#plotting the downfall of his enemies

[sidsthekid]

he's got the will to win!!!

[inseparabiles]

... originally wrote these as tags but, you know what, they probably belong in the body text.

I know this is a gazillion years old now but nobody filled this in yet, so I'm going to: the reason why Caracalla interpreted Macrinus's hand as their father's hand guiding him was that their father would always hurt Geta, would always be there to punish him for getting in the way with Caracalla when Caracalla needed punishing.

Geta would never allow Caracalla to be hurt and took his punishments, therefore Caracalla watching his own hand 'punish' Geta in a situation where he knew he'd done wrong naturally meant that since he was not in control of it, it had to instead be their father finishing what he'd started from beyond the grave.

Day 216 of unfriendly reminders that Caracalla was not the one who killed Geta. He stopped, and Macrinus ONLY got involved because the job had to be finished and Caracalla clearly was not going to finish it. This is the first time Macrinus personally involves himself and gets his hands dirty - the whole time before he's used proxies. Not acting would have meant his immediate execution when Geta found out what had been going on, and even now he does it with Caracalla's hand so that the illusion of Caracalla being responsible is maintained.

Macrinus needs him to believe this to protect himself against the Praetorian. The Praetorians will not involve themselves in a private power struggle between the emperors BUT an assassination by an outside party? You bet. Unfortunately he knows Caracalla needs little convincing in the matter: it's his hand, his father's ghost driving him. Sorted.

The brothers basically hand Macrinus all the explanations he needs to justify his ends.

An analysis of Emperors Geta & Caracalla from “Gladiator II”

(*SPOILERS AHEAD!!*)

Hands down they were two of the most interesting characters from this movie and they deserved more screentime but thanks to the complete script and the actors' incredible performances we can gather a lot about their personality as individuals and dynamic as brothers.

Emperor Geta

The released script has confirmed that Geta was the first to be born and we had already kinda guessed it because of the way he behaved and how other characters used to address him for important matters.

He also had a more calculating and observant nature in comparison to his brother and he was certainly calmer. Nevertheless he was power hungry, slightly unhinged, hedonistic, selfish, naive, short-sighted and uncaring and blind about his people needs. The interesting thing is that he seemed genuinely hurt by Acacius' and Lucilla's betrayal which means that he genuinely wanted their respect and loyalty.

In the script there is a deleted scene where Geta and Caracalla asked from Lucilla to adopt them as her sons, which was a common practice back then to strengthen the bloodline. The Emperors knew that they had no right to the throne, so they made this offer to Lucilla, a daughter of a well-respected Caesar. It was a clear political move, especially from Geta's part (for Caracalla it's also something else which I will get into later).

Geta was a person that despite his cruelty he craved loyalty, admiration and respect. He wanted to be loved by his people but he didn't understand that he also had to take care of them. By mercilessly continuing his conquests he had deprived the people of food. Still he tried to gain that respect by controlling Lucilla just like he said in the script “He who controls the lady of Rome controls the people”.

When the riots began after Acacius' death, Geta seemed to have reached a point of desperation and was even seen hiding his face on a curtain and crying.

His relationship with his brother was both complex and immensely interesting. In a deleted scene they can be seen bickering and arguing and it is explicitly said that they were like this every day. But there was also love from both ends and Geta seemed to genuinely worry about his brother's health. When they were children Geta used his own body as a shield to protect Caracalla from their father's blows which clearly suggests that they had an abusive childhood and ever since then he had always protected him. It's also most certain that he didn't want Caracalla's health problems to become known in the empire and when Acacius' betrayal was revealed Geta was the one that calmed Caracalla's outburst which can also mean that this wasn't his first time restraining him. It was also interesting that when Geta lashed out at Caracalla and threw wine at his brother's face he seemed to be regretful after the anger slowly left him.

All those arguments that happened every day never made Geta love his brother less and even voiced his great concern for him to Macrinus about how he gets worse every day. Caracalla could be even slowly dying from his various diseases and Geta felt helpless.

When Caracalla attacked him the script said that Geta wasn't entirely surprised because he had experienced these kind of moods before. Therefore it's not improbable for Caracalla to have physically attacked Geta in the past. Even at that moment the latter seemed to reach his brother and almost made him change his mind but Macrinus showed up and ended everything.

Geta was really having a huge burden on his shoulders: His responsibilities as a ruler which he proved unable to fulfill and his role as a big brother who had to protect and care for his little brother. A role which he also failed because he underestimated Caracalla's insecurities and put his trust on the wrong person.

Emperor Caracalla

Caracalla was the one that had completely lost his sanity thanks to his various illnesses. The script has confirmed that he suffered from syphilis and lead poisoning and that's a lethal combination. And yes, both diseases can affect the brain:

Caracalla was shown to be impulsive, unpredictable, short-tempered, bloodthirsty and was neither clever nor perceptive as shown when he displayed joy at Lucius for killing his champion after loudly refusing the Emperors' mercy (an outrageous act at the time) and his inability to understand Macrinus' schemes and lies.

He was naive and behaved in a childlike manner which was unbecoming of an Emperor. He was also very hedonistic and seemed more absorbed into enjoying the pleasures and luxuries of his position (sex, food, drink etc.). He, furthermore, appeared to be even more promiscuous than his brother having both male and female concubines around him. In a deleted scene he was seen going with his brother and their concubines to their bedrooms which means they fucked in the same room and shared their concubines. Caracalla invited even Macrinus to their bed to show them his “might”. Even Geta was like "bro chill".

I found his relationship with Lucilla interesting. Apparently he appeared to have a special interest for her:

Lucilla could know this since she tried to reason with him not to kill Acacius and when she was ready to be thrown into the arena herself, he was hesitant to do it and even asked Macrinus if this was necessary (If you ask me he was ready to hit that milf)

But that doesn't mean that he also didn't feel jealousy and anger for the love that the Roman people had for her. In his own words “We give them everything. What has she given them?”. Poor Caracalla didn't understand that his unpopularity came from the way his father took the throne while Lucilla was the daughter of a beloved Caesar. He certainly wasn't the brightest in the room since he failed to comprehend that his disinterest for the people made him unpopular thanks to his famous movie line “They can eat war!”.

His monkey, Dondus, was his comfort animal. He loved and cared for it. It was his companion and friend. It brought him joy and in return he spoiled it with food, clothes and even the seat of the First Consul. He was highly protective of it and, in a deleted scene, he even shouted at Geta for the latter's treatment of it.

But his relationship with his brother was the most engaging one. Apparently Caracalla was having delusions about Geta. He claimed that he tried to kill him by asphyxiating him in the womb with the umbilicus (something that is probably unlikely since it's impossible to remember something like this) and that he always lies to him. It's more possible that the diseases had heavily affected his brain and made him forget or alter things. The script even calls it "dementia" which is something really sad to have at such a young age.

Caracalla felt inferior to his brother and he never had anything that was completely his. He suffered from insecurities and when he presented himself as Emperor to the Senate he said: “Now I am the only one. I was the true us, and he was the false me. We were always "we", all our lives, but now I am only I, me, alone”. (Which is a badass line and we got robbed but that's a talk for another day)

When he cut his brother's hand and smiled I believe he did as if to say "look he bleeds" and probably because he felt relief in finally hurting him the way his brother "hurt" him all that time. But in the end he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill his brother and showed not only hesitation but also got teary-eyed by Geta's words. If Macrinus wasn't there to help, Geta would be able to reason with him.

But it's kind of peculiar how he claimed that “My hand held the blade, but my Father's hand guided mine. I was the puppet, dancing on his string” (rip to another amazing quote) even though their father was abusive. We can only blame this to his insanity.

Sadly, Caracalla seemed to worsen mentally after his brother's death as the script also said.

He couldn't even remember what he had done.

And something else which also points to his insecurity is the throne which he picked to sit on the final game:

In his final moments he felt the same way Geta did: helpless and afraid.

Died alone on his brother's throne.

(special shoutout to Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger. They were given so little screentime and yet they delivered thanks to their incredible work 🛐)

[r0ugesun]

just thinking about grumpy!aemond x sunshine niece!reader, that's all

Intimidating uncle who only smiles for his sweet niece?? How can I refuse? :> I hope u like it anon

Synopsis: Aemond’s icy demeanor softens as his playful niece, Y/n, brings joy and warmth into his life through her persistence and tender moments.

Aemond x Niece!Reader

The vast expanse of the Red Keep stretched before them, a labyrinthine structure of ancient stone and intricate tapestries of the Targaryens rich history. Within its cold, echoing halls, moved with his customary stoic grace, his singular eye perpetually narrowed, his demeanor perpetually grave. It was a disposition well-suited to his character, a shield against the tumultuous world he inhabited. Yet, like a glimmer of sunlight piercing through storm clouds, his niece, y/n, was a stark contrast to his brooding presence.

