#even if he thought the crew would definitely succeed without him

[hephaestuscrew]

I posted recently about how, when Minkowski tries to send Eiffel back to Earth on the Sol in the finale, she doesn't directly express her more personal emotional reasons for this decision (see this post for more detail). But the contrast to that is how Eiffel only gives personal reasons when pleading against her decision.

As he's desperately telling Minkowski not to send him back, Eiffel doesn't say that he wants to help fight against Cutter's plan (although I'm sure it's on his mind). He doesn't try to convince her that he can make an important contribution to that fight. He doesn't attempt to argue the importance of having as many people as possible trying to stop Pryce and Cutter.

Instead, he protests "Not without you!" when she says that he's going home. He tells her "I'm not leaving you behind!" In contrast to Minkowski saying that she wants "one of us... someone" to make it back, Eiffel doesn't shy away from addressing Minkowski directly. He says "you". It's not that he doesn't want to leave the Hephaestus or the crew behind in a vague general way; he makes it clear that he doesn't want to specifically leave Minkowski behind. His attempts to persuade Minkowski not to send him back are largely focused on his bond with her and his unwillingness to return to Earth without her (and the rest of the Hephaestus crew). Those are the most compelling reasons to him.

The only other argument he gives in trying to persuade Minkowski not to send him back is "you can't - you have no right!" This is less about his bond with Minkowski, and more about his own individual agency and his objection to Minkowski making this decision for him. But it's still ultimately a personal reason. None of Eiffel's voiced objections are about the big picture at all (unlike the explanation Minkowski gives to Hera, Lovelace and Jacobi afterwards for why she sent Eiffel back).

In that scene, both of them are acting from a personal emotional place of care for each other as individuals. But in terms of what they actually say, Eiffel expresses this kind of motivation much more directly than Minkowski. He admits to the specificity of it in a way Minkowski doesn't know how to. Eiffel appeals to Minkowski's personal individual motivations, which she hasn't really admitted to. His final plea is to call Minkowski by her first name for the first time.

[randomciabatta724]

Some Polites headcanons because they're good for the soul.

Note: these are a mix of details from the musical I wanted to expand on, stuff I've read from other posts, and things I randomly came up with.

He was in the frontlines (or at least near them) during the Trojan war. Not because he wanted to fight, he just thought "if I have to join the battle, I'll at least shield those behind me". I took this from Survive, because he had to be pretty close to Polyphemus to be the first one hit by the club.

Self sacrificial. Very self sacrificial. Would die for the crew, especially for Odysseus and Eurylochus.

Loves dates. Either on their own or with honey. I don't know why, he just gives me the vibe.

Had night terrors both during and after the war. Either nightmares about the people he killed (let's face it, you don't come out of a 10 year war without getting blood on your hands) or his friends dying in battle. Never explicitly told anyone, but he would stay with his friends a little longer the morning after. Also picked a lot more night watch turns as a result, just to get his mind off of things.

Bruises/gets injured extremely easily, and doesn't notice/care. Especially if someone else is hurt too. "Are you alright?" asks Polites to another soldier while coughing up blood.

Also very durable, somehow. That's why Polyphemus had to hit him twice/j.

Myopic king. The glasses are a gift from Athena, because she was like "I think you're a soft-hearted fool, but I'll be damned if you embarrass my Warrior of the Mind because you can't see beyond the bridge of your nose".

The type of person to keep eating horrible/possibly poisoned food just to not offend the person who prepared it. Odysseus had to smack the lotus out of his hand because he would have still taken a bite to not make the lotus eaters upset (he brought some with him anyway, that's where Odysseus got the lotuses to put in the wine).

Many have already said this, he's the therapist friend before therapy was invented.

Gives the best hugs.

Taller than Odysseus but shorter than Eurylochus (Odysseus reaches Polites' chest, Polites reaches Eurylochus' nose).

Apologises when he bumps into furniture. It's a reflex, he doesn't notice he does it. It's a remnant of his pre-glasses days, when he couldn't distinguish a person from a vase.

The ancient Greek equivalent of a Godfather to Telemachus.

Extremely trusting, sometimes a little too much (fun fact: in the Odyssey he's like the first one to enter Circe's palace).

Very forgiving. He gives second, third, even fourth chances like it's nothing, no matter how badly someone hurts him. You have to be pretty forgiving to still think about greeting the world with open arms after being clubbed to death. (Note: this does not apply to his friends getting hurt).

When he takes off his bandana, his curls reach his shoulders and cover his left eye, and it gives him a whole different vibe. He still radiates warmth, but it's not the same. Kinda like the sun at noon and the sun at dusk. The second is still warm and welcoming, but dimmer, softer, maybe a little darker. People have mistaken him for someone else because of this.

Super heavy sleeper. One time when they were younger, Odysseus and Eurylochus decided to try and wake him up by making the most noise possible. They did not succeed.

His first kiss was Eurylochus while Odysseus was away in Sparta to court Penelope.

One time, someone tried to rob him. The guy was like "Give me your money!" and Polites was like "Oh dear, look at you, of course I'll give you my money, you look like you really need it. Also, why don't you come to my house so I can give you some food and clean clothes?". The thief was so ashamed of himself he ran away.

He befriended Charon in the Underworld.

You know the plague that Apollo sent during the Iliad? He may or may not have gotten it, I haven't decided yet.

Considering that in epic the sirens have the ability to shapeshift into loved ones, there was definitely a siren Polites somewhere during Suffering/Different Beast.

He's generally a very calm person, the only thing that really gets him angry is when his friends get hurt. And when he's angry, he's not someone to mess with. He can and will kick ass. And the thing that rubs salt in the wound is that if you get beat up by Polites, it's almost certainly your fault, because Polites isn't the kind of person that goes around randomly beating people up. And very few people wish to carry the title "The person who got beat up by Polites".

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

The last headcanon is something I've also based a scenario on. Basically, after Odysseus kills the suitors, they go to the Underworld. Most of them are still shaken up by the whole thing, which is understandable, getting shot by an enemy you can't see while unarmed in the dark is not fun, but not Antinous. Antinous is pissed. And so he rallies up the other suitors, he gives a whole speech where he basically says they can get revenge on Odysseus once he joins them there and also reveals all the shit they did while he was gone. And Polites is like, talking to Eurylochus or something, when he overhears. And so he goes to give Antinous the beating of his life because you do **not** disrespect his best friend and his family like that. And the suitors+Eurylochus are watching from a corner, with the suitors getting even more scared.

That's it. Nothing more :)

I know Eurylochus is married to Ctimene but I SHIP HIM AND POLITES SO BAD AAAAAAAAHHHHHH

[novarex]

Thoughts on Nere

Ugh, look at his pretty white eyelashes. I just want to smoosh his face.

I have a lot of thoughts regarding Nere and how he could have gotten where he is by the time we see him. @lysblack has started a really excellent conversation I would like to expand on. For science.

So may I present a somewhat lengthy analysis (rambling thoughts) of Nere, based on comments of other characters, what we know, and my reading of the Drizzt Do'Urdon books that go deeply into Menzoberranzan and life there.

Warning - this is long

Let's start with when we meet Nere.

Before we meet him, we meet the duergar, who have some things to say - Morgal is the one asking if you and the other duergar are "plowing", and from Corsair Greymon asking if "the Sargent has choked on True Soul Nere's prick". I do think that the duergar here are just generally vulgar and probably don't have much respect for anyone, but they are definitely getting to the end of their patience with Nere. They are mostly hired mercenaries with at least one believer in the Absolute among them (Sargent Thrinn). Something to note here is that duergar are a race of dwarves that were experimented on an changed by Mind Flayers and later escaped, that is why they have psionic powers, you can connect to them without them having a tadpole, and they have a special nose for True Souls because they can literally smell the parasite in you.

When you move down to the cave in area where Nere is trapped and Thrinn and her crew are trying to dig him out, you can talk to Nere through the rubble. He is literally suffocating to death on the poison that is filling the room, and obviously panicking - he thinks he is going to die in that room and I don't blame him. In his eyes (and any Lolthsworn drow), the people that are supposed to be rescuing him are just about the worst case scenario - they are inferior, disloyal, stupid, and unlikely to succeed. Like Minthara, I am sure he would MUCH rather have drow coming to rescue him than mercenary duergar and slave deep gnomes. On that note, he even is quick to tell you, another True Soul, not to trust the duergar mercenaries.

I also want to take a moment to say that no matter what we think of his behavior, Nere has to be under an absolute unbearably high amounts of pressure at this point - he is failing in his mission, he is stuck in the rubble that is quickly filling with gas, with wildly unreliable help. Like this is peak desperation. He is lashing out in anger and fear in any way he can. I think our Tav showing up is probably the only thread of hope he has to cling on to. Even Gale recognizes how bad of a situation Nere is in.

When you push into Nere's mind at the rubble and see through his eyes while he is suffocating to death in the cave in, the narrator makes a point to say that he had killed a gnome with powerful magic. He probably went to Sorcere (school for magic) in Menzoberranzan (although it is possible he isn't from Menzo).

Most noble drow have a natural talent for magic (breeding throughout the centuries), but sometimes commoners have the talent for it too. Sorcere is almost exclusively men because women with any talent for magic go to Arach-Tinilith, the school for drow priestesses. Male drow can also go to the school for fighting, Melee-Magthere (Drizzt went here), and they do spend one year at the end of their training in Sorcere learning some magic.

The reason I don't think Nere is a noble is that he would have certainly let us know if he were, especially if you are playing as a drow (I play as a drow female). This could just be an oversight in the writing, but I don't think so. When you fight the spectator over where the petrified drow are, if you manage not to get Dhourn the wizard killed and talk to him (disguise yourself as a female drow if you don't play as one and you can bully him into giving you his research and not have to kill him), he immediately lets you know he is the third boy of house Ba'Tol. In everything else I have experienced, drow are quick to name drop their house. It is extremely important in Lolthsworn society.

Nere is probably a commoner with enough magic talent to go to the school. All drow have a little magic to some degree, but to really learn it you have to go to Sorcere. There are few things you can do as a male in Memzoberranzan that give you any sort of status besides "useless male", and wizard/sorcerer is one. I suppose it is possible he is of noble birth, but I really think he would have let us know.

In Sorcere he would have spent most of his time around other males, as Sorcere is a 30 year long school (unlike Melee-Magthere which is 10), and exclusively male, which could explain why a female hadn't absolutely killed the shit out of him yet. The occasional priestesses from Arach-Tinilith would be around, but I think he could manage to be fine.

Nere certainly has an attitude to match with having gone to Sorcere. Some of his reactions, like blaming others for failures, are actually VERY cultural and expected among Lolthsworn drow. It just tracks. It would be strange if he didn't. He would have, however, faced constant criticism, bullying, sabotage, and crappy backstabbing politics within his time there, so it makes sense that he would have some emotional baggage regarding failure. Pretty much all male drow do to some extent. Even if he didn't have to deal too much with daily subjugation by female drow, he would still have faced a lot of scrutiny from other males in Sorcere. Failure of any kind is extremely dangerous in Lolthsworn society, especially for men.

I don't think his failure necessarily comes from him being bad at things. He has really good stats, so he isn't weak at all. He is also physically very strong. He is taller than both Gale and Astarion. The top of my female drow's head comes up to his chin (as opposed to Astarion and Gale where the top of her head is about dead center on theirs). He is also clearly intended to be intimidating. He has the Muscular feature as well as High Spellcasting - so he is big, strong, and good with magic. Wisdom is his lowest stat, and that could be the source of his problems in life. Strangely, he has really high charisma... but I will get to that shortly.

Anyway, back to the Grymforge. Before you bust him out of the rubble, talk to Thrinn, then go talk to the two drow who want to betray Nere, go back and talk to Thrinn and let her know they are planning to betray him. She doesn't seem particularly concerned with Nere's ability to handle them.

I think it is reasonable to assume that Nere is not a total fuckup. I think he has a lot of talent and strengths, but is either unlucky or unwise, or some combination of both. He has enough intelligence and strength to be powerful, and enough charisma to persuade people, but not enough wisdom and insight to know when to shut up or walk away... or when he is in over his head.

I do think he is unwise... there are some indications that he constantly underestimates what he is up against. This could be from lack of experience or this is just a character flaw.

Baby boy, what about any of this is simple? Please. You should have known better.

He is trying so hard here to convince himself that things are going to work out, but you can here it in his voice that he is trying to believe it. He must think that we are surely powerful enough to speak to Ketheric and convince him that Nere is still worthy. He is lacking the appropriate wisdom and insight to really accept what has happened.

We know from talking to Minthara that the influence of the Absolute is extremely overpowering and overrides any of your own common sense. It turns you into a fanatic and forces you to do things you would never ever do if you had control of yourself. This would also be true of Nere. He has this wild fanaticism and desperation to please Ketheric and the Absolute, but he drops it IMMEDIATELY when you fill him in on what is really going on. Once he is free of the brain's power and sees the bigger puncture, there is a very strong shift in his attitude.

