#royals in captivity

[krasivaa]

Grand Duchess Tatiana Nikolaevna Romanova in captivity in Tsarskoe Selo, Russia, April 1917. 💔💘

[jackyjango]

If I only had a penny for every time

1. One half of my OTP was a bookworm and buttoned up till the chin *coughs* sexy librarian *coughs*

2. And the other half dressed like a bad bitch and did dumb shit

I’d have 4 pennies by now…

Clearly, I have a type… or a problem

[altruistic-meme]

something about younger brother princes who inherit the crown that would have gone to their older brother. something about your brother not living long enough for you to see that he had imperfections, too. but they were there. they always were. and you can see it now through the eyes of someone else, seeing who your brother was or might have been. because older brothers are never as perfect as the memories you hold of them.

[yandereforme]

Yan!Captive Royals au

You were the second daughter and third born into a noble family of four children. That meant people didn’t tend to give you a second thought, and you could see more than your siblings, since you were basically invisible. While your elder brother is being groomed to take over the Lord ship, your elder sister was being groomed to marry, wealthy, and your little brother was being taught the ways of a swordsman, you had no path and were seen as useless. You were able to do it you’re pleased, as long as you avoided your family. That meant you knew about the captives in the basement, and you hated it.

The captives were originally just a passing thought, but then you found out they were a sickly girl a year younger than you, a pregnant woman, and a boy who was even younger than the girl. You immediately started visiting them and helping them, though the boy was suspicious. You eventually realized that he responded better if he thought it was an exchange, so you ‘traded’ extra meals, blankets and clothes for stories and lectures on etiquette.

You quickly learned the pregnant lady was named Vera, the girl was named Kara, and the boy was named Darrow. You grew to like them, and could tell they were fond of you, even though Darrow hid it.

Then, Vera noticed a bruise you got from when your mother had dragged you into place in the family portrait. You dismissed it, and didn’t notice how they all seemed a little more attached to you and aggressive towards any talk of your family.

Then, after your old tutor was fired for no reason, you got a new tutor who believed in discipline above all else. He often instructed the kitchens to not allow you certain meals if you messed up in a lesson, making it harder for you to bring the others food. He also often bruised you, which you hid, not wanting to upset your friends.

The first time he drew blood, while punishing you, you were shocked. You were so shocked, that you didn’t think to cover any of your injury from your friends. When you went to see them that night, and they noticed, you tried to push the side. But the maternal aura from Vera, and the combined pressure from Kara and Darrow caused you to confess everything. You even ended up falling asleep there.

You awoke to the sounds of guards rushing around. You tried to get up, but Vera held you close and shushed you. You could hear the fighting outside, but were too groggy to realize that the guards were fighting someone else.

Then, the door was broken down, and three men stood at the door, all in different uniforms. Each of them cried out a ‘your ladyship’ ‘my lord’ ‘my duchess’ as your head spun. You couldn’t really process the words around you, just the feeling of being held by another guard who reminded you vaguely of your ex tutor.

You were being carried out of the castle by the time you realized what was going on. You had always been sharp though, so, despite the oddness of the situation, you still noticed the archer at the top of the castle. You moved before you thought, jumping in front of an arrow that would’ve gone straight into Kara’s heart. Your vision went hazy after that, and you fell unconscious, completely unaware that the duchess of Elderwood, the heir to Corera’s throne, and the princess of the country of Jaya now all considered themselves indebted to you, and all wanted to keep you.

If I get more than 50 notes on this, I will write from one of the yan’s perspectives.

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

Here they all are! My Plushies for @thedeafprophet ! The Manager of the Royal Bethlehem, The Captivating Princess, and their tiny (yet delightful) OC, Jamie Awnings!!!

I made mistakes, I learned from those mistakes, and I now have hunger to make even more!!!

Pattern is from CholyKnight on Etsy!

[thedeafprophet]

I'm thinking

[anxious-art-block]

Yes, we're all very excited about Heartstopper and red white, and royal blue (have been watching both nonstop). But I have to ask,

WHERE'S MY CAPTIVE PRINCE ADAPTATION? HUH?

[befuddled-calico-whump]

cw: aftermath of whump, implied abuse, fantasy slavery, violence, manhandling.

based on this prompt by @howls-ghost

"Trite details bore me. I'll leave it to you to complete, and complete quickly," said Prince Acacius.