Y/n’s laughter echoed through the halls as she flitted about, a vision of radiance and mirth. Her wit was as sharp as Valyrian steel, and her spirit as unyielding as dragonfire. She was a beacon of joy in a court often shrouded in intrigue and gloom, and though many found solace in her presence, Aemond was not among them. Or so he would have others believe.

The gardens of the Red Keep were a sanctuary for y/n, a place where she could escape the stifling formality of court life. She found Aemond there one afternoon, standing by a marble fountain, his expression as inscrutable as ever. With a mischievous smile, she approached him.

“My dear uncle, why do you always seem to be plotting the downfall of the Seven Kingdoms?” she quipped, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Aemond’s eye flicked towards her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I find little cause for humor, niece. Unlike you, I am not so easily distracted by frivolity.”

“Frivolity?” she repeated, her tone playful. “Surely, you do not think the pursuit of happiness to be frivolous, Uncle. It is the very essence of life!”

He huffed, turning his gaze back to the fountain. “Happiness is a fleeting illusion, y/n. It is duty and strength that endure.”

“Ah, but what is duty without joy? What is strength without laughter? A kingdom built on sorrow and scowling faces is a kingdom doomed to fall” she countered, her voice gentle yet firm.

Aemond’s expression softened ever so slightly, a fleeting hint of amusement in his eye. “You are relentless, aren’t you?”

“Relentless? Perhaps. Or simply persistent in my never ending quest to make you smile” she replied with a toothy grin. “I believe there is a smile hidden somewhere beneath that scowl.”

Aemond arched an eyebrow. “You overestimate your abilities, niece.”

“And you underestimate mine, uncle” she shot back, her tone light but her words carrying a subtle challenge.

Days turned into weeks, and y/n’s persistence in engaging Aemond in conversation did not wane. She would find him in the library, poring over ancient tomes, and offer her commentary on the latest court gossip. She would join him during his solitary walks along the battlements, teasing him about the weight of his thoughts.

One evening, as they dined with the royal family, y/n’s quick wit came to the fore once more. The courtiers were discussing a recent skirmish at the border, the atmosphere laden with a slight tension. Aemond’s expression was particularly dour, his mind clearly occupied with strategic considerations.

“Uncle Aemond” y/n began, her tone deceptively innocent, “do you believe the enemy quakes in fear of your legendary glare? Perhaps we should send a portrait of you to the battlefield. It might end the war without any bloodshed.

A ripple of laughter spread around the table, even King Viserys chuckling at her jest. Aemond’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through his stern facade.

“You have a dangerous tongue, y/n” he said quietly, though there was no malice in his voice.

“Only when it is necessary to cut through the gloom” she replied with a wink.

Despite himself, Aemond found his defenses weakening. There was something irresistible about y/n’s unwavering cheerfulness, her ability to find light in the darkest corners. She was not deterred by his gruffness, nor intimidated by his icy demeanor. Instead, she met him with a courage and joy that was both infuriating and captivating.

One evening, as the sun set over the Blackwater Bay, they found themselves alone on the roof. Y/n leaned against the balcony, her eyes reflecting the golden hues of the sunset.

“Do you ever tire of being so serious, Uncle?” she asked softly.

Aemond sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It is not a matter of choice, y/n. The burdens I bear are heavy, the responsibilities immense.”

“And yet, you bear them with such strength. But even the strongest warriors need respite” she said, turning to face him. “Allow yourself a moment of peace, Aemond. If not for your sake, then for mine.”

He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. The walls he had built around his heart began to crack, ever so slightly. Perhaps there was wisdom in her words, a truth he had long ignored.

“Very well,” he conceded, a faint smile gracing his lips. “For your sake, I shall try.”

Y/n beamed, her joy infectious. “That is all I ask, dear Uncle.”

In that moment, he found a glimmer of happiness he had thought lost forever. As he leaned closer to her, their breaths mingling, he felt an unfamiliar but welcome warmth.

With a gentle tilt of his head, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them.

They drew back slightly, their foreheads touching, and Aemond could not suppress a soft chuckle.

“It appears you’ve managed to disarm me with a kiss” he said, his tone lighthearted.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she responded, “I had hoped that a kiss would be more effective than a sword. It seems I’ve found a more persuasive weapon.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow with a playful grin. “Am I to expect a steady stream of kisses to temper my seriousness?”

“Only if it ensures that you’re less somber” her smile teasing. “But fret not, I shall reserve my attacks for the most opportune moments.”

“Special occasions, then?” he inquired with mock seriousness. “I shall need to prepare for such events.”

Y/n’s laughter was light and musical. “Indeed, but for now, simply relish this one. It appears to be quite effective.”

Aemond shook his head, still smiling. “Your talent for lightening my mood is alarming. I may have to enlist you as my personal jester.”

“And here I thought I was merely your charming niece” she retorted in faux indignation, giving him a gentle nudge.

“Charming niece and occasional troublemaker” he corrected, “but I find I am quite content with both.”

Their shared laughter filled the space between them, making the day’s burdens seem lighter.

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

[writesvani]

the fallen one — jeon jungkook

devil! jeonjungkook x witch! reader

exes-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers, second chance romance

comment here for The Fallen One taglist;

SUMMARY: Jeon Jungkook was once a perfect being — an ethereal angel, pure and untouchable, the very definition of goodness. That was until you came into his life — a powerful, immortal witch who seeped into his veins, corrupted his soul, and dragged him into darkness. You poisoned him, and in his downfall, he was cast out of heaven, exiled to the fiery depths of hell. Abandoned in his misery, Jungkook became the twisted King of Hell — a living nightmare, feared and reviled, a cautionary tale for centuries.

But fate has a cruel way of reconnecting lost souls. After all this time, you and Jungkook cross paths again — but the hatred between you burns hotter than ever. Now trapped on Earth due to a series of disastrous events, Jungkook is at your mercy. You’re the only one who can send him back to hell and restore the balance of the world.

Forced to spend time together once more, you uncover the devastating truth: maybe neither of you are the monsters you’ve become. Maybe, just maybe, there's more to your story than a fall from grace.

A tale of forbidden love, redemption, and the battle between light and darkness — where even the devil might find salvation.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: angst, smut, fluff, explicit sexual content, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, religious themes, implied past abuse, blood, violence, betrayal, heavy emotional themes, guilt, shame, immortality themes, abandonment, enemies to lovers tension, suggestive language, morally grey characters, power imbalance, mentions of death, supernatural violence, graphic imagery, emotional distress, dark fantasy elements

word count: coming soon

ꪆchapter index୧

– chapter one: the fall

– chapter two: crowned in fire

– chapter three: witch's bargain

– chapter four: old blood, new rules

– chapter five: the first crack

– chapter six: salt and flame

– chapter seven: mercy is a knife

– chapter eight: heaven’s eyes

– chapter nine: the devil we know

– chapter ten: redemption isn’t quiet

ꪆdrabbles + extras୧

– tfo moodboard

– tfo playlist

DISCLAIMER:

I do not own Jeon Jungkook (sadly). He belongs to himself. However, every cursed, angsty, witchy, seductive, slightly unhinged plot point in this fic is mine — born from too much caffeine, too little sleep, and an unhealthy obsession with fallen angels and morally questionable romance. Steal it and I’ll hex your crops, your Wi-Fi, and your taste in men.

all works published here are created by me (@writesvani on tumblr). i own all rights to my original works, including any written content, original characters, and plotlines. copying, redistributing, translating, or posting my works on any other social media without my explicit permission is strictly prohibited. all rights reserved.

[dokidokitsuna]

GameSwap!AU #2

Thank @earthykinous for this idea; I saw it in the tags of the first GameSwap and immediately knew I had to give it a try ^^

-Taranza seems like a very ‘devoted’ character, the kind who very easily latches on to personal influences…so as part of the HWC, I think he would be just as involved with the Mother Computer as Haltmann, maybe even more so, just to be able to share something with him. Just in general, he’d be agonized about his father not recognizing him anymore, and desperate to prove his worth despite it, trying to replace familial love with company loyalty in a VERY toxic-positive way. ^^ And besides, if he uses that control helmet often enough, maybe he’ll lose all his painful memories too… And in this scenario…maybe the reason Haltmann dies is because he sacrifices himself to Star Dream to save Taranza somehow, finally recognizing his son when he realizes he’s about to lose him again. OR, maybe he just feels like Taranza is too important to lose without knowing why, leaving only Taranza to bear the true emotional weight of that sacrifice.

-I think Susie is a more mature character than Taranza– despite her sad backstory, she seems to handle her situation well during the game, and doesn’t even seem that affected by Haltmann’s death post-game. If it’s not maturity, at the very least it’s a much lower level of emotional attachment.

So how would she go about dealing with her crush mutating into a tyrannical insect queen? I think she would actually just lose respect for her, and end up turning on her.