He becomes very reasonable and quickly puts two and two together. This is probably the first time ever in his life where he is free of cult influence - if you convince him to run from the Absolute (and also I assume Lolth, because dear god he CAN NOT go back there without being tortured to death for information and then killed or worse, turned into a drider for his sins against Lolth)... and it does seem like he has a lot to process.

He is actually very calm and grateful for what you have done for him. It is such a shame you can't drag him around with you.

I am also not sure if it is an oversight in writing, or if Nere loses control of his mind again once we leave the area, or if he is just so pissed off at Balthazar and Ketheric and the whole ordeal that he goes after Balthazar to try and mess everything up for the Absolute by sabotaging the Nightsong plot.... but it is just such a shame that he dies anyway. I would like to think it is just a gap in writing because the game is SO HUGE.

If he is wiling to potentially die for a cause, what better cause than getting revenge on the people who did this to him? What better hook to get him to join our party and quest to destroy the Absolute and rid ourselves of the parasite? I think this is a huge missed opportunity.

LET ME DO IT, LARIAN. AGHHHH. LET ME SAVE HIM.

As far as how he became an exile/rogue, because I really do think he was.... (previous post on this)... I think there are a few possibilities, and we have absolute no indication as to what they could have been.

So this is pure speculation with nothing to back it up on my part. Here are a list of reasons he could have resulted in him being separated from Lolthite society.

Was out on some kind of mission and failed, couldn't go back without risk of severe punishment or death.

Separated from expedition to the surface (for slaves, or supplies, or whatever) either through no fault of his own or because he was unwise.

Attempted to kill someone and failed, fled. Probably while they were away from the city.

There was an attempt on his life that failed and he fled. Probably also while they were away from the city.

Was scouting or part of an expedition for a noble house that was annihilated while they were away. Nothing to return to without risking being killed.

I don't think he was some matriarch's special pet, because there is a certain level of obedience a reverence for female drow he would need to have to not be killed. His attitude is way off to have been some matron or priestess's favorite. Sure he is hot, but most drow are hot, so the standards for "too hot to be killed" are way too high for that to have been it. There are plenty of dead hot drow men.

I think it is likely that he made some mistakes that led to him not being able to go back for fear of death. I also think that when he mentions going to the Order of Soul Spiders, that is just him being unwise and not thinking the whole thing thorough. Like baby boy, you are going to be destroyed once the hear what you have to say. Sure, they will want to know it, but you are NOT going to escape punishment for abandoning Lolth. That isn't a possibility. Think it through.

Ok wow this post got too long and way out of hand. Nere is my current hyperfixation, and I hope that at least two of you share this hyperfixation with me and found this worth reading.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[cal-writes]

Do you have any headcannon/interpretations of zoro and mihawks relationship? Most fic and stuff I’ve seen have him as a sort of aloof but caring father. Canon hasn’t really given us much to go off but so far as we know Zoro’s dream in life is still to kill and/or maim him so idk.

ohh i do! (some of the nsfw)

i dont think zoro necessarily wants to kill him, he wants to beat him but that doesnt necessitate killing people. zoro actually rarely kills his opponents that we know of (but then in generall one piece doesnt have a lot of on screen character death i think one of the only few confirmed kills by the straw hats is arlong) like hachi survived, mr one survived, wyper survived, kaku, hody, monet, pika, king all survived their match with zoro. i think at this point the only confirmed kill is the former mr seven prior to canon.

honestly kind of funny to think about zoro having such a ruthless reputation and then we know he killed like, one guy lol (it was probably more and he doesnt seem to have objections to killing in general unless its women and children but you get my point)

so i think to zoro the goal is beating mihawk in an honorable battle to fullfill his promise to kuina.

mihawk i think is bored as all hell. like he's the greatest swords man, he has his own island, he's a warlord so not even the marines touch him (pr time skip) there is no challenge to him, barely anyone even dares to until zoro and even if their fight is ridiculously one sided zoro's tenacity impresses him

like its fucking lonely and boring at the top or how that saying goes. mihawk and zoro are both very alike in sentiment and their sense of honor, standard swordsman stuff. so i think mihawk was pretty happy to find an equal in that regard already even if zoro couldnt beat him yet. he's investing in zoros future and his own in a way

like zoro dropped on his island out of thin air, injured and close to death and he took him in

mihawk giving his energy, tried to help him and seeing “oh okay you just gonna get yourself killed”.

when zoro comes back to ask for his teaching

he has high expectations for zoro and demands him to meet them (similarly to how zoro holds the crew to his own high standards) so i can see the where the stern parent angle comes from

but mihawk also has the experience to read zoro really well. i think before this point he thought zoro was doing it largely for himself, his own ambition. but here with their second meeting "its always for the sake of another". in their first fight zoro said he needs to beat mihawk because of "a promise to a friend" and here zoro does everything to get back to his crew.

i find it noteworthy that mihawk insists zoro recover before they start training, probably knowing full well zoro wouldn't allow himself on his own accord. makes me think of the whole "help yourself before you help others" something mihawk knows but zoro still struggles with.

we dont know too much about mihawk, why his running around alone without a crew or how he got to be so strong but again to me he reads as very lonely due to his powress and he kind of wants zoro to defeat him. not just bc for both of them it would be a good fight but also bc then he could "retire" so to speak.

ive mentioned it before but i dont think zoro will know what to do with himself once he beat mihawk and at this point on canon its definitely taken second place to seeing luffy become pirate king so it can go a few ways. i can almost see them not having a direct battle but maybe mihawk falling to an elder and zoro then beating that elder but we’ll see

it would be interesting to see how thatll go down

i think its more a mentor then a parent dynamic, like a grumpy ass professor that wants you to succeed.

in terms of nsfw thoughts i can only add ten images on mobile so thatll come in the reblog lol

[revelisms]

Was there ever a line that you've put a lot of thought or intention into that ended up being loaded with things you think people might have missed when reading? If there is: what is it, and what's behind it?

Big ramble here because I think this is a fascinating question.

TL;DR - There's definitely a lot of lines that have had more thought/intention behind them, but it's tough to say whether these have been missed or not. With dialogue especially, I think a lot of it boils down to interpretation - and I personally love having a bit of ambiguity there. It's why I tend to be drawn more to characters where there's a potential for self-conflict, because ultimately, I think that should be up to interpretation and what the conflict translates to for the reader.

This is a huge part of why I find Silco to be fun to write. He's deeply complicated, he's a sympathetic villain, he has a cutthroat rationale for how he views the world - and yet, for all of this, he often canonically contradicts himself, and in my view reveals more vulnerability than he perhaps intends.

For instance, there's a line in 'both sides of the moon' where Sevika calls him out for safeguarding Jinx's mistakes above all else, even the crew's safety. It escalates to them getting inches from a fight, but Silco throws out the line: "Are you sure you want to play this game?"

In this context, it's meant to be a final warning: Back down now, or else. But there's a double-edgeness to it, because this scene has an intentional, and intentionally muddy, layer of intimacy and arousal: both in a heightened-anxiety sense and a sexual sense.

While he's threatening her, he's also acknowledging her - because she's able to go head-to-head with him as an equal in ways few others would dare - and while that intrigues him, it's also incredibly frightening, because it means she sees him. She can handle him. (Like Vander could.)

So the question is also trying to force a sort of confirmation out of her, and ultimately does: Do you see this? Do you want this? How dare you, if you do? (Which is still its own threat, because of how guarded he is - he is isn't able to admit that he may want that intimacy, out of his own desire to be seen.)

So there's lots of lines I've written with him specifically that have that kind of layered intention.

This is also why I've really started gravitating to writing Terzo recently. I personally view him as a very messy character with lots of self-contradictions, for all his surface-level wit and ease, e.g.: his desire to modernize the church directly conflicts with his stature in a very archaic, ritualized familial hierarchy; his desire to be understood and accepted directly conflicts with his resistance towards giving others access to him and letting them in; the way he gravitates to (and imo uses) the "performance" of his charm/relationships/sex as a way to foster that sense of intimacy, without being fully vulnerable himself, is rife with conflict.

And all of this is foundationally built on the fact that he is Nihil's son, more-so in personality than perhaps any of them.

There's an opening line in 'creator, brother, son' that is explicitly getting at this: "Don't you want to be [...] mirror to some piece of this: moon-slash of his wretchedness, recklessness, fawning fingers pleasure-peaked sharp-tongued wickedness—"

And it's very flowery, but this is really talking about Terzo being a mirror to Nihil: the face in the moon to his own complications, as a person who can be extremely short-tempered, rash-decisioned, and flirtatious, with a tongue that can bring pleasure as much as say truly vile and hurtful things.

This is something Terzo recognizes in himself and resents. It's also why he and Nihil have had years of rockiness in their own relationship: because having Terzo succeed (as he was expected and desired to do) would also mean having Nihil usurped by his own son, who carries so much of his own traits that are both better and miles worse: a mirror of his own successes and failures.

At the end of the day, though, I'm really more interested in having readers build their own ideas of what characters' emotions and motivations are in a scene. It's great to bring people along on the same page, but I also love hearing what others pull away from it :-)

[creative-author]

OC Interview

Thank you @riveriafalll for tagging me!

My questions: - When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? - If you could travel in time, where would you go and why? - What does your bed look like? (shape, size, number of pillows, stuffed animals, ...)

I have too many OCs, and too much ideas, which one could answer these... So I made a list and let a random number generator decide on two characters. We got: Ryee from sᴘᴀʀᴋs, ɢʟɪᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ғʟᴀᴍᴇs and Evette from just write

When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Ryee: I used to admire Nimk. My parents told me stories about him and I used to see his ship from afar. I wanted to become a sailor just like him. And at some point, Nimk himself invited me to join his crew. And now I'm part of it. Even though we lost him, I'm proud being a part of the crew.

Evette: When I was very little, I wanted to be vet or a magical girl, like many others. I think when I was around 13 years old, I begun with photography and I wished to make a living with it. After the catastrophes and the aftermath of it, my only wish for the future was to survive. It still is. But after the whole TerraNex-Mess, I started to make pics again. Dean really helped me and often he joins me too. I realized how important memories can be and with photography, I can understand my mind a bit more, even if it doesn't actually makes sense. ᵂʰʸ ᵃᵐ ᴵ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ

If you could travel in time, where would you go and why?

Ryee: Tough question. Our childhood was not perfect and could definitely be better. Ether, I would play out the arrivals from my friends again. I really wanna see their little faces again, when they first joined the crew. Oh boy, Lia was almost as red as her hair! But on the other side, I wanna know, if we really succeed. If the childhood of the future generations would be better than ours.

Evette: Definitely the past. I would give so much to see my parents again without just living the memory. I want to hug them again, say things, I never thought about saying back then and spend my time with them. I could try stopping them, so they won't be in Japan when the meteorites hit there.

What does your bed look like?

Ryee: I mostly sleep in my hammock on the Miststorm II. I have a blanket in there and use my arm as pillow. My hammock is right next to a wall and Stak made me a ... thing to place my hook there. A few meters away from my hammock is Koyls hammok. He rarely sleeps at night there so most times, I am save from his snoring.

Evette: My bed is made from a light brown wood. I have two blankets, one is really soft and I use it in cold nights, the other blanket is very thin and almost too small for me. I have one long pillow and one cat-snake plushie, that could be used as pillow to. Right next to my bed is a small night stand, with a few pictures (plus more pictures in the drawers, but I don't talk about these - bad memories). I have a small donkey stuffed animal and a lamp to read at the edge of my bed.

Your Questions: - What's the most surprising thing someone has learned about you upon meeting you? - What unexpected skill or talent do you possess? - Is there a fear you secretly hold that most people wouldn't guess?

Open tag!

[haljathefangirlcat]

I don't want to add all of this under the post I took this pic from, because I'm going to get nitpicky and long-winded and it would probably get really annoying for OP... and also because this is the "are you saying we piss on the poor" website, so someone would inevitably think I'm hating on either OP or Mary Reufle. Which I'm not, btw. I think the passage above says something really beautiful and tragic about humanity, and I'm thankful to OP for posting it, otherwise I might have never read it.

But it does remind me of a stupid pet peeve I've been trying to ignore since people on Tumblr started debating whether asexual sailors would be safe from the lure of sirens and other people started replying that, hey! Sirens in Greek mythology, especially the Odyssey, don't lure sailors by offering sex! They lure them by offering them what they desire! Which might be sex for some, but might be just some really great pasta for others!

... again, to avoid another obvious "we piss on the poor" moment: no, I don't actually have anything serious against jokes, thought exercises, and stories in that vein. Ace people belong in fun fantasy and/or mythology-inspired stories and story ideas as much as everyone else. And I'm well-aware you don't need my permission to write about a sailor saving their entire crew by being totally indifferent to sex or almost dooming them because some weird lady on a rock in the middle of the sea was loudly singing about being desperate to share cool frog facts with someone. Hell, I'd probably read both.

