#E!False being murderous

[choco-bloop]

False sat in her tower, watching over the building right across from her. She wasn't there, no of course she wasn't. She was probably with all her other friends, building that giant tower right next to Pixlriff's bridge.

She hated it. 

How could she just interact with everyone so casually, as if whatever happened between the two of them never happened. As if she had never wiped her memories clean in hopes of "protecting everyone else"

Now she knew why someone told her to be careful of that portal. She should have destroyed it while she still had the chance. 

False sighed, there had to be something she could do to get her revenge without angering practically everyone else on the server.

Maybe a quick flight over to Hermitopia would do the trick. 

-

There she was, crouched among the leaves, watching the different hermits interact with each other. She wasn't there from what she could tell. Good.

"Jev, how do you plan on getting someone to die to that?" an orange-haired lady exclaimed. She was talking to that Jevin guy that had came to the tavern a few days ago.

And was definitely not killed by her 

“I honestly don’t know. Maybe a bargain like what False did to tag Ollie,” False winced at her name. However, she was more curious about the jester hat sitting on on Jevin’s head - what was the whole gig with it anyway? She had seen multiple of the other hermits and empires wear it so it was definitely not something exclusive to the hermits.

And what was it with getting someone else to die to something specific.

“What if you rerolled it without telling anyone? I mean the machine is right there,”  the lady pointed to a machine with a sign saying “Tag”.

“Cleo!” ‘Cleo’ laughed. False guessed that the machine contained different ways for the hermits to kill the empires and vice versa. Maybe she could come back there and take a peak for any ideas should this trip not bore any.

False hoped off the branch she was settled on, landing herself on one of the many ledges on Hermitopia. She winced at the amount of Skulk that was surrounding her, someone was going to have to clean that up sooner or later.

"Grian, how much longer will it take before Grumbot is ready?" A voice from inside asked.

"Can't tell, maybe another week, maybe longer. And for all I know, this Grumbot might not even have the power to light up the rift," Another responded, who False assumed was the "Grian" the first voice was talking to.

"..." Silence, before the first voice spoke again, "I miss the other hermits. I know that while quite a lot of the hermits followed us to this world, there are still a few left back in our world and are probably worried over us," 

A giggle was heard before "Grian" spoke up, "Xisuma, I just realised something,"

"What? Don't tell me one of the empires is trying to tag me," 

"Why didn't we just ask Gem to go back to the server and tell the rest what happened?" False's fist clenched tightly. Even the princess of Dawn was related to her?

"We are such idiots," "Xisuma" laughed, "Well if Grumbot doesn't work we could always ask her to pass the message on to the rest of them," 

False leapt off the ledge, flying back to Cogsmeade, a plan forming in her head.

'It seems like these hermits are all close with one another,' she noted, looking at a board with the names of all the hermits who had entered through the rift. She had seen most of them, with the exception of only one unfamiliar face.

'And since I've already gotten Jevin,' She crossed out a picture of Jevin. 'I might as well pick them off one by one and add their heads to my display. That'll send a message to her that I remember everything she did to me,'

-

She had decided to leave out two more hermits from her revenge - BdoubleO100 and Pearlescentmoon (And Gem, if one were to consider her a hermit currently). She was not ready to face the wrath of multiple of the other empires for taking out Bdubs, who has apparently become a "sun god" of sorts for what she heard was Gem's new religion? And Pearl had been mentioned, time and time again, by Sausage to look like his "Santa Perla"; and False was not in the mood to get on Sausage's bad side by attacking Pearl.

Oh and Joe too, he helped her confirm her presence in the server. So sparing him from her soon-to-be murder spree was the least she could do for him.

That left her with nine more hermits to kill. And maybe her as a final act.

-

Nine 

She pulled out her communicator, looking through the list of available targets.

She clicked on the name GoodTimeswithScar before sending him a message

-

> Hey, you are one of the hermits right? 

Oooo yeah I remember you, you came over the other time didn't you? < GoodTimeswithScar

> I think so? Sorry I can't remember clearly.

>Anyway, I need help. Are you able to accompany me to the nether? I want to mine for some netherite. Your portal?

Sure thing! < GoodTimeswithScar

-

False closed her communicator, packing her amnesia potions alongside some wood and wool into her inventory before setting off to Hermitopia. She had checked before sending her last message - the other False still wasn't online, which meant she could move about safely. Mining netherite wasn't an excuse, she did want to upgrade her gear just in case someone pieced together her plan and tried to attack her.

Scar was an easy target. A single potion was all it took to incapacitate him before placing and exploding a bed in front of him.

GoodTimeswithScar was killed by [Intentional Game Design]

False picked up all his belongings before rushing back to his respawn point. Passing him all his items before flying off.  All she had to do was to wait for the commotion to die down before going for the next hermit. 

Eight

False heard the warden's growl resounding throughout the cave. She looked over to Keralis, who had stumbled and triggered the sensors for the fourth time. The warden crawled out of the ground, making it’s way towards the blinded Keralis.

She threw another potion at him, ensuring that the warden would go in his direction and he would be unable to escape

She laughed to herself as Keralis attempted to make his escape, knowing the warden was behind him, only to crash into a wall.

Keralis was obliterated by a sonically charged shriek.

Seven

She had asked for Tango’s help in fighting a wither. She knew the other hermits had also begun to do so, which was a good cover.

Of course this time around she had to be careful to time his death properly otherwise she too might fall victim to the wither.

TangoTek was shot by a skull from wither

False finished off the wither before pocketing his dropped head, returning him all his gear when he moments later.

While he’d still know that he was fighting the wither with someone, False wondered if he’d remember with who later on.

Six

False ignited another rocket, propelling herself forward, weaving in and out of the hills with their tall trees. She looked behind at Grian, who was struggling to catch up.

Turning her head back so that she didn’t end up crashing herself, a cruel grin formed on her face - she had managed to slip in her potion into some soup that she had passed Grian earlier and its effects were finally kicking in.

One more rocket to make a sharp turn around a mountain did it for him.

Grian experienced kinetic energy

Five

"False! Behind you!" She didn't need an amnesia potion with Impulse, he had willingly jumped in to save her- getting blown up in the process. 

ImpulseSV was blown up by a creeper

He came bounding back quickly, picking up all his items. At least he would be able to serve as an outlier if someone tried to investigate the recent surge in hermit deaths… that was not related to the weird jester hat.

Four

False was glad that Cub had (somehow) died in the nether. He would more likely go back with fewer and less important items, which would lower the chances of any of them burning and causing a few problems for her.

She snuck over to where he was, slowly bridging his way over a giant lava lake. False spied a small island along the path he was taking, she could break the blocks under him and he'd fall to his death and he would be none the wiser on that she was there.

Potion in one hand and pickaxe in the other, she moved quickly; not giving him a chance to turn around and see her.

Cubfan135 fell from a high place 

Three

False watched as Cleo dived into the water, unbeknown to the danger she was putting herself in. She felt for the obsidian in her pocket, worried that Cleo would be able to just swim her way to the surface to breathe again.

She watched as the last bubbles escaped from Cleo's mouth before her body disappeared. 

ZombieCleo drowned 

Well it definitely wasn't needed.

Two

She carefully led Doc into the cave that she had explored beforehand - having removed all torches and taken extra care to not mine any of the ores to make the cave seemed as unexplored as possible. 

The sole torch's glow hid the gravel watching the duo from above, waiting for someone to break one block and cause the rest to come cascading down. 

False pretended to mine some nearby iron, making sure Doc was placed under the gravel. A potion and a swipe of her shovel and the gravel came down, taking Doc with it.

Docm77 suffocated in a wall

One 

False looked at Xisuma, his face barely visible through the helmet. She felt for the potions in her pockets, ready to throw them if he got any closer.

"Are you behind the recent string of deaths?" He asked, clear that he was upset at whoever was targeting the hermits.

"Why do you think so?"

"I wouldn't normally investigate these kinds of incidents but Cleo drowning? Doc to suffocation? Those rarely happen, especially given the gear they have," Xisuma continued.

"And you believe that I am the culprit behind all of this? Do explain,"

"Most of the hermits when they respawn seem to have no clue that they even died, with the exception of Impulse , which makes it seem like they are suffering from temporary amnesia. You are the only person I know on the server who has any experience dealing with amnesia,” 

“What about Impulse? He’s an outlier in this situation right?” She countered, careful not to over show any emotions.

“When he respawned, he kept apologising to you about it,” 

False flinched slightly; Xisuma knew what she had done. But she wasn’t going to let such a free information pool go to waste. “So, who told you that I had amnesia?"

Xisuma paused for a moment, as if he was thinking of his next words carefully, "False did. The other False did. She told me everything about you," 

"Really? If your precious 'False' had told you everything about me," She smirked, reaching into her pockets for her amnesia potion, "she would've told you what she did and what I can do," False threw her potion towards Xisuma, hitting him right in the chest.

Xisuma tried to counter with a sword but the potion's effects kicked right in, causing him to stumble.

False brought out her sword, easily overpowering him. A slash to the arm and one on his stomach before she went for the killing blow, plunging her blade through his body.

Xisuma was slain by Falsesymmetry_

She picked up the rest of his items, putting his head into her enderchest right as she got a message on her communicator.

Why did you kill Xisuma? < Grian

> Sorry, I was testing out my new sword. Needed to make sure it's strong enough if ever choose to fight the wither or anything.

> Didn't realise it would cause a ton of panic

Ohhhh ok, just checking cuz Xisuma looked kinda stressed earlier. Or maybe it's the homesickness again < Grian

False kept the last part in mind - maybe she could trap her here and close the portal to truly make her suffer. 

She studied the new contents of her enderchest, her mouth morphing into a twisted grin.

She was going to pay for everything she has done to her.

If for some reason you want the link, here it is: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43373812

IG you can say this is somewhat related to the art post b4 this. But I do plan on making an animatic for this fic. Maybe in a week or so depending.

[cutieeva]

Addicted

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞

Female Reader

Warnings : Manipulation. Brainwashing. Sexual assault. Mention of murders. Dubious consent. Detail sex. Blackmailing. Power abuse. Toxic relationship. Cheating. Home Invasion. Stalking.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

❛ 死神 ❜ Meeting Light yagami was a mere coincidence yet the several meetings again and again doesn't seem to be anymore because the more (Y/N) observe the more she realize how fake he is yet she fail to be aware of his twisted desires held for her

To be cousin of Misa is difficult could be understatement because it is much more than that, it's heart-wrenching, gulit, frustration and more complex emotions are mixed because watching her sister even if cousin sister break down into (Y/N)'s arms wailing to be back to her passed away parents is heart-wrenching.

Guilt due to the helpless (Y/N) felt for hopelessly comforting her with words that are lies and even have difficulty to be happy with her alive parents in front of her as if she is taunting her sister.

Frustration on her sister's newfound obsession with the serial killer Kira who's praises of anti-hero could be sang at the same time hatred was there for taking law on their own hands. No, (Y/N) isn't saint to think what the kira is doing completely wrong rather her opinion dances between supporting their way of cleaning filth yet hating how they do as they want which was prove by killing the false detective life simply case he hurt the killer's ego. Also a newfound emotion has planted within her manifesting to grow larger and larger which is : fear. Fear for the safety of her sister's alarming love for the Kira just cause they did a good deed of killing her parent's culprit. Fear of her sister ruining her life just to meet the said killer or being taken advantage of bad people in name of Kira.

However expect her surprise when she met Yagami Light, the most intelligent boy she shared her school with came to her house with her sister introducing to be her boyfriend standing beside Misa who squealing quietly just the same way (Y/N) notice whenever Kira's name is mention.

"How odd". She was beyond confuse of how Light was able to peel her obsession with the Kira because as much as she knows he is the epitome of justice even being the son of Yagami Soichiro, the leading head policer of ongoing Kira case. "They are vastly different. How come she is romantically involved with such man despite fangirling over a serial killer ?" She remembers meeting the boy due to the unusual events of that day.

"I am bored". (Y/N) thought with a sigh, unable to hear the boring theories of the professor are uttering as her (E/C) eyes gaze over the window she was sitting near when a quite grasp left her lips seeing a black notebook written something over it fell from the blue sky. "What the ?" Unable to comprehend she decided as soon as the class ended she would surely go outside to touch the notebook for at least to check.

Bell ring indicating finished last period made her quick to be at her feet holding her small black bag and run through the hallway. "These are the advantage of not having friends". She chuckle finally drumming over the dust and in front of the very same black book she saw earlier. "Death note". She read out loud about to touch when her sight saw someone else's palm hold the mysterious notebook as she look up meeting beautiful bronze eyes belonged to Light, her classmate.

"Is that yours ?" She asked pointing her finger to the notebook.

"Oh ! Of course not. Rather I saw it from the distance while walking outside the gate and thought to pick it up and deliver to the police station". He elaborate smiling gently as she always saw him in front of his friends, professors and each person alike.

"Oh".

"Well, seeing you ask me if it's mine automatically prove it's not yours right ?" (Y/N) shook her head, smiling nervously.

"Okay, then please submit the notebook to the police station for it's rightful owner to claim. I will take my leave". Feeling awkward and having nothing more to converse she decided to leave and finding his nod as a permission she left. Unaware he stayed until her figure disappeared.

"(L/N) ? Right ?" Light's voice ripped her from the clouded thoughts to find the boy sitting in front her, on the desk chair Misa uses.

"Uh, yes". (Y/N) nod, straighting her wrinkled clothes to appear at least presentable when seconds ago she was in mist of drawing a art that occupied her mind when the door burst open revealing cheerful Misa with her least expected classmate.

"Is her aunt your mother ? Judging from the different surnames". He asked further taking a look at her from head to toe discreetly as she sat on her bed.

"Yup ! She looks nothing like the lovesick girl". Ryuk pointed out Light's thoughts.

"Yes. My father is foreigner from (C/N) while mother is Japanese so you could say I am half Japanese". She smiled, still having doubts of their relationship. "So, could you say how you two met ? You know, love story ?" Misa laughed sitting beside her and linking their arms together.

"Well, it was love at fight sight for me". The blond girl shamelessly unraveled looking at her love, her savior, her lover ignoring the fact their relationship is an play. "I was in awe how a man could be both handsome and intelligent so I persistently tailed behind him until he couldn't deny me". Lies spewed her lips so smoothly (Y/N) belived while Light holding the urge to roll his eyes knowing they rehearsal the script beforehand.

"And when we were in relationship he slowly fell for me and I fell more". (Y/N) doubts were beginning to waver and smile soften spotting her cousin's eyes adoring cupid heart and her lips coated with sweet nothings.

"She loves him". Hearing each and every word from her lips speaking proved that, failing to noticing her single moves are observed and calculated by a certain brown head boy. Light from his correct understanding has known the classmate he clearly recall from their first meeting from finding the death note and discovering she is her cousin who has soft spot for Misa could be useful in upcoming events just like the another foolish shinigami, Rem but hopefully she doesn't become a thorn in his way otherwise he must pitifully execute her like the rest.

"Misa, can you bring some snacks from downstairs ? I am hungry". Light narrowed his eyes at the sudden request. "Also Yagami-san, would you like to have some too ?" He nod smiling a little.

"Okay ! Wait for me and oneesan do not try to talk behind my back ! Do you understand". The girl warned walking away giving her a playful glare earning a chuckle from (Y/N) that made Light stare at her.

"She look nothing like Misa nor is her behavior". Light had heard her name from Misa before meeting today yet fault due to not paying attention he couldn't recall her until he came inside the room meeting an familiar face from their few days intractions washing away all the expectation he had of how more irritating her sister could be. "She is gullible enough". He thought.

"So, Yagami-san, do you love her ?" The question was expected since he had re-think multiple questions to begin with. Smiling the perfect facade he replied in beat "Of course".

"And what is the points you like about her ?" (Y/N) watched his perfect facade carefully where he crafted to smile nervously and fidgets his fingers when in reality he is getting annoyed by her piling questions. She is annoying.

"I, like her everything. From her way of dressing to the way she cheerfully talks to her way of handling people and most importantly the fact she is so brave even after her parents has left the world. She is still hanging strongly as ever". The girl's smile dimmed at the mention of her dearest relatives death yet she paid attention to the sincerity unaware of the fact he made just for her to see.

"So, she shared her parent's death with you ?"

"Yes". No. It was the first reason she is attached to his hip. A nuisance death what he thinks.

"If she shared such vital topic that must mean she trust you enough". (Y/N) sigh, looking at his eyes. "Then you must also know her obsession with Kira ?" His muscles tense but he kept the act of nodding.

"Indeed. It was in the first weeks of our relationship I got to know her unhealthy obsession with the serial killer". A bitter taste left by the negative word he used at last.

"What do you think about Kira ?" Now, he won't lie about this question coming expected but that doesn't mean he can't speak the right words in set. The words she might want to hear.

"I will be honest with you". His serious bronze eyes stare at her. "My own moral compass is little bend. Still that doesn't mean what they does is correct instead they only acts upon what they deems is correct and that thinking itself is terrifying and must be put stop to it". Hearing such words from a boy who's son of a national police agency and multiple times announced to the teachers of his dream of becoming one along observed his visible hatred towards criminals should have felt right but why does it feel so wrong ? Her raw human instinct is settling anything but safe and good. All the words sounds distant and wrong.

"Yagami-san, please tell me your real opinion not the one you would tell to hide your real ones". Breaking the silence she didn't know was there flicker her eyes deeply into his. He merely look down and back up with a soft chuckle disregarding Ryuk's raspy laugh.

"Smart girl". He jollily commented already being entertained.

"I guess I was caught". His eyes lifted with his lips. "Okay, I do support Kira's actions of killing criminals but I do not support their killings against innocent civilians because I think the innocents do not deserve such way of death to heaven". Light appeared to be shameful of his way of thinking when in contrast his fingers were itching to write her name on the death note and erase her existence from the earth. She is getting inside his skin. The second person to thoroughly caught his lies aside from the mysterious detective L.

(Y/N) eyes dart at the door hearing the upcoming footsteps of her sister to her classmate. "I understand". She did. Understood her intitution was right about the white lie he spoke moments earlier.

"But could you also share your opinion". Light oddly enough desire to know her thoughts for the sake of knowing her better. Or so he claim.

"Umm...nothing simply than the fact I have observed the person has fragile ego proven the moment he killed the fake detective just cause he was provoked such an impulsive decision". The brown head boy's eyes twitch at that sentences.

"That was good". Ryuk full on indulging the second person who doesn't fall for his facade easily and insult so bluntly at the same time could be the fast reason of her own demise he pitefully felt bad.

"Also I notice how the name Kira means killer at the same time shining in Japanese if I am correct then it must mean if the killer themselves liked to called killer in more fashionable way that proves they are aware they are nothing more than a killer but judging from the past killing of both the fake detective and police officers it seems the killer has forgetting it's identity and wants to be some sort of justice hero". She finished titling his head.

"I like her". The god of death openly admit his favoritism wanting more to see what becomes of her in the near future. Hopefully she survives after this situation for his want of fun. However Light doesn't share the mutual feeling. His lips part to say when Misa barged in holding plate of delicates and snacks.

"Have bites". Little to no noises were made placing the plate on top of the little table.

"Thank you". (Y/N) took one bite into the cookies before diving into what he was suppose to say if Misa didn't came so abruptly little did she know the blonde girl was standing behind the door since the topic came what he likes about her by successfully fluttering her heart and leak hundred butterflies inside her stomach.

For Light after eating and talking some meaningless strings of sentences he care not to remember only seeing red by the moment those words this bitch utter immediately put an natural end to their meeting, waves their hands goodbye, somehow got rid of the another bitch, Misa. He so restelessly want to strangle her neck to the point he could see life fade from her eyes, pale body fall limp for eternal. Once he got home excusing himself with a strained smile and fake soften eyes to his mother and sister.

In no seconds the death notebook was laid open and a pen fist between his fingers tightly about to write her name that no one would stop him expect "I have observed the person has fragile ego proven the moment he killed the fake detective just cause he was provoked such an impulsive decision". It flashes across his eyes itself pausing his movements.

"Ha !" He mockly laughed. Laughed more and more and more and more that it scared the shinigami watching how wicked the laugh turned to his eyes pure evil red. "If she thinks of death was an implusive choice I made then how about I taste her hell ?" He smirk planning to get closer to know about her in order to completely destroy her.

The following day of her colliding with Light Yagami at the school gate to return home was again awkward but this time for the reasons he was romantically involved with her cousin, she still has suspicious about due to all her gut feeling screaming the boy dangrous. A danger.

"Would you like to walk home together ?" He suggested wearing his usual charming smile.

"So direct ?" The god of death snicker.

"Okay". Well, no excuse she has to decline his kind offer other than the fact her house is at different direction from his. Soon she find herself walking with the least expected boy she often seen and came face to face once in a while. The walk itself was silent surrounded by comfortable noises like their walking foosteps, few cars driving, birds chirping on their nest over the tree.

"Why did you invite me for a walk ? We aren't so close enough yet". Her quite voice break the train of thoughts of Light who for the first time after getting hands on the death note has been in peace.

"To get to know you better". (Y/N) was taken aback, flicker to his eyes to find them already intensity watching her. She flinched. He noticed.

"Oh". Quickly her gaze turned away only to fall on top of a cute cafe she has been eyeing for a long time which Light has notice too.

"Want to go inside ?" She glance to check his expression where he smiles and she nods going inside together. Few people were seated and she chose the closest seat to the window. He sat opposite of her. "This cafe is nice". He compliment watching her nod carelessly and look around the cafe. "Seem to be the first time of her".

"Welcome to Cutieeva Cafe, here is the menu for you to order and please press the bell to call an waitress or waiter". A woman wearing her black mix white cloth elaborate smiling ear to ear and place two menu on their table.

"Thank you". (Y/N) thanked her taking one between the two menu to check what she would be ordering to end up with Katsu sandwitch, manju and iced matcha latte while Light ordered egg salad sandwich and iced coffee with milk.