Despite staying by her side and aiding in her conquest, she would secretly be plotting her downfall: praising and obeying Sectonia to her face, while trying to undermine her in the background…keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as they say. Rather than mistakenly capturing the wrong ‘Hero of the Lower World’, Susie would’ve picked Dedede on purpose, knowing that Kirby was the ‘real’ hero who would come to save him AND defeat Sectonia. She’d then pretend to oppose him throughout the game, throwing challenging bosses his way to prepare him to face the Queen…and finally, she’d reveal her true motivations once Dedede has been freed.

But maybe, just to bring back the stakes and drama…maybe Sectonia overhears this reveal, and enters the scene. Through the ensuing argument, we could learn a bit about how Sectonia became evil in the actual game, and have Susie basically call her out, admitting to her treachery and daring her Queen to do something about it. To throw away the last shred of their former friendship, once and for all.

Which Sectonia does, of course, and from there the rest of the game could proceed like normal. Only, I think Susie’s characterization as a tough-yet-caring friend and a twist-hero would make her return with the Miracle Fruit a lot more satisfying. Rather than failing to see how evil Sectonia had become until it personally affected her, she knew exactly how far-gone she was, and put her life on the line to try and wake Sectonia up.  And despite losing that gamble, despite witnessing her friend choose to become a monster in more ways than one, she survived and came back to help us end the battle. ^^ I think that would be really heartwarming~

[shellem15]

Wait everyone shut up I just realized something huge. In Calamity, asmodeus's plot revolved around a big door. In Divergence, his plot also revolved around a big door. Downfall? What did the party have to run through to get to the scroll bank to stop asmodeus? That's right, another door.

Vox Machina's greatest enemy was a door. For Mighty Nein, it was a chair. What is a chair but a door you sit on for your butt? Bells Hells got to Predathos how? A door!

Doors = the Devil. Boom.

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (1)

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

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

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

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

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

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

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

masterlist

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

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

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground. 

No, that’s a branch. 

Or is it a plank? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You have one more option. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wait with baited breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi. 

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

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

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

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

This was bad. Very bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

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

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

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

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all. 

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause. 

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

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

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

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

If it’s his ship that he wants…

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

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

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

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

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

“I can help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue. 

“I want you to kill my father.”

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

“I want you to kill my father.”

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

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

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

Is he about to cut your hands off?

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I’m being serious.”

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

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

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

“I’ll protect you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he was considering it. 

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I led you astray?”

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard.”

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

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

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

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

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost?” he questions.

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

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain! One of the—oh.” 

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

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just saved his life.

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

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

“Not even an inkling?”

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

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you shake him off last time?”

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

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

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

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

“Portwater?” 

“Too far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was something you wanted from him. 

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

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

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

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

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

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

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

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

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

A kid. He was a child. 

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you pulled the trigger. 

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

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

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

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

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

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hasry. Right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused. 

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ten coin.”

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

“I’ll do seven!” 

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

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts. 

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

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

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

You remain silent. 

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

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

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

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

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

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

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

“You’ve looked into my eyes?” 

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

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

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

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That could’ve been your throat.

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

That could’ve been your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

You just pushed Chan overboard. 

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

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

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

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

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

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

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

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

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

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

Hoshi pushed him into the water. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me what? you grind. 

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

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise. 

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

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

[zeroseuniverse]

Revenge Food

Word Count: 816 Summary:He shrugged. “Just saying. If it makes you feel better, I knew they were trash from the start.” You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch. “Then why didn’t you tell me?!” Pairing:Seungmin X reader

Taglist: @sh0dor1

Navigation

You sat on the couch, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring at the floor with a blank expression. The weight of betrayal sat heavy in your stomach, a sickening reminder of just how much trust you’d misplaced. Seungmin sat beside you, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through his phone like this wasn’t a monumental crisis.

After a long silence, he sighed. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. Betrayal never comes from an enemy.”

Your head snapped up to glare at him. “Wow. Thanks. That helps so much.”

He shrugged. “Just saying. If it makes you feel better, I knew they were trash from the start.”

You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch. “Then why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Oh, yeah, because that always works,” he deadpanned. “‘Hey, bestie, your favorite person is garbage, please stop trusting them.’ That would’ve gone over so well.”

You shot him a glare, but the corner of his lips twitched, betraying amusement. He nudged your arm with his elbow. “Come on. Let’s go get food or something. That way, instead of being sad, you can be sad and full.”

You sighed. “…Fine.”

Seungmin stood up, grabbing his keys. “See? I’m an excellent best friend.”

“You literally just told me I should’ve expected to be betrayed.”

“Yeah, but I’m also buying you food.” He smirked. “That makes up for it.”

“…Debatable.”

“Too late. No take-backs.”

And just like that, Seungmin managed to make you feel a little bit lighter. In his own weird, slightly emotionally-stunted way, he was comforting you.

Even if his version of comfort included zero actual emotional support.

Seungmin led the way out of your apartment, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie as you trudged behind him. You were still upset—rightfully so—but the fact that he was actively trying (in his own questionable way) made it a little easier to breathe.

As you walked toward his car, he tilted his head toward you. “So, what are you in the mood for? Comfort food or revenge food?”

You frowned. “What’s the difference?”

“Comfort food is, like, ramen or ice cream. Something that makes you feel warm inside.” He unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat. “Revenge food is messy, greasy, and will make you sick later. Like an ungodly amount of fries. You eat it while plotting someone’s downfall.”

You snorted as you buckled in. “And which one do you think I need?”

Seungmin started the car, shooting you a sideways glance. “Oh, definitely revenge food. You look like you’re two seconds away from committing a crime.”

You groaned dramatically, throwing your head back. “Ugh. Why are you like this?”

“Because you’d be miserable if I were normal,” he replied smoothly. “Now, let’s go get the greasiest food imaginable so you can emotionally recover while slowly clogging your arteries.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched. As much as you wanted to stay buried in your emotions, Seungmin wasn’t going to let you.

As you pulled up to the drive-thru of a fast-food place, he turned to you. “Alright. What’s your order of destruction?”

You scanned the menu, pretending to think. “Large fries, a burger, and a milkshake.”

He raised a brow. “Weak.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

He hummed. “If you’re gonna spiral, do it right. Two large fries. Add nuggets. And get a second milkshake in case you drop the first one out of dramatic frustration.”

You stared at him. “How are you so good at this?”

“I’ve known you for years. Plus, I am a professional at emotionally repressed coping mechanisms,” he said proudly before turning to the drive-thru speaker.

The order was placed, and soon enough, you were both sitting in the parking lot, tearing into the food like it held all the answers to your problems.

Seungmin grabbed a fry and waved it in the air. “Okay, now’s the part where you either vent or plot your revenge. Dealer’s choice.”

You chewed your burger, thinking. “I mean… I could start an elaborate social takedown.”

He nodded approvingly. “Classic.”

“Or I could just let karma do its thing.”

He made a face. “Boring, but mature. I hate it.”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

Seungmin took a long sip of his milkshake before answering. “I think you should eat these fries and remember that you don’t need fake people in your life. If someone’s willing to betray you, they’re not worth your energy.” He shot you a look. “And no, that’s not me being nice. It’s just facts.”

You blinked, a little surprised by the sincerity. “…That was actually solid advice.”

“Gross, right?” He shuddered. “Don’t expect it often.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. Maybe Seungmin wasn’t the best at emotional support, but he was the best at being there. And in that moment, that was enough.

[paishoeyeroh]

Bearer And The Bound

☰ Pairings: Sukuna x Reader, Slight Megumi x Reader

✧ Summary: When you stumble upon an ancient ring in an abandoned house, you unknowingly bind yourself to a cruel, powerful demon who thrives on torment. Trapped in a reluctant bond and forced to navigate a shared existence, Sukuna plots your downfall while you fight to survive his sadistic games. But as your fates entwine and secrets of Sukuna’s dark past begin to unravel, the lines between enemy and ally start to blur.

✧ Tags: True form Sukuna, Enemies to Lovers, Dark Romance, Demonic Bonds, Heavy Angst, Slow Burn, Sukuna is Bad at Feelings, Possessive Sukuna, Tension, Forced Proximity, Eventual Smut, College/University AU, More Tags To Be Added Later

✧ Status: Ongoing

✧ You can also read it on AO3

☰ Masterlist

✧ Chapter One: The First Command

✧ Chapter Two: The Strings of Control

✧ Chapter Three: Between Humanity and Death

✧ Chapter Four: Echoes of the Past

✧ Chapter Five: Truth Beneath the Surface

✧ Chapter Six: A Fallen King

✧ Chapter Seven: Unspoken Truths

✧ Chapter Eight: Entangled

✧ Chapter Nine: A Breath Away

✧ Chapter Ten: Fracture

✧ Chapter Eleven: The Shape of Absence

✧ Chapter Twelve: Haunted

✧ Chapter Thirteen: Return of the Bound

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Cold-hearted wolf

Masterlist

Pairing: Cregan Stark × Martell reader

Tags: arranged marriage, cregan starts out mean in this, enemies to lovers cus he's grumpy and has no time for feelings,

Chapter 3: the way he's obsessed with you, can't stop thinking impure thoughts while he's away, the calm before the sex... pick your favorite.