But anyway, the pet peeve I was talking about before going on that tangent is that the sirens do sing Odysseus' story to Odysseus, and it just annoys me so much, seeing people ignoring the fact that that's actually a thing that happens. Like, this is from Book XII:

"[...] the Sirens failed not to note the swift ship as it drew near, and they raised their clear-toned song: “‘Come hither, as thou farest, renowned Odysseus, great glory of the Achaeans; [185] stay thy ship that thou mayest listen to the voice of us two. For never yet has any man rowed past this isle in his black ship until he has heard the sweet voice from our lips. Nay, he has joy of it, and goes his way a wiser man. For we know all the toils that in wide Troy [190] the Argives and Trojans endured through the will of the gods, and we know all things that come to pass upon the fruitful earth.’"

... yes, this translation is taken from Perseus and is, unfortunately, in prose. Give me a break, it's not easy to find good poetic translations of the Odyssey posted for free online when I'm not even a native English speaker and to me "Odyssey translation" means "Rosa Calzecchi Onesti's translation from the '60s." The point is, the sirens try to lure Odysseus (and would definitely succeed, if not for the ropes-and-wax trick) by telling him that they know everything, including all that has happened to Odysseus himself and everyone else who suffered through the war of Troy.

And yeah, you could argue that the main draw for Odysseus (his greatest desire, to tie it all back to mythological shitposting) is knowledge itself, because he is that kind of guy. But the sirens don't give any details on their knowledge of all that is presently happening "upon the fruitful earth." They do, however, give details on their knowledge of the past -- specifically stating they know Odysseus' past. The same man who, if you remember, can't take Demodocus singing about a couple of episodes from the war of Troy without needing to hide his face due to being completely overcome by tears, yet has a piece of meat from his own plate brought to Demodocus as a show of respect and gratitude for his singing. Unlike his own wife, Penelope, who when hearing the aoidos Phemius singing about the same war back in Ithaca, asks him to change the subject to something less painful...

It's just. It's so painful and complex and wonderful and it makes me want to tear my hair out every time I think about it. And nobody ever remembers it when someone brings up the sirens and specifically the ones from the Odyssey! *screams*

Btw, now that I've had my nice little rant, please do me a favor and listen to the song Le Sirene by Vinicio Capossela. Because this Italian singer and composer? He gets it.

Here's a rough translation of the lyrics:

The sirens

Tell you about yourself

What you were

As if it were forever

The sirens

Have no tail nor feathers

They only sing about you

The man of yesterday

The man you were, two steps from the sky

All your life before you

All your life as a whole

They say, stop here

The sirens

Assault you at night

Created by the night

They kept all the faces you loved and now

The sirens have them

They sing them to you in a chorus

And you're not alone anymore

They know everything about you

And the best of you

It's a song of sirens

And you hear it in the regret

Of what you lacked

What you glimpsed and won't have

They give it to you

Only in song

They sing to you of how you came from nothing

And nothing you will be

The sirens are a night of beer

And the dawn won't come anymore

They're street ghosts coming in in gusts

They have the voices of sirens

Fill your ears with wax

To not hear them when it's evening

To stay firm

Tied to your routine

But if you listen to the sirens

You won't come home

Because home is

Where they sing about you

Listen to the sirens

They won't stop their singing

In the endless wake, they sing

All your life

Who you were, who you were, who you were

Who you were, who you were, who you are

Mnemosyne

Why go on until old age

Until you feel ill?

It's all already here

Stop here

You don't have anywhere to go anymore

The sirens

Don't sing the future

They give you what has been

But time isn't kind

And if you stop and listen to them

You'll let yourself die

Because the singing is neverending

And it's full of deceit

And takes your life from you

As it sings it

... also, if you know Italian or you don't mind running lyrics through an online translator (not Google Translate, pls, they don't deserve to be butchered like that) or you're just looking for new music to listen to, do yourself a favor and go listen to Capossela's other Odyssey-inspired songs from the album Marinai, Profeti e Balene. They are:

La lancia del Pelide (The spear of Pelides, and yeah, this one is actually about the Iliad)

Le Pleiadi (The Pleiades, from the POVs of Odysseus and Penelope, and a much deeper and more fascinating take on their relationship than either "Odysseus is a jerk who doesn't care about her because he has sex with other women" or "he's cool, she's cool, they're a cool power couple" could ever hope to be -- even though I do love the latter a lot, admittedly)

Aedo (Aoidos, set in the aftermath of Odysseus' killing of the suitors)

Calipso (Calypso)

Dimmi Tiresia (Tell me, Tiresias, set in Book XI, when Odysseus summons the spirit of the dead seer and receives a prophecy from him)

Nostos (Actually about the tale of Ulysses' final "mad flight" and death in the Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto XXVI -- yes, you need to listen to this one, too)

... okay, yes, this post did turn into Vinicio Capossela shilling. I swear it wasn't the initial intention, it just happened. But you know what? I don't even care because most of the songs that make Tumblr users go "OMG THIS MAKES ME FEEL SOO UNHINGED 😭 TOTALLY FERAL 😭😭 WHY DOES IT GO SO HARD 😭😭😭" don't go even half as unnecessarily hard as the lyrics to Aedo and Nostos. So, yeah. You can thank me after lying on the floor like "head full. way too many thoughts" for an hour or two.

[blackdaisies]

I would literally be drawing more art, but all of my free leisure time is now spent on playing Baldur's Gate 3.

I love this game so much and I want to keep going. It's so weird how a couple of months ago, this game was definitely not on my radar. Even after the previews I had zero interest in it. But then someone said "it was the closest video game experience to DnD" and only then was I intrigued.

It's been a month since this game came out and I still maybe in the middle of Act 3, so I have not yet finished the game. After all the spoilers that I've accidentally seen, this game is *still* surprising me . I'm posting some highlights below, so don't keep reading if you don't want to be spoiled.

Spoilery list of highlights so far below (you've been warned):

I started with playing a druid, but I fell in love with my Bard, and I can't imagine playing the game now without his vicious mockery insults. Randomly playing in synch with other bards you come across was a delight too.

All of the Shadow Cursed lands. Especially the Thorms. I took a lot of satisfaction out of talking my way out of most of the encounters. And holy crap, the Sisters in the House of Healing were beautiful. I cannot WAIT to see cosplay of them.

That intellect devourer you rescue at the beginning of the game, I had assumed was killed in the crash, but you get to rescue it again at the end of Act 2!!!

In Baldur's Gate (Act 3) after you meet a widow in an apothecary shop, outside there is a cat, that if you have speaks with animals on, you can convince to meet the shopkeeper and help her out

in exploring the lower city, I came across the graves of Karlach's parents, with Karlach in the group. It was such as sweet moment.

busting Duke Ravenguard out of that prison, holy jesus, that entire scenario was beautiful and amazing. I did two attempts to try to rescue all the prisoners (I didn't succeed, and even got my Tav killed because I tried to RP him waiting until everyone got back onto the sub). The rest of the group found Tav on a beach and rezzed him.

Wyll's proposal. Wow. I know some people say that Wyll's romance is boring, but I loved how wholesome and beautiful it was.

There were a few things that also surprised me in sort of negative way:

I wasn't keen on Halsin. I thought I'd love having him as part of the main crew, but he had old hippy professor energy that wasn't appealing to me at all. I was so happy that I was able to recruit Jaheira for all my druiding needs.

I figured out on my own that our Guardian was a mindflayer, but the Emperor went into flirt mode almost immediately. Actually, all the companions did, which I understand was a bug, but there was so much second hand embarassment watching everyone profess their deep desires even after no 'romantic' interactions from my bard. My Tav had to attempt to gently turn them down but cringing the hole time.

I spent so much time trying to rescue Minsc, but please dude, do more damage!! I get that he's a classic character, but it's so late in the game to introduce a ranger, why did it have to be so difficult to get him as a companion? And because it's so late in the game, I didn't have much gear for him, and I'm still trying to figure out how to play him so that he does useful damage.

[britishsass]

One more of thought for the night: Even if Killian's plan did succeed, and he did get Diane back... It would still ruin Project Daybreak.

After all, their plan is to use Loren's powers to finally time travel back to save Daybreak, correct? The thing is, along the way, there have been deaths, torture, and more-- heck, they have to torture Loren to activate xir powers to the degree of time travel, too. So Diane would definitely see that, and these factors set in motion the imminent collapse of everything.

Because of Killian's actions, Diane would view him as a monster and rejoin the Psychonauts to try to take him down.

Because of what they did to time travel to get her, they over-exert Loren to the point of putting xem in a coma for a while.

Because Loren looks like someone Mal used to know, he begins to question everything about what they're doing.

Because Loren looks so young, Cynder realizes that maybe they're the bad guys.

Because of the last two points, Mal and Cynder leave together to try to figure out what to do next to fix things.

Because of what happened to Loren, Markie's outside commitments drag her away from the group as well. (This is connected, I just can't point it out without spoiling something)

Because Markie left, Laurel might also leave to help her with what she has to do. Even if she acts like a mean girl, she does enjoy Markie's company.

Also because of what happened to Loren, the Psychonauts and Thorney Towers crew are absolutely gunning to take them down before they hurt anyone else, especially anyone else in the Psychonauts.

Therefore, Project Daybreak now lacks four of its members at least, has no direction, and now has more people who are determined to stop them. The remainder is Vinny (Who was captured by the Psychonauts a while back), Harper (who is still basically a kid and utterly traumatized), and Nightwind (who refuses to do anything to hurt his sister) so they're not gonna get anywhere either.

Things would immediately disintegrate. Everything falls apart, and honestly, that's part of the point. This plan is doomed to fail. It's a final shot at something that didn't even have a first one. Death is a part of life.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : 

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

///

Harry hates clubs. 

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours. 

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit. 

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife. 

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor? 

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).  

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation. 

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you. 

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now. 

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department. 

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT. 

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame. 

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite. 

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving. 

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize. 

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results. 

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well. 

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it. 

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static. 

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire. 

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does. 

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work. 

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.” 

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.” 

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd. 

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.” 

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.” 

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering. 

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.” 

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.  

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.” 

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.” 

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist. 

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.” 

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move. 

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt. 

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam. 

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance. 

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.” 

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.  

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground. 

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer. 

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really. 

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized. 

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember. 

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more. 

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in. 

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional. 

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since. 

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.   

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.” 

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least. 

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?” 

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.” 

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.” 

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.�� 

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.” 

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?” 

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.” 

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident. 

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one. 

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger. 

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges. 

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection. 

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly. 

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together. 

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect. 

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now. 

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.” 

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.” 

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.” 

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.” 

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night. 

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough. 

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.” 

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.” 

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.” 

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!” 

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles. 

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal. 

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?” 

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle. 

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned. 

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?” 

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps. 

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend. 

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device. 

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious. 

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does. 

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.” 

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.” 

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.” 

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.” 

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?” 

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?” 

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?” 

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.” 

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”  

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face. 

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open. 

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation. 

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.” 

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.” 

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return. 

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.” 

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.” 

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.” 

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.” 

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up. 

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.” 

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake. 

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown. 

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable. 

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him. 

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk. 

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world. 

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs. 

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is. 

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now. 

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.” 

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile. 

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it. 

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie. 

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly. 

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste. 

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke. 

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way. 

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here. 

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight. 

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause. 

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing. 

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him. 

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass. 

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection. 

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface. 

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything. 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.” 

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.  

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for. 

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.” 

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night. 

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him. 

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.  

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer. 

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding. 

 When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind. 

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner. 

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault. 

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come. 

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes. 

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...” 

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears. 

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own. 

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested. 

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.” 

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job. 

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known. 

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city. 

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life. 

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit. 

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class. 

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again. 

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move. 

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film. 

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity. 

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions. 

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house. 

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree. 

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria. 

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand. 

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them. 

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.” 

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken. 

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs. 

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into  his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger. 

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats. 

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor. 

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.” 

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought. 

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life. 

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail. 

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb. 

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?” 

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.” 

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.” 

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.” 

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.” 

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?” 

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.” 

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human. 

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.” 

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room. 

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly. 

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.” 

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.” 

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.” 

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised. 

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.” 

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.” 

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach. 

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.” 

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give. 

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath. 

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.” 

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.” 

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.” 

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks. 

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs. 

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge. 

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.” 

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?” 

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.” 

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again. 

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke. 

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.” 

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.  

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning. 

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil. 

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.” 

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name. 

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done. 

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight. 

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”  

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.” 

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.” 

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night. 

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer. 

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.  

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.  

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had. 

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.” 

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys. 

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell. 

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them. 

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately. 

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.” 

[sl-walker]

Blindsided, Part 24

Read prior parts here.  Sign up to be tagged when this fic (or any of mine!) updates here.  Read it on AO3 here.

--

“Mostly, they work around the same areas you did before, though in different systems,” Maz said, pushing the holoprojector across her desk so that Obi-Wan could look at it.

On it was a sample contract for a smuggling crew; of course, the contract was written as if it were for a legitimate cargo-hauling ship, but Obi-Wan knew quite well the differences in wording that were used to distinguish those things.  Even if there often was a surprising amount of crossover between the legitimate kind of cargo-carrying and the illegitimate kind.