They waited in the same silence boring the god of death.

"Didn't you said you would talk to her ? If you don't talk then how would you know her weakness ?" Ryuk crossed his legs and sat floating in the air with hand under his cheek knowing how the male human ignored him.

"I will charge apples for this boredom". Light tune out the whining of the supernatural creature focusing on the girl in front of him who never ready to met his gaze if not necessary he even remembers being baffled in their first encounter how she run away unlike others he has came across his life to be talking to him in any possible way or reason. The food plate were served and the moment his requested food entered his mouth did he felt the disgust raising. "It's a trash". However he didn't let the negativity express over his face, glancing over to (Y/N) who ate just fine. To ease the disfavour he drank his drink "They didn't add milk and it's bitter". His lips threat to twitch.

"You shouldn't force to eat something you dislike". Light froze. His mind for a second was blank and non-calculative words blurt out.

"What do you mean ?" He stare into those (E/C) he found yesterday night in his dreams.

"The way you only bite some of your food and immediately turned to drink then look at your food makes me think you might not like your order. Maybe I am wrong but I simply want you to know that you shouldn't force yourself to like something for the sake of others". If before he wasn't intrigued then he certainly is now.

"And what would happen if I force myself ?" The words escape eager then he wanted. Looking forward to her next sentence, looking towards to her next expression, to their next eyes met.

"If you do, it will only hurt your own self that might later be forgetton if you are so used to the mask". (Y/N) utter not confident anymore feeling her unspoken secrets exposed by the words she speak from her personal experience. Feeling his burning gaze yet stick to looking at her meal.

"Sounds like an personal experience to me". Click ! His brozon eyes gleefully when she looked at him. At his eyes. Only at him.

"Ah ! What a interesting turns of events". Ryuk observed each little things. Feeling tension built just like his entertainment settling.

"Because it indeed is". (Y/N) look away turning his gleeful to a frown. The first slip up of his expression he is happy to be not caught.

"Could you share with me ? Because sometimes sharing helps to ease the burden". His eyes soften along his voice quiter. After all he would hate to let others know about something that meant only for his ears to heard or else too bad he has know each their names and wipe their existence with the power he have as an new god of the world.

"I—" (Y/N) suck breath. "I think I— will take my leave now". Quickly without checking at the other she took her bag, place her order of payment and left hurried failing to notice his hand in air with the intent to grip her wrist and stood up from his seat watching her back becoming smaller and smaller and smaller. All her mind had filled with her dull past of her friends smiling in front of her but sneering and spatting lies behind her back, preventing others students of befriending her, isolating her before comforting her with web of deceit how others are cruel and mockingly laughing at her face when in dispair she learnt the truth. Even stealing her right of cutting her ties with them instead the trio announced of leaving such a pathetic person as (Y/N) herself when she asked the reason behind such cruelty were offered because "It was fun". A measly toy she was to them when to her they were her friends, her non-blood family.

It left a scare to never able to look at other people with the same pure faith she had on people. Refusing to believe be rewarded by good people and doubting each mutters coming out of their tongues. Paying more attention of their behavior after all what the bitterness of betrayal is given by an alley not an enemy that's the first reason she notice Light's off putting behaviors.

Meanwhile Light was left clenching his jaw and fury rush in his head to whisk away all the plates from the table, lash out his boiling anger. How could she left him ? All alone and not even sharing her past when she talks as if she knows him.

"Someone's angry". Ryuk stood up on his feet, lacing his arms behind his head in an laid-back position in contrast of the human's emotions piling. The death note user held back to glare at the hideous creature he deems and walk to the counter paying both of their order and taking her money on his palm. Touching the corners that her fingers have touched. He gently smiled walking out of the horrible choice of cafe to his house letting his head cool by the breeze kissing his face away and eyes on guard for any followers. This realization made his eyes slightly wide at how dangerous loosen his guard was staying with (Y/N) not care of the world, his world, his concerns.

His sole focus on her locked world he seem to unable to step inside unlike countless others he has done. Within seconds to days his result was the same. Victory but with her he tasted not only failure yet desire too. The desire to be seen, to be known. As much as he despite of someone knowing his true self to exploit or use for their own gain like Misa or expose him as Kisa like the annoying detective L. She is different, she wants to know him, she seen right though him, his unspoken flaws to perfections without a hint of scorch. She sees him for who he is and tell him to embrace it even if it means risking her life by sharing her nagative thoughts. Giggy feeling spread like vines over his body, dipping into his flesh to find it's way to his heart. Just imagining how she would react of him being the Kira, her cousin is obsessed with and the real reason she is with him already makes him yearn for her. Want to see her, see how more these measly feelings could grow ? But if it becomes a obstacle then he must cut the root of it all. Nothing would stop him from becoming the god.

Then how ? How come every single day from the day on he set up accidentally meetings with (Y/N), making time to be with her rather than his usual duty of writing criminal names on his death note to create a better place, be with her than Kira most of the time even going as far as to disguise Misa as a way of entering an certain (H/C)'s head girl house little by little. He simply can't seem to stop this twisted pleasure of inserting himself on the picture life beside (Y/N) without any filth or that bitch inside.

The longer he spends time, the longer those feelings distinct where the god of death teases him when the girl of his wet dreams arrive and she is getting clever with her excuses better than the precious one but how adorable ? When the one being lied is the master of lies himself. He has impressively maintaining the almost perfect double life as a student and the infamous Kira that lies from small to big holds no surprise to him anymore. So, albeit knowing her little amusing lies his patient, one of his strong suit has been helping the thread from being cut off however he is growing impatient. Astonishing him and proving his desire for her was greatly underestimated and that strong suit of his apparently doesn't work related to (Y/N) who is passing day, week is scared for her life.

She might be little oblivious— but not blind to his increasingly uncomfortable advances towards her about inviting her to his home when his parents are out, touching her at every chance he gets, leaning closer than a boy having girlfriend should be, whispering into her ear, creating one-sided plan without Misa, tried holding her hands—claiming it's for her safety from strange men attacking her. Ironic ? when he himself is no better than the 'strange men' he described. Perhaps more dangerous he was because the dreadful day arrived. The day where their pretense of nothing happening is ruined. The say where his patient put to an end along his desire begin to woven the fate of their to seal together. Branding (Y/N) his.

"Good thing I ran out of the class when he was called out by the teacher". She sighed of relief finding no sight of an certain brown head behind her. For some strange reasons the deity might want to punish her or else why the accidental meetings with him keep occurring ? Or "This is a set up ?" No, what would he want from her ? Surely he isn't thinking of cheating on Misa— no. (Y/N) shook her head from digging into the topic far too liking from her.

Ultimately without any difficulties she calmly reached her house, stretching her arms and walking upstairs to her room when her eyes went to Misa's room and memories of her moving to their house after her parents death flooded to how late at night whimpering, wailing could be came from her room and (Y/N) helplessly call her parents to help Misa. Only if her parents weren't killed, if only her cousin lived happily, only if Kira didn't exist, only if she didn't developed unhealthy obsession then perhaps Light wouldn't be able to came into her sister life and have the chance to cheat on her. "No, no. I am again imagining things. He wouldn't cheat on her".

Quickly her toes step upwards to her roon and her fingers touch the cold doorknob only to twist and open it with a creaking noise and the straps of her bag fell with a thud on the ground while her eyes remained on the ground. "I need a shower". She closed the door behind her and about to head her attached bathroom when her (E/C) eyes met his rather red alike ruby eyes fondly.

Light sat on her bed flipping her art pages. "W-what ? A-are you doing ?" He silently spin a key around his finger. Not any key but a key to their house.

"Gifted by Misa". His gently voice revealed however the girl oppose of him felt her head spinning, rounding around her head, heart pumping in fear.

Fear.

Terror.

Disgust.

All the negative emotions she ever felt was surfacing over her face Light could see, he was like an magician reading her thoughts, her emotions, her fears and he would surely use them. Make them his weapon.

"This is disgusting". (Y/N) with a sneer about to run out—

"Do you not fear for Misa's life ?" Her all actions stop in air. Breathing escalated, hard to inhale, hard to feel, hard to express.

"What do you mean ?" She turn to face the man she thought could be trustworthy for Misa. "What do you mean ?" She yelled louder for him to reply her yet all he offered was a wordless smile. A smile nothing alike an polite gentleman instead a victory smile, a smile only those offer when they know all the power of the pawns on a chessboard are on their palms and she was a pawn destined be to at his control. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN ?" She cried, run towards him and yunk his white collar.

"She is your lover ! How could you threat her life ?" How could he ? How dare he ? How heartless he has to be not caring about others ? Especially of his loved ones, the ones who would do anything for him, sacrifice for him, fight for him, be with him. Tears well in her eyes merely imagining Misa's perished body in front of her.

"If you dare to touch my family I will kill you". (Y/N) threaten, fisting onto his thin cloth. A family is what Misa is to her. A sister. A cousin she will do any limits of protect. Even if it means killing hi—

"Even if it means sacrificing yourself ?"

"What ?" Her eyes narrowed.

"I never liked her let alone romantically viewed her. She is nothing but a nuisance, a thone, a mistake, a pest in my life. I never wanted her. She did and forced me". (Y/N) refuse to believe the words coming out of his filthy lips. "The one I want is you. I desire you". He breathless confessed his hidden want. Leaning over her face while her grip on his collar crumble, she lean away astonished.

"No. You don't". She step back gazing at his yearning eyes, cleared bronze eyes held reflection of her, just like his mind filled with her, his heart filled with her. His larger hand grip her wrist from stepping away any further than she already was in the past days. Another hand circle around her waist pulling closer.

"Don't leave me. You must be mine. You should be mine". He mutter leaning his head to her heart, ear pressed to the racing heart, pulses of her veins and his right hand intertwined with hers like their lives were now. "You are the only one who truly understood me. Seen me how I am. Never forced me. Criticized me, always bluntly told my flaws to my perfections. You are someone to be my queen. To be mine entirely and eternally". He closed his eyes pressing against her chest— to her heart racing because of him. Her breathing halted because of him. Her pulse rushing because of him. Everything she feels because of him. He is equally in her roots just like she was in his.

(Y/N) slowly looked at him to find his eye lids opening and all she found was madness, chaos, desire and her reflection. From the moment they met her intitution already announced him danger, bad news and fake. But she brush it off, ignoring the voices within her mind pointing how intensely he looked at her. How he behaved with her but she pretend to be unaware, run away from the reality that something was off with him all for the sake of her sister's happiness attached to this man yet it lead nothing else than her own downhill.

Before she realize the danger surrounded her, it was too late. She was caged. In his palm as a pawn of desires and caged in his arms. "Be with me and Misa will be alright. Be my queen and no harm with be done. My love, you don't know what can I do to disappear a person". Her knees gave up only for Light to hold her. "Do not worry. I am here. Give yourself to me and everything will be alright".

With a thud her back touch her once safety of a bed along the destroyer of her life, the killer of her soul, the ruiner of her body above her. His intelligent gaze replaced with full of lust. Adulation adoration "What would you do if I don't obey you ?"

"Kill Misa and I promise I will get away with it". Light honestly revealed, he has already plan to get rid of the good for nothing god of death, Rem with Misa. The only reason she wasn't dead to his inconvenience of the Rem but to own (Y/N) he will make it possible and crowned her his queen.

School white shirt disregarded baring her upper skin and her breast under the bra. Hungry eyes drank at the sun ray's kissed (S/C) skin. A divine present she is to him. The perfect love of his life. Insteadly he pressed his lips to hers earning a groan from himself due to how good it felt. Her lips were smooth, soft featherly and creamy like the pastries he likes. His tongue invade hers, tasting her tongue, twisting them together and sucking her, taking all her sweetness to himself, blending their saliva together and moving in rhythm of their love song ignoring how she remained unwavered.

When air became a need, a way to breath he decided to separate his lips from her leaving a lace of sliver saliva thread onto their lips— an evidence of his passionate kiss. He smirk finding her (S/C) cheeks decorated with crimson hue, lips gleaming his saliva and tears build on those hatred eyes.

Light insteadly latch Into her skin, curious if her body taste as sweet her lips does and he wasn't disappointed sucking her chin, neck, collarbone banding her his with the butterflies kisses and purple hickeys. However only whimpers, choked tears were tuning his ears unlike the music of moans he was awaiting. How could she ? Contrast to he was in heaven, the hell was brought for her on earth. Torturing her with those burning hands, soul-sucking kisses and purple scars on her body. The ruiner of her ripped the bra she used as an shield presenting her vulnerable and helpless.

Her breath hitched and eyes shut feeling wet lips coating her buds and he indulge his fantasy of his sleepless night come true even better beyond his tricks of imagination. He lovely bite and circle the buds with his tongue to earn any sweet noise from (Y/N)'s pretty lips. Showering devotion to their love making. "She is so perfect". Her head to toe was a goddess in a human's body. All of her flaws and hatred he viewed in her turned into rose tinted glass. Quickly those purple and blue bruises painted over her breast and his other hand kneading her breast as he continue to mark her down and down until his eyes sparkle with excitement and hers with terror.

He slowly dragged her cloth all together letting harsh breeze touch her second most private part which he delightfully touched. "So delicious it looks. All for me to have". Blood painfully rush to his own private part palming her small sex and lean his mouth inside the flesh. Finally the held tears of her roll down, crying at her cruel deity. At the cruel fate written for her. "Please help. Somebody, anybody help". How sad. Pitifully she quiver under Light who was enjoying the taste of her, the liquid she made from, created into.

"I can't". Crazed blood rush into his mind that he no longer take his slow time to worship his queen within a blink of an eye his own lower pants gone and without preparation, without protection he slammed his cock into her virgin flesh filling himself tight around her walls. "How sweet. All your first is me and I will make sure your last is me too". He bite his lips, gripping her naked thighs hard that she felt her bones would break.

"But my soul is broken". She screamed her pain of being raped. Agony of taking his part into her pussy so suddenly and forcefully. It hurts. It hurts more when he moved inside her, thrust again and again. Brim of bile threat to pour out of her throat as he continue to pleasure himself using her body— no a body belongs to him.

"So good, love. You are the sweetest. The most divine queen you will be". He chuckle thrusting faster. In mind to impregnate her. Yes, he will make sure to lock the shackle around her ankle well and the lock will be their sweet child which she soon realize when his hips slowed and strings of white liquid was released inside her womb.

"No. No. No. No. No. No". (Y/N) screamed at his face, red from anger. "I will kill this child if it grew". But all he did was lean and kiss her lips.

"Then I will kill Misa, your family and each person you come to care one by one". He shuss her by kissing her adorable protest only he can heard and see not even that Ryuk who is not here from the beginning busy devouring his addicted apples.

Just like he is slave to his (Y/N) "I am—". He kiss her. "Addicted".

FIN

[evilbihan]

Hii! So with the arrival of Takeda (hip hip hooray!) Also comes with his intros. There's a certain intro with Takeda and Tomáš that goes as follows:

Takeda: "From what I hear, Bihan was a bad brother."

Tomáš: "Because to him, I wasn't one."

So that made me :(((. I wanted to ask if this would change your perception for Bihan's and Tomáš' convoluted relationship? Because I wholeheartedly agree Bihan by nature - underneath his built identity and grooming of becoming the Grandmaster and by proxy wanting to act for the betterment of the clan - does hold love for Tomáš and can't help but be endeared to his little brother (no so little, Tom is HUGE). But i suppose the writers want to push the notion of Tomáš and Bihan not being brothers.

I love, love, l o v e yours and inflamedrosenkranz's posts so so much. So thank you if you do respond to my ask! <3

From what I hear, Takeda was a bad cousin.

Didn't he try to murder Kenshi?

(Not to mention, his official bio in MK1 says he enjoyed his former lifestyle. Doesn't seem like he has much remorse for trying to kill his cousin either... )

And additionally to being a bad cousin, he was an even worse son in the previous timeline who beat up his blind father for "abandoning" him while Kenshi only tried to protect him by leaving him with the only person he knew could keep him safe.

This is the guy who gets to point fingers at others???? Disgusting.

It's beyond me why some people like Takeda. They should have brought back Kung Jin instead.

Now that we have an idea of Takeda's credibility and moral compass, let me answer your question.

"I wanted to ask if this would change your perception for Bihan's and Tomáš' convoluted relationship?"

To me, this intro doesn't change much, if anything at all. Because it adds nothing new, except for Tomas' perspective and it's really not that surprising that Tomas would think Bi-Han never considered him a brother when Bi-Han has always been acting cold towards him.

However, this is Tomas' perception of the situation and Tomas doesn't know everything. Tomas can't read Bi-Han's mind, he can't know whether Bi-Han ever thought of him as a brother or not and again, Bi-Han not considering him a brother is the only point making him a "bad brother" in Tomas' opinion. He doesn't say Bi-Han ever mistreated him or Kuai Liang. In fact, there is no mention of him ever being a bad brother to Kuai Liang at all. This is just Tomas' opinion on Bi-Han and we need to keep in mind from what position it comes from.

Tomas is hurt and angry, the last thing Bi-Han said to him was that his blood is not Lin Kuei. It's understandable why he would jump to this conclusion and think Bi-Han never considered him family.

However, there is proof of this perception potentially being false. You can find my other posts analyzing their relationship here, here and here.

Bi-Han never corrects others when they speak of his brothers (plural).

He doesn't correct Tomas for calling Bi-Han's parents mother and father too.

When Tomas asks Bi-Han why he was cold towards him. Bi-Han says it was because he's not Lin Kuei, not because they are not brothers.

Bi-Han did seem concerned when Tomas almost died, so even if he doesn't think of Tomas as a brother, he did care about him to some extent.

Bi-Han doesn't necessarily want to be enemies with Tomas, He tells him they will only be enemies unless Tomas submits, leaving open the opportunity for Tomas to either be on neutral terms with him or even return to the Lin Kuei.

Lastly, here comes the most important point: Bi-Han doesn't owe Tomas anything. He has every right to refuse to call a complete stranger his brother. This was a situation Bi-Han was forced into by his parents as a young boy when his father chose to adopt Tomas. If it's true that he never considered Tomas his brother that is an entirely valid position to have. It doesn't make Bi-Han a bad person or a bad brother. I may have said this before, but if you go and ask random people what their defintion of family is, you'll get many different answers. Some will tell you family are those related to you by blood, others will tell you found family and the people you want in your life are the only true family. After all, you can't choose who you're related to by blood. And guess what? Neither of these takes are right or wrong. They're just different from each other and people will have different opinions on what family is. Trying to force Bi-Han to accept Tomas into his family is messed up and wrong.

Anyway, I'm glad to hear you like my posts and thank you for sending me this ask!

[tonkatsubowl]

false love iii.

jing yuan x fem!reader

nsfw themes (cursing and stuff i think. mentions of domestic abuse and self harm. mentions of suicide. no, jing yuan aint hurting u bb girl). read at your own risk. english isn’t my first language, so please don’t mind the grammatical errors. (っ◞‸◟ c)

⪩ arranged marriage. the reader and jing yuan have an arranged marriage and she is stuck, disliking every moment of it, until…

TERM DIRECTORY ◖y/n: your name ◖e/c: eye color ◖h/c: hair color ◖l/n: last name

requested tags ➽ @mythicalamphitrite @20forty9

part one. / part two. / part four. / part five. / part six. / part seven.

"⸻wait, how much did he say he was going to pay us?"

"almost an entire fortune. enough for me to bed many women, to purchase a few homes..."

"c'mon, man. be specific. like how many credits?"

"eh. a million."

"wh⸻...a...a-a million!? you're crazy!? just to sell this girl off or even kill her?"

"i wasn't gonna plan on killing her...yet. i was planning on having my own fun with her. then i was gonna carry out the murder. he said he wanted her head or something."

"eh, i don't blame you for the fun part. she's got a good lookin' body. beautiful too. but you sure you can lop her head off?"

"c'mon, it's just a head you gotta lop off."

"damn, dude, sounds like you did this shit before..."

two voices. two unfamiliar voices. two voices that belonged to men that you didn't recognize at all. you were unable to really see anything, nor did you have the ability to speak. but you were listening quietly.

you were blindfolded and a cloth was wrapped over your mouth. your hands were tied behind your back, rendering you useless to do anything. you didn't know where you were at, but you had woken up from a deep slumber. as you listened, you took notes in your head...

selling you...murder. assaulting you. then being paid by a man of great fortune. you were scared, definitely. but you were not surprised by the doom you were facing at this very moment. you were expecting to face some sort of monstrosity in your life one way or another. now here you are.

"she still asleep over there?" you hear one of the voices say.

you hear one of them turn, the shuffle of their clothing was a clear indication for it. "yeah. seems so. the drug you gave her is a hard ass one, huh?"

"yeah, it should knock her out for a while."

"man, take off the blindfold off of her. i wanna see what she actually looks like."

that's when you froze in place, hearing them come closer to you as their footsteps approached you. you held your breath, feeling their measly large hands come forward to remove the blindfold that concealed your beautiful eyes. then, upon the removal of the fabric, you saw the world again... though you didn't know where you were at, really. you saw two men. both of them were dressed in casual attire, and it was scarily enough that they looked like average xianzhou citizens. but the look on their eyes revealed nothing but pure cruelty and evil intent.

"oh, you are awake." one of them cooed to you as he purred. his disgusting hand lifting towards your chin, raising your head with the curl of his index finger. "morning, beautiful." his raunchy breath hit your face, and how badly you wanted to smack him across the face with a brick. but you couldn't.

the drug had caused you to become weak, but for some reason...there was something stirring inside of you. something telling you not to give up, despite the troubles and dangers that lead you upon this path.

"we're gonna have some fun soon, beautiful," the stranger licked his lips, his breath reeking of heavy liquor and cigarettes. "your little daddy paid us to get rid of you."

your father...paid them?

your eyes were dull, solemn...lifeless and dead. it was as though you were an empty doll with no soul residing within yourself. unfortunately, you were used to this sort of...treatment. being used, hit...why haven't you just died yet? you weren't surprised, either.