Note: I made up a war with Highgarden subplot that's not Canon. Ahem, for the plot, so bare with me.

Cregan Stark sat inside a tent with his face twisted in a mix of pain and discomfort. The maester carefully worked to stitch up a nasty gash that ran from his neck to his lower abdomen, courtesy of an enemy soldier's sword. He had little pity for the other man when he cut him clean through the heart with his own blade. The wound was a battle scar from the successful siege, a strategic victory that had his soldiers celebrating and chearing outside.

One of Cregan's knights entered the tent, bearing two pints. He handed one to his injured ruler. "This ale should ease the pain, my lord."

Cregan took the offered drink. "Bring more. This stitching feels personal."

The old man, still focused on his task, dismissed Cregan's jest. "Your Highness, if you'd stop squirming, it would help."

Cregan held still as the maester continued his work. "How many casualties did we suffer?"

The knight looked thoughtful for a moment. "Surprisingly low, my lord. The plan was exceptional."

Cregan's gaze shifted to the ground, and a sense of guilt crept over him. The plan that had proven so effective during the battle was one that you had worked on together. Right before he rudely discarded you. Your tactical insights and knowledge of warfare had been instrumental to saving his and his men's lives today. "I should have listened to her sooner.”

“My lord?”

“Lady y/n.” Cregan specified.

The knight nodded in understanding.

The maester stitching spoke up. “It takes time to see the wisdom in others, my lord. We can only strive to make amends."

Cregan hated being proven wrong. He kept his mouth shut.

As the stitching neared completion, the knight spoke up, "You've fought well today.”

Cregan shook his head with a satisfied smile. "I can't take all the credit. Tyrell's sword was his own downfall.” His enemy's weapon, though notoriously giant, was unwieldy, and Cregan, younger, more agile, and more practiced with his weapon, found his opening.

With the gash stitched and the pain somewhat subsiding, Cregan took another sip of ale. He couldn't help but feel a need to have you close. To celebrate with you, and thank you for your strategy, which was invaluable to his cause. He wanted you beside him in the next council meeting.

But you were far off, warm, and safe in Winterfell. No doubt giving his sister an earful about what an awful husband he's been if the letters he's received from her were any indication.

I like her very much, Cregan. And if you open your mind you would come to like her too. Also, it would help if you'd stop behaving like an ass.

The thought of you two getting along made him smile. Even if it was at his expense.

He was ashamed to admit there was truth to your accusation that night. No, he had not seen you as an equal. How could he?

What could you possibly know of the plight of living in the harsh and unforgiving environment of the North. Of its values and way of life. He'd read about Dornish life in his studies. Sunspear was warmth, music, dancing, and hedonism, literally the opposite of Winterfell. This showed to be true the moment you stepped foot on his grounds. You, with your carefree attitude and enticing dresses, perhaps accepted in your culture, but downright scandalous in his.

He remembered his anger in the hot springs when he heard the men going on about your wardrobe.

“I'd like to see if the Dornish sun forgot a few places.”

They were only jesting. Men, especially soldiers, made vulgar jokes all the time. But the fact that his men spoke about you in such a way made his blood boil hotter than the springs underneath the palace grounds.

All it took was a look from Cregan, and the man shut his mouth, swallowing nervously. But Cregan's anger didn't subside so easily.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, remembering taking his frustration out in your bedroom that same day he heard the vulgar comment, and the two more times that evening, and once more the next morning. His hands gripped his chair, mimicking the possessive way he'd held you with every thrust.

He wondered if you questioned why he was so upset. Although even if you did, judging by your whimpers and moans, you didn't seem to mind.

Visions of you flooded his mind. Walking around with a high brow, flaunting your skin freely with seductive silks for his court to admire. Looking elegant and graceful while flipping him onto his back in the training yard. Unknowingly offering up a fantasy of an exotic warrior princess from the far south to hungry and repressed northern eyes… all just so you could prove a point.

He laughed. Maybe his sister was right. Stubbornness was something you two definitely had in common.

----------------------------------------------------------

War was a lonely ordeal. And despite the women from the neighboring towns being more than happy to keep his men company, Cregan’s mind kept finding flaws in each of them.

Their lack of quiet defiance made them too agreeable, he decided. Although, no, not only that. It was also the missing fire in their eyes, the missing pride. They also had the wrong color hair and the wrong length, too. And on top of that, their clothing was also too... cold, yes. Too modest.

The gods help him. He was fucked.

Amidst the noise of his tent, he sat at a table surrounded by his men who were drinking and celebrating. The soft glow of candlelight cast a warm ambiance in the night. A raven's message had arrived, and he quickly sloppily unfurled the parchment, his eyes scanning the words eagerly.

The letter was from you, recounting the events of the day. "In an attempt to offer you a change of scenery, I will try to paint an image of how things are back home.” Your handwriting said. “Winterfell is alight with celebration of your victory. The town square was full of life. The common folks greeted me with glee and danced and sang. I even tried deer meat at an inn. It was… chewey."

A corner of his mouth lifted as he red the letter in your voice.

"You are well loved and admired, my lord. And missed. Also, please pet Grey for me as he is dearly missed as well."

A chuckle escaped Cregan's lips as he reached over to scratch his loyal dog behind the ear before continuing to read. "I even showed one boy how to use my Dornish blade. My favorite one."

Your willingness to connect with his people - your people, he corrected himself, was quite marvelous. A smile tugged at the corners of Cregan's lips as he pictured you among the celebrating townsfolk. He felt a painful pull at his chest, his hands itching for your skin.

He wondered, not for the first time, how he could remedy his actions of your last night together before he marched off. Regretfully recalling the fire and hurt in your eyes.

It would take more than a letter to make up for it. Cregan was neither poet nor a man of many words. He took action. He needed to fix this the only way he knew how.

The next day, he helped his squires and men pack the Stark army camp. With victory secured, they would be marching back to Winterfell.

Cregan was coming home.

@malfoycassimalfoy @leahnicole1219 @literishdegree99

[adannamdi]

Writing A Main Villain And Hidden Mastermind

VILLAINS

Villains are my absolute worst and absolute favorite characters to write. They can be morally gray, complex, or driven by the wrong motivations. Sometimes they’re fan favorites, and sometimes they’re nightmares. They might work alone, in pairs, or as part of a hidden network—but you won’t know unless the writer reveals it.

However, not all villains are the same. There are different kinds, each with their own level of intelligence, cunning, and approach to achieving their goals.

TYPES OF VILLAINS

The Brute Villain

These villains rely on strength, intimidation, and power rather than strategy. They crave domination but lack foresight, making them easy to manipulate or deceive. They flaunt their abilities, believing themselves invincible—until their downfall.

They can be outwitted with the right timing, distractions, or by exploiting their weaknesses—whether that’s greed, lust, or arrogance.

The Seductive Villain

These villains manipulate through desire—not necessarily through sex, but by preying on ambition, pride, or insecurity. They use charm and deception to turn people into pawns, slowly poisoning their minds with subtle manipulation.

Imagine a married man ensnared by a seductress—not only does she fulfill his desires, but she also brainwashes him into giving her what she needs, all while dismantling his life from the inside.

The Shadow Villain (The Puppet Master)

These villains never act directly. They stay hidden, watching, waiting, and pulling the strings while others execute their plans. Their hands are clean, but they orchestrate chaos from behind the scenes.

Think of a corrupt politician running a criminal empire while maintaining the image of a noble leader. The arrests, murders, and schemes are carried out by underlings, while the mastermind remains untouchable.

The Hidden Mastermind (The Most Dangerous One)

Unlike the shadow villain, the hidden mastermind is always two steps ahead. They have backup plans, loyal followers, and limitless resources. They manipulate events with precision and are nearly impossible to track.

Imagine a superhero chasing a faceless enemy—he knows the villain’s voice, maybe a vague silhouette, but nothing more. The villain could sit across from the hero, sipping tea, and still remain undetected.

Or picture this: a murder takes place in a park. The victim’s partner reports it—seemingly an innocent bystander. But as the protagonist digs deeper, they realize the partner is the true mastermind, orchestrating everything. Yet, without proof, only the hired killer is arrested while the real villain walks free.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Villains should challenge the protagonist, push the plot forward, and create tension. Their impact should be felt throughout the story, even if their presence isn’t immediately obvious.

Next week, I’ll be discussing why character occupations matter in mystery writing. Be sure to follow and like for more content!

[bokettochild]

Ketto's Update Thoughts: Crescent Flame 1

Okay! I missed the last one, so here's this one!