The difficulty in finding a crew position was compounded by the fact that Obi-Wan had very little experience working with a crew in this particular profession.  So, they would essentially be taking him on as a spotter, guard and laborer, and whoever did that had to do so on his current reputation, which was certainly decent thanks to Maz, but unfortunately was without references from prior captains and crewmates.

It had been four weeks since the Festival of Stars, and for as idyllic as that had been, reality settled in again afterwards.

"What's their reputation like?" he asked, as he looked over the proposal. It was definitely more lucrative than his job in the cantina here; he could succeed in affording high quality cybernetic eyes and the surgery and installation fees within a single standard year, instead of ten.

"Fair. Business-like and lacking sentiment, but they always pay their bills and crew." Maz's tone was more neutral, but that didn't necessarily mean anything bad. "McCallum is considered an honest man, given his profession, though he's also known to tolerate very little when it comes to mistakes or things going wrong."

Obi-Wan made a considered noise. He knew he and Maul could stay on Takodana indefinitely; that Maz would never charge them rent, that Obi-Wan could support them for a modest but peaceful life just working in the cantina.

But they were young yet to be settling into something like retirement, especially given that Master could still find a way to target them even here.

Especially if he succeeded in gaining the Chancellorship. Then his reach would expand exponentially.

"Maul would be safer here," Obi-Wan said, but even as he did, he knew Maul would be furious if he was left behind, even for his own good.

"Safer, maybe, but heartssick," Maz answered, shaking her head. "McCallum might be willing to negotiate when it comes to taking him along; you have nothing to lose by asking. Though, I wouldn't wait too long. Spots on successful crews are fleeting."

That was very much the truth; Obi-Wan had been putting feelers out for months and this was the first time an opening came up that he stood a chance of getting.

And beyond the fact that the pay would be better than he could get on Takodana -- or doing legitimate cargo-carrying work -- Maul was getting increasingly restless and still struggling with what to do with himself.  He kept his frustrations tamped down as well as he could, but Obi-Wan could still feel those shots of self-recrimination when they swelled up and managed to spill over into their bond.

Maul wasn’t going to be comfortable being Obi-Wan’s stay-at-home spouse; he wasn’t going to be willing to just let Obi-Wan take care of him, no matter how much Obi-Wan really wanted to do that.  Too much of his self-worth was wrapped up in what he could do; he didn’t have the first idea that he could be worth anything just because he existed, and anytime Obi-Wan tried to explain the concept of inherent worth to Maul, he had to watch it fly right over that finely made head.

More frustrating than that, for Obi-Wan, was that Maul only ever applied that standard to himself.  If Obi-Wan had been the one blinded, he knew --  he knew -- Maul would have stepped up and taken care of him and never thought for a moment he was lesser for it.

Mind, Obi-Wan knew why.  Master had done a very thorough job in making sure that Maul knew his life was only going to continue if he was flawlessly obedient and useful.  Unlike consent, it was going to take more than three years for Maul to learn better.

Anyway, Obi-Wan’s only answer kept coming back to the same thing: Restore Maul’s vision via cybernetic replacements for his damaged eyes and give him back his ability to rely on his hard-won physical skills.  Work on the concept of self-worth over time.

“All right.  You’re right, I’ve nothing to lose in asking.”  Obi-Wan blew out a breath, looking over the contract one more time before he pressed a smile for Maz and slipped out the door, heading for the landing pads.

He wasn’t going to sign aboard without getting Maul’s input, but nothing was stopping him from negotiating terms before then.

@shadowmaat -  @doorsclosingslowly - @emphasisonthehomo - @blackat-greneys - @vengeful-nerd - @sammelbegriff - @kenobispunk - @sundavr - @mock-ing-bird -  @fancandy77​

[sirgawainofgalifrey]

Okay let's talk about this.

This shows how Rodimus' decision and Optimus' decision after Cybertron was reborn were totally opposite.

In both instances, both of them had made terrible mistakes that cost lives. Rodimus' was on a smaller scale than Optimus', but still.

Even the aftermath of both was probably similar. On Cybertron, there were a bunch of Autobots and Decepticons that were now directionless without the war and 2 seconds away from ripping each other's throats out, along with just barely being able to survive the primordial hellscape of their home.

I don't think it showed what it was like on the Lost Light, but with Rodimus called into question, the crew would probably have begun to question their entire mission, why they were even there at all, and other people would have begun vying for power or trying to break off and convince others to join them. It would have been chaos.

Then we see what Rodimus and Optimus each did. Optimus left and Rodimus stayed. They both had complex motives for doing so, but what Optimus says about it here is completely wrong. Leaving would not take more courage than staying.

Optimus left. He caused all of these problems with the war, and many of his actions directly prolonged it, causing many more deaths and the split between Cybertronians to grow even wider. His people were barely surviving and about to tear each other to pieces and he left them to sort out the problems he was largely responsible for.

Sure, he said that the people saw him as a monument to the war and the old way, and that they would be able to move on while he was there, but that definitely wasn't his primary reason for it. When he leaves, he says he's happy, that he's finally "free". That's Optimus' primary reason for leaving. He's tired of being responsible for everyone, and wants someone else to be in charge. In this case, he wants someone else to fix the massive problems he's largely responsible for.

Then we have Rodimus. His motives definitely weren't pure either. Like Optimus said, he thought he could win, and he is self important enough not to want to lose his position. But he knew he was responsible. He could have given up his position and walked away, but he didn't. Even though he knew that almost half of the crew hated him, and that he'd lost most of their trust.

Let's not forget that the Lost Light is barely holding it together as it is. We all know most of them are nuts. At the very least, lots of them would have left and Ultra Magnus would have done his best to keep the rest of them together. But I think it would have been worse.

And despite everything, Rodimus isn't an idiot. He knew his crew's temperament enough to guess that he'd win, he could probably tell which way the winds would blow if he left.

And he even says that he's trying to be better and win back their trust. Part of it is for undoubtly selfish reasons, but let's not forget that Rodimus really wants to find the knights and help Cybertron. He wants their mission to succeed, for the crew to trust each other and to heal the rifts caused by the war.

To be clear, I'm not saying either one of them were entirely selfless or selfish in their motives. They are both in shades of gray.

I'm saying that staying in a bad situation, where you caused a massive problem and everyone hates you, to try and fix your mistakes is more courageous than leaving the problem to someone else.

I think Optimus only said this here because he felt guilty. Rodimus could have done what Optimus did, but he decided to take responsibility for it, and that makes Optimus' decision look cowardly.

Anyway sorry for the rant I just needed to scream this into the void.

[msevelynsilver]

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR ALL FOUR SEASONS OF BLACK SAILS AND ALL SEVEN SEASONS OF BUFFY + SEASON 1 OF ANGEL

I wonder what the level of overlap between these two fandoms is. I think it’s probably low and definitely should be higher.

One thing I can’t get out of my mind is the comparison between Buffy and Faith and Flint and Silver. There’s an especially good Buffy and Faith fan video that really inspired me to think about this, so I’ll leave the link below.

Amazing Buffy + Faith video: https://youtu.be/GpIHwrPhJyQ

But essentially both of these relationships have a friends-with-homoerotic-subtext-to-enemies-with-homoerotic-subtext story arc. And both play with the idea of morality, responsibility for others, the burden of power, and being/becoming the same person.

In Season 7 of Buffy, she becomes the leader of a group of young slayers and shoulders the responsibility of looking after that. But she is seen by the Potentials as cold and standoffish and as not having their best interests at heart. (Sound like anyone we know?). Faith then tries to take control of the girls and finds that it’s hard being first in command instead of second because you have to make the hard decisions and the people under you will resent you no matter what you choose.

Buffy says to Faith: “Whether you wanted it or not, their lives are yours.”

(I’m not bothering to look up episodes right now, but I have a near encyclopaedic knowledge of Buffy and I think this is 7.19 “Empty Places”.)

Does this not sound like something Flint would say to Silver? Silver, who as quartermaster was the better liked of the two but who had to shoulder more responsibility due to Billy’s creation of Long John Silver as a pirate king and who found that he didn’t like the role he was forced to play? Silver was responsible for the lives of all the men on the Walrus crew and while he liked the power it gave him, it also terrified him to have to account for and rely on people other than himself.

Here is more dialogue from Buffy. (Technically I think this is Angel 1.19 “Sanctuary”):

Buffy: “You told me I was just like you.”

Faith: “And you can’t stand that. You’re all about control. You have no idea what it’s like on the other side. When nothing’s in control, nothing makes sense. There’s just pain, and hate, and nothing you do means anything. You can’t even-“

Buffy: “Shut up!”

Re-read that but swap Buffy’s name for Flint’s and Faith’s for Silver’s. It’s not a perfect analogy. Buffy was created to be an expendable hero and Flint is seen as a pirate menace to society, so they face completely different issues regarding their role in the narrative. Faith and Silver do better. Both have relatively unspecified tragic backstories that turned them into cynical, self-serving people who are mistrustful of authority figures (Faith’s is never specified at least in-show, and I’m not taking comic book canon into account here because I’m not caught up). In particular, I think Faith’s line about “nothing you do means anything” is something Silver would agree with. I think if he had believed that Flint’s war could succeed and that they wouldn’t all end up dead, he would have followed Flint to the ends of the earth. But he thought that none of it would mean anything and that they didn’t have the power to effect that kind of change. It also might explain why he views his own past as story-less. Nothing you do means anything. I think he, like Faith, has experienced a complete loss of control over his circumstances and himself, and thus his story at some point in the past. It is their defined roles (quartermaster and slayer) which begin to give their life some shape and meaning, only to have it fall apart because of the burdens/limits of the role they are forced to take.

But my absolute favorite comparison comes from something Faith says to Buffy in season 3. (3.17 Enemies):

Faith: “What are you gonna do, B? Kill me? You become me. You’re not ready for that. Yet.”

Oh, the parallels. For context, if you haven’t seen the show, (and you should, it’s really good), Faith says this while she and Buffy are holding knives to each other’s throats. She then kisses Buffy on the forehead (like Judas did to Jesus) and runs away. The drama! The betrayal! The romantic subtext! The vague implications that Faith is a future version of Buffy who has lost her idealism and illusions about the world and that Buffy will one day sink to the same level of (perceived) villainy!

In this case I would flip it and say Faith is playing the role of Flint while Buffy is playing the role of Silver. Because in the end of Black Sails, isn’t this what happens? Silver kills Flint (literally/metaphorically depending on your interpretation), and in doing so assumes the role Flint had played. This is a man who has lost the two people who he loved most in the world to their dangerous idealism and who now shoulders the weight of being THE pirate in Nassau who society will brand as a monster. In killing Flint and releasing him from the torment of the ten years without Thomas (like a man waking from a long and terrible nightmare), Silver becomes Flint. He had already made so much of Flint’s mind his own and he kind of sacrifices himself so that Flint can live out his happy ending, knowing all the while that he won’t get his own (I know this is a generous reading of Silver, but I love him so I’m biased).

Faith and Buffy don’t get a story that is so neatly tied up because they’re not the two main characters. But Buffy develops a lot of Faith’s ideas about the inherent power of being a slayer (“There’s only me. I am the law”) and makes a lot of morally grey decisions that she probably would have condemned Faith for in her youth. (“Are you the bad slayer now? Am I the good slayer now?).

I need someone who’s talented at video editing to combine these two relationships because I’ve barely touched all the potential parallels (and the visual ones are so good as well!).

I feel like there’s also something to be said for “freedom in the dark” parallels in the two shows, especially with Spike and Buffy in season 6 but I haven’t thought it through and I would need to give a lot more thought to the implications of comparing society’s vilification of queer people and Buffy and Spike’s toxic straight relationship, which is nonetheless taboo for being a Slayer/vampire one.

[softrozene]

Luffy with a S/O that Leaves

Anonymous requested: Hi! I wanted to request Luffy with an s/o that leaves because they think he'll be better off without her and they cross paths again at some point and they try to run away but Luffy catches them before they get the chance? Ignore it if you don't want to do it. Thanks!

We stan Luffy here. The precious bean. Precious cinnamon roll. The pure sweetheart. I could not make him angry lmao but this is slighlty angsty for the Reader. Fdjalkfa Anyway, enjoy Lovely!

Luffy x Reader (Gender Neutral/Non-binary)

Warnings: Slightly angsty feelings, fluff, a sliver of comedy, Reader self-doubts

Words: 1043

Headcanons:

Okay when Luffy first finds out his partner left the crew- He would go through the stages of grief be slightly heartbroken from the lack of trust and will probably throw a tantrum (as in he straight-up stress eats everything on the ship)

But chances are you had to do it this way because you know he would not let you leave otherwise (unless you had a really and I mean extremely good reason- Like your dream no longer aligns with the crew- He can be understanding when he wants to but if it is because you are doubting yourself- Oh boy you are in trouble)

So, he will take that into consideration and he just knows in his heart you will meet again

And he vows to have you return to his crew because while you may be his significant other, he is your captain, and he did not give you permission to leave

As for how he acts- He definitely does not look affected (after his stress eating)

Though he would originally tell someone to go get you

Zoro would do it and will get lost. Robin and Chopper will be the ones who track your last whereabouts before they lose you and eventually accept you left

Scenario:

You let out a little puff of air. A bit from frustration but more from knowing you were going to get caught. The marines have been relentless. This island has been one of the stricter ones you have ever seen, and it is like they disregard you leaving the Straw Hats. They only want your head so they can take down the bounty for good.

