingers along the wood. Blue eyes staring you down for a third time tonight,

"Can I get you anything?”

“I think I should take a breather. My crew is too enthusiastic to get me drunk.”

“Sounds like you're having a bad night." He threw back his head and let out a loud laugh. Admittedly, it was too big of a reaction to that poor joke attempt. You wring out your rag into a nearby bucket to hide your smile.

You wait for a beat before sparing him another glimpse. He’s staring at your chest again. You feel the exposed skin warm under his look. You’re tempted to peek down to see how much this corset is causing you to spill out.

“Did you get it locally?

“Sorry?”

"The necklace," he half-gestures towards you.

You clasp at the pendant, "Oh, this."

He nods with his eyes fixed on your chest a moment longer before moving up to your face. His cheeks are flushed and eyes hooded, assumedly, from the pints he and his crew have slung back. You're moving toward him, holding out the chain to let him get a closer look.

“I think it’s from the Spanish Islands. A pirate passing through last season gave it to me.”

His large hand reaches out to replace yours. “It’s beautiful. I have an eye for treasures like this.”

He's so close like this. You watch his eyes flick around the locket, his fingers tracing over the gems, and the way his dark curls fall as he tilts his head to examine.

“Silly me to think anything else. Here I thought you were just checking out my chest.”

“Well, you do have wonderful tits," he absentmindedly states. He leaves you gaping as he pulls back.

"Thank you for letting me have a look. I'd be rather fond of that if I were you. That's a special gift."

"Y-yeah, but given to me by a not-so-special guy," you shrug.

You sense an awkward pause, but he watches you with a soft, dimpled smile. You motion towards the window out to the harbor, “Which one is yours?”

“The biggest one. Naturally.”

You stifle your giggle and notice a boat at the end of the port. Beautiful and massive.

“Wow, you weren't kidding. What's it like up there?"

"On the boat? You work in a marina. Have you ever been on one?”

“Oddly, no.”

He didn't hide his shock.

“I'm sorry. Are you telling me that summer lover could give you a necklace but decided not to show you his deck?”

“Something like that," you lean onto the bar, "How unfortunate for me, right?"

His hand strikes the top of the bar as he rises from the stool, causing you to flinch.

“Well, that simply just won't do! Do you want to come see mine?"

The lamplight and mischievousness dance in his eyes, "I can give you the grand tour.”

“Will you let me spin the wheel?”

"Only the most skilled helmsmen are allowed to touch," he pouts, then that damned smile graces his lips again, "but I think I may be able to bend the rules for you."

“I’m going on break,” you call to Gwen before following the handsome voyager outside.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

"And, this would be the Captain's quarters."

"Oh, Captain Eric?"

He sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck, "I don't particularly like going by titles. Makes me feel like I'm trying to say I'm more important than others. I swear by my men. We venture out for fun, but I'd be stuck at port without them."

"That is a very noble thing to say, Prince Eric."

"Come off it," he laughs while moving over to a table against one of the walls. Eric picks up what appears to be a rock. He turns the object in his hands before showing you.

"Fossilized sea stone. Found it off the coast of my home island."

He places the textured stone in your open palms. The unexpected weight of it doubles you over, but Eric catches you. His hand lingers on your hip.

He proceeds to tell you about the rest of his findings laid out on the surface. You love the way his face lit up. Making himself exhilarated with his own stories. You listen intently and let yourself live vicariously through his retellings.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

Eric locks an ornate chest up as you watch. Sitting on the table now cleared of his glories. “So, are you considered a sailor, explorer, or just a guy with a boat and a lot of time on his hands?”

Eric laughs, "The last one, for sure. Once I turned nineteen, my mother allowed me to venture out and sail with the crew. I've always loved the idea of discovering something new on my voyages. Whether it be places, possessions, or people."

He's moving into your space, "I am happy to have met you, Y/N."

"And I, you, Prince Eric."

"No titles here." He leans in with a hint of a grin in his whisper, "I forbid it."

"Oh, that sounds like a command, and I shall obey, Your Majesty."

He chuffs as you see his eyes drop to your necklace again. His fingers dance along the silver chain before exploring further and grazing over the top of your chest. He makes sure to peek up at you for some sort of permission. Silently, you put your hand over his own to guide him to grab a handful of your breast. Eric takes the cue and squeezes while closing the gap between you with a kiss that immediately heats up. Hands knead your breasts over your camisole-corset top.

"And here I thought you've been admiring my necklace all night. I feel scandalized," you tease while he kisses your neck.