Honestly, I love this pairing! I love that Legend and Hyrule, the two OG Links, are the ones teamed up. For character building, I'm not keen on it, but for asthetics? Gosh, my first two games were the OG Zelda and ALTTP, so watching the boys hit all the traditional dungeon requirements together, all the ones you'd expect in their games, makes me very happy. (I am dying to know what that torch does! They never JUST light up the room, except in moving floor levels- that is, if I'm remembering right?)

It's good to see Legend relaxing a bit more, and that bit with the pots! Yes, he took a risk, tossing it at Hyrule's freaking HEAD, but he's being playful and not as tense. If he was the bully the rest thought, he'd totally have tried to snatch that rupee, since he grabbed the pot first, but instead we have this little reaction

(Love his little smile here, omgosh!!!!)

-

I am curious about why JoJo chose to have the Age Bookends interrupt the two boys; was it just a way to get these two, mostly silent, Links to start talking? Or will we be seeing the groups stumble over each other a bit through the dungeon? Doubling over ground already covered? If this is based of Downfall dungeons (which it has many traits of so far) that would track, but if not, then I wander why it is that way.

I might be thinking too much though, and besides, it did give us THIS funny interactions

Like, this has, at the very least, got to be JoJo having fun with the fact that all of us can't make up our minds where Four fits in the Age range of the group, and maybe this is where we start to get more confirmation for all the ages! I mean, we did have Wars classifying Legend, officially, with the 'kids', and Sky is now counted with the adults (in the early days a lot of folks had him on the younger side, not equal to Twilight)

.....

Okay, I know I'm hyper-focusing on Legend, but hey, this is the first time we've seen this much of him in a bit, and I'm getting some DDR flashbacks right now; the two heroes' wandering off, discussing something as they go, something that has Legend feeling a certain kinda angst, and I just get the impression that maybe something's going to happen with him here.

I have been wondering why JoJo included the bunny arc before, especially as it has no plot relevance save setting up the relationship with Twilight and Sky, which could have been accomplished through other means (although it would have taken longer). The fact of the matter though is that Hyrule was brought into it back then:

which has had me wondering for a while if JoJo might revisit this, and perhaps the bit about Warriors too; she's been fleshing out that relationship more as of late as well!

Which brings me to my next point!

followed by

This is really interesting to me, considering just how much Legend's whole existence is wrapped up beside the ideas of knighthood and the existence of knights! In his games, we learn he's the last of a bloodline of ancient knights, his uncle was a knight, and it's likely his father was one too. Yet his most common enemies in the Light world are also knights, not monsters- at least during his first adventure! So it makes sense that he'd have complicated feelings about it.

However, we've seen Legend spout some very definitive opinions about knights on the whole:

Maybe it's just me, but given his own heritage, combined with his resentment, I'm starting to think Legend's still trying to convince himself how terrible knights are, and maybe not just because of what they've done to him, but maybe out of a feeling of being less-than or unworthy, much like Hyrule himself! Except, rather than openly admiring what he'd like to be, he mocks it to make himself feel better about not being able to achieve it, hence why he tends to pick more on Warriors and Sky, the two knights, rather than the rest of the group (given that Wild doesn't remember much of being a knight, I don't think he counts in Legend's book).

Again, maybe I'm reading into it more than I should, but this expression

seems to let on that there's more to this than Legend's saying. he's not even speaking loud enough for Hyrule to hear him (the traveler is obviously focused elsewhere) so one can assume this is more a comment to himself, yet there's more regret than anger in that face, more resignation than resentment, like something about the thought of never being a knight actually hurts Legend in some way.

.....

Oh well, maybe I'm reading into this too much, I have been writing a lot of angst today, so maybe that's what's up LOL

Either way, I'm so glad for a Legend centric update, and I'm eager to see where JoJo takes what she's setting up here. i'm pretty sure we'll be tuning in next time to one of the other groups (maybe the Age Bookends again, since they showed up here), but whatever happens, I will be watching eagerly!

[quinny19]

RIVALS Part 2

The Great Media Meltdown

The rumors were bad before, but after a journalist caught a photo of Hawks dramatically catching you mid-air during a mission, the internet lost its mind.

"Star-Crossed Wings: Are Hawks and Seraph More Than Just Rivals?"

"Hero Power Couple Confirmed? Hawks Spotted Holding Seraph in His Arms!"

"Enemies-to-Lovers Arc???"

You were done. Hawks was wheezing.

"Are you kidding me?!" you groaned, scrolling through the viral edits.

Hawks grinned. "Damn, they got your good side though."

You smacked him with a wing.

Endeavor, watching from the side, sighed deeply. "I swear if I get one more call about this—"

But the final straw?

A TV interview where the host straight-up asked Hawks:

"So, when are you proposing?"

You nearly spit out your drink. Hawks choked on his own laughter.

"Bold of you to assume she'd say yes," he shot back.

And just like that—another media storm.

Hawks vs. Class 1-A (Interrogation Arc)

When you stopped by U.A. for a guest lecture, you should’ve known Class 1-A would be insufferable.

Kirishima clapped a hand on Hawks’ shoulder. "Dude, are you dating Seraph?"

Denki gasped. "ARE YOU GUYS SECRETLY MARRIED?"

Hawks grinned. "If we were, she’d be taking my last name."

You scoffed. "As if. If anything, you’d take mine."

The class lost it.

Todoroki, deadpan: "That’s fair. She has more wings."

Bakugo, furious: "WHO CARES?! THEY’RE BOTH ANNOYING."

Meanwhile, Mina was filming everything, cackling. "Oh, this is gold."

And then, of course, Aizawa walked in, took one look at the chaos, and immediately walk away.

The Fake Dating Mission (Because Fate is Cruel)

The Commission had a new assignment for you both. Undercover. High-class villain gala. The catch?

"Your cover will be a couple attending the event together," the agent explained.

You blinked. Hawks snorted. "I’m sorry, what?"

"It’s the best way to blend in," the agent said, shoving fancy attire into your arms. "And thanks to the media, it’ll be believable."

You turned to glare at Hawks. "This is your fault."

Hawks held up his hands, amused. "Hey, I didn’t tell them we were engaged."

Cue the longest night of your life.

Dressed to the nines, arm-in-arm, forced to smile at each other like you weren’t plotting each other’s downfall.

At one point, Hawks leaned in, whispering in your ear, "Try not to fall for me, ‘kay?"

You stepped on his foot. Hard.

He winced. "Worth it."

The Sparring Match (Where Everyone Notices the Tension)

When Class 1-A asked for a demonstration match between two top fliers, you and Hawks were obviously picked.

The match was supposed to be just a spar—light, controlled, and a simple showcase of aerial combat.

It wasn't.

U.A.’s training grounds buzzed with excitement. Class 1-A sat on the sidelines, eyes locked on the two pro heroes standing across from each other.

You stretched lazily, rolling your shoulders as your six wings twitched behind you. Across from you, Hawks was grinning, rolling his neck as his red feathers shimmered under the training lights.

"This is just a demonstration, right?" Kirishima asked, glancing nervously between you and Hawks.

"Yeah, sure," Denki said. "Except—look at them. That ain't just a demonstration."

Mina grinned. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Aizawa sighed, already regretting letting this happen. "Just don’t destroy school property."

You and Hawks locked eyes.

"You gonna go easy on me, Pretty Boy?" you taunted, taking a step forward.

Hawks smirked, shifting his stance. "Oh, sweetheart, I was about to ask you the same thing."

And then—Aizawa signaled the start.

You both shot forward.

The moment you clashed, the air shook. Your wings cut through the air, sending sharp bursts of wind. Hawks was fast, but so were you—your extra wings made sure of that.

Feathers rained down as you both maneuvered in the sky, exchanging rapid attacks. Hawks sent a flurry of red feathers your way, each one razor-sharp. You twisted mid-air, dodging gracefully, your own white feathers countering his.

Clang!

Your forearm met his, the impact sending sparks flying. Your faces were close, both of you panting slightly, muscles taut.

From below, Class 1-A felt the tension.

Denki whispered, "Uh… is it just me, or is this kinda—"

"Kinda what?" Bakugo snapped.

"Kinda… intimate?" Uraraka muttered.

"They’re literally trying to kill each other," Iida pointed out.

"Kinda hot though," Mina smirked, watching as Hawks pinned you for a split second before you flipped him over, landing with a knee pressed against his ribs.

Hawks groaned. "Damn, angel face. At least take me to dinner first."

You shoved him off, cheeks burning. "In your dreams, Bird Brain."

Class 1-A lost it.

A Look Into Their Daily Lives (Or, How They’re Menaces 24/7)

Being pro heroes meant crazy schedules, but outside of hero work? You and Hawks somehow managed to make everything into a competition.

Morning Routines

You: Wakes up at a reasonable time. Drinks coffee peacefully.

Hawks: Wakes up at whatever time, somehow always late, but never acts like it.

You: Checks the news.

Hawks: Scrolling Twitter.