"I've had enough of your dimwitted blathering. See yourself to the door," said Prince Acacius.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

Laith was sick of it. Sick of the arrogant little brat prancing around the palace like he was already king. They hated Acacius and his cold, dismissive attitude. The spoiled twat didn't know a thing about running a kingdom, and wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose.

The only reason the country wasn't already in ruins was due to the competence of Laith and the rest of the high council. Even the regent, as good a man he was, was taken out of commission by Acacius, forced to keep the aloof young man at his side at all hours for supposed education. Not that Laith believed Acacius absorbed any of it. He was a horrid prince, and he'd make a horrid king.

And Laith intended to do something about it.

It started as something small and reasonable; a daydream about teaching the prince a lesson, of having him whipped for insolence, or beaten in the streets, or simply pushed off the balcony.

But none of those were realistic dreams, and none of those were enough. Acacius needed a punishment that would stick, something scarring, something humiliating.

The thoughts danced across Laith's mind through all their waking hours, turning sharper and more creative with every insult from the rotten prince.

But then, they thought, why bother with a mere punishment? Why not be rid of the arrogant heir for good? Death was too quick for his poisoned heart, but there were alternatives. Slavers in the West and enemies in the North, and either faction would jump at the chance to own the pretty prince. Should Laith's goal be realized, it would do more than sate their need for justice; it would spare the kingdom from a heartless ruler.

They'd lock him in a cell with no sunlight for a year. They'd remove his acrid tongue, put out his disdainful eyes, somehow they'd hurt him in a way that mattered.

They took their time making the arrangements; letters delivered in secret, coded messages, quiet plans and plots to cover the prince's upcoming disappearance. At last, the hour was drawing near. At last, Acacius would get all that he deserved.

But of course, Laith would have their fun with him first.

They came upon the royal in the dead of night. Laith had been making note of Acacius's movements, and by now they knew to expect the young man's midnight journey to the library. Too good to be seen there in daylight hours, when servants were dusting and lesser lords were reading. Too good to even peruse the shelves alongside those he deemed as unworthy.

Laith fell upon the prince as soon as he reached the library doors, wrapping their arm tight around a torso clad in a loose silk shirt, their other hand clamped over Acacius's mouth to dampen his startled cry. The prince made fearful noises beneath their hand, but there was no time to savor the sound. Laith knew they must move swiftly or risk alerting the night watch.

They slammed the prince's head into the heavy oak door behind him. Once, twice, and then their royal prisoner's struggling lessened. Laith forced him to the ground, stuffing a wad of cloth into his mouth and tying it in place with a cord. That same cord trailed down from the prince's head to wind around his wrists, then back up again to circle his throat, forming a makeshift collar and leash to better Laith's control of him. He tugged harshly at the rope, and the dazed prince stumbled to his feet, whimpering softly from behind the gag.

There was no haughtiness in his eyes, only something meek and fearful. It was nearly enough to make Laith second-guess their plans, but their memories of the man they knew Acacius to be strengthened their resolve.

They would not fall for this docile ruse. They knew the truth.

Laith delved deeper into the castle, making for one of the secret passages in the stone that would lead them outside the keep. There was a cottage at the edge of the woods, overlooking the river that ran alongside the castle's walls. A peasant girl had sighted it after Laith offered her a penny to find a covert location. It was perfect; well away from anyone who could hear them, and the river would make an easy path for the slavers' skiff.

They hauled Acacius into the cottage, unable to resist giving the prince a sharp kick in the back that sent him tumbling to the ground. The slavers weren't set to arrive until just before sunrise. Laith had nearly an hour to get revenge for every petty insult that had ever been flung their way.

Laith dropped a knee into the prince's chest, holding his head in place while he removed the gag.

Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith refused to let the act sway them. If anything, it only fueled their fire. How dare this impudent brat act like this was unearned? Now safe behind a closed door, Laith let their fury burn, raining fists and kicks down on the prince's helpless form, relishing every muffled cry. No, they shouldn't be muffled. They wanted to hear Acacius plead for mercy.

"N-nnh please... Please don't," the shaky words left Acacius's throat with the balled-up cloth. Laith answered him with another blow, and the prince squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again, there was a distant look to them, tears trickling from the corners.