...but this feeling inside of you...it still continued to stir. something about this situation...something about you. something that you felt within was blossoming.

...no. i don't want to die like this. i don't want to die. not when i just now became free.

it was like the thought of jing yuan had snapped you back to reality, your eyes now glimmering with some sort of ray of hope. your eyes brightened, as though gaining hope once more. you hear jing yuan's voice repeating back in your head, as though reminding you of your new purpose in life. your new freedom, the freedom that you deserved.

"i want to make it known to you that i want you to live comfortably here and freely. my home is now your home, y/n."

"alright, little lady. lemme just," the criminal extended both hands, his fingers grabby at your clothing, "get rid of this little piece of thing and we'll have some⸻"

gaining momentum in your legs, you force yourself up, headbutting into the man's head. you hit directly at his nose, causing blood to sputter from his nostrils and for him to stumble back.

"you little⸻you little bitch!"

his ally extended a hand towards you, grabbing you by the chin. this was mistake on his end, considering he basically let loose of the cloth that went around your mouth. using this as an opportunity, you bit at his hand, teeth biting and digging into his flesh. the taste of his own blood in your mouth... suddenly, you had a burst of energy inside of you.

you can't die.

you can't die here. not when you had a future with jing yuan to live for, now! this freedom, this...

"garg⸻! you bitch!" retracting his arm back, one of the criminals retrieved a knife from himself. "we're gonna teach you a fuckin' lesson now, you cunt!"

your eyes froze, lingering on the knife...but you can't just freeze in fear, anymore. it was time for you to run. that was when you bolted off in the opposite direction, your hands still tied around your back. your heart was aching, racing, your eyes were wide. you never felt this much energy in your legs before. never had you ever felt this unfamiliar burst of energy that allowed you to...want to live.

jing yuan...was this your doing? where were you?

unfortunately, you felt yourself fall when a heavy weight was shifted upon you, crushing you against the pavement of the ground. you cried in pain as you fell, feeling one of the bones in your shoulder breaking. you panicked, looking to the side, seeing the criminal's wide face and the blood that oozed from his nose.

"damn right we're gonna teach you a fucking lesson." that was when he grabbed the back of your clothing.

"stop⸻!" you shut your eyes tightly, embracing the worst of it all...

...until⸻

"gyaaa!" the sound of blood and flesh being torn had filled your ears instead. you felt the weight from your back basically relief itself from your body. you heard a loud 'thud!', and your eyes slowly open...

you were shaking. you were breathing uncontrollably. you couldn't think. you were panicking. your mind was on fight or flight mode.

"what the...the general!?" you hear one of the criminals say in the background, then some noises in regards to conflict.

"fuck⸻fuck! you little⸻" the sound of ice piercing into one's flesh were bliss to your ears, but you were unable to process anything at this very moment.

your eyes came to a soft close, and your body was carefully scooped into a pair of strong arms. you were breathing, and the voice of your familiar husband was murmured into your ear,

"i'm sorry for taking so long, y/n. you're safe now."

you were losing the sense of your surroundings. you barely felt his nose nuzzle into your cranium as he held you close to his chest.

then, another set of footsteps...lighter ones. these footsteps stop at your side, introducing yanqing's voice. "general! they're ready to be taken in custody, however one of them is..."

"that's fine," jing yuan replied, "being taken in prisoner is too much of a blessing for them. killing them, granting them death is something that wouldn't even be enough for them. they deserve a fate much more cruel than just imprisonment and death. i pray that the aeons will punish them further."

"...i see. hm. how is lady y/n doing? her shoulder... it's..."

"she's alive and well, besides her shoulder," jing yuan said, "yanqing. prepare the infirmary immediately."

"yes sir."

you were exhausted, incredibly so. everything on your body hurt, especially your shoulder. it felt like something was burning, something was on fire—but once your adrenaline had died out, the rest of your body began to hurt... and god, this was the price for survival, wasn't it?

pain in your body was almost unbearable. but luckily, it died out immediately when you had opened your eyes... there were nurses nearby working their best to recover you. one nurse in particular was speaking to you in a soothing voice, but you couldn't make out the words. the others were changing your bandages, and the others were bringing you a wet towel, placing it over your head.

"....—fever. she........ feve—"

... huh? who had a fever?

oh, that's when you realized that the nurses were talking about you. that was the moment when everything had hit you immediately.

you were struggling to breathe. your body felt hot. yet, you were so cold. you were practically shivering under the blankets. luckily enough, you were in safe and good hands.

your vision was still a blur as you were still waking up. you recognized a familiar, ash-blonde—silver male approaching you.

... jing yuan?

you were too exhausted to even try to focus. your eyes came to a close again, forcing you to rest once more...

"how is she?" yanqing asked jing yuan as he walked up towards his general's side, his eyes peeling towards your sleeping body.

"y/n's well. it seems she's caught a fever, as well. i feel terrible for this situation, truth to be told..."

"i cant... exactly blame you for feeling that, general. you both were recently wed, and now..."

jing yuan looked towards his lieutenant, "mm. how was the interrogation?"

"well, he was afraid enough to reveal the truth to why y/n was captured. according to his testimony, y/n's father had paid them to sell her away, or to get rid of her entirely. he admitted that his friend was going to... well, bed her."

there was a sour look on jing yuan's face.

"...her father... selling her? but the marriage practically allowed her to be away from her family. why did he want to hire these men to kill her?"

yanqing shook his head. "that, i am unsure, sir. i had asked him the same question, and he did not know. there was no lie to his words during the interrogation. a man who fears for his life would never lie."

jing yuan was silent. "... yanqing. please remain by her side closely when i cannot be around her physically. something about this situation irks me, and i have no choice but to interrogate this matter... discreetly."

yanqing nods, kneeling respectfully. "yes, general."

[wishful-thinking64]

HH Rewrite Related Post #01

Not too long ago I reblogged a post that involved some of the background characters in Hazbin Hotel because there's a few that I'd like to make into actual characters as they have potential to be something cool. Well, I finished the key information for what I came up with for the Siren Overlord and I'd like to share it! ________ [APPEARANCE]

[CURRENT NAME] 🞂 SCYLLA. 🞂 She hadn't chosen a new name for herself until after she had been in Hell for about 4 years as that's when she became an Overlord.

[FORMER NAME] 🞂 TANASHIRI DATUMOLOK. 🞂 Her first name means Sacred Lotus while her surname essentially means Natural Born Leader.

[D.O.B + D.O.D] 🞂 BORN JUNE 27TH, 1720. 🞂 DIED AUGUST 27TH, 1756. [AGE] 🞂 BIOLOGICALLY 36. 🞂 CHRONOLOGICALLY 304.

[GENDER & SEX] 🞂 FEMALE.

[ETHNICITY & NATIONALITY] 🞂 A FILIPINA WHO LIVED IN THE PHILIPPINES. 🞂 She never left the motherland until her passing forced her to.

[SOCIAL STATUS] 🞂 OVERLORD. 🞂 I'm still having her be a current Overlord in my rewrite cause I'm a sucker for her design. [OVERLORD SYMBOL/SIGNAL] 🞂 A LOTUS FLOWER. 🞂 This is both a reference to her original name along with being another reference to the Odyssey.

[CRIMES COMMITTED IN LIFE FROM LEAST OFFENSIVE TO MOST OFFENSIVE] 🞂 THEFT. 🞂 B&E (Breaking and Entering.) 🞂 TRAFFICKING OF ILLEGAL & STOLEN GOODS (Specifically treasures belonging to rich or wealthy conquistadors.) 🞂ESPIONAGE. 🞂 AGGRAVATED ASSAULT. 🞂 KIDNAPPING. 🞂 TORTURE. 🞂 MURDER. [SINS COMMITTED IN LIFE FROM LEAST TO GREATEST] 🞂 PRIDE 🞂 GREED 🞂 WRATH 🞂 ENVY [OVERLORD PROFESSION/THEME] 🞂 PRIDE'S #01 KILLING BUSINESS. 🞂 Ranging from run of the mill hitmen to top tier assassins, Scylla's got a wide selection of killers ready to get their hands dirty instead of yours! As long as the price is right (and you actually have the money), simply provide the target's name, time, and location so your killer knows when and where to be. And if you have something sick and twisted in mind, you can customize how your killer handles the process whether it be a specific murder plan to follow through or a more devious torture method before your target breathes their final breath! However, keep in mind that customization does cost extra.

[HOW SHE SECURED HER CONTRACTS] 🞂 PRIMARILY DUE TO DESPERATION. 🞂 Unlike many Overlords who fool demons into signing away their souls with false promises or clever wordplay, the demons that go to Scylla tend do so out of necessity. The majority of her vast catalog of killers were once demons who were either jobless or homeless. With nowhere else to go, they turned to her as a last resort to, financially, get their lives back on track. Her soul contracts offer good perks to the contractor as they get free healthcare should they get injured on the job, if they're homeless when signing their contract they're able to live in company's apartment complex until they get back on their feet, contractors only work four days out of the week, receive a bi-weekly income, etc.

[TERRITORY NAME] 🞂 ANG LUNGSOD NG SALUNGOS. 🞂 English Translation = The City of Urchins.

[CORE PERSONALITY TRAITS] 🞂 ADEPT. 🞂 ALERT. 🞂 AMBITIOUS (I feel like this is just a mandatory trait in order for a demon to become an Overlord.) 🞂 ANTIPATHETIC. 🞂 DARING. 🞂 DILIGENT. 🞂 PERSPICACIOUS. 🞂 RECLUSIVE. 🞂 RESOURCEFUL. 🞂 SELFISH. 🞂 SLY. 🞂 TENACIOUS. 🞂 THANKFUL. [RELATIONS TO OTHER OVERLORDS] 🞂 BARELY ANY. 🞂 She has little to no relations to any of the current Overlords on account of only appearing for mandatory/urgent meetings; the last of which happened back in The Great Depression. The Overlord she knows of and has spoken to the most is Zestial as the old(er) bastard has somehow managed to stick around. She's spoken to Rosie twice and has spoken to Alastor all of one time. What she knows about the current Overlords is through social media and whatever intel Zestial has to offer her but other than that she doesn't know them anywhere near on a personal level and vice versa which is exactly how she wants things to be.

________ I had a lot of fun creating Scylla's character (minus her design of course that credit goes to and belongs to Spindlehorse) sheet and I can't wait to share more stuff like this in the future! Thank you for reading and bye for now everyone!

[theminecraftbee]

okay i know solving counting sheep is an evo fic first and foremost but i'm super curious how the hermits end up dealing with three. it sounds like this is the kind of hermitcraft thats already a sanctuary for weirdos, but i feel like someone whos skin is feathers and wears a mask they can't see out of is a new level of strange. also, would pearl canonically still join the hermits after a few seasons in that universe? sorry to bombard you with questions when you already have a lot queued up LMAO

okay so this is like, a BIG QUESTION, and another one i've talked about with @strifetxt. we've noodled around a lot so off the top of my head, here's a few answers to "things we think three might do on hermitcraft"! (with the note: none of this is CANON. just because i'm saying it, word of god style, doesn't mean that's actually what HAPPENS, you can have your own story and headcanon for this in your head.)

three joins in season seven, not six, in my head. i'm not even going to try to pretend to guess what a season six without grian looks like just know that apparently happens.

three gets like, SUPER into the head games, because its a way to use its combat skills to HELP SOMEONE why wouldn't it get super into that? this is the first real introduction most of the hermits have to three. the hermits are like "okay mumbo where on earth did you find someone this good at murder". mumbo is like "who knows".

we were definitely joking that outside of hermits who know how to recognize a watcher (iskall, probably xisuma, i'd say also maybe like... doc or ren), the hermits just kind of assume three is autistic and roll with it from there because the idea the hermits, on being told three's actual circumstances, go "why would we guess that mumbo you said you met it hiding in a bar from overstimulation with you" is VERY FUNNY TO ME.

we were debating if election still happens; three is less likely to set up events on its own but IS likely to accidentally do something a little overboard.

our hack for if we wanted three to do the election is as follows: mumbo makes a joke with like, scar, about wanting to be mayor, three takes this completely literally, three and false end up in a cold war of "who is the scarier person NOT to vote for as mayor". meanwhile scar is vibing and a sith lord backing stress is very concerned.

grumbot does not happen. i don't think there's a world where three does grumbot.

three DOES befriend etho, at first to learn how to do interiors better, since etho is doing the all-interiors base, but later because etho's brand of tomfoolery actually works well with three. TWO weird dorks in masks now.

i think three would LOVE free glass. it and etho would make the world's Most pranks i think, all of which are technically what they were asked for. three helps work for shade-e-e's.

there's definitely more stuff we've talked about that i've missed and ALSO these aren't necessarily canon! you may have your own COMPLETELY DIFFERENT IDEA of what happens post-scs, which is fine! this was us waffling around about what would be fun to have happen, haha.

as for pearl... i like to think she does eventually still join hermitcraft, after a few years of texting back and forth with three and a bit more healing. she deserves it.

[thedragonqueen1998]

I just got this AU idea, like legit, it just hit me so hard. XD But yeah, what if: neing an Assassin wasn't the only secret Giovanni hid? He also kept it secret that the Auditore line is cursed.

Basically, werewolves. I know, cliché, but werewolves are fun! :D

But yeah, Giovanni thought his family was free of the curse as both his father, brother and himself didn't suffer it like their grandfather. That is, until Federico suffered his first transformation. Hearing his eldest sons screams of pain and seeing flesh tear and bones break broke his heart.

'God, why did you curse Federico? Why did you lull me into the false hope of living free of this curse?' He couldn't help but think, watching his son finish the gruesome transformation. He knew he should have struck the beast down while it was incapacitated, but it was Federico, his son. He couldn't do it, even if it would save the rest of his family. He should have had the cages that he and his brother used to sleep in before they knew for certain that they wouldn't transform. Now it's too late. His eldest son would murder them all and if he survived the guards until the morning, he would wake up without his family, covered in their blood.

Any minute now, the beast that was covering in the corner- wait. Werewolves never show fear. And the beassts eyes.. they shine with intelligence. With fear. Could it be? That there is no dumb beast, just his son?

"Federico?"

The beast flinches with the sound of his voice and whimpers. It is truly his son! Federico is not a mindless beast, so unlike his grandfather. So unlike any other beast before him. Maybe the curse has weakened after being absent for 2 generations? No matter how it happened, he will take this blessing.

"Federico, everything will be alright. May i come near you?"

He wants nothing more than to run and hug his son, but even without the madness, Federico will be much stronger than before and his claws are long and sharp. He could easily scratch his father to death in a hug. But his son nods to his request and he cautiously holds his sons featsome face in his hands. The fur is soft, warm and has the same colour as his hair, a dark brown, almost black shade. His dark brown eyes shine with tears, showing how distressed he is. A beast rarely cries and only does so when in great despair. He has heard tales of beasts slaughtering their families while crying, showing that despite not being in control, they are aware. He has not heard of crueler curse and probably never will.

"Federico, i promise you, this transformation is temporary. In the morning you will be back to your human self and i will explain everything. For now, rest. I will stay snd watch over you."

Giovanni watches his son curl up to him, seeking comfort. Usually, Federico would be too old for such things, but being a family of Assassins, they rarely give much thought to what society deems acceptable and in this circumstance, comfort is needed. Everything will be fine by morning. Their lives are irrevocably changed, but it's still a good life.

.

Man, the words just came flowing out of me. XD So, i imagine this takes place when Federico is around 18. So he knows about the Assassins and has been training for a while(i headcannon he started sround 16-17, unless it's stated somewhere when he started?). Both Giovanni and him decide to keep training him as an Assassin, but they both know that Federico likely won't be trusted or sent away on missions, due to the curse. Renato was a great Assassin, but he very rarely travelled far from Monteriggioni due to not risking being away from the Dungeon. The Dungeon is basically a bunch of deep holes with heavy metal grates ontop. This design ensures that the werewolf can't get out and won't hurt snyone as long as the keep away from the grate.

In this AU, this is why Giovanni waits to tell Ezio about the Assassins. If Ezio turns out to be cursed too, they need to know if he will be like Federico or if he will be a mindless beast. Ezio's room is right next to Federico's, so if Ezio transforms and goes berserk, Federico can try to hold him while everyone gets to the secret tunnel. If Ezio retains his sanity, he can be informed of all the family secrets and start his training. Though it is risky, having a werewolf as an Assassin has some very obvious perks. The increased strenght, agillity and senses bleed into their human form, so they always make great Assassins as long as they ensure there is a cell strong enough to keep them contained.

But yeah. Big brainstorm info dump. XD Was gonna say idk what else to do with this, but then: What if? The day Giovanni and his sons get captured is a fullmoon and Federico transforms? Giovanni tries to explain to Petruccio why his big brother suddenly turned into a monster when they hear the howl of another werewolf. Federico and Giovanni share a sad look and both know that this has to be Ezio. The curse rarely affect women and Claudia is still too young to transform. Ezio is scared and confused and he originaly planned to talk to his father, but now he can't talk and would his father even recognise the monster he's become? Should he even try to see his father? No, he should wait this out, maybe this is a temporary thing and tomorrow everything will be alright.

.

Duh duh duuuu! XD But yeah, now i'm done. 🤣

Hope it's okay to tag you @teecupangel? This seems like an idea you would like. 💜 I at least had fun writing and coming up with this idea. ^^

[burningvelvet]

Powerful women from the classical world + excerpt of a letter from Lord Byron to Thomas Moore describing his lover Margarita Cogni (Venice, September 19th, 1818):

“I wish you a good night, with a Venetian benediction, ‘Benedetto te, e la terra che ti fara!’ — ‘May you be blessed, and the earth which you will make!’ — is it not pretty? You would think it still prettier if you had heard it, as I did two hours ago, from the lips of a Venetian girl, with large black eyes, a face like Faustina’s, and the figure of a Juno — tall and energetic as a Pythoness, with eyes flashing, and her dark hair streaming in the moonlight — one of those women who may be made any thing. I am sure if I put a poniard into the hand of this one, she would plunge it where I told her, — and into me, if I offended her. I like this kind of animal, and am sure that I should have preferred Medea to any woman that ever breathed.”

The mythical and historical allusions:

In Roman myth, Juno was Queen of the Gods as well as a military figure often depicted armed. In Greek myth, Medea was a sorceress who gets revenge against her unfaithful husband through murdering their children and his lover. Although “Pythoness” could refer to demonic witches in other uses, Byron is using it here as another name for Pythia or the Oracle of Delphi, a divine priestess and the most powerful female office in the ancient world.

Faustina is either a reference to the Younger or the Elder. Faustina the Younger was the wife of Marcus Aurelius; he revered her so much that he gave her enormous power, although later historians (probably falsely) accused her of being a murderer and adulteress. Faustina the Elder was the adoptive mother of Marcus Aurelius and was one of the most beloved Roman women in history, whose coinage often features Juno.

Byron's life and writing in context:

When he was living abroad in self-exile, Byron often sought to entertain his friends back home by sharing his adventures in lurid detail. His vivid letters became well-read throughout the 1800s, and are considered some of his best writing. Travel writing and adventure stories were extremely popular in the 19th century, and even most of Byron’s fiction champions these themes. Living abroad and traveling became marketable parts of Byron's celebrity. He blended his own experiences into his work, and chief among these were his romantic experiences.

Shelley once compared Byron to the Greek myth of Circe when writing in a letter about Byron's excessive amount of pets. Circe was known for seducing men and turning them into animals who roamed around her palace. Like a witch or an alchemist, Byron frequently transformed his lovers into characters through his writing. Like countless others, Margarita Cogni was mythically immortalized through the writer's description of her. She and Byron's other Venetian lovers have become part of the wider Romantic era mythology tradition, like the constantly retold tales of Mary Shelley's invention of Frankenstein, Percy Shelley's drowning, and John Keats' love for Fanny Brawne.

By using references to classical women in this letter Byron is not only paying tribute to mythology, history, and the Italian landscape in a way that his foreign audience would find tantalizing, but he is also exploring romanticized notions of classical female beauty which are at turns conventional and unconventional. He channels the gothic sublime through the otherworldly power and danger these women all represent, as well as channeling more traditional concepts of feminine strength rooted in modesty, beauty, and passivity. Byron creates poetic contradictions.

Just as he famously describes himself as “changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long,” he utilizes paradox and inconstance in his writing, such as in this satirical formulation of Margarita Cogni as the ideal lover who is both Goddess and woman, mistress and slave, contemporary and classical, masculine and feminine, wife and adulteress, murderess and murdered.

One can clearly see how this is the same chameolonic, binary-blurring poet who would go on to write the gender-bending themes of Don Juan — “If people contradict themselves, can I / Help contradicting them, and every body, / Even my veracious self?” — and who years beforehand had written She Walks in Beauty — where “all that’s best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

(from this)

(500 words, False, E!False, on-screen minor character death and murder, sword violence, police brutality, not really connected to canon)

The cop slammed his hands down on the interrogation table and leaned down in to False's face. "You fucked up, kid," he spat.

"Don't call me kid," she said, "I'm probably older than you."

"We have your fucking DNA at the scene, you little fucker," he said. "You might have worn gloves, but one of your hairs came off. We tested it and it's a perfect match."

"Troubling indeed," she said, sounding completely unaffected.

"Y'know, your attitude's starting to piss me off," he growled. "You were at the murder scene. The prints left in the victim's goddamn blood match your boots too. I'd like to see you explain both of those away."

"I have an identical twin sister," False said. "And she dresses exactly like me."

"You must think I'm reeeeaaaaaaaal dumb, huh?"

She shrugged. "I mean, not any moreso than any other cop?"

The words were barely out of her mouth before the cop struck her hard across the face. She reeled, seeing stars for a moment.

Then she frowned. "Ow. That wasn't very nice," she said, her tone still almost completely flat; the only inflection being a slight chiding tone.

"We talked to your friends, too," he said. "Dontcha think that if you had a twin, one of 'em would've thought to mention it?"