It is fine though- You seem fine and have managed well the past few months without them. Even though your heart aches whenever you remember them (which is almost constantly) or when you see their increasing bounty- You know it was for the best.

How could you possibly be selfish enough to stay with them? Ruin their reputation when they are all total badasses (yes, even the scaredy-cat trio). You wanted nothing more to see them succeed but… You were totally normal. You had no special power going on. You had no special way to help them reach their goals. You were just… You.

It was for the best you left. You managed to somehow convince yourself of this. That they are better off without you but it still does not stop the ache in your heart from growing. Or the way you feel the hot tears fall down your cheeks. They were your family and you left.

Surely, even if you were to cross paths again- They would not be happy to see you. They must hate you.

You did not even want to think of Luffy. But you do. Constantly.

That is the part that hurts the most- Leaving your loveable lover behind but it needed to be done. He is destined for greatness. He is going to be the King of Pirates so how can you dare call yourself his when he is going to be one of the greatest things the world has ever known?

Even now- As he is, he is so pure, too good- Just somehow you feared ruining his name. You dreamt of returning to him. It was a pure blissful nightmare. One that made you wake up with sorrow but excited to go to sleep the next night knowing you can dream of him.

So surely, just now as you walk quickly through the marketplace, at a brisk pace- You swear this is a nightmare. This has to be a dream as your eyes gaze upon a familiar hat a block away. You pinch yourself, a little too hard but enough to know that- Oh god, this is not a nightmare.

He is here on this island and about to see you.

You quickly dodge yourself into an alleyway- So thankful that you know your way around the island now but… If he is here there is only a little bit of time before this island is upon chaos as always. The marines here are relentless so surely- Luffy will know eventually that you are here.

Oh no. You need to leave and now.

You quickly go down the alleyway and turn to head back to the inn you are staying at only to let out a barely audible gasp (or was it a scream)? You are unsure what sound you made as you stare at a pouty face Luffy who now has his arm wrapped firmly around your waist.

The reason why you made that sound and suddenly feel intense fear is from the look on his face. It made you want to laugh because it is a look of disappointment (that would usually be given to whoever does not give him what he wants). You missed him dearly, but the fear is too much.

He is going to tell you how angry he is at you. How he can’t forgive you.

That is until he pushes that away with these simple words. “I knew it was you! (Name) why’d you run?! I missed you so much! You know I was really mad when you left but Robin told me you were feeling just like her! You are not allowed to leave your family like that again!”

It was only a few seconds, but he has already forgiven you. He knows you left because you thought it was for the better. He does not care. Now that he quite literally as you back in his arms he will not let go. The tears are almost immediate as you wrap your arms around him. The logic you tried to convince yourself- The reason you left the crew- Flying right out the window because it feels so good just to be back in their presence. To feel your lover’s and captain’s love and need for you.

You can feel the slight hurt and no matter how hard you think it is right to leave you just can’t do it again. You can’t force him to go through that pain and as he said. He won’t let you go just because you feel like you don’t deserve to be with them.

[readyplayerhobi]

Captain’s Log | 1

; Starfleet Captain!Jungkook x Ex-Borg!Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, future smut

; Word Count: 6.6k

; Synopsis:  Freshly promoted Captain Jeon Jungkook is one of the youngest captain’s in Starfleet history. Sent on a mission to provide aid to a fellow starship, he grapples with multiple problems from a Q who seems to be trying to be human and calling himself Seokjin to having the only Romulan in Starfleet on board and the intricacies of dealing helping an ex-borg crew member readjust. Whether he’ll manage to succeed is another matter altogether, but he’ll try his hardest to prove the USS Yi Sun-Sin deserves a place amongst the most famous ships in Starfleet.

; A/N: So...I’ve just decided to split this. And by split it...I may or may not continue it. I’m not sure how this will be received or if people will even enjoy given it relies very heavily on the Star Trek world. If I can get my inspiration back then I will definitely write the second part which will probably be much longer!

-

Captain Jeon Jungkook stood in the small transport ship, staring out of the viewport with his breath caught in his throat. Before him, was the vast expanse of space. Thousands of tiny twinkling specks of light dotted the view, each one a star that was hundreds, thousands or even millions of light-years away.

There was every chance those stars could already be dead. The big ones would have swelled, more extensive and more substantial as they tried to survive by burning as many gasses as they could before finally going supernova and exploding. All that would remain is a neutron star, the compressed core of what had once been a magnificent sun or instead, a black hole that would eat at the very fabric of the universe.

Smaller stars would simply burn out, becoming white dwarves and cooling for millions of years as they became invisible. Forgotten. What Jungkook was looking at, was visual proof that those stars had existed.

But that wasn’t what interested him.

No, what interested him was the monumental structure that hung in the deadness of space, beyond the atmosphere of Earth. McKinley Station was massive on a scale he couldn’t comprehend. Giant in the kind of way that only space could provide. It was one of Starfleet’s pride and joy, a spacedock that birthed the spaceships that protected the hundreds of planets in the Federation.

Cradled gently in the spacedock’s arms, like a loving mother just waiting to let her child go, sat one of those spaceships. She was brand new, her paint glistening in the lights that shone around her. Like other ships of her class, Curiosity, she had the familiar saucer section that took up a large portion of her size while towards the back, her currently powered down warp nacelles flowed out in two straight lines.

A pale grey, the only notable thing on her was the lettering scrawled across the top of her saucer. It slowly came into view as the transport moved around, letting Jungkook get a good look.

The larger script read her registry number, NCC-75715. It was the clearest text, but he wasn’t interested in that. No, he was interested in what was written above that in a smaller font.

USS Yi Sun-Sin.

Her name. The name she would be known by across the stars. The reason he was interested in the magnificent ship, so new that she would probably have the delightful fresh smell when he got on board, was that she was his. 

Captain Jeon Jungkook, one of the youngest captains in Starfleet history, was the captain of the brand new USS Yi Sun-Sin. This was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her, but he could feel his heart swelling with pride already as he watched the ship get closer and closer. He would lead her crew through the galaxy, make the hard decisions, explore the unexplored and defend the defenceless. 

It was still hard for him to realise that he’d made it. His years at Starfleet Academy had gone perfectly. Almost too perfectly. The highest grades, the best physical performance and graduated top of his class. He’d only been beaten in the mathematics and physics sections by a Vulcan, which was unsurprising.

After that, he’d run through the ranks of Starfleet at an exponential rate. As a result, he was only 31 and already a captain. His parents were beyond happy and bursting with pride that their little boy had made it to the honoured ranks of Starfleet. Just an ordinary guy from a small city called Busan.

Yet here he was. About to embark upon the greatest adventure.

-

One Year Later

“Engineering, what’s the status on the warp drive?” Jungkook asked, his finger pressed onto the screen embedded into the arm of his comfortable captain’s chair. The bridge stretched before him, a small space before reaching the helm and beyond that was the enormous viewscreen that let him see what lay beyond the Yi Sun-Sin.

A scientific anomaly in the nebula they’d been studying for the last week had caused the warp drive to unexpectedly power down. They’d been operating on thrusters since, managing to push the ship just far enough that they’d left the nebula. Engineering had been working on the drive ever since, frantically running through diagnostics and repairing blown conduits.

A starship without a warp drive wasn’t of much use to anyone. Jungkook was desperate to get it working again so he could get both his ship and crew away from any potential danger.

The last thing he needed right now was for a Borg cube to randomly fly by.

That thought ran through his head and he cringed at the thought, pushing it away quickly. He hoped that didn't happen. With the current roster, Jungkook didn't need his crew needing yet another reason to hate the Borg.

Not that he'd begrudge anyone for their negative feelings regarding the Borg. They were terrifying and Jungkook prayed to whatever god would hear him that he would never have to come across them. 

Any alien species they found that they deemed to be a worthy addition to their gigantic Collective was swiftly captured and assimilated. Rarely did those people ever manage to return once taken.

But a few did.

When he’d been choosing the crew for his ship, Jungkook had had the pick of a wide range of capable candidates. He’d quickly earned himself the Captain of Lost Causes title amongst his peers when they saw who he’d chosen.

His crew was eclectic, to say the least.

And that included an ex-Borg. The only ex-Borg in Starfleet since the demise of Icheb, a capable officer who had unfortunately been killed to harvest his Borg parts. Jungkook, and everyone else in Starfleet, had found that a sad day. Even more so because it had been the infamous Seven of Nine who had delivered the parting blow, ending his suffering when she found him.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how painful that had been for her. A lot of people were under the assumption that those who had once been Borg still retained their lack of humanity. Or whatever you called that in other species. They were wrong. People had it, they just didn’t know how to access it anymore.

Which was why he’d picked you to be his astrometrics officer. You had retained your knowledge from when you’d been in the Borg Collective, one drone amongst millions, even billions. That meant you had a formidable knowledge of space and how to traverse it, a mathematical mind that could only be met by an android and an innate understanding of science.

Needless to say, you were a brilliant Starfleet officer. 

You didn’t quite make such a good human though. Along with struggling to find your place amongst free-minded individuals once more, your social skills found much to be desired as well. Everyone on board Yi Sun-Sin knew about you, and they all knew about the problems you had faced in Starfleet Academy when it came to others.

Jungkook had found you endlessly fascinating for the first few weeks. Your lack of awareness regarding certain social graces and your complete disregard for rules if you felt they were interfering with something worthwhile had both bemused and exasperated him.

When he’d been given this ship, the only thing he’d thought about had been how to ensure he was commanding a large number of Starfleet personnel efficiently and with care. He wanted to be the kind of captain whom people were confident about coming to with their problems while also inspiring strong loyalty to take them into dangerous situations.

He most certainly had not expected what had happened with you over the last year. Not that he particularly regretted any of it. Starfleet didn’t have any concrete regulations when it came to fraternizing. Jungkook knew because he’d frantically scanned them all when he’d realised how deep he was into his feelings. All he’d been able to do was maintain that his personal life remained personal and that when in command, he didn’t let anything interfere with his job.

Alongside you though, he’d also taken on Lieutenant Commander Jimin. The slight man was currently standing behind the communications console to the left of Jungkook at the back of the bridge. He was Jungkook’s second officer and a Romulan. The only Romulan in Starfleet. Just like you, it had made him a little bit of an outcast amongst his fellow officers and cadets at the Academy.

Romulans were not exactly renowned for being friends of Starfleet. But Jimin’s family had fled Romulus before he’d even been born, gaining asylum on Earth and becoming productive members of society. Jimin had never known what it was like to be amongst Romulans; he’d never even seen the homeworld of his species.

That didn’t stop people from distrusting him though. From viewing him through the lens of hostility and anger. Unsurprisingly, he’d somehow formed a friendship with you and it pleased Jungkook to see that you both at least had each other.

But that wasn’t what was important right now. The damn warp drive was.

“Engineering reporting,” The soft and feminine voice of his Chief Engineer, Siyeon, filtered through to the bridge. “We have almost managed to fix the drive, Captain. I estimate another hour and a second test run will be required before I can recommend restarting the warp drive safely.”

Her words were brisk and precise, the famous mark of the ever so logical Vulcans. Siyeon had been the Vulcan to beat him in the subjects he’d hadn’t come top in at the Academy, her analytical mind pursuing her to move through the engineering ranks. When he’d seen her name available for his crew he’d jumped to bring her aboard, promoting her to a senior rank.

She was exactly like she’d been at the Academy, almost unaged due to her extended Vulcan lifespan. Long black hair in an understated cut, eyebrows in a straight line that made it a little hard to understand what she was thinking sometimes and the familiar pointed ears of her race. Due to the same origins of their species, she looked remarkably similar to Jimin with his ruffled black hair, straight brows and pointed ears.

Jungkook was glad to have her on board though. He felt like she could see problems that he hadn’t even considered before and sometimes came up with solutions that seemed surprisingly creative for a Vulcan. Though her second was a human. Chaos incarnate.

“Great, let me know when it’s ready and we’ll give it a try.”

“Acknowledged.” 

He has to purse his lips to stop himself from laughing at her brusque dismissal. It was still jarring to be dealt with in so quick of a manner but Jungkook knew that Siyeon didn’t mean to be rude. She just had more important things to worry about. 

“Jimin,” Jungkook called out to the Romulan, looking back and taking in his immediately alert stance. “Are the sensors showing anything?”

His direct gaze leaves Jungkook’s to look down at his console once more, fingers flying as he taps in commands and looks over everything. The top part of Jimin’s uniform above his heart is solid gold in colour, signifying he’s part of the operations division. It makes his slim shoulders look slightly broader, but not by much.