No matter. Soon they'd be rid of him for good.

Small whimpers and gasps left Acacius's throat as Laith continued the beating, but aside from a few weak pleas, the prince didn't speak, or even look their way. Like he was only waiting for it to end. Their blows slowed, the enjoyment fading as the royal seemed to detach himself from the moment. Laith huffed. Even bound and beaten, Acacius was still ruining their day.

Ignoring the blank look on the prince's face, Laith drew their knife, cutting away Acacius's clothing. Even if that didn't get a reaction, it served the practical purpose of making things a shade easier on the slavers.

The prince lay very still, his breaths small and shaky as Laith removed the ruined clothing. And underneath the silk... Laith was unprepared for what was underneath the silk.

Old bruises covered Acacius's torso, scars layered beneath, some fresher than others. The wounds didn't stop there; more scars scattered the prince's legs, some framed in a sickly yellow-green.

"What is this?" Laith whispered, the question half-directed at themselves. Acacius didn't answer, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that looked glazed over.

Seeing another wound on their prisoner's shoulder, this one oddly shaped, Laith grabbed Acacius's upper arm and rolled him onto his stomach. The prince answered the action with a startled cry.

"N-no, please, please don't---"

"Shut up," Laith hissed, taking in the prince's back. It seemed the brat had been whipped before, and on more than one occasion by the looks of it. They couldn't say whether the dark feeling welling up in them was more akin to pity, or bitterness that they hadn't been able to witness the lashings themselves.

Starker than the whip scars was the image burned into Acacius's back. An intricate pattern, asymmetrical and varied in color, like its artist had begun months or even years ago and was still perfecting it. The newest mark was still a bright, skinless red, as if it had been smouldering mere hours ago.

Laith let out a disgusted sigh, turning their back on the sniveling prince. It seemed Acacius had been getting what he'd deserved for some time now, but it had done little to improve his attitude. Who had done this to him? Could it have been the regent? Why was pity seeping into them, like poison from a soured wound?

Acacius didn't deserve their pity. Wounded or not, he still paraded the palace ground like a bejeweled goose, hissing and biting at anyone he seemed lesser.

But why? came a small voice inside them. Why put on such an arrogant mask?

It didn't matter. Wounded or not, the prince should have better respected Laith and their peers.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Laith pushed it open an inch to peer out into the darkness. A pale woman with a shaved head stood on the other side, wearing clothing that was clearly foreign, despite its simplicity.

"Here to collect your gift?" they said, and the woman smiled.

"Aye. The North'll pay a pretty penny for your little heir."

"Wonderful," Laith said, but the word felt insincere. They couldn't let themselves doubt their plans now, the deed was nearly done. They opened the door further. "Take him then. Let's have this over with."

Acacius lay still on the ground, though his hands were trembling. He'd ceased his begging and was now crying softly and hells, Laith couldn't stand to hear it.

They bent over the prince, grabbing a fistful of his hair and roughly stuffing the gag back into his mouth to muffle that damned pathetic noise.

"Take him," they said again, more insistently. "Take him and be gone."

"S'wrong with his back?"

"I don't know." Laith shook their head. "Take him."

"Not a word of me," they said. "You'll make a fortune off him, all I ask is my name and face remain unknown."

"Alright, alright." The woman seized the rope, the leash Laith had formed, and tugged on it, forcing the prince to his feet. Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith turned their back on him.

"Your wish is my command," the woman chuckled, leading the prince towards the rocky shore, where her boat lay waiting. A sob escaped Acacius as he passed the threshold.

"Wait." Hells, what were they saying? They wanted nothing more to do with the royal. They needed him gone, but when the prince turned back to look at them, the flash of hope in his eyes wrenched in their gut.

Those damned eyes. Those haughty, arrogant, judging eyes.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

"Nevermind," Laith said quickly. "Go. Get him out of here."

The woman tugged on the leash, nearly causing the bound royal to stumble. Fresh tears wet Acacius's cheeks, but Laith looked away, pretended not to see.

They could pretend a lot of things. Surprise at the prince's sudden disappearance, sorrow and outrage at his captivity in the enemy North. For themselves, they'd pretend they were satisfied, that they'd never seen Acacius's scars.

And as they watched the skiff disappear on the dark waters of the river, they pretended they had no regrets.