"No, no, it is beautiful! But, these," His calloused hands give a reassuring squeeze, "are really lovely."

Hands quickly work to pull down your blouse to expose your tits. Eric rolls a nipple between his forefinger and thumb. Gasping, you arch up into his touch. Legs instinctively spread wider to allow him in. You feel his dick twitch the moment he presses closer.

A moan growls in the back of his throat as he rolls his hips. Grinding his hard-on into your wetting core while you kiss. Your skin grows hot, his breaths come heavy, and the heat is building between your legs.

Eric put his mouth to your breast, sucking at your skin in obscene, open-mouthed kisses. Eliciting a low keening sound from you. He withdrew just enough to lave at your nipple, back and forth, over and over, until your pussy thrummed to the same beat.

"Is it very unprincely of me to tell you that I would very much like to fuck you right here, now, in my chambers?"

"You are but a man, my Prince."

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

Your body was thrown across the desk. You don’t know where to put your hands, so they grip and scrape at the wooden surface while Eric fucks into you.

He has a firm hold on your naked waist. Keeping your long skirt hiked up to your stomach so he could watch himself penetrate you. He has a brutally harsh pace going. The delicious feel of the drag and pull of his cock.

Eric braces himself on the desk. A toned arm flexes next to your head. His face is now closer to yours as he changes the angle of his hips. With the newfound support, you feel him speed up his thrusting. He groans into your chest. Playfully biting a nipple before kissing up to your neck. His movements were enough to bring you dangerously close to reaching your high in only a few minutes.

"Oh, Prince Eric," you whine.

"Fuck." His hips stutter. "What's my name?"

"Captain Eric. Eric. Eric. "

A wave of bliss hits you and you screw your eyes shut. It doesn’t take long before both of you reach your orgasms. You hold onto Eric's biceps with all your might, as you scream his name. No doubt loud enough for everyone in the tavern to hear.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

At dawn, you're re-dressed and carefully creeping over the creaky floorboards. Trying not to wake any of the still-drunk crewmates who had found their way back onto the ship.

Catching your eye, the silver locket, sat on the once-empty desk, glints in the daybreak. Eric's back rises and falls. The rest of his bare body is covered by the messy bedsheets. Blissfully oblivious of your exit.

You let that sleeping form be your final image of the handsome Prince and disembark the Royal ship.

#sorry that my comeback post is for a man in a completely different universe #the little mermaid #prince eric x reader #prince eric x fem!reader #jonah hauer king #prince eric #prince eric fic

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chaos-and-ink · 3 months

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A collection of things I thought were normal but am now realizing are symptoms and most people don't do these things...

Heart rate increasing 40-120 beats per minute more when standing up.

Vision changing colours when taking a warm/hot bath, seeing spots, ears ringing, being unable to breathe.

Touching the heel of my foot to the shoulder on the same side.

Sleeping with both legs behind my head as a kid

Being able to rotate both ankles 90 degrees inversely without touching them with my hands. (so the soles point inwards)

Being able to sleep while doing the 'butterfly stretch' because my hip joints are so lose.

Being able to partially pop my hips out. (like how you can pop your thumb out. That but for a hip)

Being able to pop my thumbs out.

Being able to touch my thumb to my forearm.

Having my heart rate drop from 200bpm to 40bpm within 3 minutes.

Having extremely soft teeth and a very small mouth. (I've had like 17 cavities and 8 crowns and the dentists always complain about how I can't open my mouth enough.)

LOTS OF GI PROBLEMS. Like diarrhea, vomiting, bloating, constipation, food intolerances, time restrictions for eating, etc.

Very weak nails. Like as a kid I would chew my toenails. And also I can literally peel my nails off. Like I don't clip my nails, I peel them with my other nails...

Severe problems with regulating my internal temperature and tolerating external temperatures.

Being able to click all of my joints repeatedly. Not cracking them. Clicking them. it sounds like an MRI machine and my high score is 171 consecutive clicks in my right hip within 10 minutes. And I gave up because of fatigue, not lack of clicking lmao.

Easy bruising. I wake up with bruises and don't know why they're there. My apple watch bruised my wrist somehow. If I press on my skin too hard it bruises.

Extreme joint pain and aches. Especially at night or when I have to sit or lay still. I feel like my joints need to be stretched or else they will fall apart.

Fatigue all the time. I fall asleep during events, at gatherings, in classes, during breaks, on the floor, at the kitchen table, etc. I'm always so exhausted and no matter how much I sleep I never feel any better.