“Nothing in front or to the side of us, sir. I can’t confirm behind us. We’re still too close to the nebula and our sensors can’t penetrate.” Jungkook always found it a little odd, even after six months, to be staring at someone who resembled a stoic Vulcan so strongly and yet was the complete opposite. Jimin spoke with urgency, a slight tinge of worry in his voice as he was unable to give Jungkook everything he wanted while his brows dipped towards each other as his face gave away even more.

Romulans had never embraced cold logic like their cousins. If anything, Jimin was prone to bouts of rage if he was pushed to his limit. Quick to take offence and even quicker to take action. An unfortunate Romulan trait.

“That’s fine Commander, don’t worry too much over it. We’re still moving away so keep checking. Sensors at max, I want to be aware of every tiny meteor flying even remotely near us in this sector. I do not want to be surprised.” A brusque nod accompanied Jimin’s acknowledgement and Jungkook turned his attention to the next thing on his list.

Looking over to the chair next to him, he raised a slight brow at the Bajoran male sitting there. For a few moments, Commander Yoongi Min didn’t seem to realise his captain wanted his attention. He was too busy scanning over a datapad that had been handed to him by an ensign.

“Min?” Jungkook prompted, causing Yoongi to look up abruptly. The familiar ridges on the upper bridge of his nose gave away his Bajoran heritage, alongside the traditional decorative earpiece that was connected with tiny chains to the shell of his ear, an important part of his culture.

Licking his lips, Yoongi coughed slightly before nodding as he collated the reports he’d been given while Jungkook’s had been busy. 

“Sickbay reports ten injured when the conduits blew on deck 11, section B and C. No other casualties. Engineering teams have already repaired those conduits. Holodeck 1 is out for the moment due to a power surge caused. No ETA for the moment.” He carried on, the reports less important now he’d gotten the big ones out of the way but Jungkook still listened intently as his mind raced.

Once finished, he nodded his thanks to Yoongi before contacting sickbay for an update from his Chief Medical Officer, Dr Dahyun Troi. 

“Dr Troi, how are the casualties? Are you okay down there? Do you need any extra help?” There was a brief pause but he didn’t push it. He may be the captain of this starship but the Chief Medical Officer was the only person who was allowed to give him orders if necessary. The last thing he wanted was to aggravate her.

“Captain, we’re looking good here. I’ve already treated and released four of the casualties. Another three are probably going to be able to go in half an hour once I’ve given them a final scan. The last three are going to be here a little longer, I’m afraid. Ensign Adewale has a crushed left leg that will require surgery to repair while Lieutenant Martinez has suffered head trauma. I can’t give a firm diagnosis on Lieutenant Kapoor, though I do have a feeling that we may have to divert to a Starbase for the medical facilities there to look after her. There may be amputation required.” Dahyun’s voice was calm and gentle despite what she was reporting.

It made her the perfect doctor in Jungkook’s opinion. Always reassuring and with a soft tone of tranquillity, she managed to keep her patients relaxed even under the most stressful and painful of times. 

Which made sense. She was half-human and half-Betazoid, a telepathic race which allowed them to be empathic. The ship’s counsellor, Commander Taehyung Grax, was a full Betazoid. His stronger abilities made him a better option for sensitively dealing with the crew's psychological issues.

“Okay, keep me updated on whatever you need. We’ll plot a course to the nearest Starbase just in case.” Jungkook responds, ending the communication. Taking in a deep breath, he just lets himself have a moment to compile his thoughts and just...breathe. He hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours.

Logically, he knows that he could just leave the bridge and get some rest. Yoongi would keep track of everything for him and call him back if anything critical needed his attention.

The soft noise of the elevator doors opening caught his attention, looking over to see you walking out with your usual, self-assured strides. Your face was carefully blank, the Borg implant along your jawline matched with another at your temple. They’d been too interwoven with important nerves to be removed.

“Captain, the astrometrics lab is functioning as expected-” Anything else you were about to say is cut off by the sudden movement of Lieutenant Commander Jung Hoseok. The Chief Security Officer, normally so jovial and bright, moved at what seemed like warp speed to the main area of the bridge, his phaser pointed in front of him while he called for more security.

“Who are you. Identify yourself.” He said sternly, his elegant face like a stone as he watches the newcomer with wary eyes. Every tiny movement is tracked and before Jungkook even realises what he’s doing, he’s standing as well. Brow creasing, he looks over the man who has appeared in a flash of white light.

“I know who he is,” Ensign Namjoon Dax, the chief helmsman said softly. “He’s a Q.”

“Oh no, please no.” Yoongi moaned softly from Jungkook’s side, a hand coming to rub at his face. There was no need for Jungkook to question why he was reacting like that because even he knew what that meant. It had, unsurprisingly, become required reading to go over the reports from Captain Picard, Captain Janeway and Captain Sisko regarding their encounters with the being simply known as ‘Q’.

It was both his name and the name of his race. Extra-dimensional beings with immense power over time, space and plenty of other things that Jungkook desperately didn’t want to get involved with. Like the laws of physics, for starters.

Q was not something that any Starfleet officer wanted to get involved with. Because for as monumentally powerful as they are, as knowledge as they were, they were like petulant children. Constantly bored and wanting to play with the ants. Of which Starfleet ships often ended up being their playthings.

“You’re right, I’m a Q. How did you know? It’s my dashing good looks, isn’t it? Nothing in your universe could possibly compare to this exquisite facade. Handcrafted by the...well I don’t know but that’s not important.” Q said, his full lips spreading into a beautiful smile.

He wasn’t wrong. The alien man stood before Jungkook was good looking, to the point it almost looked unnatural. Tall and with broad shoulders, he had jet black hair that was swept off his forehead in an elegant style while his large eyes practically sparkled with mischief.

It made Jungkook feel ill.

“I know...because I’ve dealt with a Q before. The Q.” Namjoon is still sitting at this console, the red of his uniform denoting his command division and Jungkook feels a small swell of pride at how calm he’s being. Although, there’s no reason to get hysterical. From what he’d read, there was absolutely nothing he could do to make Q disappear until he got bored and left.

“Really? I don’t remember you,” Q said, puckering his lips into a pout while one dark brow rose as he scanned over the helmsman. “Handsome, tall, those familiar markings on your face...you’re a Trill. Do you have one of those creepy worm things in your stomach too?”

Gesturing towards Namjoon, Q’s nose scrunches up in disgust. Trill’s were a humanoid race and some of them were ‘joined’ with a symbiont. A worm-like creature that could only live in the body of a Trill, which was passed from host to host. As a result, Namjoon had the memories and knowledge of all the former hosts of his symbiont.

Including meeting Q, apparently.

“I have a symbiont, yes. And you won’t remember me. I’ve only been joined for a year. You might remember one of my previous hosts though? Jadzia Dax? From Deep Space 9?” There’s a brief moment of quiet as Q thinks before his mouth drops open and he points at Namjoon.

“Yes! You were very beautiful. Though you wore blue then, not red? And you were a woman. Is it strange, going from gender to gender?”

“No. It’s natural. I’m the Chief Helmsman of the Yi Sun-Sin whereas Jadzia was a science officer. You don’t look like that Q though.” Clearing his throat, Jungkook tries to turn the conversation to himself. He was the captain of this ship, after all, it felt odd to be so clearly excluded from the conversation.

“Oh well, that wasn’t me. That was my brother, Q. He shared his memory of you, that’s why I know. I’m Q. But I’ve been quite bored lately so I thought I’d try out this whole...living like one of you things. So, you can call me Captain Seokjin! Reporting for duty!” He says this brightly, grinning as he salutes. There’s another flash of light and suddenly, the plain white robes he’d been wearing are turned into a Starfleet uniform.

A command uniform...with the relevant pips of a Starfleet Captain on his collar.

Letting out a groan, Jungkook tries to control himself as he realises that he wasn’t going to be getting out of this easily. A Q who wanted to be human, or at least act like a Starfleet officer? At least cadets at the Academy were going to remember his name after being forced to read this report as well.

“You can’t just...turn up here and demand to be part of our crew,” Jungkook states, as calmly as he can with high blood pressure rising this much. “Can’t you...go to one of the inhabited planets if you want to live like us? Find a city and-”

“Pssht!” He’s interrupted by Q, or rather Seokjin, lifting a hand and making a gesture as if he was trying to blow away a bad odour. Baffled at being interrupted so blasé, Jungkook just stares at him for a moment with wide eyes before looking over at Yoongi. His second-in-command just gave him an unsure shrug, uncertainty written all over his face.

“I said I want to live like one of you. That means on one of your fancy starships, getting into danger and fighting bad guys. I wanna pew pew everyone!” Finger guns at the ready, Seokjin pretends to fire at Hoseok. When his Chief Security Officer just scowls at the intruder, Seokjin just grins and laughs.

Pressing at his temple, Jungkook reminded himself that headaches didn’t exist anymore. They’d been cured long ago. He was just feeling a phantom headache, that was all.

“You can’t just...waltz onto a starship and give yourself a command. For starters, there’s only one captain and that’s me. Another point is that you are most definitely not qualified to be on this ship. You haven’t passed Starfleet Academy, therefore you can’t be given a rank of any kind. And even if I did give you a field rank, it would be Ensign. Because I don’t know what you can do. If I’d even want to let someone as...chaotic as you even touch anything.” Maybe he went a little too far with that. Some of his words felt a little bit harsh and Jungkook had to work hard not to give away that he was uncomfortably aware that he might have pissed the omnipotent being off.

But all Seokjin does is sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes and flapping his arms around in a remarkably childlike tantrum. 

Subtly raising one hand, Jungkook calls for the security team to stand down. They do so slowly, unhappiness at the order apparent but they can’t go against their captain’s order. Straightening, Hoseok keeps a firm hand on his phaser, the gold of his uniform clashing slightly with the red he’d decided to colour his hair with recently.

“Why not? I’m more powerful than you anyway. I could take you places you’ve never even heard of. How about the Kinmara system?” Clicking his fingers, there’s a flash of light and the view out of the large screen changes abruptly. Instead of the vast expanse of space, there’s a large planet creeping into view.

“What the...where are we?” Jungkook asks, looking over at Jimin with wide eyes. His operations officer is staring with equally wide eyes before scanning the information on his console, rapidly touching it as he changes what he sees. 

“I...I don’t know. The star charts don’t match up with any of the stars out there and we don’t have this planet in the system. From what I can see...it’s an M-Class with a breathable atmosphere. Gravity slightly stronger than Earth but within acceptable parameters. Multiple life signs across the planet.” He stutters slightly, eyes flickering from the view to Seokjin before moving back to Jungkook.

An M-Class meant it was habitable to life forms like humans or Vulcans. The fact that it wasn’t charted, or explored, meant that Seokjin had no doubt used his immeasurable powers to transport the Yi Sun-Sin who knows how many lightyears away from their previous location.

“Yes, it’s called Kinmara. The system is named after it. It has two moons, one of which is also inhabited and is called Breehana. Lovely place, the weather is beautiful and the ocean is just right. Only the ocean is pink, as you can see. I love pink, it’s so pretty to look at, don’t you think? Anyway, the Mara’s, the name of the race down there, don’t get many visitors so you might find it interesting to visit.” Looking back over at the Q, Jungkook realises suddenly that he’s also materialised himself into a fancy chair.

It takes a lot of effort to bite his tongue and not snap at the powerful being. Jungkook needs to get back to where they were, and Seokjin is the only one who can do that. Especially when they didn’t even have warp drive yet.

“I’m sure it’s a lovely place to visit, but right now I would appreciate it if you would just transport us back to where we were? You see, we need to make some final repairs to our warp drive so we’re not interested in exploring Kinmara right now. But if you let us know where it is on a star chart then I’m sure someone at Starfleet will eventually get round to exploring it closer.” Giving a genial smile, Jungkook gives himself a mental pat on the back. He didn’t even sound remotely annoyed then, perfect.

Only he forgot that he’s not dealing with some rational lifeform. He’d read enough about the previous encounters with Q, and read the regulations on how to handle an encounter with one, plenty of times to know that there was no such thing as rational to them. They did what they wanted, when they wanted and how they wanted.

Unfortunately, this Q had chosen the Yi Sun-Sin to be his plaything for today. Which meant that headache that shouldn’t exist was beginning to very much feel like it existed.

“Oh, are we not exploring today? How about some action instead? I know the perfect place.” Another snap of his fingers and everything goes white once more. What takes a mere second feels like minutes, with Jungkook dreading what they’ll be faced with. Because if there’s one thing he’s certain of right now, it’s that it would not be where they’d started.

He’s greeted with a vista of space when he finally opens his eyes, the twinkling lights of far-off stars as familiar to him as the back of his hand. A welcoming sight.

What is not welcoming, however, is the immediate alarm that begins to blare through the bridge. Automatically, the lights dim and a familiar, if unwanted, red light begins to flash throughout the bridge while screens begin to show what the ship deems to be important information. 