[that-one-fandom-girl]

Y'ALL, we got so much teased in this trailer! We got castle-y vibes, monsters, technical puzzles, stolen gems, and also alchemy! This all looks so good! The characters look cool {and from the looks of things, we'll be interacting with quite a few of them!}, the rooms and places all look very interesting/visually appealing, and it looks very well animated; there was even one spot that I swear Elka's necklace gleamed as Nancy moved around.

Plus a room that looks kinda like a blacksmith room? A suspect list like in Alibi in Ashes? Plus it's part of the notebook; yay, notebook! AND the achievements tab, like the trophies tab in the pause menus before?

OOOOHH, confrontations?! Looks like the cozy coffee shop might have some exciting scenes?

Some of these images give me a Treasure in the Royal Tower/The Captive Curse vibes, :o.

Also, I have only heard/seen, like, ten seconds worth of Elka, but I already love her; she seems really cool, and if she somehow ends up being the end culprit {though she didn't seem to be in the suspect tab}, I'll be really sad, lol!

I'm excited! And the release date is so close; May 7th! I'll be buying this game right as soon as I can, although has anyone ever heard if there's a pre-order option for KEY?

Here's to what sounds like an awesome game!

[secretwhumplair]

Rescue

1,147 words | Heir apparent

Content | Captivity, kidnapping, exhaustion, broken bones, whumper turned caretaker, past parental abuse, implied: beating, whipping, sleep deprivation

Notes | New series! How exciting! Meet an unfortunate kidnapped princeling and their shitty sorcerer parent!

(To be clear, they're shitty at parenting. They are VERY GOOD at sorcery.)

It had been days of a never-ending nightmare.

Sharru had barely hoped for his parent to come save him in any sort of a hurry to begin with, and with every hour, every blow, what hope he had faded further. It was his own fault, they would think, for being so weak and foolish as to be taken. It would do him good to learn a lesson at the hands of his captors.

His kidnappers had told him they had given their demands, but even they knew. »How long do you think their Majesty is going to leave you to us?« they’d laugh, clearly thrilled to have the son of their beloathed ruler at their mercy. »Best not waste our time together, huh?«

And they certainly didn’t.

He had at first tried to hold himself together, be as dignified as the heir apparent was expected to be, but that mask fell all too soon. He was used to pain, but not like this.

He was so exhausted - he could not even tell whether from sleep deprivation or pain - his head wasn’t working right, at any rate, so that he couldn’t figure out what it was that finally drew them away, he could only whimper in minimal relief. If only they hadn’t left him chained up to the walls by his wrists, his back bleeding from the last whipping.

There were screams, but they weren’t his screams, for once.

It didn’t last long. Someone entered the cell, and he knew his reprieve had come to an end. He couldn’t even be bothered to look up, he just attempted one more useless »Please…«, unsure if it was audible at all.

But no - he recognized that step.

He was sure who it was when he felt the pulse of heat of his parent’s magic at his wrists. The manacles fell away as if he hadn’t already tried everything to make them. He had never been able to reproduce the magic that flowed so amply through their veins, just one of the many ways in which he was a disappointment.

He collapsed.

He didn’t expect to be caught; he never had been. If anything, he would be punished for being so weak - so stupid as to be kidnapped, so helpless as not to escape, so weak as to now collapse at their feet.

Yet somehow - somehow - a pair of warm arms closed around him and prevented him from hitting the ground. His body screamed out in pain regardless.

Crying wasn’t allowed either, but he couldn’t help it, and what difference would it make now that they’d seen what had become of him?

* It had been over twenty years since Taba had held their son, before he learned how to walk.

They hadn’t expected to do it now, despite everything. They hadn’t - they shouldn’t go soft on him. But then, and they were still reeling with the violence of the realization, it hadn’t done much to protect him, in the end.

And he certainly couldn’t walk now.

There were many things they hadn’t expected. They hadn’t expected the sheer magnitude of the terror that washed through them when they heard their son was gone. They hadn’t expected the irresistible force of rage when they were sent the demands.

It took eight days to find and reach him, accompanied by their bodyguard.

They had exhausted most of their magic in the fight, but there was enough left to set this place on fire-

But no.

They would need it to heal their son.

Their precious little son now lying in their arms.