"They don't know about her," she said. "She's kind of like a secret. Like that movie, whatever it's called."

"This ain't a movie, kid-"

"Still older than you."

"-and making up a paper-thin lie like that won't save you. You think you're gonna get a jury to believe that? You think you're gonna get anyone over the age of five to believe that?"

"Well-"

The door flew open with a bang and the cop turned, fumbling for his gun. "Is that a fucking sword?" he asked, dumbfounded, to the woman who'd just come in.

"Yup!" False said, skipping over, sword in hand. The cop aimed his gun at her, but with a flash of diamond through the air False severed his hand at the wrist. He screamed, but not for long as False quickly chopped his head off.

"Hey, False," False said.

"Hey, False!" False said. False grabbed the keys from the cop's belt and unlocked False's handcuffs.

False stood, rubbing her wrists. "Thank you for coming back for me," False said.

"What's family for," False said. "Fuck you very kindly for trying to blame your murder on me, by the way."

"Like you wouldn't have done the same, False," False said.

"I would've!" False said. "But you're the one who always says you're better than me." False grinned. "Why'd you kill that guy anyway?"

"Long story, has to do with business permits, you wouldn't find it interesting," False said.

"Whatever you say, False," False said. "We should probably skip town before they find out I killed every police officer in the building."

[hopetorun]

10 SASHA BARKOV!!

framed for a crime they didn’t commit … kinda … this took on a life of its own. sorry sasha isn’t actually in it much.

“It’s a frame job,” Matthew hisses through the phone. There’s a long pause, dead air as his words process through all the layers of security and as the response filters back.

“You can’t be sure of that,” Darryl says. “You haven’t been working with him very long.”

“Long enough,” Matthew says. The phone’s a land line, corded and attached to the wall. It’s an old safehouse, but when he asked Darryl said it’s more secure this way. No chance of the phone being taken away from the room it’s supposed to be in, falling into the wrong hands. “He doesn’t kill people, not like this. He doesn’t kill the wrong people and then get caught.”

“Well, he did,” Darryl says, his voice flat. “You have a mission to finish out. Report now while I’ve got you on the phone anyway, and then go back to your apartment and get to work.”

Matthew reports. There’s not much to tell aside from Sasha being dragged away by the local police at the crack of dawn today. His next meeting with his mark isn’t until tomorrow, and he and Sasha hadn’t made much headway on the data from the extraction Sasha made two nights ago.

Sasha would have mentioned if he killed someone during that B&E. He would’ve mentioned it if there was even a chance someone died. He knows about cleaning up loose ends. He trusts Matthew to help him with that. Matthew decides not to mention the data, or the little progress they’ve made with it. Technically that’s Sasha’s mission anyway.

They set a deadline for Matthew’s next report, he tells Darryl he’ll head home, and then he locks up the safehouse and heads to Sasha’s apartment. It’s been ransacked, of course. Maybe by more than just the cops. If this was a frame-up to get Sasha out of the way, then whoever did it had plenty of time to get in here and look for evidence.

Matthew knows more than any of them, though. He finds the safe quickly, behind a false wall in the coat closet, and gets it open on the second try. The hard drive from two nights ago is still there — thank god — and so is Sasha’s phone. Not his cover phone, the important one. The one where Matthew can activate the voice control and say call Paul, and it does.

“Sasha?” the voice on the other end of the line says.

Matthew clears his throat. “It’s not — it’s Matthew. Sasha’s been arrested.”

Paul swears under his breath but otherwise seems to take it in stride. “Local police,” Matthew continues. “They say it’s for murder. He didn’t kill anyone.”

“I know he didn’t,” Paul mutters. “Fuck.”

Matthew stands in the closet, clutching the phone he can’t actually unlock, waiting impatiently for Paul to say anything else. He just swears again, and then says, “Is there anything else?”

It’s a long shot. It’s a risk. It’s possible Matthew’s about to make the biggest mistake of his career, including the time he dropped an armed charge off a roof and caused a city-wide lockdown in Bucharest. He doesn’t even know if Paul trusts him. Sasha was concerningly vague on the subject. But he spent years training to analyze a situation, and to trust his instincts because his instincts are honed by years of practice at this. His conscious mind is still working through all the pieces of evidence that are telling him to say it, but he knows they’re there. You don’t get to where he is in this job without good instincts and the ability to read the field.

“Darryl doesn’t want me looking into it,” he says. “He was insistent. Didn’t listen when I said it wasn’t like Sasha to leave a mess like that.”

Paul hums. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” Matthew continues.

“But you think it’s weird your handler wanted you to leave your partner in a former Soviet bloc prison?”

“Yeah,” Matthew says. “Yeah.”

“No fucking kidding.”

“I didn’t tell him about the hard drive,” Matthew adds. “That was strictly Sasha’s mission. Technically I’m not required to report to him about it.”

“Okay,” Paul says. Faintly, Matthew can hear typing. He’s holding the phone so hard his hand hurts. “I — okay. I need to get some balls rolling. Can you take this phone back your place and store it securely?”

Matthew can. But— “Darryl knows my safe code. He’s not in the country, but he could be.”

“Doesn’t matter. Take it anyway. I need to be able to reach you.”

Matthew does it. He gets a distracted goodbye from Paul, and then has to stand there trying to focus his mind for several minutes. He leaves the hard drive in the safe and locks it again, and then wipes down everything he’s touched. If the place gets searched again, his fingerprints here won’t help anyone.

With Sasha’s phone shoved in his pocket, he heads home and hopes to hell Darryl doesn’t decide he needs to check in on him in person anytime soon.

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Break In

Note 1: Requested by an anon a while back. I got inspired after waking up at 3 am and started writing. Then accidentally purged my inbox before I could copy the actual request. Note 2: This is set in the same storyline as Bruce Wayne's Sweetie (I think indirect sequel is the wording I'm looking for) Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batfleck) x GN!Reader (referred to as Sweetie instead of y/n) Warnings: Mediocre writing skills, Bruce's anxiety over Sweetie, swearing, good ole b&e, mentions of murder, mentions of child abuse, switching POVs. I'm so sorry.

"Of fuckin' course this happens on a Monday." Sweetie swore under their breath as they drove back towards their bakery. "Just don't get pulled over, dummy."

They were almost home when they realized they'd left their cell phone and wallet in the bakery. They didn't like being late monitoring Bruce's patrols. As it was, he had already been on patrol for about an hour.

Little did Sweetie know, as they parked in their usual spot behind the bakery, that the silent alarm had been tripped.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Bruce had just left the scene of a store hold-up turned to murder, determined to find the killers before the end of the night.

After he was securely in the Batmobile he noticed the alert that someone had tripped the silent alarm to Sweetie's bakery.

"Alfred, has Sweetie shown up yet?" He questioned, a tinge of worry in his voice. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Sweetie was the type of person to stop and help turtles cross the road and has come home late with a stray kitten before.

"No, sir, I haven't heard from them. But you know it's not unusual for them." Alfred's response would've almost reassured Bruce.

But after what the Joker did to Dick years ago, and after what he had seen at the convenience store tonight, Bruce couldn't shake the dread in his stomach.

He decided to track their phone, just to be safe, it was one of the things they'd agreed to shortly after he revealed that he was Batman to them. That along with a new security system that was connected directly to him and the GCPD.

Fear squeezed Bruce's heart when he saw that Sweetie's phone was still at the bakery and he immediately began racing towards the bakery. Hoping he wouldn't be too late.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Sweetie hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary at first but when they opened the back door of the bakery, they heard a slight rustling noise further into the bakery. Grasping the stun gun Bruce had given them Sweetie moved as silently as possible towards the light switch. When they flipped the lights on, though, the sight before them nearly shattered their heart.

A child. Couldn't be older than 13. He was crouched down by the front display case, which had been pried open with the crowbar at his side next to a dim flashlight, and was wolfing down a loaf of bread that was baked just that afternoon.

Sweetie could see the all too familiar signs that they had personally experienced. Clothes that were in just good enough condition to keep authorities from being notified. A couple of bruises at various stages of healing that could easily be dismissed as normal childhood occurrences, but Sweetie knew better. He was staring at them like a deer in headlights, trying to figure out how to escape.

Pushing back tears that had surfaced along with the memories of their own shitty childhood, Sweetie broke the silence.

"You know that bread won't fill you up very well. Why don't you take a seat and I'll make you a bowl of stew?" They said in a tone that was both gentle and let the kid know that they weren't taking no for an answer.

Sweetie walked around the still-frozen kid, behind the counter. They noticed the register was untouched, as was their wallet which was sitting on the shelf below.

They remembered the silent alarm and put in the code to let the police know it was a false alarm. They then spoke with an officer on the store's phone and assuring him that they had just doubled back to retrieve their phone and wallets and forgot about the alarm.

But knew if Bruce had seen the alert, he wouldn't be satisfied until he showed up and talked with them face to face. Sweetie turned and faced the kid who'd finally stood up but still looked ready to bolt.

"Actually, why don't you join me in the kitchen. You can tell me what you do and don't like." With that said, Sweetie walked into the kitchen and breathed a silent sigh of relief at the sound of the kid reluctantly following them.

The last thing either one of them needed was for Batman to come barging in and scaring the shit out of an already terrified kid.

Sweetie made sure to position themselves between the kitchen door and the kid while they got everything together to make stew.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Bruce found himself wishing the Batmobile to move faster or at least for the bakery to not be on the other side of Gotham. The longer it took for him to reach Sweetie, the more terrified and enraged he became. If anything happened to Sweetie, the person responsible would be given no mercy.

"Sir, it would seem that the alarm at the bakery has been classified as a false alarm." Alfred's voice interrupted Bruce's dark thoughts. As Alfred read off the officer's notes on the phone call. Bruce noted that while it did sound like something Sweetie would do, he didn't believe it to be the case.

He was still going, as far as he was concerned, Sweetie had claimed false alarm under duress.

Once he finally reached the bakery, he couldn't get inside fast enough. He didn't notice the lights were on until he busted open the back door.

He was very confused when he didn't see anyone in the main area. Especially after spotting a crowbar on the floor next to a flashlight and Sweetie's phone on the counter.

Then he heard noises coming from the kitchen and followed the sounds as quickly but quietly as he could. He didn't want to risk the perp harming Sweetie if they were a hostage.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"When's the last time you had a proper meal, kid?" Sweetie asked casually while chopping up a carrot for the stew.

"I get free lunches at school." The kid mumbled.

Sweetie had learned that once the kid had realized they weren't going to hurt him, he had taken on a surly demeanor that almost made them laugh. They knew the kid was putting on a tough act and they knew why. Their brother was the same way.

"My dad kept a lock on the fridge that only he had the key to. During the summer my brother and I only ate peanut butter sandwiches, instant ramen, and whatever candy bars we could shoplift." Sweetie informed the kid, which seemed to get his attention. "And if he caught us with a stolen candy bar or trying to get in the fridge, he had this paddle he made at the lumber yard he worked at for a while. It had been painted blue and wrapped in blue tape. He'd made us watch as he wrote our names on it in Sharpie. My brother tried hiding it once, my dad just used a bat on him until he revealed where he hid it. Sure it was a plastic one, not a real one but still."

Sparing a glance over their shoulder at the kid, they could see the look on his face that confirmed what they already suspected.

"Do you like celery?" They asked, changing the subject for a moment. After getting his answer, Sweetie resumed making the stew.

They heard the kitchen door open and based on the gasp and scrambling noises coming from the kid's direction, they already knew who it was.

"Batman. I'm making stew." They said, looking up at their lover's masked face which was now contorted in a look of surprise and confusion. "Would you like to join me and….what's your name anyway, kid?" They asked turning towards the boy who was now standing in the far corner of the kitchen, gawping at The Dark Knight.

The boy's eyes slowly turned towards them and his jaw moved a couple of times with no sound coming out before he managed to choke out a single word.

"Jason."

[foxymoxynoona]

To Kill A King (Chapter 14)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), public sex, I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

Old habits die hard. Though Dulce had shifted her purpose to finding some way to prove Nasimiyu and her father were planning to overthrow the Kim family –a thing she hadn’t the faintest idea how to accomplish– an opportunity presented itself in her quest for information that was simply too good to pass up. King Dong-gun quit the palace to go on another of those maniacal cave hunting expeditions, and took most of the palace with him, including Nasimiyu and that ice-cold uncle. 

It had almost been funny, that brief moment in which Nasimiyu debated whether to take Dulce. Dulce was back on laundry duty –surprise, surprise– but was carting clean clothes up to the princess’ room. Nasimiyu called for something she could wear on a hunt, then informed Dulce they were going to the caves in the morning, then looked at her in silence for a long moment… before deciding Eula would go. Eula had cried about it all night because she was scared of caves and guns.

Mirta had given Dulce a day’s worth of tasks which she utterly ignored. Was Mirta going to fire her? That would suit her just fine; the only thing keeping her from quitting was needing time to find whatever she could take to Prince Seokjin or King Dong-gun. 

As soon as Nasimiyu left for the hunting trip, Dulce ransacked her room. She put everything back so it wouldn’t be obvious, of course, but she dug through all the spaces she normally didn’t care about –the drawers in the writing desk, the false bottom of her jewelry box, the tiara box in the wardrobe that used to house a secret supply of snacks until Nasimiyu ate through them within days of arriving in Priva. 

Rooting through the wardrobe made Dulce wonder if Nasimiyu would rat her out about killing the spying man at some point. She could. A princess’ word against a maids would result in nothing other than the death penalty for the maid. Nasimiyu could toss in that Dulce had threatened her about it. It didn’t even have to be true, Nasimiyu could say whatever she wanted and have Dulce’s head off in a moment. Rather than frighten her, this power disparity pissed Dulce off.

She clearly and obviously ought to leave immediately, before that could happen. What was holding Nasimiyu back from doing so this very day? She was clearly angry about Namjoon still, and hadn’t said a word to Dulce since she’d walked in on her and Prince Seokjin fucking. Was she waiting and hoping for Dulce to come groveling to her? Or just biding her time until she could surprise Dulce with an accusation and death?

It didn’t make any sense, and Dulce hated not knowing. She was too close to this one; she wouldn’t be able to leap away before Nasimiyu’s dagger plunged in.

She had to be fast. Faster than this.

But there was nothing incriminating to be found anywhere in Nasimiyu’s room. The letters from her mother were dull and saccharine. There were no letters from her father. She didn’t keep a diary, not even a fake, so there was nothing to betray her as a fiance either, no pining for Namjoon inked onto pages in her hand. Dulce had taught her too well, it seemed.

Dulce paid a visit to the old room Nasimiyu had stayed in, but there likely hadn’t been anything notable there either before it was wiped clean. Same for the rooms Prince Hamisi and Princess Simisola had lived in. 

What was Dulce’s next step here? She felt hopelessly out of options. She could approach Prince Seokjin and just tell him… but why would he believe her against his own fiance? He wouldn’t. Dulce was just an out of favor maid. Well, she could tell him more than that if she was willing to sacrifice her own security…

But how did one prove they were an assassin hired to spy and assassinate you? She had no written orders. No secret society brand on her shoulder. No poisoned dagger bearing Prince Hamisi’s emblem or any of the other clues that led to the capture of the villains in the Kalamouche novels. The emblemed dagger in the most recent book she’d read had really done her in, it was nearly enough to make her laugh, it was such a stupid idea. What idiot gave an assassin a clear and obvious connection back to the purse-holder? Dulce had found herself wishing she could meet the author and give him a good thrashing and tell him to do better –nobles were absolute idiots but in a very different way than that. But it had then led to the mental play of Prince Seokjin meeting the author and probably being so exuberant and excited about it because he probably read these ideas and thought they were genius and it had ticked her off so much, this day dream, the fact that she was daydreaming about Prince Seokjin. 

What was this man doing to her?! Why?! She had met so many men in her life and this one was… was ignorant and naive and too trusting and… honestly, a clown. And thoughtful and considerate and inappropriately chivalrous and unfortunately almost funny and generous and from what she could see, honest. If he was not honest, he had fooled her. Otherwise, he might be one of the only honest people she had ever met in her life. Everything about him seemed so sincere. Was that true? He did not seem to consider himself when he put himself forward to help someone –a maid who didn’t need rescuing, a crying child, a servant who was secretly his brother and an inherent threat to his throne.

Fuck that guy, he was messing with her head. She had to figure something out and then get the fuck out of here. She’d do her best to find some way to open his eyes to the dangers around him, but she couldn’t die for him. She needed to be gone before Nasimiyu figured it out. Possibly the only thing staying Nasimiyu’s hand right now was that she’d never directly caused someone’s death before. Could that be it? Was there some conscience after all beneath that ridiculous flower crown Prince Seokjin had given Nasimiyu for dinner last night?

She circled the palace trying to look like she had somewhere to be without actually having an aim. Prince Hamisi was too smart to leave anything incriminating in the Kim palace. Nasimiyu never had anything to leave around. She could try interrogating Nasimiyu’s guards or maids for anything but it would raise suspicion on herself unless she killed them afterwards, likely not get her anything, and another death around Nasimiyu would probably send the palace into another frenzy.

How ironic. Dulce was possibly the greatest threat to Nasimiyu, wasn’t she? It occurred to her that striking Nasimiyu down and lying in wait for Prince Hamisi to come running back would be the quickest way to ensure they couldn’t harm Prince Seokjin.

But actually killing Nasimiyu… It made Dulce’s stomach turn. She didn’t need to go that far right now. Dulce was efficient and purposeful, but she wasn’t wasteful. Death was inevitable, but that didn’t mean Dulce was eager to dole it out, not to someone she had so recently been so close to. Honestly, did Nasimiyu deserve to die? She shouldn’t be queen but..

Dulce was compromised. She was too sentimental. The objective truth was that no one person was worth more than the lives of dozens or hundreds of others, but right now Nasimiyu wasn’t a threat to dozens or even hundreds of people. If she died today, there would be a new and probably worse princess betrothed to the prince tomorrow. Nasimiyu was selfish and stubborn but supposedly had good intentions, so in a world where her rule wasn’t a threat to Seokjin’s life, Dulce would have left her alone. 

“I have a packet for the King,” a deep voice said, traveling closer up the hallway.

Another voice scoffed, “And I told you, he is not in the palace today so you will have to wait or leave your missives with me.” Dulce recognized the voice of Han-gyeol Jung –that weasley old man constantly looking down his nose at young men and squinting like he could see through the dresses of young women. Allegedly he served as a ‘deportment’ tutor for Prince Seokjin but seemed to leave his more palatable son to do most of the actual refining work. 

“I’m in a hurry,” the man said, which struck Dulce as odd. If you had things to deliver to the king, wasn’t that the most important thing you could do? Unless you were just impatient, but he didn’t sound impatient, he sounded… nervous. “They must be delivered directly to the King.”

When Lord Jung or whatever the fuck his proper title was refused to go and physically retrieve the King from the caves, the man snapped that he would try again tomorrow but he wasn’t spending a night here and stomped off. Dulce watched the elder Jung subtly around the corner. He looked completely unbothered by the man’s insistence, as if this sort of urgent entitled demand to see the king was a common occurrence. She found it more curious that he would act as a kind of butler or intermediary for the King in his absence rather than the Castellan or literally anyone else. It seemed outside of his job scope. But what did she know? Besides, most of those people had gone on the hunt. 

He strode off to do another task. So the King must not be lying in wait expecting anything urgent, otherwise surely he would let his butler know to fetch him at once should a messenger arrive. Unless Han-gyeol Jung didn’t know anything either and had just unknowingly thwarted something actually very important

Dulce had nothing better to do though (what, maid chores?) and decided to follow the man with the message. He’d not gone far and anyway his steps were loud enough to easily find him, the idiot. She tailed him out of the palace and down into the city, right out the front doors. Nobody looked at him, and she supposed she struck the right balance of looking like a nobody maid that nobody bothered with her either. The man did keep looking anxious around himself but he clearly wasn’t worried about an innocent looking maid with her hair wrapped in a white kerchief the only time he might have seen her over his shoulder.

They moved further into the city. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, which made it easier to keep up with him because his movements were purposeful and obvious. They passed through a couple neighborhoods before he entered an unremarkable tavern, the Bear and Beer.

“Need a room?” the innkeeper asked as the man went straight to the counter.

“Yes, only the night. Middle of the row if you’ve got it,” he said, already dumping coin on the counter as though he knew the cost. They didn’t seem to know each other but he must have been here before; he didn’t wait for further instructions about how to reach “Room 4” before taking the key and heading up. Locking doors meant this was a nicer place, though Dulce could have guessed that from the quiet and decently clean downstairs. The innkeeper kept the keys on a loop that jangled at his hip, which would make it harder to get the spare for Room 4 that he surely kept.

“What about you, need a room?” he called, unfortunately spotting her right away.

Annoyed, she said she was hoping to meet someone and ordered a beer for while she waited. Since it was early in the day, she had her pick of tables where she could watch the few folks who came and went. No one looked suspicious, or even remarkably unsuspicious which could itself be suspicious. Those who came down looked like they’d had a late night to sleep off. Three went up during the time she watched –a maid with an armful of clean linens and a pair with a massive bag between them and the air of disappointment, whatever their business had been that morning.

This was stupid. She was wasting her time on what was likely one of a thousand people who tried to visit the king on any given day and were turned away, and for what reason, because she was bored and frustrated around the palace? She’d have as much luck finding something useful blindly wandering the streets.

She paid for her beer and headed for the door but felt the shuffle of movement close behind her. Turning, she caught only the back of a figure heading purposefully for the stairs as several other people moved around the room at once, getting up to refill mugs of beer or empty tables or step closer to the fire. All normal gestures, but Dulce felt as if the world had thawed quite suddenly, which struck her as odd. Not everyone seemed to be orchestrating something, but rather like something predictable had happened –the waitress had brought in a large tray of food– just as she had risen from the table and others had moved in synchrony too. Coincidence. 