Red alert. The standard Starfleet setting for when enemy ships are detected or they go to battle stations. Automatically, the ship has put itself into red alert when something has triggered its sensors. Under normal circumstances, this would mean the Yi Sun-Sin would be primed and ready for battle with weapons ready.

With no warp drive though, it was just a foreboding sound that chilled Jungkook to his very bones. Because there was something out there. Something that his ship deemed a danger to itself and her crew. Something he couldn’t fight.

“Sensors?!” He barks, jerking into movement. Hoseok doesn’t even waste a breath, practically leaping behind the security console and tapping at the screen. There’s no need to ask what he’s doing, Jungkook already knows that he’s trying to see if there’s anything they could do to fight.

“One ship, sir. It’s spotted us, five-million kilometres out and closing. It’s…” Jimin trails off, his already pale face draining even more as his mind acknowledges what he’s reading. His reaction alone makes Jungkook feel sick. Romulans weren’t prone to fear when it came to fighting. They lived for this kind of stuff, beaten only perhaps by the Klingons.

“It’s a Borg sphere, Captain.” The soft words come from behind him and he spins around, eyes widening while the rest of his expression freezes in dual shock and dismay. Your face is carefully neutral, just like it always is and he watches as you work through the data on your astrometrics panel. The sensors for your area are far more sensitive than the general navigation, which makes it no surprise that you’d figured it out first.

“Borg?” He almost whispers. There’s no need to look at the rest of the crew. The subtle wave of fear at the incoming ship moves around the bridge like a harsh wind. But at the same time, he feels a thread of pride at the actions of his senior command. No one panics or starts shouting, instead there’s an odd silence that soon turns the fear into resolve.

There may not be a lot that they could do, but Jungkook would be damned if the Yi Sun-Sin didn’t go down fighting in some way. Even if he had to ram the sphere. Did it make him a bad captain if he’d much rather his crew die in a suicide mission than be assimilated into a lifeless collective?

Glancing back over at you, he sees what no one else does. The fear in your eyes. The pure terror at the knowledge that the Collective you had once been a part of was so close to taking you again. From many conversations with you over the months, both casual and a little more intimate just before sleeping, Jungkook knew that you would rather die than go back.

There was no individual in the Borg. No one person, no freedom of thought of free will. There was only the Collective. A central mind that connected to every single Borg throughout the galaxy, billions upon billions of minds all working as one with no thoughts of their own. You had immeasurable knowledge from all the information that the Borg had harvested from the races they had assimilated over time, but you were terrified of losing your individuality once more.

A Borg drone, which you had once been, was nothing. The Collective thought nothing of killing off drones they deemed defective or those that couldn’t be repaired. There was no compassion, no empathy. No love.

Yes. Jungkook would rather his crew die than put them through that. He didn’t think he’d have many complaints about it either.

Perhaps a little selfishly too, he couldn’t bear the thought of putting you through that once more. You’d finally learnt how to be an individual once more and were exploring your humanity. The thought of you lost forever once more was even more painful.

Looking over at Seokjin, Jungkook gritted his teeth and pointed at him with fury. If only the Q didn’t have the kind of power that Jungkook couldn’t even begin to imagine or understand. He would sincerely love to punch the smug, handsome asshole.

“Take. Us. Back. I told you, we have no warp drive! That means we have no weapons! You’re not going to get the battle you wanted. We can’t fight the Borg, not like this. Take us back! You can be on the ship, fine whatever! Just...don’t touch anything and let us just do our mission! Please.” He begged, about ready to get on his knees if necessary. 

Maybe it wasn’t very becoming for a Starfleet captain, but he didn’t care right now. He had no idea where they were in the galaxy and if the Borg got them, then Starfleet would never know either. The Yi Sun-Sin would go down as missing in action, just another mystery that would never be solved.

But Seokjin’s attention has moved onto you, a curious expression taking over. Tilting his head slightly, he walks over to you with long, elegant strides that make it seem like he’s been on this bridge many times. It annoys Jungkook and he has to ball his hands into fists to stop himself from lashing out at the Q.

You could take care of yourself, he knew that. Jungkook had far more important things to stress over than Seokjin taking a sudden interest with you. So it’s with great pains that he turns away and begins to bark orders at his bridge crew, demanding the status of weapons before patching through to engineering and getting an update from them.

“What are you?” Seokjin asks you, eyes of a deep chocolate brown scanning your frame up and down repeatedly. Unlike anyone else on the bridge, the colour of the top portion of your uniform is blue. A signifier of the science division, it was rare for you to be on the bridge; Jungkook wished that you weren’t here right now given the way Seokjin was looking at you speculatively. 

He shouldn’t have been concerned though because you handled the omnipotent being with the same, cool regard that you did everything else. It had been a little frustrating when he’d first taken command, even more so when he’d realised that he had a potential romantic interest but he loved it right now.

Because you just stared at Seokjin, your gaze not giving away a single hint of emotion or expression. A slight tilt of your head gives away that you’re considering him and Jungkook probably shouldn’t get as much satisfaction as he does by the way Seokjin shuffles, almost as if he’s awkward.

“You are a Q. The Borg have never met your species before. I have no frame of reference for how to engage with you except for the reports from Starfleet.” As usual, your words are straightforward and precise. No one ever has to worry about whether you hold hidden intentions, it’s simply not in your nature anymore to engage in subterfuge.

“The Borg,” Seokjin sounds surprised and he scans over you a few more times, brow rising. “You can’t be an actual Borg, they wouldn’t let you stay here. Not to mention you don’t have all that ugly machine stuff on you. Humanoid and in a Starfleet uniform. You were a Borg, but now you’re not with the Collective anymore. How fascinating.”

“Very. Captain, if you will excuse me then I have duties to attend to.” You’re looking at Jungkook now, lips pursed expectantly. Pausing in his questions to everyone else, Jungkook nods and permits you to leave the bridge. It’s not unnoticed by him the way Seokjin watches you in fascination as you leave. His stomach turns at the sight and worry fills him.

Not that there’s any point. You can take care of yourself and more importantly, none of them could stop whatever Seokjin wanted to do.

“How very interesting.” Jungkook can’t help but glare at the Q as he watches you leave, twisting his lips in a bizarrely human gesture. Finally, he reaches his boiling point and points in frustration out of the viewscreen.

“Borg. Danger. Leave. Now.” Part of him knows that he shouldn’t be as blunt and rude, not when the situation was this dangerous. But he didn’t care, he just wanted his crew and ship away from danger. Something that Jungkook couldn’t do himself. He’d begged, he’d argued and now he was being firm.

If Seokjin wanted to pretend to be part of his crew then he would have to learn to take orders from him. It was the only way this whole stupid thing was going to work without causing Jungkook some serious stress. The very fact that he was even considering this said volumes about the fear and pressure Jungkook was under right now.

Exhaling slowly, he pleaded with himself internally to keep himself calm. From what he’d read about the Q, and that was the race as a whole, it wouldn’t do to antagonise him. It’d do no one any good if he decided to just disappear, leaving the Yi Sun-Sin to its fate.

“Fine, fine. Urgh, you lower lifeforms have no sense of adventure. You’re all so boring.” A click of his fingers sends everything white once more. Once his vision clears, Jungkook immediately starts barking orders to his crew. He didn’t need to though, they were automatically moving like a well-oiled machine.

“We’re back where we started, captain,” Jimin confirms with a nod of his head, his gaze still focused on the readout from his console. He doesn’t say anything more, his fingers too busy darting across the screen as he takes in what he’s seeing.

“Well, this was a waste of my time. I’ll be back when the fun starts.” With that, Seokjin vanishes. The bridge is eerily silent for a few minutes after he’s gone, everyone looking at each other in confusion as the red alert status disappears now they’re safe again.

“Is he gone?” Yoongi asks, looking over at Hoseok. The security chief glances down to his console, lips pursing as he scans through the information before nodding his head slowly.

“No...Q life-signs detected on board. Or rather, only what we expect should be onboard. Looks like he’s really gone.” Something inside Jungkook relaxes and he suddenly feels so, unbelievably, tired. Groaning quietly, he flops back into the captain’s seat and rubs at his forehead. He should visit the medical bay, it’s not natural to have a headache.

“Okay. Okay, well. He’s going to come back, we know that. Just be prepared, warn everyone on board and I want to be informed the moment he turns out. Hoseok, you better make sure your security team is ready for anything he decides to do. I know you probably can’t do anything but it’ll sure as hell make me feel better. Yoongi, get onto engineering and see if they can speed this whole thing up. I want to be gone as soon as possible, is that understood?” Yoongi nods, automatically turning to the interface in his chair.

“Yes sir, I’ll collate reports from all departments and send them to your ready room.” Nodding to his second-in-command, Jungkook stands and stretches with a groan. He’d spent long enough on the bridge and he just wanted some time to relax. But he couldn’t do that, not yet.

“Great. I’m going to head to sickbay, check-in with Dr Troi as my head is killing after that incident. Then I’m gonna try and get some rest. You’ve got the bridge Yoongi, once the engines are fixed and working then get us going again. Warp 8, back on our path. And...send a report to Starfleet about what’s happened. Try and get some advice on what to do with all this. Everyone good with their orders?” Looking around, everyone on the bridge nodded in acknowledgement to him and a weight lifted off his shoulders.

He had a good bridge crew, and he knew that he could rely on them while he was gone. Heading over to the turbolift, entering the circular car and asking for the desk that medical bay was one. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed as it began to move.

“Fuck.”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (19) || atz

You watch from the mast as Nassau comes into sight.

The past few days have been spent gearing up for the plan. To disguise the ship, you and the crew have all slaved away on your journey to Seonghwa’s hometown, taking down the distinct blue square sails of the ship and rigging the masts with patchy, torn sails grey from age.

Over the last few days, you and Wooyoung have gotten much closer from working together in the sails all the time. The head gunner had taken one look at your face after your incident with Yeosang and offered to sit with you in the crow’s nest until you felt better. Although you had been boiling over with fury, ready to push him away, he simply told you that he wouldn’t ask any questions.

He wasn’t smiling when he said that, so you agreed.

Yeosang never came to apologize, the coward.

The two of you had merely sat quietly in the crow’s nest, watching the sun set and the stars come out at night. Half the time you had expected Wooyoung’s mouth to open his mouth with some dumb question, but he had just remained silent the entire time, not even looking at you in the least. The two of you simply watched sky and sea become one, both melding into a single canvas of inky black, the stars both above and reflected beneath you. And you had thought long and hard about what you’d said to Yeosang.

I hate you.

You’d used the worst word you could have possibly have. You weren’t just angry with him. You didn’t just immensely dislike him. You had completely lost your damn mind.

Yeosang, one of the quietest and purest people to ever walk the earth and sail the sea. The silent, kind and all knowing navigator who you spotted talking to the birds in the harbor of Tortuga because he was so fascinated by them. The man who’d only ever shown you kindness and given you comfort. The one who never hesitated to help you no matter what your requests were and answered your questions about anything and everything. You’d told him that you hated him.

“I think I screwed something up.” You’d told Wooyoung, head resting against his shoulder. One thing you’d learned about Wooyoung was that he loved physical contact, craved it even, as long as you didn’t surprise him with it. His arm came around your shoulders, pulling you close to stay warm in the crisp night air.

“You just noticed?” The tone of his comment was anything but snark, and he didn’t say a word more. You’d fallen asleep against his shoulder, as if hoping his warmth could fend off the guilt and frozen anger in you.

The next morning when you had woken up, he was still there in the same position, one arm around you, watching the sunrise.

For the duration of the trip to Nassau, you hadn’t spoken to Yeosang once. Even though the two of you had bumped into each other rather frequently, Yeosang had just lowered his head and brushed past you like you weren’t there, and you had done the same.

You were still too angry to talk rationally to him.

I hate you.

You were still too confused to ask him why he would do this to you.

I hate you.

You were still too ashamed to face him for what you had said.

In an attempt to escape him, you’d simply juggled between staying in the rigging or cooking in the kitchens. San had asked you repeatedly about why your face had been so down during your lessons together, but you honestly didn’t know how to answer him.

So you simply hadn’t.

“Chin Hae?”

You turn absentmindedly on the yardarm to face Wooyoung as he makes his way to you, swinging between ropes as he settles next to your side. The two of you have finished your task in taking down the orange and black ATEEZ flag and carefully ripping holes in the sails, so you have nothing to do for now.

“Will everything really be okay?” You ask him quietly. You don’t like where this plan is going at all.

Wooyoung merely shrugs with a matter-of-fact smile as he glances at the dark shape that is Nassau begins to grow in size. “I trust captain. And even if it doesn’t turn out okay, I stick with the crew. They’ll never abandon us.”

You nod. Even if you’re not really very positive about where this plan is going, you’ll stay with the ship and its crew.

The plan, in fact, is to infiltrate Nassau as a merchant ship running from pirates. The cannons have been stowed in a special hidden space right beneath the main deck, and the weapons kept away in a compartment in the main hold.

But there’s a sinking feeling in your chest.