They had always found him frail, but they- they had never-

They had told themself they were teaching him to protect himself.

They had, they realized, taught him nothing.

They lifted him up into a bridal carry, getting a pained whimper in return; his back was a bloody mess, and that wasn’t half of it. He was crying. They had often forbidden him to cry, and always he would eventually fail.

They hoped he knew he wouldn’t be punished this time.

»Round up all that are still alive,« they ordered the nearest guard on the way out. »And then burn this whole place down.«

* In the state Sharru was in, he had barely managed to comprehend that it was, in fact, his parent carrying him before he was set down.

Of course he hadn’t expected it to last; he was more bewildered it had happened at all, that he hadn’t been made to crawl out after them - a valuable lesson - or at least carried by some random guard. Maybe they wanted to make sure his shredded back, his cracked ribs ached exactly the way they wanted.

Despite all this, he couldn’t help himself. It was ridiculous, and he would likely be punished for such a blatant display of weakness, and he didn’t want it to be them, he wanted it to be someone who actually cared about him - but he nuzzled into their arm, weeping into the fabric of their shirt.

But of course, he was set down soon enough. He tried to pull himself together, to get his wits about him, like he should.

If only he wasn’t so exhausted. His eyes were burning as he tried to focus on his parent, sitting right next to him, doubtlessly disappointed beyond measure, as usual. They were in one of the army tents. With what strength he had, he tried to push himself up, half because he was supposed to, wasn’t he, half to keep his weight off his back. »I’m sorry-«

Their hand caught his shoulder and easily pushed him down. »Stop. Rest.«

He couldn’t hold back a whine, or more tears rising to his eyes. The salty liquid seeped into the cut one of them had drawn across his cheek, burning worse. There was no point in arguing, so he laid back and tried to ignore the pain, all the pain, and give in to the exhaustion and just finally sleep.

He couldn’t. They took his hand and - most of his fingers had been broken under the cruel heel of a boot - he only didn’t wail because he hadn’t the strength any more - it hurt.

Then he felt the familiar sting of heat again. Not enough to burn him or even really hurt, but only just. It took him a moment before he realized - they were healing him.

He had never gotten more magical healing than what was necessary. His parent believed there was a lesson in suffering from the consequences of one’s mistakes.

So this could only mean - oh, no. Please, no. He would be expected to resume his duties as heir at once.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

But he couldn’t argue. He couldn’t even beg - it hadn’t worked on his captors, and his parent would despise it. He could only lie back, bleeding and hurting, and quietly weep.

[amariaarts]

an oldie but a goodie 🌶️

[chai-and-cherries]

i’m sure this has been said before and much more concisely but the whole parasocial relationship that audiences have with creators has only perversely grown in the sphere of literature. i see the most examples on places like tiktok and yours truly, tumblr, but it’s cropping up everywhere now. comments like “x author TOTALLY didn’t understand y character—they should have totally did this instead”. there’s a huge difference between an author mixing up/not fully fleshing out plots but to have this strange sort of hubris to suppose you know an author’s character better than said author is just inane interesting. this also extends to the very not new but never endingly exhausting theme of “why would author EVER write this like ugh i almost stopped reading here” okay bethany why didn’t u. it’s not every single authors job to cater to ur interests. not everything u read is supposed to be making a morally sound point, certainly not supposed to meet your personal version of one. literature is art, is subjective, is open and unrestrained. it’s not “oh my god this character is soooo toxic why is the author gaslighting us and omg there isn’t enough sPiCe” like grow up and learn critical thinking god

[shywhumpauthor]

Royal Whumper aesthetics got me thinkin

A special clasp built into the base of their throne to hook the chains of their captured enemy to, so they are made to forever kneel by the ruler’s feet, Blood dripping to a royal red carpet before Whumper’s boots.

(Prompt 16)

[blackrosesandwhump]

March of Pain Day 8: Broken

CW: blood, magic whump, defeat

The prince collapses, knees hitting the forest floor first before he slumps to the side. Blood trickles from his shoulder, from the wound inflicted by the sorcerer’s hideous champion. Other cuts show through his ripped clothing, torn by the countless claws of the monstrous army.

He’s never seen anything like them, the hoard of deformed monsters that falls back now in a wave of darkness, watching him. They think their job is done. They think they’ve defeated him.