You: Stretches before heading to work.

Hawks: "Hey, bet I can get dressed faster than you."

You: Deep sigh.

At the Grocery Store

You: Grabs normal things like eggs and vegetables.

Hawks: Somehow fills the cart with only snacks.

You: "Do you even cook?"

Hawks: "No, but I bet I can eat faster than you."

You: Contemplates shoving him into a freezer.

On Patrol

You: Actually doing hero work.

Hawks: "Bet I can find a villain before you."

You: Finds the villain first.

Hawks: "Damn. Best two out of three?"

After Work

You: Trying to relax.

Hawks: "Bet I can balance a spoon on my nose longer than you."

You: "Why are you like this?"

The Media Interview (Where Everything Gets Worse)

The moment you sat down for an interview, you knew the questions were going to be bad.

Reporter: "So, the internet has been buzzing about you and Hawks. Are you two dating?"

You: "No."

Reporter: "Really? Because we’ve seen pictures—"

You: "Taken out of context."

Reporter: "But Hawks caught you mid-air—"

You: "Because he didn’t want me to hit the ground."

Reporter: "And the viral sparring match—?"

You: "That was training."

Reporter: "So, no romantic connection?"

You: "Absolutely not."

Cut to Hawks’ interview:

Reporter: "Hawks, what’s your relationship with Seraph?"

Hawks, grinning: "Oh, we hate each other."

Reporter: "Then why do people say you act like a couple?"

Hawks: "Because they have eyes."

The internet exploded.

The Jealousy Incident (Where Hawks Acts Petty)

It started when some new hero started openly flirting with you.

Nothing serious—just a few compliments. But Hawks?

Oh, Hawks was not having it.

You noticed him sitting nearby, arms crossed, red feathers twitching.

You: "You good?"

Hawks, forced smile: "Great. Love watching guys drool over you."

You smirked. "Are you jealous?"

Hawks scoffed. "Pfft. Jealous? Me? Nah—"

Then the guy touched your arm.

Hawks immediately draped an arm around your shoulders.

You stiffened. "What—?"

Hawks, grinning at the other guy: "Oh, sorry, were you saying something? Kinda busy here with my angel."

The guy walked away.

You, deadpan: "Did you just—"

"Me? Nah. Just helping you out. Can’t have randos thinking they have a chance, y’know?"

You shoved him off the bench.

His laughter rang through the air.

Part 1:

Part 3

Part 4

[epiphanyepica]

Thoughts on Prince's Gambit, Chapter 15

HOLY COW, THIS CHAPTER, MAN.

...

Damen lying awake before dawn, thinking deep thoughts and he doesn't have to say it for me to know that they're all about Laurent 🤭.

Damen basically stayed up all night thinking about what Laurent said, didn't he? Omg, he's in DEEP.

Laurent's Veretian armor is as familiar to him as his own 😭😭😭 oh my god. They're married, your honor.

Damen worrying that Laurent's work with the prisoners won't be enough to stop the brewing war, like, come on, babygirl, believe in your boo 😘. He's gotten you this far, hasn't he? Just help him when he needs it and he'll get you the rest of the way ❤️.

Oh my god, Damen is imagining what it would have been like to face Laurent as a man with no animosity between their countries. Oh, he LOVES him. He wants him.

Damen admitting to himself that if Laurent properly used his charm on him that he'd lose to it so fast, omg.

Also, Damen chose to imagine this because he sees it as an impossible thing that's not worth considering as a reality because it's impossible. I can't wait for him and Laurent to actually act on their feelings and make Damen realize that not everything in his daydream is impossible.

Damen stumbling upon the Vaskian women’s camp and then remembering that the men aren't ALLOWED there because someone points a spear at him.

Ah, yes, the big “barbaric” Akielon man being allowed into the camp. It's most definitely because it's well-known that he's Laurent's.

Sugar Daddy Laurent coming in clutch for real.

What doesn't Damen have time for?

Wait, does Laurent think Damen came there to have sex with one of the women 😭? LOL.

Laurent is so fast to assume Damen came there for sex, and it's likely because Lazar did first, but I also like to think it’s also because he's thinking more and more about Damen’s sex life 🤭.

“A batch of blond Vaskians would get me disinherited,” LMFAOOOO. That's so funny, but also so cute to imagine. Laurent with little blond babies.

Dang, Damen prefers women. Well, guess Laurent will be the exception to the general rule???

Auguste said Laurent would grow into his attraction to women 😭. Honey, if he hasn’t grown into it by now (months away from being twenty-one years old), then it's never happening.

I do not think he likes women very much. Sexually at least.

Damen knowing almost immediately that Laurent is talking and talking and talking because he's worrying about how to face Lord Touars. Oh, he knows him so well so far 🥺.

WHEN ”THIS” BEGAN BETWEEN LAURENT AND HIS UNCLE, HE WAS “YOUNGER”??? HOW MUCH YOUNGER?

I'M GOING TO REACH THROUGH MY SCREEN AND FLAY THAT MOTHERFUCKING PEDOPHILE.

Damen doing the math on how much younger Laurent must have been when things started going rotten between him and the Regent 😭.

Oh, he's getting close to something, and I don't like it.

DAMEN, it is not impossible to imagine Laurent adoring anyone. He's starting to ADORE you. Just look at his actions! That's his love language, man 😭.

Even Damen thought Auguste was honorable. Wow. He must have been freaking Prince Charming 🥺😭 and Damen KILLED him. Oof.

Oh, oh, Auguste held the field during the attack on the Akielon army. He wasn't a coward like the other Veretians 🥺. I'm lowkey wishing he lived now.

I feel like Damen is slowly starting to feel bad for killing Auguste.

I can't with the whole line, “studying by lamplight across from a bent golden head” Like Damen mentions Laurent's blond hair in every other sentence, LOL. I'm starting to think he might like the color 🤭.

It also just sounds so romantic.

Screw going out for dinner, do you want to stay in and study maps by lamplight on the road to plot the downfall of our enemies?

Oh god, the Regent’s men are there. What the fuck do they want??? Can they go away, please? They were not invited to Laurent and Damen’s date/slumber party.

Oh my god, these men are from Ravenel? Lord Touars’ bitch ass is about to start a war, isn't he?

Oh no, what are the red men doing? I fucking hate the Regent and Touars. They can both burn in hell, man.

Like, sure, Touars is his own problem, but he's siding with a pedophile and he's also just really fucking annoying me, so I want them both dead now.

Touars has a war ready army with him and is using it to stand in front of Laurent??? The audacity. Like, DUDE. He pissing me off.

I would say Damen jinxed them against returning to Ravenel with a warm welcome because he said that probably wouldn't happen, but I also know that he just foresaw part of what's actually happening.

Ah, fuckass Guion again. Of course, it is.

WHAT DID THE REGENT FUCKING DO?

Oh my FUCKING GOD. TOUARS, YOU ARE SUCH A DUMB BITCH. THE Regent has him swindled so hard right now.

TREASON???? GO TREASON YOURSELF.

I would not make a good queen. I'd be a tyrant, I think 😬. A really sensitive one.

OH MY GODDDDD. I HATE THE REGENT’S BITCH ASS. “Is It TrUe YoU haVe ThE bAd GuYs AnD InTeNd To UsE tHeM aGaInSt YoUr UnClE,” you want to know what's TRUE, TOUARS? YOU'RE LITERALLY HELPING A PEDOPHILE. You do NOT have the high horse you think you do.

AIMERIC??? YOU TRAITOROUS BITCH FACE. WHERE'S THE LOYALTY???????????????

You know what, dumbass Aimeric, I LIKED YOU. I was mad when I saw a spoiler that said you DIED. I'm not that MAD ANYMORE.

JAIMERIC IS FUCKING OUT. Poor Jord 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭.

You know what? Aimeric still basically whored himself out, so who's really the dumb bitch here? The one who had a few good weeks or the one who ruined it to be the Regent's little shit.

JAIMERIC 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭. THEY WERE SO CUTE.

I'M SO MAD.

Jord is still a good captain 😭😭😭 he deserves so much better, omg.

Laurent is alone with only his “slave” beside him, as if that isn't all he really needs. He and Damen can take on the world with their combined strength. They'll get out of this. For sure. For sure.

YEAH, TELL HIM OFF, LAURENT. TELL HIM HOW HE'S YOUR ENEMY NOW AND HOW HE'S FUCKED. And NOT by Jord. He can say goodbye to those privileges.

Wow, Aimeric really hates Laurent, man.

“You had unnatural feelings for your brother,” he says.

“I was thirteen, you dumb bitch. I didn't have feelings for anyone then,” Laurent retorts.

LMAO.

Laurent is capable of feelings for someone. He's just really good at hiding it. And probably denying it, too.

#Damen4Life.

Laurent insulting Aimeric, LOL. DO MORE. I WANT HIM TO SUFFER FOR THE BETRAYAL.

FUCKING AIMERIC.