LOTS OF STRETCH MARKS. But with no plausible reasoning behind them. In middle school I developed so many stretch mark scars I thought it was my gym shorts pattern imprinting on my thighs.

Being able to bend my elbow further so it has an angle instead of being straight.

Constantly rolling my ankles. like it's a daily occurrence. But it turns out that's because I can already choose to flex my ankle 90 degrees so if I step just slightly weird gravity doesn't even cause the problem it just helps encourage it and bam. But also, when I roll my ankles It doesn't really hurt other than the side of my foot because my ankles are just so lax lmaoooo.

Being able to twist both arms in front of me counter clockwise, palms facing out and fingers straight and facing down.

My limbs constantly feeling numb or tingly but for no reason. (no pressure on nerves/blood vessels that might explain the 'falling asleep')

Being able to bend my knee completely and rotate my hip so that my heel is facing upwards and touching my elbow but my foot and shin are still pointed to the side. My calf is completely flesh with the side of my thigh though.

there are probably so many things I forgot to mention but I'll reblog and add more if I think of them..

#hypermobility #heds #pots #pots syndrome #chronic illness #chronically ill #hypermobile spectrum disorder #hypermobile ehlers danlos #hypermobile eds #elhers danlos syndrome #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #chronically suffering

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spinallyspiraling · 6 months

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Shoel (The Pit)

When the practitioner undergoes a Kundalini awakening the result is the lightning flash of creation and an enforced descent into Shoel (the pit). The electromagnetism expels from the brain and the heart as a result of the opening of the pineal gland and the heart center. The base of the skull transforms and in turn the Kundalini current is freed from the body and allowed to ascend upwards as a result of the changes made to Golgotha. When in Shoel the heat of Shin brings forward Kundalini fire and burns within the central nervous system. When falling into Shoel the left hip realigns as an etheric or astral spiral comes down around the body and exits the root chakra. The body literally becomes depressurized as a result of the anti matter created by the superfluidity of the hearts electromagnetism. The pit is a hollow pressure-less state of being resembling that of a decarbonated soda with the can opened or the top removed. The pit tests the initiate with trials and tribulations that test his or her mind and body with this walk along the razor's edge. The pit forces the root chakra to collapse making the insides of the practitioner fall and prolapse outwards. Once in Shoel the magician is met with this fight between survival and surrender. The pit is a void that's oxygen-less and comes with an immense amount of cranial pressure as the vessel's internal pressure is dissolved. The Kundalini will either fly upwards out of the crown or downwards off the tailbone and into the earth. When the Kundalini current flies off of the tailbone it becomes known as Satan's Tail. The pit when fully depressurized releases a seven headed dragon or serpent out of the Sacrum and the Coccyx. The seven headed serpent begins it's ascent upwards and out of the pit. The Sacrum and the Coccyx are known as the holy bone or the resurrection bone which is where the seven headed serpent is activated. The pit is only accessible due to the temporal paradox that is created through the Kundalini. Kundalini kills the vessel as a means to allow the vessel to remain alive (temporal paradox). In the pit the practitioner will hear, see, smell, and connect to unfathomable consciousness and entities seemingly within and without of themselves that instruct the magician to rise out of the pit and begin the integration of the spirit back into the flesh. This brush with death in the near death experience brings about ego death and a renewal in the magicians ability to perceive. This resurrection of the mind and body as a result give the practitioner a newly found respect for their existence and a sense of condition-less love because of the way the light from ineffable spheres on the tree of life can now freely flow from above to below and this is the rebirth of the self and the reason why the expansion of consciousness happens. When in Shoel the magician is made to be fully aware of the opened chakras in their body and above it. When the magician ascends out of the pit he will experience a diminished ability to perceive his environmental stimuli and internal vortices of energy. Rising out of the pit causes the merging of spirit and matter. The traversal of the soul into the body is achieved by sexual energy and libido. When in Shoel the sexual organs are lacking a current of electricity therefore the process of obtaining arousal is nearly impossible. In order to leave Shoel one must know their selves enough to figure out a methodology to achieve arousal and to cause alchemical processes to be jumpstarted once again. The descent into Shoel is synonymous with the hanged man tarot card. The lightning flash of creation is synonymous with the tower tarot card. Without the tower the magician would never successfully experience the hanged man. The hanged man is the teetering between life and death granting insight and knowledge from the world. The experience of Shoel and the hanged man deposits the insight and knowledge inside the awareness of the magician.

~ spinallyspiraling