Lying on the ground, gasping for breath, the prince fears they may be right. He can’t stand, can’t even reach for the bloodied sword just out of his grasp.

They’ve broken him, just as the sorcerer commanded.

The hoard of monsters shifts, cowering and parting, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades in their haste. The air turns ice cold, and the prince looks up, dread sweeping over him.

The sorcerer. The sorcerer stands before him, looking down at him with the eye of an eagle surveying a freshly-caught mouse.

“Well, well, well.” The voice emanates from a mouth that doesn’t move, surrounding the prince like a foul miasma. “I wasn’t planning to come myself, but I had to see this picture in person. The prince, broken. How perfect.” Something hits the prince in the chest. Pain and darkness explode in his head. The last thing he feels is the sensation of chains fastening around his wrists.

@marchofpain

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Bambi and the King

cw fantasy whump, captivity, nonhuman whumpee, defiant whumpee, royalty

Cassian choked on the wine he was drinking. “You what?” he demanded between coughs, handing the glass to one of his servants. 

“A wood nymph,” Valeria, the leader of the royal guard, repeated with a stoic expression. “We found him about fifty miles west, sneaking through Arlo Forest. The little thing was a pain to catch, but we got him.” 

Cassian was still reeling. A nymph venturing into his kingdom was almost unheard of—they knew better. And the fact that his guard had managed to capture the creature was equally stunning. As far as magical beings went, nymphs were up there with faeries in terms of flightiness and cunning. “You have him?” Cassian repeated in disbelief. 

Valeria nodded once. “Yes, your majesty. Would you like us to bring him in?” 

The man waved his hands in an aborted gesture. “Um—yes. Yes, of course.” 

Valeria strode away silently, returning to the throne room a few moments later followed by two other guards. They were each holding an arm of the struggling wood nymph, dragging him to stand before Cassian. He looked young—no older than twenty, maybe, but Cassian wasn’t sure what that meant for nymphs. Soft auburn hair framed his face and he was scowling poisonously.

“Well, isn’t this something,” Cassian drawled, gazing down at the creature. He was tall and thin—willowy, his mind supplied—with big brown eyes. Sweet, like a fawn. He could have almost looked innocent if Cassian didn’t know the strength nymphs were capable of through their magic. And if this one weren’t looking at him like he was a second away from scratching the king’s eyes out. 

“Get off me,” the nymph spat, yanking his arms away from the guards. 

Cassian waved them off. “It’s alright. Let him go.” 

The guards released him and they, along with Valeria, stood to the side. The nymph stayed where he was, standing before Cassian’s throne, but those doe eyes shot daggers at him. Delicate wrists were locked in front of him in gold chains—special cuffs that blocked magic. The only reason they still had the creature there, and he hadn’t already run off or upended the entire castle. 

“I must admit,” Cassian said, “I’m very curious why you were trespassing on my land, Bambi.” 

The nymph’s glare soured even more, if that was possible. “My name is August.” 

Cassian waved his hand dismissively. “Not what I asked. Don’t you know that magical beings are not allowed to enter my kingdom without express permission? Your kind usually isn’t foolish enough to disregard that rule.” 

“The second I get these cuffs off, I'll fucking kill you,” August sneered, tugging pointedly at the restraints. 

A strange sense of excitement filled Cassian—this was already more entertainment than he’d had in a long time. And if the little nymph at his feet happened to be quite pretty as well, that was just a plus. “Well,” Cassian sighed, “if you don’t wish to answer my questions, then I suppose I'll have to keep you around until you’re ready to talk. Valeria—take him away, please.” 

August startled, trying to jerk away from the guards as they returned to grab him. “Wait, I—” 

“Don’t worry. They’ll be gentle with you, Bambi,” the king promised sympathetically. He turned his gaze to Valeria, instructing, “Find somewhere nicer to keep him, please. I don’t want our guest catching a chill in the dungeon.” 

The nymph’s eyes widened, but the fight quickly returned as Cassian’s guards began to drag him away. “Get your fucking hands off me,” he snapped, before turning over his shoulder to shout at Cassian. “I will claw that stupid, smug look off your face! You can’t keep me here!” 

“I’ll come see you soon,” Cassian called after him. Oh, this was going to be fun. 

taglist: @morning-star-whump ((lmk if you want to be added!))

pt 2