But the two people who slipped quickly up the stairs as if they did not wish to be seen felt more intentional. Like people trained to take advantage of a predicted moment of distraction.

Dulce strode forward and bumped into the waitress, who promptly toppled the whole tray onto the table. The patrons leapt up and the waitress leapt back and the innkeeper came running around from the bar squawking about the mess, shoving the waitress out of the way in his rush to apologize –which was just enough physical distraction for Dulce to unhook the ring of keys from his belt. It wasn’t even a twist latch! The fool.

She disappeared up the stairs in the chaos, shedding her cloak and the kerchief in the process, wrapping them into a bundle to mute the jingling of the remaining keys once she’d pulled off the one with the 4 scratched into it.

She put on her best oops wrong room face and rushed through door four… to be met with an empty room. The man had either left or met his fate, but it was definitely his pack still sitting on the bed. She frowned at the stillness and pulled her blade from her pocket, the little shitty one Nasimiyu had given her since it was the closet on hand. If she reached for her boot, he might rush out of the wardrobe or something.

He wasn’t there when she checked though, nor under the bed. Convinced she was alone, she promptly upended his bag. She shoved aside some light clothing, a miniscule bag of money, no more than a handful of jerky and a cheap necklace, and instead focused on the small leatherbound journal –oddly expensive compared to everything else– and a short stack of sealed envelopes. Everything else she shoved back inside, hoping it would buy her some time before the man realized he’d been robbed –of what was probably just a complaint about his neighbor. Dulce realized she was being very rash right now.

A noise in the hallway made her freeze, then leap into the wardrobe mere seconds before the door swung open again. In walked the man she had followed, pulling at his waistband as if he’d just pulled his pants up. 

Well shit.

If he had any wits about him, he was going to check the wardrobe in a moment to make sure his room was secure and find her, and what was she going to do? If he was rotten folk, she could kill him and be on her way, but if he wasn’t, she’d rather knock him out.

He didn’t check the wardrobe yet. Instead he sat at the table and produced some cheese and a hunk of bread from his pocket. She held her breath, expecting he’d open his pack for the jerky and notice his precious papers were gone– but he didn’t.

Were people really such fools they didn’t check their rooms first?!

Dulce set the keys in the bottom of the wardrobe with her cloak, moving slowly and carefully so as not to produce even the faintest brushing sound. Then, by the light creeping in through the shoddy cabinetry, she eased open the seal on the first paper and did her best to read. The hand was scratchy and rushed, masculine she thought but couldn’t be sure –her own hand was masculine, she’d been told long ago, as if that mattered.

HD not in Sartia as directed – SD alone

HD crossed border near Ft Gaysa, could not follow, gone 3 days

HD headed north

Dulce’s brow knitted. How annoying to be simultaneously in code but not really. Per request sure sounded like this man had been sent somewhere, to trail this HD to Sartia–

Hamisi Dabo. Dulce was no font of knowledge on famous or infamous persons, but Prince Hamisi had been headed to Sartia with his wife, Simisola Dabo. People were stupid and often the most obvious answer was right.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Was this important? That Prince Hamisi had lied about going to Sartia? What was at Ft Gaysa? If that wasn’t notable, the fact he had crossed the border down there sure was; no one was allowed to cross the southern Therepin border, it would nullify the very precarious treaty after the Therepin Border Wars.

She shoved the note down the front of her dress, blood pounding in her ears as she carefully opened the next. It was in a different hand and dated separately, sealed differently, as if the letters had been sent by two different people completely which left her unsure how they had both wound up with this man.

Summary report on investigation into recent Therepin skirmishes. Full reports arriving separately

1: No witnesses survived. Entire village dead and burned. Civilian deaths: 76.

2: Reliable eyewitness reports invasion of village at dawn. Military arrived 22 minutes later. Military deaths: 1, Assailants: 14 reported - bodies burned could not verify, Citizens: 7. 

3: Eyewitness claims assailants came around from the north not south!!! Military arrived in 11 minutes. Military death: 1, Assailants: 13 - bodies burned could not verify, Citizens: 18.

4: Two witnesses survived by hiding under floorboards, have gone missing since interview. Claimed to have heard assailants speak of belonging to Sons of Sunset. Military deaths: 0, Assailants: 32 reported - 3 bodies produced, rest burned could not verify; Civilian deaths: 49 + assuming 2 witnesses

Dulce’s mind was racing. These reports were exactly what she was looking for! Proof that Hamisi was up to something. He shouldn’t be crossing the border, and if the Sons of Sunset were attacking towns and blaming another country, the king needed to know!

But maybe he already knew? She couldn’t tell from just these notes if the King was investigating Prince Hamisi on his own, or if he was just looking into the skirmishes, or what. She knew the royal family had a network of spies, though they tended to be clumsy and easy to identify. This man seemed excessively clumsy though to be carrying such precious documents only to leave them unattended in his room for even a moment. He must not know what he had.

Damn she wished she knew more about what was going on at the border for the notes to make more sense. Namjoon had ranted within earshot at some point but she wasn’t very political and had ignored him. Nonetheless, she would now make sure these landed in the King’s hand directly. 

The third didn’t have a seal. Just a dashed, unsigned note on a thin slip of paper.

Delso dead. I’m followed. Take this copy in case I’m done. Watch your back cmdr dsk on the move hunting for squeakers

Cmdr Dsk… Commander Dong-suk Kim? These things weren’t even in code! Any good spy knew the point of code! Though she considered that if the point was to get this information to the King, maybe code wasn’t useful. After all, she was not part of his spy network but understood at least some of the message that needed to make it to the king. It wasn’t actually in the King’s interest for these things to be secret, it was only in the interest of the messengers themselves but by the point someone was reading them, you were likely already dead–

A knock at the door to the room made her head jolt up as quickly as this messenger’s. He rose slowly from the table at another knock. He took a step forward and drew his blade at an even harder knock, nearly enough to take the door off its hinges.

The man started to run for the window, but the act of grabbing his pack from the bed was too slow –he ought to have grabbed and run first, the fool! And he paid dearly for it as the door crashed in, the lock shattering right out of the doorframe as one of the suspicious men she’d seen slide upstairs earlier launched himself through.

A thrown dagger caught the messenger in the back of the neck and he toppled forward, metal protruding through the front. Still his body dragged him forward but there was no fight for life possible and by the time the large man carelessly ripped the bag from his shoulder, he was still and limp.

“Is it the right room this time?” a second voice demanded. He elbowed the door back into place after a peek down the hallway. “You sure it’s him?”

“This is the guy.”

“--Is what you said about the other.”

Dulce waited, calculating. If they’d made short work of someone in another room without even her hearing, they were a trifle better at their jobs than this careless messenger. She could remain hidden and hope they left, but only an idiot wouldn’t check the fucking wardrobe.

Two to one… she’d faced worse odds. All three notes carefully down her bodice, she eased her favorite dagger from under her skirt, touched the one in her boot to make sure it was at hand, took a deep breath, then launched herself from the cabinet.

They’d upended the backpack and the bigger man’s wrist tangled in the straps, which slowed him down enough for Dulce’s blade to slash his upper arm. His other first swung around and would probably have knocked her out cold if she hadn’t ducked just as the smaller man’s blade sliced at her back. Fabric caught and tore thanks to a hook on the tip of his blade that would do even nastier things to skin if she let it, but also presented a weakness. She tried to catch her blade in it to yank it away but misjudged the angle once, twice, three times; their blades struck and slid against each other, the metal grating noise making her skin crawl. It was too much thinking and not enough movement to keep her out of reach of the second man who wasn’t that bothered after all by his cut arm: he plucked her around the waist and threw her against the wall like a rag doll.

“Quiet,” the small man hissed at him after the thud. Dulce groaned and rolled onto her stomach, wheezing. But she’d managed to save some of the breath in her lungs by curling as she flew, and took advantage of their assumption she’d be down. She dragged herself deceptively slowly forward and when the smaller man lifted a leather boot to kick her, she stabbed her smaller blade right down into the toe of his boot as hard as she could. Those fine leather boots of his parted like butter; the toes she stabbed through put up more resistance. He yowled.

“Quiet!” the bigger man mocked and lifted Dulce from the ground by the torn back of her dress, his other blade already slicing at her middle as if to gut her. She slashed at his wrist with the second knife. He tried to knock it away, opening himself up to a straight stab to the gut with the blade from her boot, and another and another. Her blade sank in several inches each time, blood rushing out as she pulled it out, but nowhere deep enough to hit anything vital.

“Fucking whore!” he bellowed and dropped her just as the other man stabbed forward. They weren’t well coordinated and managed to knock into each other while she ducked down and spun away. It only saved her a moment though before both were on her again, small blades biting anywhere they reached. The room’s space was too tight to really maneuver away and they shoved furniture, blundered into the walls, tripped over the body of the messenger, crashed against the bed. 

“Just grab her!” the smaller man shouted. Dulce instinctively leapt away from the larger man as his fist clipped the back of her head, but maybe intentionally so, it had been a distraction and the smaller man slashed at her throat, just missing. Dulce struck back but another blow to her back pushed her right into the man’s blade; she knocked it away from her belly but he brought a second around to stab at her back. She slammed her foot onto his thigh and jumped high so that his blade sliced the side of her leg instead, tangling in her ridiculous skirt and tearing fabric and skin both. She returned the favor against the man’s face, an attempt to kill him that sadly missed.

Dulce felt a meaty hand grab the front of her dress and turn her for what was undoubtedly a death blow. She turned faster than the larger man expected and wrapped around him, the strings of her bodice ripping and tangling around his hand as she slid onto his back, her blade dragging across his throat like a caress. It was butchery; she couldn’t risk her cut being too shallow again. He threw himself backwards to avoid the depth, crushing her against the dresser as his blood fountained out and his body began to thrash in in a fit of primal survival. It took all the muscles of her arm to tear that pipe. She managed to slide away from him, diving after the other man who seemed monentarily shocked that she’d managed to down his companion –but not shocked enough to meet the same fate. 

He leapt towards her as the other man still flailed, blade extended. Dulce tripped on the dead messenger and it saved her skin; neither she nor the smaller man expected her to drop just then. She rolled around him instead and stabbed at his thigh; the blade sank in but her fingers were locked too tight so when he leapt away it jerked her along too, exposing her side. Her skirt twisted around her leg and later she’d curse herself for wearing such a stupid thing. He took the opportunity, blade going right for her ribs. Her turn dragged it instead across the tops of her breasts, a shallow slice that stung like a bitch. the other side of her torn bodice caught the actual hook of his blade. She stabbed in the direction of his arm. 

He surprised her, shoving his hand down the front of her chemise. She thought he was stabbing and tried to twist away. 

Instead he pulled out the notes she’d tucked, dashed with her blood and sweat and crumbled beyond belief. He flashed her a grin and was out the window in a heartbeat, unbothered by the knife she threw at his back. Dulce tried to stumble after him, to follow him out, but her legs refused and she merely crawled forward. By the time she reached the, he was long gone and she was alone in the bloodied, broken room with two corpses, the larger one still blinking and gasping but beyond consciousness.

Dulce panted for breath and felt herself, searching for anything fatal. It had all happened so fast. Bruises and cuts she hadn’t noted in the moment competed for attention but adrenaline kept her from surrendering to any of it just yet. 

The notes were gone. 

Fuck!

That’s what they’d been looking for.

She didn’t have time to think about it right now. They’d been noisy; any moment someone was going to crash through the broken door and she couldn’t be here. She refused to take the fall for whatever she had stumbled into.

Fuck, the notes were gone. It killed her. They were exactly what she had needed! She didn’t want to leave empty handed but pounding steps in the hall told her she had seconds to act. She grabbed the messenger’s coat he had previously hung on the chair and yanked it on over her torn clothes and with her braid tucked down, pulled his hat on low, and rushed towards the door. 

“Hey! What’s going on in there!! Open up!” the inn keeper or someone matching his anger shouted ahead of themself, storming down the hall. Dulce weighed her options. She could rush out but didn’t know how many people were there. The other man had gone out the window, so there was a way. He might be waiting but it was her best change.

She grabbed her favorite blade and leapt onto the windowsill, eying the likeliest path he had taken. 

Shake all you want, but you’re moving on, she told her legs and took the leap. It was a tight scrabble. Her fingers ached for purchase. She shimmied along the narrow ledge until she reached the lower roof, then tore over it before anyone from the ground would hopefully notice her. The stables on the other side had enough boxes to leap down like a cat and off she raced as soon as her boots touched ground. Some globs of blood dotted the hay-strew ground; she’d got the man good at least once and wished now she’d at least had a good look at his face. She would never recognize him in a room and that pissed her off. He might recognize her.

She noticed  the gasps and curious, nervous glances as she sprinted down the street until she knew her legs really were about to buckle. Then she slid into an alley, turned the coat inside out, and did her best to piece herself back together. 

In doing so, she discovered she still had one paper: HD not in Sartia as directed – SD alone

Useless on its own.

Now what to fucking do. She was injured, unclear how badly. She knew she looked awful and would raise too many questions if she limped into the palace like that, but where else did she have to go? She didn’t even have the money for a room to wash her face in.

Taehyung or Yoongi? Which could she get to without being seen? Which did she trust to help and not question? What a loss that Nasimiyu couldn’t shield her now.

Neither, she didn’t trust anyone. Ever. People were only loyal as long as it served them. No oath in the world was sacred, even one of love, and they had sworn her nothing.

But she had no other options.

She took her bet and set off, already crafting her story.

“Come on,” Drin cajoled, jostling Seokjin’s arm in the hallway. “You can’t avoid the hunt.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Seokjin lied, lied as big and strong as the angry surf that had crashed against the sea wall all night. It called to him, that sea. Only slightly in a macabre way –and not because of the wedding planning, that was fine. He wasn’t avoiding wedding planning. Why would he be avoiding wedding planning? Nor was he avoiding his uncle, as Drin now gracefully hinted it:

“You’re either avoiding your uncle or the caves but either way, you’re fucked. Your father has sent for you. A tummyache ain’t a good reason to skip the hunt.”

“Actually I find it a very good reason,” Seokjin quipped. “Would he have me shit my horse?”

“You can’t blame a stomach to avoid uncomfortable things, little prince. Turn right around and suit up for the hunt. Wear a baby’s swaddle to hold the shit, if you need to.”

“Does no one take me seriously?”

“We know you’ve a history of avoiding–”

“I’m not avoiding anything, except maybe the kitchen.”

Because god save him if he ran into Dulce there. Not after Dulce had walked in on him… with Nasimiyu… A cold shudder ran through his body, followed by the flush of a fever of mortification. It would have been bad for anyone to walk in –didn’t anyone fucking knock?! But of all people, for it to be Dulce, it just…

He wanted to scream. To cry. To throw up. He’d done none of those things. He had quickly dressed and fled to his room and taken a hot bath to wash the sex off and considered drowning himself more than once. For all he knew, his dick had shriveled into his body and would never emerge. Certainly he was never going to have sex again. He was private about sex, thank you very much, so for an unwelcome guest to intrude–

And for it to be Dulce– on or around her birthday, of all times!

Seokjin was not easy to embarrass. But this had done it. And, with little practice in recovering from an embarrassment he rarely felt, he was, in fact, hiding from a maid. Utter shock had emboldened him to hastily scribble the note with the book and send Jimin to deliver it to wherever Dulce slept and now his interactions with her were done and he would never look her in the eye again. Which meant avoiding any of the places they might ever run into each other, including but not limited to: the kitchen where she went for food, the yard where she sometimes passed by, any of the hallways near Nasimiyu’s room, and possibly the queen’s garden where she seemed to appreciate the flowers. He wondered if Nasimiyu would be willing to come to his room from now on… assuming this hadn’t just rendered him impotent for life.

Honestly wandering into a bullet’s path in the caves seemed like not the worst way to go right now.

Because in truth Seokjin also knew he could not avoid Dulce forever, particularly if she remained Nasimiyu’s maid. 

He felt like he’d assaulted Dulce. His note wasn’t enough. He didn’t know what else to do. He’d never been in the wrong in this way towards a woman before! And she might be around any corner in this palace, ready to turn to look right through him with those dark eyes that looked so warm behind a mug of hot chocolate. The whole thing was ghastly. How his father had allegedly carried on orgies in the dining hall was beyond Seokjin. Would it have been less devastating if it was someone else? He decided not to answer that, even to himself.

“Is Nasimiyu really going?” Seokjin asked Jimin over his shoulder. “Who’s she taking with her?” The question probably said too much but Jimin was sworn to loyalty and wouldn’t rat him out, even if he figured out the question behind Seokjin’s question. Which he probably did, seeing as Seokjin had told him what happened and had him deliver the book.

“She is, Sir, and expects you are too. She’s not taking any of her maids.”

That was good enough for Seokjin. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Seokjin said to Drin.

“What now, really?”

“I’ll go change.” 

“No, you’re off to hide. You’re dressed fine, just take your jacket off. A fight doesn’t always wait for the prince go get changed into clothes he doesn’t mind bloodying!” Drin barked, and clapped Seokjin on the shoulder. He seemed shockingly sober, likely a result of Uncle Dong-suk’s arrival. The two had served together when they were younger, as peers. But Dong-suk was royal and rose to commander and Drin shattered his arm and decided to train the prince instead of remain on the battlefield. Dong-suk was of the mindset you should die on the battlefield instead of “give in to disability,” which Seokjin thought was rich to say when you had no such injury. As if being the private arms tutor to the prince was a mark of weakness!

“Why are you so eager?” Seokjin demanded, already regretting it. “We aren’t fighting, we’re hunting.”

“Is it different?” Drin cryptically asked and strode ahead, trusting Seokjin to follow to the courtyard where the hunting party gathered. 

“Did you really think you could avoid the hunt?” Jungkook asked, sidling up to Seokjin’s elbow as the prince dragged his feet but followed his trainer. Seokjin gave him a look, because obviously yes, he did and would have, even if it meant lying to his father and uncle that he was shitting his brains out. But also no, he had known he couldn’t, because Nasimiyu was going and he couldn’t leave her to hunt alone. Why had she decided to go?! It was that bit of information from Jimin that had dragged Seokjin from his hiding place. 

She sat atop her horse with only two of her guards at hand. Taehyung wasn’t far off, a horse lead in each hand, though he looked confused. Seokjin assumed it was concern over whether Seokjin would show and went right to him, hairs on the back of his neck prickling as his father and uncle no doubt noted his late arrival.

“I’m to go with you,” Taehyung said quietly.

“You? Why, you’re a stable boy,” Seokjin scoffed for any who might hear.

“I don’t know, your uncle said so.”

Seokjin glanced over at the two elder Kim men now. Uncle Dong-suk didn’t hide that he was watching. 

“Do you think he–” Taehyung broke off and looked away, poorly hiding his nerves.

Seokjin slapped a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder and announced loudly, “Congratulations on winning the honor of joining us on the hunt! Every month we’ll take along someone new from the household staff so that you may all experience the wonder and prestige of spending a day skulking around in the dark, looking for things to kill that aren’t even good to eat. You’ll ride with me today, aren’t you lucky?”

“So lucky,” Taehyung murmured. “Here’s your horse…” He glanced at the path down to the hunting caves as if considering whether he ought to just set out for Paloma now. Seokjin thought he should. This did seem suspicious, for Dong-suk to take any notice of Taehyung. He had visited Priva a couple times since Seokjin brought Taehyung to live here and never even looked at the stablehand, but Seokjin had always assumed his uncle knew and didn’t give a shit, as he didn’t have a direct descendent in line for the throne anyway. Nothing changed for Dong-suk if it was Seokjin’s ass on the throne someday or Taehyung’s.

But this was a change. Either he hadn’t know before and now did, or he was trying to make a point that something had changed now, and Seokjin didn’t like it either way. 

“Lady,” he called to Nasimiyu as he mounted his horse, one last prayer of bailing. “Are you well today?”

Nasimiyu’s brow knit as she demanded, clearly offended, “I am, why do you ask?”

“Are you sure this is how you want to spend a day? We might do… anything else your heart desires. Literally anything.”

“Oh there are Lord Jothi and Lord Theo, should we ride with them again?” Nasimiyu asked. “I do hope you’re able to catch something this time.”

“I caught your heart last time, can’t imagine what greater prize there exists then–”

“Let’s ride!” Seokjin’s father called as if recognizing his son was still trying to weasel out of this. The two dozen mounts in the courtyard moved as one, Taehyung rushing to swing into his saddle and pulling into line next to Jungkook in Seokjin’s wake.

Conversation with Nasimiyu ran dry during the ride down. She didn’t seem much inclined to talk, giving him the suspicion he’d done something to anger her, but he couldn’t fix it because he didn’t know what. She hadn’t seemed angry at dinner last night. 

“You decided to hunt alone?” he asked as they waited for servants to bring them weapons. 

“I have my guards and you. Who else would I want?” Nasimiyu asked with what he thought might be feigned confusion.

“Last time you brought a couple of maids, didn’t you?”

“Yes and they all begged not to come again.” She said it so casually, Seokjin had no reason not to believe her. With any luck, Dulce was avoiding him the same way, and they would never cross paths again despite living in the same palace.

Yay?

Once in the grand entrance cave, Jungkook pulled his horse close to Seokjin and leaned as near he could to murmur, “It’s going to be impossible to keep an eye on Taehyung and you at the same time.”

Seokjin knew he was right. This was the easiest place in the world to kill someone. He’d always thought how stupid that man who’d tried to assassinate him had been, sending a pig to do it, when one could just do it from a ledge or around a corner and no one would ever catch you. It was a wonder more people weren’t killed here –though he had his suspicions that the dark rumors his great-grandfather had hunted men down here for sport might be very true. He suspected Grandfather had too, though the old bastard had died when Seokjin was young enough to not remember much about him except his ice-cold hands.

“Watch him closer,” Seokjin told Jungkook.

“Than–”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. That’s your order.”

“Ok…” Jungkook said as he leaned back in his saddle. He didn’t look pleased about this but he’d never disobeyed an order before.