“Chin Hae! Wooyoung-ah!” Mingi calls from the main deck and you look down to see the quartermaster standing there. He looks equally as tense as you are, mouth pressed into a line. “Captain wants to see you to go over the plan one last time.”

You nod. Both you and Wooyoung leap from the rigging, sliding down easily with leather gloves on your hands and landing as lightly as a cat. If Yunho had the opportunity to see you instead of practicing his role in the plan, he’d definitely be proud of you.

The two of you move to the cabin, silently trailing the quartermaster quietly. There’s a tense silence over the deck as the crew merely watch the town of Nassau come closer and closer in sight. Everybody knows what the consequences are if the authorities see through your ploy.

The Treasure will be burnt to ashes.

The crew will be hung.

And yet none of them are backing down.

Your footsteps barely make sound on the wooden floorboards as you step into the captain’s cabin after Wooyoung. The door swings shut behind you and the two of you greet Yunho quietly, who’s seated on the bed silently rehearsing his lines.

Hongjoong turns from coaching Yunho and turns to the two of you. The first thing you notice is the dark circles beneath your captain’s eyes, as if he hasn’t slept in days, which is probably true. He’s carrying all your lives on his shoulders with this plan, and should it go wrong every single one of you will be strung up like dried fish in the marketplace.

You swallow uncomfortably at the thought and stand a little straighter in front of the captain’s desk.

The plan is scribbled down everywhere, on sheets of paper littered around the desk. Some you recognise as your captain’s calligraphy, some as Mingi’s scribbles, and the rest as Yeosang’s neat notes.

You force your eyes away from them.

“When we get to Nassau, it’ll be around evening.” Hongjoong jerks a thumb at Yunho, who’s rereading his script with the most haunted, terrified look you’ve seen. It’d make you worry, but you’ve already seen the careful construction that goes on behind this facade and know it’s nothing more than an act. “There’ll be an official coming to check the ship, so don’t be shocked when it happens.”

As Hongjoong and Mingi have discussed, the only literate people on this ship are Hongjoong, Mingi, Seonghwa, San, Yunho, Yeosang and you. Hongjoong is much too striking with his eye patch, so he can’t be the one the ship presents as captain when the ship enters the port of Nassau. Mingi’s out because of his deep blue hair.

San is needed on board as a healer, Seonghwa’s face is probably still on an arrest warrant in Nassau, and Yeosang simply doesn’t have a presence commanding enough to be a captain. You, too, have no idea how port authorities work, so the only one left to the role is Yunho.

It is strange to see your captain not in his usual red jacket, his signature look has been swapped out for a more unassuming white shirt and trousers. But no matter what he dresses in, he still exudes authority with every action and you hang on to every word he says.

“Yeosang and Seonghwa have done a map of where the official lives. It’s a small estate surrounded by a few houses in which the townspeople live. Do you remember his name?”

“Lucio Bartholomew.” Wooyoung echoes from memory. Hongjoong nods confirmation.

“You’ll need to infiltrate the estate from the back wall under the cover of night. Find out how many guards there are, where his office is and come right back.”

The head gunner inclines his head in understanding.

Then the captain turns to you, his eyes softening.

“Are you prepared?”

You nod. There’s a fear pulling at you from the inside, and you’re terrified as well.

Because you’re going on this mission too.

That’s why you’ve been spending so much time on the masts and rigging, learning how to move along ropes, to scale them as quickly and silently as possible. As the only other literate person on board who doesn’t have any outstanding physical traits for the town watch to recognize you by, your role in this mission is to read the plaques and clues around you to find Lucio Bartholomew’s room.

You’re also the only one light enough for Wooyoung to work with when using the grappling hook, thus you have been selected by the captain for this infiltration mission.

These five whole days in the rigging, you’ve memorized Wooyoung’s odd little cues and mannerisms, learning how to communicate with him silently without sound, familiarizing yourself with the way he moves. The two of you will need to move in absolute tandem, be of the same mind, before you can succeed on this mission.

The pressure is immense.

“This reminds me of those ninja I heard about before from Japan.” Wooyoung tries to smile, but it comes out more forced than reassuring. Hongjoong stands and inclines his head to the two of you.

“Thank you for doing this, Wooyoung, Chin Hae.” He says so seriously that you feel a lump growing in your throat. Everyone knows how risky this mission is, how dire the consequences will be if you fail. You won’t only be captured, but also jeopardize Seonghwa’s chances of ever getting to confront the official who’d killed his family.

“We’ll be fine.” You manage to lie through your teeth, trying to sound a lot more confident than you feel. Hongjoong’s eye shifts over to the head gunner next to you.

“Take care of Chin Hae, Wooyoung.”

Your captain’s care warms you for a short moment despite your mounting terror at what may be your a terrible fate. Wooyoung meets his captain’s gaze evenly.

“I will, Hongjoong-hyung.” No syllable is empty or void of intent. His words are a promise, a vow and an oath. “I’ll make sure he comes back alive.”

The captain holds the two of you by the shoulders, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion for a moment. “I wish you all the luck the world can offer. If my blessing could be of any use, I hope it will be on the two of you as well.”

The three of you fall silent for a moment, suddenly too aware of the fact that this may be the last time are seeing each other. Then Wooyoung looks up, sniffing the air once. You know what that means.

You’ve reached port.

Not a second later, the bell of the ship rings. You hear Mingi’s voice from the main deck, and Yunho stiffens uncomfortably, looking like a lamb that has just been sent to the slaughterhouse.

“We’ve arrived at Nassau!”

“Good luck, Yunho-hyung.” You say as brightly as you can, which isn’t much. Yunho smiles nervously, throwing the script into a drawer built into the captain’s desk as he fidgets uncomfortably, adjusting the collar of his silk shirt befitting the captain of a merchant ship.

“I’ll try my best.” With that, the four of you step out onto the main deck.

Wooyoung’s hand slips into yours as the two of you make your way to the bow. “Are you nervous?” He whispers out of the side of his mouth. You feel the cold sweat of his palm, the way his fingers seem to be locked in place, and you know that he is anything but calm on the inside. You decide to be honest.

“So much I want to dive straight into the sea and swim back to Tortuga.” You murmur back. Now that is no lie.

The Treasure has begun to enter the port, pulling up against a dock. Men working at the harbor catch the mooring lines your crew tosses over the side, pulling you against the wharf. Mingi gives the order for the anchor to be dropped.

The gangplank is lowered and the harbor official steps aboard, followed by a squadron of twenty soldiers, all armed with bayonets and flintlock rifles. His skin is pale, almost white as porcelain, and his hair is a shade of striking platinum blonde, his uniform neat and tidy. The way his fingers dance on the hilt of his cutlass tells you he’s a man who’s seen many a battle, and that the gold patches at his shoulders are not merely for decoration. A bead of cold sweat trickles down your temple as you take your place between Jongho and Wooyoung.

Jongho gives you a reassuring smile, but you can see that his eyes are dark with anxiety.

“Who’s the captain of this ship?” The official demands coolly, eyes scanning the number of seamen before him. Yunho steps forward, Mingi and Yeosang flanking him.

“I am. My name is Donghae.” He bows to the official, one hand over his heart in a sign of respect and honour. “I’m the captain of the Heron, this is my quartermaster Jiho and my bosun Sungjin.”

“I didn’t ask for their names. My name is Yoongi, head of port inspection and lieutenant of the Royal Navy.” The official replies curtly. His eyes remind you of a hawk’s, scanning the deck for anything out of place like a bird of prey. This man will be a difficult one to fool. “What is your business at Port Nassau?”

“My crew and I were threatened by pirates.” Yunho answers, inclining his head as if ashamed. “I could only let them take what cargo I had on board.”

The official raises a sharp, well defined eyebrow as he takes in the sight of the crew. “A rather merciful pirate ship if it let you go unscathed.”

“We did not put up any fight, good sir.” Yunho explains, sounding tired and defeated, as if he’s really spent the day before surrendering to a pirate ship. “They threatened us with cannonfire, but we hoisted the white flag before they could fire on us.”

“Is that so?” The lieutenant’s eyes rake every one of the crew. When his ice cold eyes meet yours, you feel a shiver travelling down your spine. “They didn’t fire on you?”

“No, sir.” Yunho confirms, nodding his head. The official’s eyes darken minutely.

“Then what is your purpose here?”

“To restock on provisions and freshwater, as well as mend the sails on board the ship.” Yunho says as honestly as he can. It’s technically not a lie, but it’s definitely not the whole truth either.

The lieutenant’s face remains unreadable as he turns away to face his men.

“Jungkook!” A young officer salutes and moves over to his lieutenant.

“Sir?”

“Register the Heron in dock seven. The rest of you, move back to your stations.”

You very nearly sag in relief, but you manage to keep yourself upright from sheer will alone.

“Yes sir!” The soldiers chorus, turning back and marching down the gangplank, boots thundering on the gangplank.

Yoongi gives Yunho a piercing stare. “Move your ship to dock seven. There is to be no one leaving the ship from between the evening bell and the morning bell for the safety of this town and its citizens. I hope you have a pleasant stay.”

He turns to leave, then pauses.

You see the lieutenant glance back at you for a moment, raising his nose to sniff the air. Then he whirls around and leaves.

Once the deck clears of the officials, you slump against Jongho, who pats you on the back comfortingly. You hadn’t even realised how terrified you had been until the ordeal was over, leaving you feeling boneless and weak.

The entire crew breathes a sigh of relief.

Yunho manages to shoot his captain a feeble grin, but he looks like he’s just been run over by a horse and then the cart the horse was drawing. “Phase one down.”

That night, you’re changing into a dark attire in your room with San’s eyes respectfully averted. You’re numb, what you’re about to do doesn’t feel quite real to you except for the terror slowly creeping up your legs. You fasten the clasp at the neck, before throwing a motley brown cloak around you to hide the bulge of the grappling rope tied at your waist.

“I’m done.” You breathe to San, and your master turns to you, passing you the silver hairpin in his hand. You tuck it in your belt, before looking at the healer. His face is completely unreadable, and for once, you find it difficult to interpret the look in his eyes.

Remember to smile.

You try to pull your lips upwards, desperate to ease the worry from his shoulders. “How do I look, master?”

Suddenly, San lunges forward, throwing his arms around you in a massive, rib crushing hug that seems impossible for a man so lithe. You can’t see his face because it’s buried in your shoulder, but you can feel the way his arms are trembling even as he tries to steady himself.

“Promise me you’ll come back to me safe and in one piece, alright?” His voice is just a little hoarse, cracking from raw emotion and vulnerability. You’ve never taken the time to fully appreciate how close you’ve gotten to San, what the green haired healer means to you. Your benefactor, your partner in crime, your master, your family. He is almost like flesh and blood to you at this point, your relationship as a master and apprentice nearly unbreakable.

But you don’t have the time to tell him what he has come to mean to you, so instead you return the hug as tightly as possible.

“I can’t promise that.” You’ve never lied to your master before, and you don’t intend to start making it a habit now. “But I will do my best to come back to you alive.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, before someone knocks on the door gently. “Hey.” Jongho’s head peeks in through the doorway and the two of you slowly untangle from the hug. “It’s time to go.”

You give him the best smile you can muster and move over to the maknae, whose head is downcast. But something seems to weighing heavily on his shoulders, and you frown.

“What is it, Jongho-hyung?”

“If only-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “If only I could read… I could have gone in your place. I don’t… I don’t want you to be in danger.”

You feel a gentle warmth stirring in you in spite of your fear.

“Thank you, Jongho-hyung.” You press him into a quick hug. The young battlemaster stiffens slightly upon the contact, but then squeezes you back tightly before releasing you. “But I’ll be fine.”

He clearly doesn’t believe you, but nods anyway. “Stay safe.”

It’s with their well wishes that you make your way up the main deck.

Wooyoung’s waiting for you at the stern of the ship with the Captain, Mingi and Yeosang. He’s dressed similarly to you, all in black with a brown cloak thrown over his shoulders. Mingi gives you a black scarf to tie around your neck.

“Don’t get recognized.” He warns you, but you see the concern etched in his face. You take the strip of black cloth gratefully. Then you see Yeosang at the side, looking a little hesitant, still afraid to speak to you. Your heart squeezes painfully with anguish.

“Chin Hae-” He begins to say, but you turn to Wooyoung before he can finish his sentence. The navigator falls silent behind you.

You force yourself to concentrate at the task at hand. Wooyoung’s already thrown a rope over the starboard, the side of the ship facing away from the port and the prying eyes of the watch. You sling your leg over the side and look down into the inky dark sea, and for some reason, you don’t feel scared anymore.

This is just like the rigging lines. Just like you’re on the main mast again, playing around with Wooyoung and Yunho.

Maybe the adrenaline is finally kicking in. Or you’re just too scared to feel it anymore.

“We’ll be going now.” You tell them seriously. Hongjoong’s eye fixes on yours.

“All the best, the two of you.” Then he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “Come back to me alive. That’s an order.”

A small, fond smile twitches on your lips and the two of you echo together. “Yes, captain.”

Then the two of you slide down the rope into the sea, disappearing into the darkness of the night.