I'm so mad. I'm so mad. I'm so mad. I'm so mad. I'm so mad. I'm so mad. I'm so mad.

I'm so mad that I typed all of those ‘I’m so mad’s by hand without using copy and paste.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I'm going to fucking murder Aimeric’s stupid bitch ass. Breathe in. Breathe out.

THAT BASTARD.

I lost my JORTS and my JAIMERIC. When will the suffering end??? 😭😭😭😭😭😭.

I hope someone among the Regent’s faction turns out to be on Laurent’s side and fights for him in the trial–if there IS one.

Laurent's men would die for him if he asked them to 😭😭😭.

You see AIMERIC, THERE'S THIS THING CALLED LOYALTY. I SWEAR WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU–

“The slave will be executed, of course,” Bitchface #1 says.

“Of course,” Laurent replies.

Oh god, if he doesn't see a way out of this, I wonder if he feels absolutely horrible about the fact that he's coming so close to getting Damen killed.

I'm sorry, “betray” his uncle’s “trust” after the “kindness” he has “lavished” on him???? Guion. I'm going to go get a guillotine if you don't shut the fuck up right now 🙂.

“Speaking of negligence” Oh, WHAT? WHAT DO YOU HAVE UP YOUR SLEEVE, LAURENT. LAURENT. LAURENT???

Oh, Touars–I HOPE those two women make a HUGE difference and your ass is handed to you.

OH? OH? OH? WHAT'S THE SADDLE LUMPED WITH? WHAT WAS GUION CARELESS ABOUT???

Also, did Laurent just refer to Aimeric as detritus? I mean… I do not disagree, but damn, that's cold.

“He wasn't a clansman.” WHAT?

Oh my god. Did Laurent have the Vaskian women take four extra men that weren't a part of the original raids to use as a foil for this possibility? That's SO duplicitous.

Or did he do it to mess with Guion and gain leverage?

Laurent just casually correcting their “that's one of our scouts” with his little, “actually 🤗 it's four of your scouts.” LOL.

Oh, the reports are delayed? What does this mean? That the Regent sent word–doubtful–or that someone else did?

Wait, what would Laurent have to gain from delaying reports?

Oh, wait no, the reports are the scouts reporting back to their captain. I'm an idiot, LOL.

I'M SORRY. A FORCE? LAURENT? I am NOT an idiot. He did plan something. Something big.

I am still kind of an idiot, but only because I got the situation a little turned around, LOL.

Yeah, that's right, Aimeric. What force, indeed.

OH. MY. GOD. LAURENT ALLIED WITH PATRAS????????? FUCK THE REGENT, LOL.

Damen slowly coming to realize just how fucking INSANELY SMART Laurent is. Oh, he's going to fall in love so hard if he hasn't already.

LAURENT HAS AN ARMY AT HIS BACK. OH, YOU BRILLIANT, BRILLIANT, BEAUTIFUL BLOND BOY.

How does Damen know that Laurent isn't looking at the hilltop, but at Touars if he was also looking at the hilltop and not at Laurent? Hmm, I think he's been staring at Laurent this whole time and everything else is happening out of the corners of his eyes.

Oh, Aimeric trying to weasel his way out by getting them to attack Laurent before the Patrans get there. Nuh-uh, you little fucking shit. Karma is COMING FOR YOU.

Oh, DAMN. Laurent pulling the, “my uncle's power comes from me and me alone. Do with that what you will.” OOOOOOOOH.

Yeah, that's right. LEAVE. Go to your little advisors. The pomp and arrogance of those men–I say, knowing that Laurent is also a little pompous and arrogant. He certainly loves a show.

OH MY GOD. LAURENT WANTS DAMEN TO CAPTAIN THE MEN?

“It should have been you from the start,” he says. OH. OH.

I feel bad for Jord, but Damen wouldn't have let Aimeric get one over on him if he was focused on more diligently protecting Laurent's men and Laurent with the full knowledge that a captain would have.

Uhm, but, uh 👉👈 isn't Damen, an Akielon, being the captain of Laurent's men almost an omission that he is soft on the Akielons and that he may be working with them???

Ah, lovely, Guion’s need for self-preservation is going to force Touars to fight. Fantastic.

OOOH, Laurent just openly admitting that Damen's a better battle strategist and that he needs his help 🤭.

It's SO hot that Damen, truly Prince Damianos of Akielos, is advising Prince Laurent of Vere on how to handle a battle to protect his ascension.

“For a moment, between two armies, he and Laurent were alone.” ROYAL POWER COUPLE. THEIR UNION WOULD BRING SO MUCH POWER.

Oh, Damen wants Touars away from his fort? Oh?

Wait, is Damen suggesting Laurent go back on his word to give Touars an hour to go to his advisors and to attack them now? That's so very Veretian of you, Damen.

Wait, no. That's not what he's saying? Laurent is giving him an hour, too, so that means he expects to attack Touars when Touars returns to parlay with Laurent?

Damen wanted some warning and all Laurent could say was, “I didn't know who it was.” 🥺 Poor baby is being betrayed left and right.

ORLANT. NOOOOOOOO. HE WASN'T A TRAITOR, WAS HE? I SAID SO MANY MEAN THINGS. NOOOOOOOOOOO. I'M SO SORRY, ORRIE.

MY JORTSSSSSSSSSS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭.

I'm legit tearing up for Orlant 🥺😭. Poor man did NOT deserve what he got. From Aimeric or from me.

Don't speak ill of the dead, I guess.

[lukeskywalkerslatinawife]

His Theme (Darth Vader x Reader)

‧₊˚❀ First fic and post ever. Wrote this with no power and stuck in a thunderstorm. New to tumblr.

‧₊˚❀ Summary: Reader is Luke’s partner. Get’s captured and held prisoner. Reader has a chance to escape and refuses it, choosing to help Vader see what he was missing for such a long time. Reader is too good for the world. Platonic Vader x reader.

‧₊˚❀ Warnings: None. Unless you count first time writing.

A/N-Trying to beat the weird kid allegations but I wrote a Vader songfic with fuckin undertale music.

Song: https://youtu.be/FobrRO8EkAM?si=nUsR9vKDxiovCZ4H

Can my damage be undone?

I'd forgotten how to feel.

Vader watched as the random cargo ship flew off to the void.

You had the chance to run away, escape and reunite with your friends, family, be with your Luke and live some sort of fairytale ending.

So why the hell were you standing there like a silly idiot trying to comfort probably the most ruthless, monstrous man in the galaxy?? To Vader, you were one of the weirdest people he had ever met in his life, his long, tragic life.

His reasoning for capturing you was also his biggest drawback. You are Luke’s partner, lover, whatever you both call it. His plan on luring his son with his partner wasn’t going as planned, having you here for quite some time now.

Luke confided in you shortly before your capture. Telling you his father’s true identity. You kept it a secret, even from Vader—even though it was clearly a “I know what you are” situation to the both of you whenever you looked at one another.

You barely spoke, not fighting back at all.

Luke wouldnt want that. You told yourself. You knew of Luke’s yearn for his father to turn to the light, not wanting to hinder that.

You deserve far better friends...

Now you're here at the end.

I can let all them go.

I'll be okay alone..

Today you had walked into the wrong room, running into his broken, destroyed, and burned form over the bacta tank. You scurried off, almost stupidly.

Neither of you spoke a word since the incident.

You couldn’t see his face concealed by his helmet, but you sensed he was troubled today. You chose to just sit beside him in the small room when he came by to check on you, probably making sure you weren’t plotting his downfall, like your friends and the rebellion probably would.

—But deep down Vader knew you were too soft for that, in his eyes too good for the world you were given in this life, though he still viewed you as his enemy in some ways.

“I know you’re sad, I can feel it.” You murmured gently as I shifted my gaze up to look up at the imposing man.

“—You know nothing, (y/n).” The mechanical voice almost snaps back, but he doesn’t shift or move. Looking down at you. Your big, wide, soft and sweet gaze almost terrifying him, your lack of fear always scared him in an unsettling, odd, sort of way.

Leave me be.

Say goodbye.

You can't help. Why must you try?

Why must you.. Stay with me...

Your battle's won. Go with your family.

“It’s okay to be sad.” You spoke up slightly, not fidgeting away or wincing at his sharp reply.

“Let’s be real no one would be happy in this boring floating ball, it’s not too too crazy to put together how you feel.”

Vader’s shoulders shook momentarily, as if he found your little comment amusing and laughed—but one could only assume what that was.

“That’s the most words I think I’ve ever heard you speak, I’m impressed.” His voiced echoed out, no tension, anger, or any emotion.

“Yeahhhhh.” You drew out with a small, childish, and silly laugh. Fidgeting with your own sleeves before it went quiet again, the silence making the two of you beside each other a bit more awkward than it already was.

After a long while, you realized that he probably wasn’t going to hurt you, not physically at least.