“I mean it. Jimin will watch after me,” Seokjin said, turning to his right-hand man.

Jimin let out a guffaw and asked, “Did you just assign me bodyguard status? You must be joking, haha.” He hesitated to accept the gun handed to him by a staff of the hunt before taking it with a look of disgust.

Nasimiyu, having heard some bits of this, asked, “Is there a problem? Why is your butler being a bodyguard?”

“It’s just a joke,” Seokjin assured her. “Are we ready? Let’s get a head start.”

“Don’t we have to wait for your father to–”

“I’m the prince so I’ll do as I please,” he said, full of shallow bravado. “Besides, I don’t want to ride with Theo and Jothi again. They were flirting with you last time.”

Nasimiyu looked surprisingly thrilled as she argued, “No they weren’t… were they? I don’t think so…” 

“Eager to lead the charge, my son?” Dong-gun called, giving his horse a swift kick to catch up before Seokjin’s party made it through the first cave. Dong-suk pulled up beside his elder brother and Seokjin bit back his frustration.

Instead he teased, “Shall we make a competition of it, father?”

“I’d rather watch your technique and see the catch myself,” Dong-suk interjected, which was of course exactly the opposite of what Seokjin wanted. Did his uncle mean to shoot Taehyung himself?! He brought no guards, only the servant assigned to fetch his kills trotting along beside him, looking terrified by his assignment as if he too realized how disposable he was as a witness.

“Well you shall… certainly be in awe…” Seokjin stammered out as Drin too pulled forward.

“A full party, eh? Just like old times,” he beamed at Dong-suk. Dong-suk did not beam back. “He’s made good progress in arms since you were here last but his sharpshooting is second to none. Fantastic aim, that one’s got.”

Dong-gun clapped his hands and pulled his horse ahead, taking an uncontested lead that Seokjin had no choice at the moment but to follow –with every intention of carving Taehyung and Nasimiyu off to get “lost” down a side cave at the first chance.

Dong-gun and Dong-suk weren’t going to make it easy. They led them, practically boxed them in, down the central corridor, right past all the twisty windy smaller paths that would have made it easier to “take a wrong turn.” No one dared rush past them, so they were the first to enter the grand central cavern with its massive forest and craggy peak –not too dissimilar from the cavern he’d explored with Nasimiyu and Dulce and those bratty upstarts last time, so that an average person might think they were the same place. That was the danger with this place, it was a death trap if you didn’t have a good guide. 

Dong-gun and Dong-suk wasted no time along the way shooting anything that moved, no hesitation. Despite his uncle’s constant criticism of Priva and its excesses, he loved the hunt. It was about the only time he saw his uncle smile, just a tight-lipped slant when a deathcry followed the crack of his rifle. He scowled when Dong-gun would get one first, their array of servants running to and fro in the dark with low lanterns trying to find whatever they’d felled or take the long way round to chase what lay strewn against the far cliffs. 

“They’re going to shoot someone,” Nasimiyu gasped as a goat went stock still in the distance, illuminated by those shimmering blue lights overhead, then collapsed not too far off from a game master who raised his hands in a silent plea not to be shot next.

Seokjin’s father heard her and scoffed, “Never, Princess. You doubt our aim?” 

In one swift motion he’d turned his rifle towards Taehyung on his horse and fired, knocking Taehyung’s hat clean off. A pinch from taking Taehyung’s head with it, most likely.

Taehyung didn’t scream, just tightened his hold on his horse as it took a couple nervous steps.  

Seokjin screamed loud enough for both of them. He shouted, “Ah ya, what’s that!? You take aim at our staff guest? Are you confused, old man? Aim your gun that way!” His heart pounded in his chest, his fear urging him to take flight and trust Taehyung to follow and get away from this place. He’d brought his only living brother into a deathtrap, that’s what he’d just done. Was their own father the threat, not Dong-suk? Seokjin was shocked by what had just happened.

His father laughed and pointed out, “See? Horse or man, Privan stallions are made of stern stuff.”

Nasimiyu’s horror showed on her face and Seokjin was glad his father couldn’t see it, afraid it would only encourage him. 

“Onwards,” Seokjin gritted out and pulled his horse forward, nudging Taehyung to ride beside him, against the wall. 

Seokjin fucking hated it here.

It wasn’t long before Nasimiyu nudged her horse up beside him, forcing Taehyung to fall back, which was probably for the best anyway. 

“Shoot something,” she hissed at him.

“What?”

“We’re here to hunt, so hunt, or they’re going to be shooting at you next,” she whispered harshly. “The whole thing is a test, isn’t it? Your uncle is watching you so do something!”

Seokjin didn’t know how to explain a lifetime of misery and fear of his uncle to her. He didn’t think she’d be impressed anyway. What was he going to tell her, that anything more intelligent than a fish he found nauseating to kill? It wasn’t like they were killing to eat out of necessity down here. The game alway tasted like rocks. 

He was glad she realized there were politics going on but disappointed she wanted him to play into them, even though he recognized she was probably right. 

Drin was right that his aim was good; if he aimed true, he could fell something quickly, appease his father and uncle, impress his bride-to-be, and maybe protect Taehyung in case that had been meant as some kind of weird show of power. 

“Very well,” he murmured. “Yes, it’s about time I show off my marksmanship.” He took his time loading his gun as their horses dawdled after the others. He looked around for something inoffensive to murder, but the blue lights gave everything the same unearthly glow and made it hard to distinguish a mouse from a monkey in the trees. He looked at the ridge instead, and in doing so noted a something-or-other silhouetted against the stream trickling through the center of this stretch of cavern. 

“Perfect shot, I should think,” Dong-suk mused from ahead, his horse blocking the path for everyone. His gaze tore into Seokjin, digging in deep, finding him lacking as always.

Seokjin raised his gun and aimed. It didn’t matter what it was at this point, he didn’t have a way out without further ridicule. His brother’s life might be in danger. He had to pull the trigger.

He hesitated.

A crack erupted, bouncing around them, echoing in Seokjin’s ears. The black lump slipped from the tree branch. Seokjin wanted to do the same from his horse but remained frozen.

“Fantastic shot, my son!” Dong-gun cheered. “Go fetch it, whatever it was. An owl?”

“I hope not…” Seokjin joked vaguely, and resisted looking except out of his periphery at Taehyung shoving the smoking barrel of his gun out of view under the pretense he was looking down the barrel still trying to find something to shoot.

“That was a great shot, Your Highness,” he called over his shoulder to Seokjin.

“Marvelous,” Nasimiyu agreed. She gave him a smirk, leaving him unsure if she had been fooled or not.

“Hm,” his uncle said. Seokjin doubted he was fooled but either way, didn’t say anything.

It was a kestrel. Beautiful. Seokjin hadn’t even actually killed it and still looked away.

They rode on, into a smaller cave called The Aviary thanks to the hundreds of birds that roosted in the trees that grew up and the vines that dangled down and the clear space in between.

“Can’t miss in here,” Dong-gun called back. “Want a go, Princess? I think your rifle’s still cold.”

“Of course!” she called back. “I’ve just been watching to learn the layout of the caves.” Seokjin started to tell her she didn’t have to –he’d take the attention away– but Nasimiyu lifted her rifle and fired once– twice– nothing. She handed it to her servant to reload, hand waving for them to hurry. Seokjin didn’t think she’d aimed at anything and decided she must be firing wide.

Except her next shot connected. Seokjin didn’t see what it was as he had been watching her face, but the cheer went up, he heard the broken cry behind him, and he saw Nasimiyu’s face –shocked, horrified, for only a moment, and then triumphant. Had she had a change of heart or pulled on a mask?

The bird was brought to her, a beautiful yellow-feathered song bird that draped across her hands, a bright messy red spot on its stomach where her bullet had punctured and killed. She stared at it and then at Seokjin, like she wasn’t sure what to do with this.

“What is it?”

“We call them Sun Singers,” Seokjin told her. “They sing every morning when the sun rises but not down here. They can’t see the sun so they never sing.” Do you understand how fucking sad that is? He was afraid she wouldn’t get it. He felt an innate certainty Dulce would.

“My lady, do you wish to have it stuffed?” the servant asked her.

Her face flickered with emotions he couldn’t name as she asked, “Can it not be eaten?”

“No, they only sing, they aren’t good for eating.”

“Take it away,” she said, thrusting it back at the servant. Dong-gun and Dong-suk had both brought down geese and Taehyung a duck. Rifle cracks left and right made Seokjin flinch. And the niggling worry in his stomach that his uncle knew he’d faked the shot earlier. He felt his uncle’s eyes on him even when they weren’t, the man sitting proudly on his horse obnoxiously nearby, in between Drin and Taehyung. Shit, he didn’t want his uncle anywhere near Taehyung!

In a hurry to cause a commotion and separate them, Seokjin raised his rifle. He’d shoot a bird, a duck if he could manage it, and invite his uncle over to inspect the bird and feel his warm rifle for proof he’d shot it, and then growl at Jungkook and Jimin to bookend Taehyung and not leave his side until they got out of this place.

There, a bird perfectly arching into view. Seokjin aimed, calculated, and pulled the trigger.

No one would be able to say whether it was the shot that spooked the horse or not, except that Jungkook would swear the horse jumped before the shot and Seokjin believed him because Privan horses didn’t spook. It was too quick. He was certain there had been nothing even close to his line of firing at the moment he pulled the trigger and yet suddenly there was Drin, nearly taking a bullet through the head.

This time Seokjin didn’t scream, just dropped from his horse and ran over as Drin did the same, slapping at his head like a bee had stung him.

“Damn horse!” Drin shouted. 

Seokjin grabbed his arms but Drin shoved him away in his startle, leaving a bloody handprint on Seokjin’s arm.

I’ve killed him. I’ve fucking killed him.

“Your head’s still on,” Dong-suk called, his voice cutting through the chaos. Seokjin reached for Drin again but Dong-gun took hold of him first and shone a light to the back of Drin’s head where the bullet had grazed but not penetrated. A red line across his scalp wept blood.

“I… I’m sorry…” Seokjin stammered, stumbling backwards.

Suddenly Drin laughed and gestured at Dong-suk, “That’s right, old man. I told you he’s got a good aim, eh? Bends bullets in mid-flight. Could have blown my head off thanks to that damn horse startling!”

But it didn’t make sense. Seokjin was too horrified to figure out what would. All he knew was that he’d almost killed his arms master, one of his friends. He didn’t know how he would have dealt with that. He couldn’t comprehend it.

Drin planted a shaking hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and laughed, “Good one, Sir. Think I’ll head back and get my rock stitched up now, no more hunting competition from me today!”

“I’ll go back with you,” Seokjin insisted.

“Nah, don’t bother. Still need to get your duck for dinner like you vowed!”

A crack over their heads echoed, followed shortly by the thump of a carcass hitting the path not far off. Taehyung lowered his smoking gun.

“I saved you the trouble, Your Highness,” Taehyung said to Seokjin, his brow lowered and serious. “There’s a duck for you.”

Uncle Dong-suk slid from the horse himself to pick it up and mused, “Nice shot, boy.”

“Great. That’s the end of the day for me. Nasimiyu, will you accompany me back to the palace as well? You come too, my horse will only settle for you,” Seokjin rattled off, calling his people to him, prepared for his father and uncle to protest his rapid departure. But terror strengthened his blood to iron and he would have shouted down his own father to get out of there

He’d almost killed Drin.

By the time he was in his saddle, Dong-gun and Dong-suk were laughing at these “children with their brief stamina” and venturing further into the cave. 

“I’ll lead us out,” he said. “Drin, are you able to stay horsed?”

“It’s not that bloody bad, nothing a stiff drink won’t pull me through,” the man insisted, sounding more like himself as he fished a flask out of his saddlebag. He needed help getting back into his saddle after the servants finished tying the makeshift bandage around his head, but once there seemed stable enough. 

“Do you know the way out?” Nasimiyu asked. She’d been quiet for a while. Seokjin had forgotten all about her, to be honest. What would she make of this? But it almost seemed like she’d missed it all; she kept glancing at the game bag attached to her saddle. She reached out and pushed the golden feathers peeking out deeper into the sack.

“I do,” Seokjin said simply and pulled his horse ahead.

It wasn’t until they were safely in the sunny courtyard, Drin off to the hands of the palace doctors, that Jungkook came right to Seokjin’s side and said quietly, “The horse jumped before the gunshot.”

“I almost killed him,” Seokjin rushed out, grabbing Jungkook’s arm. He felt less steady now than he had in the cave.

“It wouldn’t have been your fault. I’m telling you, the horse jumped at nothing.”

“I don’t think it was nothing,” Taehyung argued. “But whatever he did, I couldn’t see it clearly.”

“Who?” Seokjin asked even though he already knew the answer.

“Your uncle. Had to be him, but I couldn’t see it…”

“There were other servants around and it was dark,” Jimin pointed out. “Could have been someone else.”

“Why would anyone else give Drin’s horse a kick? Everyone around here likes Drin,” Jungkook argued.

It was Taehyung who swallowed and suggested, “Maybe they didn’t mean to kick his horse. Maybe it was supposed to be mine.”

The suggestion made Seokjin feel even clammier than he already did. As bad as it would have been to kill his swordsmaster, to kill Taehyung would be worse. He wasn’t sure he could live with it. He didn’t even want to kill a duck.

Seokjin didn’t know what to do about any of this. He didn’t want Taehyung to go, but clearly he wasn’t safe right now. If Dong-suk wanted him dead, nowhere would be safe though.

“Jungkook, stay with Taehyung. I’m going to my room so I don’t need a guard. Taehyung you should… pack.”

Taehyung’s face shifted quickly into complaint, as if he hadn’t just faced his own death once or possibly twice. 

“But I can’t leave yet.”

“Or die? You have to go if I have to wrap you in a carpet and toss you on a ship myself.” He paused, watching Nasimiyu speaking to the servant near her own horse, gesturing with disdain at the game bag the servant kept trying to press on her. 

Taehyung stomped off without further comment but clearly pissed. As if Seokjin wanted him to go! He couldn’t put into words how much he wanted Taehyung to stay here. He’d never been good at expressing brotherly devotion of any sort, and Seok-ho was the brother he’d been with for most of his life, but Taehyung must know that Seokjin cared very much for him! They would always be brothers, even if they couldn’t be in the same city, at least for now. 

Nasimiyu was gone. Seokjin was glad. He didn’t feel like facing her right now either. He wished he could just disappear. Even his bedroom wasn’t far remote enough, but it’s the only place he had, and so he went.

Nasimiyu bit back her sigh when the summons from Lady Zselyke came. The summons. Obviously it wasn’t worded quite as such but the intention was clear, and for now she had to endure it because until she actually wed Seokjin, the two of them were in an odd inversion of their proper roles. Lady Zselyke was the only female member of the Kim family, and older, and clearly extending her hand in an attempt to be some sort of mentor.

Annoying.

Nasimiyu had begged off the last invitation(s), and planned to do so again, claiming exhaustion from the hunt that morning. A week wouldn’t have been enough time to recover from all that and it had only been a few hours.

But the invitation had included a warning that the party was at risk, and anyway what else was she going to do, pace her room and try to get that dead bird out of her mind? How stupid to be bothered by a dead bird. Not that she thought the bird was the worst part of it, but that was the ghost her mind chose to haunt her with in every still moment right now, rather than the almost two deaths she had witnessed, one at her own fiance’s hand and the other by her father-in-law’s atrocious bravado.

So she went. Lady Zselyke wanted to discuss some of the details of the wedding party –unavoidable. The wedding itself was being carefully managed by the planner, but the party afterwards was supposed to be planned by Nasimiyu as a first show of her critically important role… as the royal party planner.

Annoying.

Nasimiyu put herself into a dress that already had a tricky seam on the verge of ripping, intentionally, so she could do so after an acceptable period of time and excuse herself to have it fixed. That was something Dulce had taught her early on –Nasimiyu could recall it in vivid detail: shortly after they’d finished fucking, Dulce had gone to get her trousers and a heavy ball had fallen out of her pocket and emitted a horrible stench that drove them both coughing from the room. A literal stink bomb. Laughing, Dulce had explained one should always plan an exit, though it was regrettable, she had not intended to use it with Nasimiyu. At least not that day.

Always plan your exit.

Even from an romantic entanglement?, Nasimiyu had teased.

Always.

Nasimiyu frowned at the maid who stepped ahead to open the door of Lady Zselyke’s parlor. Babs. She had Babs, hated that name, hated how overly eager the woman was to do the things Nasimiyu wanted ahead of her even asking. She didn’t like maids who acted like she was a cruel or unfair mistress when she really tried not to be unreasonable. She tried to treat them kindly. For example, when they had all looked horrified about who she would take on the hunt with her since it wasn’t going to be Dulce, she’d decided to take none of them. Kindness! It wasn’t like she wanted to be there either, but she needed the respect of the king and that nightmare military brother of his. 

Anyway she had strongly believed Seokjin would beg off anyway and then she would decline the invitation without him… but he’d bloody gone! And shot nothing and nearly killed someone. What sort of man took credit for a stablehand’s shot? Not that she was going to point that out in the moment.

ANNOYING.

Nasimiyu sat across from Lady Zselyke in the elegant, tastefully decorated parlor. So much of the palace was ostentatious but these rooms were slightly less so.

“Did you decorate in here?” Nasimiyu asked when Lady Zselyke had said nothing, only watched with her hands folded, clearly waiting for something.

“I did.”

“Did you decorate the rest of the palace?”

Lady Zselyke’s lips gave a tight tremble before she answered, “Some… it’s largely set by the late Queen’s tastes and the King’s though, and the King requires me to uphold it.”

“That’s a shame. You have lovely taste,” Nasimiyu said. Then, realizing it would be easy to read an insult to her royal in-laws from what she’d said, she appended, “I just mean–”

“You don’t have to excuse flattery towards me. I appreciate a discerning eye. The Queen had other interests. The King has other talents.” She said it in such a coy way that Nasimiyu wanted to recoil from; it sounded sexual. As far as she knew, there was no sex between these cousins, but the gutcheck made her tread a bit more cautiously. She wondered what Dulce would make of that idea…

“Well soon it will be yours to redecorate the palace as you like,” Lady Zselyke mused, looking around her room as though trying to picture it with Nasimiyu’s style. “Will you make it look very different, do you think?”

“Do you mean like home? It would take a monumental effort to make this Privan palace look Marvonese.”

“You will have all the money and workers you could hope for at your disposal. You could make this palace look exactly like… there.” The word sounded loaded, like a single syllable conveyed all Lady Zselyke had to say about Marvonese style. In short, she didn’t like it.

Nasimiyu felt insulted and said archly, “It ought to reflect the convergence of mine and Seokjin’s styles, don’t you think? Where is it you spent your childhood, Lady Zselyke? I don’t think it was here, was it?”

“Sartia.”

“Is that what this style is? I’ve never been to Sartia.”

“I don’t think it would be to your liking, since you don’t like the sea.”

Nasimiyu found it interesting Zselyke knew that about her. She had certainly never admitted that to anyone except Dulce. It made her wonder if Dulce and Zselyke had gotten close. She certainly didn’t know everything Dulce had gotten up to. She couldn’t be trusted after all; maybe she was fucking the king’s cousin to get information, who even knew with that girl anymore?

“Sugar?” Lady Zselyke offered

“No, thank you. The tea here is already so sweet,” Nasimiyu quickly intervened, reaching for the tea cup Lady Zselyke had poured. 

“You don’t like sweet things?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“The world runs on sweet things,” Lady Zselyke said, which Nasimiyu didn’t even pretend to understand. Her face must have shown it, because Zselyke clarified, “Any party must have sweet things. The nobles here prefer them. If you mean not to have sweets…”

Nasimiyu’s nose crinkled before she decided, “Why don’t you just choose the sweets for the wedding party then. That’s what we’re here to talk about, right?”

“Yes, we need to, I’m afraid we’re woefully behind schedule, especially if you have any grand ambitions.”

“I really don’t.”

“You should.”

“I’ll be honest, Lady Zselyke, I love attending parties, but I do not love planning them,” Nasimiyu said because she might as well be upfront about it.

Lady Zselyke looked aghast and argued, “You must learn to love it then, because it will be the most important thing you do as queen.”

“I hope that’s not true.”

“The delicate balance of maintaining power by managing the nobles– do you think Seokjin will do that?!” Zselyke screeched at her.

“He’s… charming, isn’t it?” Nasimiyu tried. She had not expected this cousin to shout at her and it caught her off-guard.

“Charming my left foot!” In her anger, she yanked up the teapot and refilled Nasimiyu’s empty cup and seemed to have forgotten Nasimiyu didn’t like sugar because she spooned some right in as she continued to berate, “Do you mean to say you won’t learn these skills and plan to let the social structure of the palace just die? The nobles here expect a certain schedule of entertainment! When important guests arrive from other places, they must be tended to! They–”

“It’s not that I don’t recognize how important it is,” Nasimiyu assured her, lifting her cup. Her own mother had certainly never yelled like this and she didn’t know what to do about it. It ought to fill her with rage but she was genuinely just stupefied. “I just don’t…”

“Like it?!

“Well no, not the planning part. I don’t have any talent for it and you do. Do you like doing it?”

“It is one of the most sacred tasks I’ve had since coming to the palace after the late Queen passed. Her taste in decor may have been questionable but she threw marvelous parties and I knew I needed to carefully maintain that so that her death wouldn’t pitch the nobility and thus the country into absolute chaos.”

“Well if you like it and you’re good at it, why don’t you keep doing it?” 

Lady Zselyke’s brow knitted as she explained, “Because I will not be here.”

“Why not?” Nasimiyu set the tea cup down without sipping it, intending to ask for a new one without sugar.

“Because… because you will be queen and not want an older woman here interfering with your work…” Lady Zselyke had stopped yelling and suddenly looked uncertain. “You did not know I would be sent away?”

“Who would send you away? Not I.” Nasimiyu did her best to look sincere about it. Honestly she had no love for this stuffy older woman but it hadn’t occurred to her that Zselyke would be gone. She saw at once how dismal it would be to take on the things Zselyke already managed. Dreary enough that enduring her was likely worth it. Besides, she managed Dong-gun and Seokjin to a degree, and even Dong-suk. She knew a great deal. Maybe it was at least worth keeping her around until they were gone. Nasimiyu couldn’t see Zselyke supporting her as queen if the Kim men were dead, and she might not want that, but… she might. Zselyke might do it, if she didn’t think Nasimiyu had any hands in the deaths. Regardless of her personal feelings about Zselyke, she knew things, she seemed actually quite good at what she did. That could be useful.

Lady Zselyke was watching her with unmasked confusion now and clarified, “You would not make me leave? Queen Soon-hee did the moment she married Dong-gun.”

“Why?”

“Well, that… that’s not something I can know…” she instantly fumbled out, clearly hiding some truth or at least suspicion. “It’s tradition, though. A queen mother will be sent to retire in Sartia and I am almost like a queen mother.” As soon as she said it, she looked like she regretted it. 

Nasimiyu grinned. She felt like she had just found a very pretty knife.

“I think you are too,” she agreed. “In a good way. I can’t imagine running this palace without you, it never occurred to me I would need to. I don’t want to. I refuse.”

Zselyke’s light skin turned a fascinating shade of pink, like she’d sat in the sun too long.

“Oh! But…”

“Maybe if the King retires at some point to someplace nice like Sartia, you would want to go with him, but I expect he will remain on the throne for a long time even once Seokjin and I marry.”

“Yes, you won’t be queen but you’ll be the crown princess which is the same thing in the absence of a queen,” Zselyke countered. 

“I don’t think tradition should dictate what we do when it’s not… convenient. I don’t see why you should be sent away or robbed of the duties you enjoy just because I’m here.” She mindlessly picked up the teacup again. “I can easily see a world where you maintain your status here and oversee the things you care so much about and are recognized and appreciated for it, which frees me up to attend to the things I care about –like supporting Seokjin, for instance. Raising his children.” She suspected Zselyke would struggle to accept an ambitious political princess just yet.

“He does need a great deal of support,” Lady Zselyke said slowly. “The kingly duties don’t come naturally to him…”

Nasimiyu smiled and nodded, agreeing, “He can learn with a wife nudging him along, and King Dong-gun can rest easier seeing his son take his future role more seriously.”

“Two women have never run the palace together before,” Zselyke said. Her words seemed to be poking at Nasimiyu, trying to find a lie or a threat.

“Women in Marvono know how to work together and rely on each other. I very much want to rely on you, Lady Zselyke. I wouldn’t dream of replacing you. Your balls would be a crucial loss to Priva!”

“I…” Lady Zselyke blinked rapidly at her, heavily stained eyelashes leaving residue on the tops of her cheeks. Clearly none of this had occurred to her.

“Together we can keep the Kim line respectable and strong, don’t you think?” Nasimiyu suggested as her finishing move. She lifted her tea cup to take a dramatic sip.

“Oh dear!” Lady Zselyke gasped, lunging forward. “You don’t like sugar! I put sugar in there! Let me trade that for you.” She wrenched the cup out of Nasimiyu’s hand in the blink of an eye and set it hastily on another saucer. “I think eventually you will need to take over these things from me… but maybe not… and in the meantime you can learn from me. It doesn’t seem you’ve been trained in any of these types of things. Things must be done very differently in Marvono…” She sloshed a little tea out of the cup in her haste to pour Nasimiyu a new one.

The door flung open before Nasimiyu could respond and in strode Mindeulle. Nasimiyu did not miss the way Lady Zselyke’s face hardened, despite Mindeulle’s bright smile and polite curtsy.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, but I’ve been looking for the Princess. Might I have a word?”

“Why don’t you join us?” Lady Zselyke offered instead. “We need to discuss wedding plans and then you can have her.”

“It will only take me a moment.”

“It can wait, I’m sure. Have a seat.” There was an edge to Lady Zselyke’s words that got Mindeulle to promptly do so. “Sugar?”

“No thank you,” Mindeulle muttered as Lady Zselyke poured her a cup. Servants fluttered in at a snap of her finger to refill the pot, which was getting low. Flowers and leaves danced inside the glass pot, briefly mesmerizing Nasimiyu.

“We are discussing Nasimiyu’s elaborate wedding party and what will best capture the deep love she and Seokjin share.”

Do we? was on the tip of Nasimiyu’s tongue. She didn’t say it, but Mindeulle gave her an amused smile as if she had, which gave her a start.

“I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful,” Mindeulle said.

“The wedding of a century,” Zselyke agreed. Nasimiyu did not understand why Zselyke sounded so defensive about it, unless this was just her enthusiasm about remaining here as a royal party planner showing through. “Seokjin has told me to spare no expense, he wants the world to understand how deep his love and devotion to his bride are.”

“That’s lovely,” Mindeulle said.

“It is,” Zselyke agreed.

The fact they hated each other seemed very obvious to Nasimiyu and now it was her turn to smile. If they both remained in the palace with her after she married, that would be perfect. The two of them hating each other would make them eager to be her most trusted and relied upon, and she could trust they would never join forces to work against her.

It amused her to watch them politely bicker as more details of the party were discussed; Mindeulle seemed just as eager for it to be perfect and her own suggestions seemed to rile Lady Zselyke into even grander plans. Nasimiyu would have been happy to eat her olive and thyme biscuits and let them have at it and giggle through whatever resulting wedding party they planned but the door opened again and in came Lidmila.

“It’s a regular party isn’t it? I didn’t plan for this,” Lady Zselyke murmured as Lidmila curtsied and sat in the final chair at the table without being asked.

“I apologize for my unexpected arrival. My parents are here but I wanted to find the Princess for company instead. Is it all right if I join?”

“Yes yes of course. What business do your parents have here?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. Something with the tax collector or the city planner?”

“That seems like business for your father, not your mother,” Lady Zselyke said. 

“Sometimes my mother helps with those things, I think…”

Lady Zselyke shook her head at this and sighed, “It’s quite a business, being a wife.”

“Have you never regretted not marrying?” Mindeulle asked, a twinkle coming to her eye that hooked Nasimiyu’s attention.

“Heavens, no! Of course it’s a high calling to be a wife, however…” Lady Zselyke looked embarrassed by her answer and like she wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m sure you will all make good little wives. My hands are quite full supporting the King.”

Honestly, did she hear herself? Probably Dulce could find out in an instant what the real relationship was there but Nasimiyu was not sure she wanted to know.

“But what will you do once Nasimiyu is queen?” Mindeulle asked. “You won’t be needed here anymore.”

“Actually I’ve asked Lady Zselyke to stay and support just the way she does now,” Nasimiyu quickly interjected. 

Lady Zselyke gave Mindeulle a smirk and agreed, “Of course I have accepted. Nasimiyu recognizes the value of this work and her own untrained skill for it so it will be an honor.” She dumped a spoonful of sugar in Mindeulle’s drink and poured more black for Nasimiyu. Lidmila had not yet touched the cup on her saucer, Nasimiyu’s discarded sugared tea from earlier, now gone cold.

“Oh, I don’t like sugar in my tea,” Mindeulle said. “May I have a different glass?”

“Dear, I forgot. Well it’s only a little bit of sugar,” Lady Zselyke dismissed. 

“I’m sure we can get a new tea cup,” Nasimiyu laughed. 

“I don’t mind sugar and I didn’t add any to mine. Why don’t we trade, Mindeulle? It’s a little cold though,” Lidmila suggested, passing hers across the table.

“Don’t be silly, that’s a perfect way to get sick.” Zselyke tutted and blocked the pass with her hand, nudging both cups back towards their original owners. Nasimiyu could not make sense of such crazy behavior but thought it was rather funny. Lidmila and Mindeulle seemed briefly mystified and set their cups back in their sauces.

“I’m not very thirsty. I’ll have a cookie instead,” Mindeulle decided. She nudged her tea setting closer to Lady Zselyke to make room for a plate, helping herself to several different pastries from the trays in the center.

“I’ve had enough tea and I can assure you I’m not ill,” Nasimiyu offered, pushing her cup closer to Mindeulle. “I’ve taken no sugar so you can have my cup.”

“Oh, there’s sugar in mine after all,” Lidmila realized, looking into her cup.

“Have you tasted it?” Lady Zselyke asked her, her voice rising so abruptly in pitch it startled them all. She pounded her chest and couch delicately into a napkin. “Did you like the tea? How much did you try?”

“I haven’t yet. Is it very special? Is it better to taste it without sugar then?” Lidmila considered.

Lady Zselyke nodded and reached for the cup, insisting, “Yes, you’ll like it better without. That’s the Princess’ old cup. We’ll get you a fresh cup.”

“I do like sugar and sweet things though, is it bitter? I don’t mind that it’s cold for a first taste so it won’t burn my tongue.”

“Try it without,” Lady Zselyke insisted, snatching the tea cup away from her. She went to set it on her own saucer but paused, hand hovering over hers and Mindeulle’s cups now right next to each other. 

Nasimiyu laughed, “It’s like a game. I’m not sure which is yours anymore, they’re all mixed up. It doesn’t matter though does it? I’m sure we’re all healthy here and close companions can share a tea cup.” She hoped it would encourage a sort of bond between the group to begin forming. Lady Zselyke was older but not old. It would be good to have some close companions who weren’t all younger than herself. She could learn to like Zselyke, probably.

“Oh nonsense, we don’t have to go so far as trading tea cups,” Zselyke immediately intervened. “We need another setting!” she called to the servants with a clap of her hands. “Take these three away,” she commanded. “And bring a fresh bowl of sugar, Miss Lidmila likes her tea sweet.”

Lidmila giggled and pointed to the full sugar bowl, insisting, “I don’t need more than that in my tea!”

“If you like sweet things, I think raw sugar will taste better than this refined stuff,” Lady Zselyke told her. “Minor details matter. A subtle change can have a great impact, it’s an important lesson for young ladies.”

“My brother says the same thing,” Mindeulle chirped.

Lady Zselyke looked down her nose at Mindeulle and insisted, “I don’t think we need to talk about your brother’s words to young ladies. There is more to discuss than men.”

Nasimiyu reached out to grab Mindeulle’s hand, fully expecting her to launch from the table. She did not, just stared at Zselyke so blankly that it felt menacing.

“Like Nasimiyu’s wedding! Oh, but that’s to a man…” Lidmila mused with a thoughtful frown. It was endearing. Nasimiyu found herself chuckling under her breath. Honestly she would have expected to find someone with Lidmila’s innocence obnoxious, but it was actually refreshing to be around someone so sincere and good-intentioned. Nasimiyu wasn’t used to those sorts of people. Lidmila might be one of the only truly good people she had ever met. Simple, but good.

Mindeulle must be on that list too, though the sharpness of her mind as she gradually revealed it made her seem less doe-eyed about the world. She too had that air of enthusiasm as she pressed Lady Zselyke on what else she was thinking of for Nasimiyu’s wedding, and if she intended to plan the honeymoon too. There was an edge to her Nasimiyu liked a lot.

“What do you mean by that? Of course I will, if you’d like me to, Nasimiyu darling.”

“You suggested Sartia before–”

“But you don’t like the sea, so… hm, I will think on it,” Zselyke said.

“You don’t like the sea?” Mindeulle and Lidmila both parroted.

“It’s all right. Maybe I should take Seokjin to Marvono instead…”

“Maybe you’d like Therepin more,” Mindeulle suggested. “It has the elegance and beauty and splendor of Sartia, but no seas.”

Zselyke looked repulsed and gasped, “Therepin is no place for a honeymoon!”

“Why, because you don’t like the government there? I’ve never honeymooned but I don’t think government is very involved…” Mindeulle tittered. Lidmila’s face opened up in surprised laughter and Zselyke seemed angry. “None of us have honeymooned, maybe we should ask someone else to plan it.”

“I am quite capable!” Zselyke scowled. “Less taunting me and more eating, girls, it’s important to keep our strength up until supper.”

“But our figures…” Lidmila pointed out.

Zselyke gave her a gentle smile and assured her, “You have nothing to worry about. And Therepin adheres to no such beauty standards, so Mindeulle’s prospects won’t be upset by some extra padding.”

“Not that I care about my weight, but why would I look for a husband in Therepin?” Mindeulle countered. 

Nasimiyu ate her cookies and felt like this was all rather a lot of fun, watching the back and forth. Dulce would hate this, but she found it amusing.

“I suppose your brother and parents will, regardless.”

“They take into account my wishes. They’ll let me choose the partner I want.”

“Will they?” Zselyke pressed and it seemed so pointed, Nasimiyu could tell she must know something and be taunting Mindeulle with it. She wanted to know too –not to taunt, but just to know. 

“What does that mean?” Nasimiyu intervened as Mindeulle looked troubled. “Do you have a personal tragedy, Mindeulle? You don’t need to say at the table but if you’d like to talk in private– if there’s anything I can do to aid you–”

Mindeulle pressed a hand to her flushed cheek and insisted, “No, Princess, there’s nothing. Lady Zselyke only speaks in riddles to make it sound like she knows more than she does.”

“Didn’t you come here to find a husband? To Priva, I mean?” Lidmila suggested, perhaps in an attempt to help. “There are so many men here who I’m sure would be honored by your attention.”

“I came with my brother,” Mindeulle said simply, even though Nasimiyu vaguely thought she’d heard Mindeulle mention before she wanted to marry here and remain. Hadn’t that been a hope she had for the ball? She couldn’t recall clearly now.

“Well you certainly aren’t going to find a husband spending all your time with your brother and Seokjin,” Lady Zselyke scoffed. “They are related and taken. I suspect your parents will call you home soon for a match.”

“Not if I don’t wish to marry,” Mindeulle countered. “You have never married, Lady Zselyke, and you spoke moments ago about it as a burden. Surely you had your reasons?”

Lady Zselyke filled their tea cups and said airly, “I did. There are many types of love which are worthy of a life’s devotion. Your devotion to the prince is admirable but inappropriate now that he will have a wife.”

“I–!” Mindeulle gasped. She looked quickly to Nasimiyu and insisted, “It’s not that, I promise. He is like a brother to me!”

“I know that,” Nasimiyu assured her. For all she knew, Mindeulle did have a crush on Seokjin, but it failed to trigger any jealousy in Nasimiyu. There didn’t seem to be anything adult about it if it was there, more like childish admiration. She hadn’t witnessed a single ambitious attempt, nor did Seokjin act any way towards her but brotherly. “I’m sure Lady Zselyke didn’t mean to be a gossip,” Nasimiyu admonished, arching her eyebrow at the older woman smirking to herself as she served Mindeulle more tea.

“Oh yes, I meant nothing by it, except that with men, you can never be too careful. You will have to curb your closeness with him so that it doesn’t cause… problems,” Zselyke scolded as she dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar thoughtlessly into Mindeulle’s tea. “I’m sorry I ruffled your feathers. Have some tea and settle down about it, have another pastry.”

“You’ve put sugar in it again,” Nasimiyu said, deftly reaching for Mindeulle’s tea cup and handing over her own. “Mine has none, we can trade.”

“You don’t like sweet things,” Mindeulle said. Nasimiyu found herself surprised each time the people around her knew things about her she had not explicitly told them. It made her feel very special and admired and flattered her into insisting,

“It’s not a hard rule. My lips are plenty puckered by now, some sweet on my tongue may be a relief.” 

“No, the tea is much better without that refined stuff–” Lady Zselyke said, rising from her seat and reaching for Nasimiyu’s cup.

Lidmila suddenly kicked the table hard and cried out, “Ah! My ankle got caught in my skirt and I’ve hit my shin…”

The flurry of commotion was all startling enough that Nasimiyu put her cup down, laughing, “Is there alcohol in the tea? Why is everyone so clumsy suddenly?”

“There is certainly nothing like that in the tea,” Zselyke sniffed. “But if you tire of it, I can bring coffee or wine or juice or–”

“Nothing else, thank you,” Nasimiyu dismissed.

“She’s right that the raw sugar is better though,” Lidmila said, still rubbing her leg beneath the table as she lifted her saucer and passed it over. “Let’s trade.”

“I really don’t mind.”

“You are going to be queen, Nasimiyu, you should let those around you take care of simple things,” Mindeulle insisted. So Nasimiyu was shamed into trading teacups with Lidmila, who looked adorably proud to have made the swap and settled herself with the apparently less-desirable white sugared tea. 

However before she could even have a sip, Lady Zselyke reached for a pastry but her dragging sleeve managed to upset the whole sugar bowl and Lidmila’s tea cup.

“Oh goodness,” Zselyke gasped. “I’ve made a mess of my own tea…” She gave Nasimiyu the kindest smile of their acquaintance so far and laughed, “Maybe the tea did get us all a little drunk! It’s only flowers in there… maybe it’s the talk of weddings going to our heads!”

The table was soaked now though, they’d all logged themselves with unsweetened tea, and the pastries were going stale. Nasimiyu thought everyone seemed relieved when she suggested tea come to a close for now, and promised to meet with Zselyke again the next day to resume their wedding chat, and suggested Lidmila take a turn with her in the garden, and Mindeulle too if she wished.

“I would love to, but I really only need to ask you a question and then return a letter to my parents,” Mindeulle said as the three women left Zselyke’s parlor. 

“That’s right, you said you needed to speak with me.”

“Yes… privately, if that’s all right? It’s about… some private business,” she murmured, glancing at Lidmila. “I hope you understand.”

“Of course. Why don’t I meet you in the garden, Princess? Have your servant bring a parasol though, it looks like it might rain.”

“Don’t you need one too then?”

“Oh… maybe I can share yours? I didn’t bring one…”

“I’m sure we can,” Nasimiyu said, or else she would bring another, or they could find someplace else to walk, it really wasn’t a big deal. Lidmila seemed content with this plan and flitted off, hopefully not to wander out into the rain before Nasimiyu arrived. She was sweet but perhaps not the brightest.

Mindeulle insisted on leading Nasimiyu into a room with a closed door before she admitted, “I’m sorry if I seem so cryptic, but I’m looking into this mystery with my brother and Çiğdem.”

Nasimiyu instantly cringed and suggested gently, “Does your brother know? He may not want you poking into his personal affairs…”

“So you think he did it then?” Mindeulle caught.

“I don’t know but…” Nasimiyu thought of Namjoon fucking Dulce at the masquerade ball. “I don’t know him well enough to say anything regarding his relationships with women but I think we can all move on.”

“We can’t move on. You saw how Lady Zselyke treated me at tea, and she’s not the only one.”

“You think it was because of that? I suppose that comment was rather… barbed.” 

“Lady Zselyke already dislikes me and Namjoon because of the trouble with the Prince’s former fiance… but he has you now, that can be behind us. But this… this wasn’t him either, I’m sure of it! And now the families here want even less to do with us because they think my brother has a habit of leading women on, which he most definitely does not! He’s been framed both times and I intend to figure out who’s doing it.”

“I think you should let it go,” Nasimiyu admitted.

“But we’re being ostracized.”

“Does he care about something like that?”

“No, but… but I do. If society here shuns me I’ll have to go back to Therepin. I want to stay here.”

“I’ll protect you and your reputation, it doesn’t need to be tied to your brother’s.”

“You don’t believe me and won’t help me,” Mindeulle frowned, taking a step away.

“I didn’t say that, I just think…”

“Çiğdem’s family are not kind people. They aren’t the sort of people I want as family enemies. They are going to make you choose and if I can’t prove my brother is innocent, you’ll have to choose them.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“There are politics here you don’t understand yet,” Mindeulle said. When Nasimiyu shifted unhappily, Mindeulle hurried to add, “Only because you are new here and you aren’t used to these families. They are sensitive and vengeful. The only reason they haven’t outright attacked us yet is because it means admitting Çiğdem was writing letters to a man, so they’re trying to figure out something else to pin on us.”

“I’m not interested in their petty accusations–”

“But if you anger them, they will interfere with your marriage,” Mindeulle insisted. “They’re powerful enough to do it.” Mindeulle paused and seemed to think about what she said, then shook her head to clear it. “I need to clear my brother’s name. Please let me at least try.”

Nasimiyu sighed and conceded only, “What help are you asking from me?”

“I need the letters from Çiğdem. So I can compare to my brother��s handwriting and language and prove they aren’t his.” Nasimiyu had to admit that was a good plan.

“What makes you think she still has them?”

Mindeulle looked stunned and nearly laughed, “Why wouldn’t she? Don’t you keep every letter anyone has ever written you?”

“No one has ever written me letters,” Nasimiyu admitted. “Is that strange?”

Mindeulle seemed to think it was very sad.

“Well… I believe she has them,” Mindeulle insisted. “I bet even though she’s angry, she still has them. She might give them to you if you ask.”

“I’m not that close with her.”

“Or if you ask Lidmila to ask for them, even better.”

“I don’t know…

“But Lidmila will do anything you say, she worships the ground you walk on.”

Nasimiyu had to admit that seemed true. So in the end, she agreed to try. 

And as Mindeulle predicted, when Nasimiyu brought the subject up of investigating things herself with Lidmila as they strolled through the warm summer rain under a shared parasol, Lidmila readily vowed to try, too –no, to succeed! It wouldn’t be easy but she would convince Çiğdem to let them see the letters under the guise of Nasimiyu wanting to understand Namjoon’s sins for herself. Lidmila admitted Çiğdem seemed to be having a hard time letting go of it all and probably would be eager to share.

All the moving of social chess pieces left Nasimiyu exhausted by the time Lidmila left with her parents and Nasimiyu could finally flee to solitude. She tossed the parasol to the ground and slipped off her damp shoes as soon as she was through the door. She’d take a bath to get that humid sea-city slime off her skin, she decided, and called for the maids to draw the bath.