“What was life like before all of this for you??” You spoke up, beginning to play with your sleeve, the edges of his dark, silky cape started prodding at your shoulders, unintentionally making you face him.

“What type of question is that?” Vader gruffly replied. A scoff accompanying it.

“No no!” You lightly chuckled with a nervous tinge, shaking your hands a bit as if signaling him to listen to what you had to say.

“I just mean— ‘cause you know, Luke is your son, and he doesn’t know a single thing about you.” Your explanation rang in the air.

It went quiet again. God damn it, these two both suck at talking, who would blame you two, on opposite sides of a war and everything.

“He really wants to help you, you know?” Your voice softened up a bit more. You began unconsciously tugging at the edges of his cape that poked you, playing with the fabric while you talk.

“He sees the good in you, and because I love him, I believe him and want that for you too.” You continued. You let out a soft smile, thinking about Luke. How much you miss him, love him, and want nothing more than to see him again.

I don't deserve your mercy...

It's not fair to be alone

If you wont fight please just leave...

After what you've been though

No one came or heard my call...

So let me ease your pain

I'm so glad you took your fall.

“Stop.” Vader snapped.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know a little,” you piped up.

“Nobody would want to feel how you feel, it’s okay to be sad, I’m sad too.” You murmured your gaze tired and sad, emphasizing your imprisonment, being away from everyone you love, it would drain anyone really.

“You can’t understand an ounce of what I’ve been through, child.” The robotic voice scratched out, but he didn’t move, or shoo you away, or even touch you.

“I can tell it’s a lot, though.” You quickly replied. Were you referring to earlier when you saw his true form without his suit? Who knows.

Vader sighed, his shoulders relaxed a bit, slumping down as he looked at you. Compared to him you were just this soft little thing, not a bad bone in ya. Whether either of you liked it or not, you two were bound to get close in some sort of way, especially with how you two are tied to Luke, his father and his partner, sitting together and talking.

Knowing you probably were too weak to do anything, plus you’re imprisoned,

It’s not like they can actually do anything. Vader thought to himself, he finally said something.

“It started a long time ago.” He muttered sadly as if thinking you wouldn’t be interested

“That’s okay, I wanna hear.” You reassured

A mechanical exhale was heard through the quiet atmosphere. As if mimicking a sigh. You sat there while Vader explained his life. A chain of events, almost like a story was told.

His life as a slave, his love for his mother, training under the order with his best friend as a master, his forbidden love with his late wife, which sounded like something straight of a novel they would make you read in school.

His battle with his old master, where you would see the 20 year old aftermath of his broken, damaged body—what was left of it.

And now we were here, the prisoner meant to lure his son, now listening to him vent.

At some point his voice began to break as he told you about his life, and you couldn’t help but feel for him. Everything about his life was hardship and tragedy.

No one deserves that

I won't abandon you

You can't help.

Determination fuels me…

Why must you try?

To keep on trying to save you

You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, the coolness of the his metal suit tickling your palm as you raised it up slightly in reaction, before settling it there.

“I’m sorry.” You comforted, a soft quiet utter of your voice.

“I’m sorry the world didn’t treat you kindly from the start.”

Vader paused. His mind kept telling him he shouldn’t feel comforted by his enemy. But it didn’t help that the enemy in question was this sweet soul who never spoke an ill word of him or his empire since her capture.

He replied, confused but accepting the comfort.

“It’s not your fault.” He returned your gesture, settling his gloved hand on your head, ruffling your hair up a bit.

“You’re so strong.”You mused, looking up at him with the most awestruck look on your face. You settled into his touch raising your arms to touch his hand with your two tiny ones, acting almost childlike.

“You’re only saying that.” He scoffs, a tiny laugh hidden in there as he drops his hand. You’re fingers immediately going to smooth your hair out

“I mean it!” You giggled out as you playfully tugged his cape, sensing some form of joy in the room.

*Wow.* V thought to himself. *They’re actually smiling. I’m actually smiling*

“You only speak kindly because…” he trailed, remembering how you ran into him earlier today, you were probably the only person to ever see his burned self that wasn’t one of his men.

“Because you saw what you saw today. You saw how I truly look. I’m a monster an ugly, deformed, monster, I don’t deserve your kindness.” He croaked out, looking down at the floor to avoid what he thought would be your judgmental gaze.

You shook your head with a frown, disagreeing with his self deprecation, pawing at his cape in some way to show some comfort without overstepping.

“You’re not ugly.” A firm reply left your lips.

“I argue that you’re beautiful, you just look different—But different is good!” You replied with a soft little smile on your lips

“You’re such a liar.” Vader scoffed with a humorous smile

“Nuh uh! You’re like those cryptic sculptures and artworks that cost like a million credits in a museum! You’re… majestic” You mused, leaning into him a little bit.

“You went through hell and back. But you’re still alive, proving to the galaxy how strong you truly are!”

“We may be enemies but even I need to appreciate that.” You finished with a bashful little smile on your face.

Vader’s demeanor shifted. Shuddering.

“I’m supposed to hate you, kill you even, b-but I cant.” His mechanical voice shook the room.

I don't deserve your mercy..

I will stay by your side

If you won't fight please just leave...

“Do you love your son?” You spoke up, shifting your whole body to face him.

“Of course I do….” The sith answered quickly.

“Me loving others is what led me here.” He added.

You gave a big smile. One of those smiles a child gives a parent when they’re really excited about something.

“Looks like my Luke is correct!—” You gushed, squeezing his shoulder.

“There is still some good in you.”

That broke Vader. The s lord putting his helmeted face in his hands, as if breaking down. Crying? Maybe. You couldn’t really tell with his voice modifier.

“Stop, you remind me so much of her.” A mechanical whimper escaped his mask.

“Who?” You asked softly.

“My mom!—And my wife! Stop, you’re so unsettling.” He bawled, but made no effort to shoo me away so you stayed in place.

“Hey, hey.” You shushed him, pulling the man by his metal suit into a hug, an awkward one but you still made it work.

You simply held the man, rubbing his suited back as you let him cry it out. Usually it was Luke comforting you when you were sad about something minuscule and random, for maybe the first time you were comforting someone, it just so happened to be the most terrifying being in the galaxy.

“I’m here for you.” You spoke up, with a questioning tone as if asking if it was okay for me to be there for him.

Vader calmed down for a moment, his scratchy artificial breaths steadying.

“I don’t deserve your kindness—”

“I want to be kind so yes you do.” I cut him off.

I know its frightening

Your battle's won...

To think you might now leave

Go with your family..

But that my friend is why—

“I cant change your mind right away, but I know theres good in you, Luke knows it too, and when you’re ready, I want to help, and if Luke ever comes to rescue me, I know he’ll want to help too.” You explained as you cooed at him, it was almost silly to look at, but neither of you cared in that moment.

Maybe you were biting off more than you can chew, or maybe there was a chance that V would turn to the light.

Vader, now more relaxed, still in your arms finally spoke, his small pants dying down finally.

“I can see why Luke loves you so much, you’re too good, even holding out hope for me.” He groaned sheepishly.

Your idea of helping Vader was unrealistic, obviously, but he didn’t need to think about that in the moment, simply enjoying the embrace of another person.

A kind soul, not one who sees him as an intimidating sith lord, or a symbol of power, nor a terrifying monster.

No. You saw him for who he was. Just a man, a man who was fucked over by the galaxy and the order for way too long.

“What’s your name?” You asked, your eyes held a peaceful presence that seemed to only be welcoming.

“My name?”

“Yes, your real name. I doubt you popped out of the womb called Darth Vader. If you were I feel so bad for you.” Your childishness bloomed out with that comment, it was somewhat cute to him.

“So immature.” He commented a small chuckle escaping his helmet.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker.” He replied, his voice a bit quieter this time, a small whisper, but you sure as hell heard it.

Your face was adored with this wide, big, happy smile, feeling accomplished. You broke from the hug to stand up in front of Vader. Hugging him this time so that my chin rested on his black, shiny helmet.

“Well Anakin, I’m here for you, I hope to change your mind for the better and bring you back to the light, maybe with Luke’s help.” You giggled out that last part.

“You can’t let that old bag of bones control your life forever.” You lightly added.

Were they referring to the emperor?? Probably yeah.

Vader responded by wrapping his arms around you. He wont admit it, but you definitely don’t need your little boyfriend who happens to be his son to make him reconsider all his life choices.

“Yeah. Maybe. I’m not convinced.” He gruffly stated.

He nestled his head into your shoulder, seeking the comfort he got from you a moment ago.

“But for you, I’ll consider it, (Y/N).”

Forgive me...

I will spare your life always

Stay with me..

And hold you tight and close

You’re the last...

We will be together here

Light I'll see....

Until its safe to go

A/N I’ll probably write more in the future, just not cringy undertale songfics (love that game haha)

-Ignore the plot holes and OOC, I lowkey was on that 2018 gacha type shit writing this