As she moved around her room undressing, trying not to notice how quiet it seemed in here lately without Dulce emerging from the shadows to slide into the bed or bath with her, she began to notice things. Little things, small things that someone without her eye for detail might not: her gowns twisted in the wardrobe in a way she nor the maids would ever leave them; her shoes lined up too perfectly when she only ever lazily kicked them off; the papers on the wrong side of the desk from where Dulce had sat writing a coded message to send to Prince Hamisi (Nasimiyu sure hadn’t touched them since then), obvious because Dulce was left handed and scratched things out hunched over the right corner of the desk like someone who’d barely learned to hold a pen.

Had someone been here? 

She didn’t like that feeling. It didn’t just scare her, it angered her, this idea that someone had come into her room –somehow, despite the guards posted outside. She looked around herself, trying to determine what someone had been looking for, what they might have found, though there weren’t secret things to find. The letters from her mother were nothing but that, nothing notable in them. She didn’t think any of her jewelry was missing, at least none of her favorites. What else would they have taken?

“Did you girls clean in here today?” she asked as she shed her clothing for a bath. The two maids looked at each other, uncertain how to answer. “If someone did, they didn’t do a very good job. My gowns are tangled up in the wardrobe.”

“We’re sorry, Princess,” they quickly said. “We’ll fix it right away.”

Well, mystery solved then. Nasimiyu sank into the bath and washed it all away. 

The palace was stifling.

Seokjin had almost killed a man.

Taehyung had almost been killed too.

He had to get out of here. Hiding in his room with the comfort of his fur babies wasn’t enough, but Jungkook wasn’t on duty so Seokjin couldn’t pull off his disguised anonymous jaunt into the city. It would be too much for him right now anyway. He needed to be alone but not alone… he didn’t have a solution for that.

Muhtar followed him at a bothersome distance, not quite far enough, as he set out for the sea wall. The sun was setting, drawing some touristy crowds to admire the vibrant hues brushed across the cloudy sky, but for the most part the people of Priva did not find a regular sunset anything remarkable. They saw this every day. They had other things to do.

Seokjin, however, still found it remarkable. He hoped the day never came that he forgot about the miracle of a sunset, how the air itself became orange and red and that honey warmth seeped into your skin. He paused once a respectable distance from the palace to take it in.

And then saw her.

He should keep walking, he knew immediately. He had no reason to approach. She sat there, legs dangling recklessly over the edge, face cast towards the sun and a hood on so that he shouldn’t have even recognized her. He could not have explained how he did. And he’d been avoiding her for days now! Muhtar was with him; he didn’t trust any of his bodyguards to keep his secrets the way he trusted Jungkook, and sitting to enjoy the sunset with the maid of his fiance was one of those things that deserved to be a secret. The last time he’d seen her, he was fucking said fiance. The last time he’d spoken to her, she’d been furious. 

He should keep walking.

He fully intended to keep walking.

He eased himself down on the ledge beside her, careful not to lose his step and plummet to his death because that would just really be the icing on this shit-cake day.

She didn’t even glance at him, as if not surprised at all. Maybe she’d somehow sensed him standing behind him. She so rarely seemed surprised by anything.

She had looked surprised when she walked in on him and Nasimiyu.

“About what you saw…”

“I didn’t see anything,” she said, voice a low murmur weaving through the aggressive crash of waves against the rocks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

So it would be like that. Yes, that was for the best.

“I only see the sunset,” she told him.

“It’s a good one.”

They sat in silence for a while. Gradually Seokjin’s mortification settled into a dull hum in the back of his mind, beat away by the waves. That experience seemed fake. Nasimiyu seemed fake, his engagement seemed fake. Certainly less real than the hues streaking the wispy clouds dawdling over their heads.

“What’s your favorite color in the sunset?” he asked. She didn’t look at him, but he could see enough of her profile to watch her brow pinch. 

Why, why was he so desperate to reach out and smooth it down?! She was just some woman. It didn’t make sense. He barely knew her at all, as she had made crystal clear. Why was it so easy to think of a thousand things he wanted to say to her, and equally easy, for once in his life, to say none of them and simply sit there watching the sunset?

“Pink,” she finally said. He’d forgotten the question and gave her a confused look. “I don’t seem like the kind of woman who likes pink?”

“I like that it makes my hair look pink,” he told her. “I think I’d look really good with pink hair.”

“Your hair doesn’t look pink.”

“A little bit.”

“Not at all,” she insisted, so seriously as she looked at it that he couldn’t help the laughter. 

It died quickly as he noticed the bruise on her cheek, the bandage on the side of her neck.

“What happened to you?” he asked, quickly turning towards her, reaching only to hover because he had no right to touch her.

“Hm?”

“You’re injured!”

“Oh. Accident in the laundry room,” she said, lifting a hand to her cheek like she’d forgotten all about it. He thought he saw the shadow of another bruise on her jaw and resisted the urge to turn her face and confirm.

“What the hells happened in the laundry room?!”

“Everything is fine. How was the hunting trip?”

He didn’t answer, torn now between the dread of what had already happened and a desire to not be shaken off from her injuries. He wasn’t sure she was telling him the truth. He hadn’t heard of an accident in the laundry that had caused serious harm to a maid. If there were safety issues, they needed to be taken care of immediately! 

“What happened in the laundry room?” he tried again.

“How was the hunting trip?”

He narrowed his eyes. She stared a moment, then turned her gaze out at the sunset in a way that made clear she would not be answering his question. 

“You know,” he shrugged. “It was… unpleasant. It’s good you didn’t go along today.”

“Might have been better than the laundry room.”

“No.” He thought of Dulce witnessing what had happened. Or, worse, Dulce being involved with what had happened. He didn’t say anything more, uncomfortable with imagining it. A horrible thought came to him, of his uncle somehow figuring out that Dulce was… notable to him. She’d be in grave danger, he was sure of it. A princess had some protection from a sadistic uncle-in-law. A maid had none. He glanced back at Murtah, worried his own bodyguard might report this to his uncle. Could anyone be trusted? Murtah was older, kind, formal, serious. He looked up and down the seawall, always on alert. 

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go hunting down there,” Dulce said, a rush of words he hadn’t expected. He raised his eyebrows at her unexpected concern. “It’s too easy for an accident to happen. It feels like it was designed for accidents.”

“Nowhere is safe from accidents. Apparently not even laundry rooms.”

“Your joke makes it clear you’ve never been in one,” she muttered.

He had to admit, “No. Are they dangerous?”

“Yes. But a hunting party in the caves is particularly dangerous for you, I think. You’re the crown prince. You’re never safe.”

“I have a bodyguard,” he said, jerking his head towards Murtah.

“He doesn’t look very good.”

“He is.”

“He’s not even listening to our conversation to know I insulted him.”

“He’s discreet,” Seokjin argued. “He’s like you, he’s not reactive.” Dulce scrutinized the bodyguard like a duel partner, then looked back out at the water. The wind tangled in loose strands of her long hair and danced it around her face. He wondered how wild it would look if she let the hood down and her braid out. It seemed to want to curl around her neck; a perfect ringlet had formed and he had that intrusive urge to reach out and tug it. The hood made her look particularly beautiful. 

Brooding. He’d meant she looked particularly brooding.

He felt so calm right now. It was strange, he’d come out here hoping to feel that way but not expecting too. The nervous energy that had kept him restless all day got washed out to sea with each tug of the tide below. It was almost embarrassing for Dulce to see him all calm. He had an image to uphold, after all. Funny, energetic, charming.

He was tired.

“Have you ever been fishing? What’s your favorite fish?” he asked, deciding to make an effort.

“Are you ever just silent– nevermind,” she said quickly. Then, “My apologies, sorry.” He wasn’t sure that she’d ever apologized for being blunt before and was surprised to see her cheeks darken with a flush.

“What?” he laughed. “Say what you were going to say. Am I ever just silent? Not really, even when I’m alone I talk to myself.” Her lips tightened. “What does that face mean?” he laughed. 

“It’s just my face.”

“No it’s not. Are you… blushing? About what?”

“I am not,” she snapped, scowling at him, and in any other lifetime he would have grabbed and kissed her right then. He couldn’t explain it. She was so put out with him.

You want to kiss her. You need to get and stay away from her. He knew that was true. He understood this clearly in a way he had danced around for days now. Weeks? He didn’t know how long but he knew he wanted to kiss the bruise on her cheek and the one on her jaw and her fingers and that this feeling of his would get her fired at best. He couldn’t think of the worst.

“You’re quiet when you fuck, that’s what I meant,” she suddenly said, tearing her gaze away from his and crossing her arms. “Maybe that’s the only time.”

“I thought you didn’t see anything,” he cried, now his turn to blush a bright red. Here he was contemplating the tragedy of this woman bringing out the romantic in him when nothing could ever come of it and then she had to wallop him in the face like that.

“I didn’t hear anything either, that’s my point.”

Now silence enveloped them again, a less happy one. Seokjin didn’t know what to say. The thought of having sex with Nasimiyu made him want to run away screaming. Not a great foundation for a marriage but one he was going to have to work through, just like he was going to have to keep distance from Dulce, and neither thing seemed possible right now. 

No, he could do it. He would. He was the crown prince, he did tons of things he didn’t want to simply because it was his duty.

He wanted more than a duty marriage with Nasimiyu.

He needed to squash these feelings about Dulce immediately.

“I didn’t mean to criticize,” she murmured, glancing nervously at him. Probably because he was staring. She had a very pretty profile. He bet she would hate it if someone pinched her chin but it was perfectly pinchable. “Nasimiyu speaks… highly of your time together.”

He grabbed for the lifeline she’d thrown him and laughed awkwardly loudly, “Oh, lovely. She speaks of it?”

“Brags, more like.”

He knew he should be flattered. A small part of him was. 

“Yes, well, good. What can I say? I have many talents and pleasing women is one of them.” Dear gods what was he saying?

“I don’t need to hear that. When I said you don’t know me, I didn’t mean we should get to know each other,” she said. 

He laughed, flat out laughed, “Dulce, why are you so mean?”

“I… sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah for me too but I’m still my pleasant charming self. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. I almost watched my father kill another of my friends. It was the shittiest hunting trip you can imagine.”

“Did you shoot anything?”

“I almost killed another of my friends, does that count?”

“Taehyung?”

“No… what made you think of him?” She shrugged. “No, Master Drin, my arms masters. His horse reared and threw him in the path of bullet right as I aimed at some mysterious creature in the woods that didn’t deserve to be shot at in the first place. Sliced the back of his head open but he lives.” The words poured out, a tirade meant to make her laugh even though it wasn’t funny and he didn’t even mean it to be funny. His laugh cracked as he repeated, “I almost killed someone today.”

“People die.”

“Come now.”

“People die in hunting accidents all the time,” she said again. “That’s what I meant by you shouldn’t go.”

He grinned and nudged her arm without thinking about it, teasing, “Are you worried about me?” She stiffened and he immediately leaned away. Oops. 

She didn’t comment on the physical contact, just asked, “Have you never killed anything before?”

“I’ve shot ducks.”

“A dark stain on your soul.”

“I see their eyes every night before I sleep,” he joked. “I remember their names.”

“I don’t,” she said thoughtfully. 

“Killed a lot of ducks, have you?” 

“A few.” She said it so seriously, he couldn’t decide if she was joking or not. That made things she said even funnier, when he genuinely couldn’t tell. He had an inkling she did it on purpose. He wondered if Nasimiyu knew that about her.

“We’re still talking about ducks, aren’t we?” he teased.

“What would we be talking about?”

“Didn’t you grow up on a farm? I don’t think I have the guts for it.”

“I didn’t tell you that,” Dulce said sharply and Seokjin felt a ridiculous victory at very clearly having guessed something correctly about her. “I seem like a farm girl to you?”

“Is there anything besides farms in Paloma?” Her eyebrows raised and he snickered, “Oh no, did I just insult you?”

“You don’t know anything about Paloma.”

“No but I know you grew up on a farm.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Your reaction gave it away.”

“I don’t react,” she insisted and he felt laughter bubbling brighter in his chest. He had the playful childish urge to knock her over and wrestle now, to crow about his victory.

“You’re wrong. You have very big reactions, if you know what to look for.”

“I do not.”

“The more you deny it…”

Her face twisted in what seemed like a fake rage. She kept her mouth pressed tightly closed and stared at the sky now sliding to purples and blues. What she said earlier might seem right, that darker colors suited her style more, but he loved knowing now that she liked pink. 

“I hate farms,” she said, possibly the closest to a confirmation he would ever get. He didn’t think it was a joke. There was an air of sadness to her voice that seemed shockingly sincere. 

Or was he projecting it all? He realized that was possible. He might be sitting here feeling like their hearts were stitching together in a way that was going to hurt very much when he stood up, and she was sitting there thinking what a nuisance he was. It wasn’t like she said or did anything that hinted at feelings for him. She endured him. Humored him at best. She had no choice. The power imbalance was real and he’d be a fool not to remember that his company might be less welcome than Namjoon’s –which she may have loudly hinted at before.

He stared out at the water, debating. He should leave her alone. He knew that. Everything in him knew that. But he didn’t want to just yet… could she endure him for a few more minutes? That was the least guilt and horror he had felt all day. He had almost killed Drin.

“You didn’t kill him.”

“Wha?”

“You didn’t kill the man so you shouldn’t let it haunt you. Even if you had, accidents happen.” 

He stared at her, eyes wide, stumbling over the words, “How did you–”

“I won’t reveal my methods.”

He was struck dumb for a moment, astonished at her acuity. Could she read minds? Oh, he’d be so fucked if she could read his mind right now. The threat of her seeing what kind of man he actually was –the kind who developed affection and desire for their fiance’s maid– was  horror beyond belief.

Just to test it, he thought of some really crazy things. Six foot tall rabbits and a throne made of spaghetti and a giant fish leaping from the water to swallow them and carry them down to meet the king of the sea. She did not seem to read those thoughts.

“If you don’t want people to know what you’re thinking, don’t think so loud.”

“Don’t listen,” he countered. Which clearly brought her up short. She gave him what could only be characterized as a scandalized look, then stared out again at the sunset as if it was the most compelling thing she had ever seen.

He still felt like she was listening. Worse, he felt like he could talk to her. He felt like she could say anything and nothing would surprise him and she’d tell him her direct thoughts, he could count on it. Alone but not alone, that’s how he felt with her.

“I don’t even want to be the cause of someone’s death,” he admitted, verbalizing it this time.

“You’re going to be king. You’ll be the cause of many people’s deaths.” Yep, just like that.

He blew air out and looked down, for a moment allowing the intrusive thought of what it would feel like to just plummet down to the rocks and die. Then he’d never hurt anyone.

“I’ll be a different kind of king,” he tried to convince them both. “No wars, no hunting, no more hunger or… no poverty. I’ll take care of Destin and Paloma and… we’ll just all have good lives reading books and playing games and…”

At least she was kind enough not to tell him what a fucking idiot he was. She struck a nice balance of silence and directness. He appreciated that about her.

“And birthdays!” he said, suddenly recalling. “Is it your birthday soon?”

“What?”

“Is your birthday soon?”

“No, why?”

“Are you telling the truth?” he pressed, leaning closer and scrutinizing her closely. 

She batted him away, revealing bandages on her hand that was quickly tucked back under her cloak despite the warm evening. 

“My birthday is in the winter,” she said.

“An answer! Or close to one. Look how far we’ve come,” he teased.

“Why do you think my birthday is soon?”

“Nasimiyu asked Yoongi to make a Paloman dish and he thought your birthday was soon.”

Dulce considered this before admitting, “Maybe she thinks it is.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“Do you know the birthdays of your servants?”

“Yes,” he answered easily. “Murtah’s is in late August and then Jungkook’s is September first.”

Dulce didn’t seem to know what to say to this. He watched the pensive look on her face out of the corner of his eye, trying not to look like he was watching her. 

“Are your injuries bothering you?” he guessed.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You were hurt at the palace, it’s understandable you should see the palace doctor to make sure–”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you’re fine. You seem…” He couldn’t think of the word. Not that she was usually chatty but she seemed… “Weighed down.”

“So do you.”

“I think I’m my usual charming self.” When she didn’t respond, like she wasn’t buying it, he conceded, “I told you I almost killed my friend. I feel that on my handsome broad shoulders.”

She was silent for a while. He couldn’t tell if she was debating an answer or simply not going to give one. Which was fine. He would like for her to say but it was always unpredictable.

“I think you need to be extra careful,” she said. “You should be more concerned that your bodyguard went missing.”

Seokjin frowned and pressed, “What do you know about that?”

“You don’t think servants notice when one goes missing? You aren’t careful enough. People wish to harm you.”

“Well… yes. I’m the crown prince. That’s always been true and always will be true,” he admitted. “I’ve learned to live without worrying about it. If I die… well, I’ll be dead and won’t care about it anymore, will I?”

Her head snapped up, her face showing how absolutely incomprehensible she found his answer. It made him laugh again, he couldn’t help it. 

“Did you think I’d scream and cry and hide away? I don’t want to die but it happens to all of us eventually. My mother, my brother… it won’t change my fate to sit around worrying about it every day.” He couldn’t believe how brave he sounded about it, although the things he said were true. He tried not to think about death every day. He tried to live as best he could.

“You aren’t afraid to die but you’re afraid to kill?”

“Well see… yes. Yes, that’s about right.” He gave her a bright grin. “I don’t want to, but I can endure a lot. Of course I guess you don’t really endure death, at that point you stop enduring–”

“What is a lot to you?”

“I’m still alive, so I suppose I don’t know yet.” She was taking this so seriously and he felt bad about that. “You don’t need to worry about me. I was born into this life and I’ll die in it too someday. But not today. Some days closer than others but…” He shrugged. “Best I don’t go into the laundry room, I guess.”

She didn’t laugh at his joke and he realized it was a bad one. She’d been badly injured in one. He was inclined to march back to the palace and ask someone working in the laundry what the hells had happened, but based on the last time he intervened in Dulce’s well-being, he suspected she would not be pleased. Did he care? It depended how badly she was hurt… 

He sighed, not sure how to navigate anything. He wouldn’t intervene. She’d made clear she didn’t want him to. He was supposed to be putting more space between them now. He had promised to respect her wishes. Soon he was going to promise to love and devote his whole heart to Nasimiyu.

He wanted to say something but the longer the silence lasted, the less inclined he felt to. She didn’t demand anything of him, and he felt tired now by what he’d managed for her entertainment. Wrung out. This was a long day. He didn’t know what to do about his father shooting at Taehyung. Who was that a warning for? It would take a couple days to bundle Taehyung off to somewhere else since they were arguing about where that someplace else would be; was it better to spend those days in the palace or in an anonymous inn? Seokjin was debating having Taehyung just sleep in his room, gossip be damned.

“I have something for you,” she said eventually.

He immediately realized his gift must have felt like an obligation instead of an apology, especially since it wasn’t her birthday.

He waved his hand, “No, no, you don’t need to–”

“Not a gift. Someone gave me a letter to pass on to you.” She dug around and pulled it out of a bag across her body, looked at it a moment, then handed it over.

“What is this?” he asked. The front was blank, the envelope crinkled from passage. The red seal on the back immediately brought recognition and understanding –he’d recognize the imprint of his brother’s ring anywhere.

“A letter.”

“Yes I managed to figure that much out on my own,” he snickered. He had an idea who it was from, so instead he asked, “How did you get this?”

“Someone gave it to me while I was out walking here and begged me to put it in your hands,” she said. 

“A woman,” Seokjin guessed.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“I didn’t read it,” Dulce said. “She didn’t say.” She looked him right in the face as she said this, direct eye contact that made him want to believe her… and yet he had melted and reattached enough seals to notice the telltale sign of staining on the paper.

“Please keep the existence of this letter between us,” he said lowly, tucking it into the pocket on the inside of his vest so it couldn’t be stolen until he got a chance to read it. After which he would probably need to burn it, depending on what it said, and if he was right about the sender. After all this time, he figured she was dead, in which case this letter might be something different. Either way, it was probably something dangerous for Dulce to know.

“What letter?” she asked, holding her hands out to show they were empty. He believed she would keep the secret, anyway, whatever she could actually glean from the contents. “I thought about not giving it to you, in case it’s trouble,” she admitted.

“I’m glad you did. Not every prince is a damsel who needs protecting, you know.”

“I think you may be a particularly reckless one.”

“How many princes do you know? Nevermind, Prince Hamisi, that was too easy. Well, this prince would be happy to walk you back to the palace now.”

“I’m fine. I’ll stay here a bit longer.”

“Is it safe?”

“It’s no laundry room so…yes.”

He was loath to leave her, but at least guards roamed the sea wall and she was less likely to meet trouble here than anywhere else. 

Still, “Will you at least promise to stay out of the laundry room from now on?”

“It’s my job.”

“I can make it illegal for them to put you on laundry duty. I’m a prince. I don’t mind being an eccentric one.” She gave him a baleful look that felt like victory but she shook her head and he wasn’t going to push her. He didn’t want to undo what had felt like progress towards forgiveness.

“Thank you for your company,” he told her with a slight bow. He meant it. The events of the day still troubled him but he felt soothed, despite the fact she hadn’t actually had anything comforting to say –clearly she did not understand the magnitude of what it meant to take, or nearly take, a human life. He was glad of that though.

Murtah shortened the distance between them as they walked back towards the palace so that within a few minutes they were side by side.

“Your Highness.”

“Murtah.”

“This wasn’t wise.”

“I believe you are here to guard, not to advise,” Seokjin pointed out. “I was only watching the sunset.”

“With your fiance’s maid.”

“A coincidence,” Seokjin insisted, then quickly added, “But don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

“It can’t.”

“No, it can’t,” Seokjin agreed with a sigh. He was projecting an attachment on a woman he barely knew. Was he just frightened by his impending promotion to husband and flailing about for diversion? 

Her bruises and bandages bothered him more than his own troubles, he couldn’t stop thinking of them.

The safest thing for them both was not to get close enough to notice them next time.

Maybe Taehyung wasn’t the only one he needed to find a safe, cushy place for, far from Priva. How much money would it take Dulce to go away and not tell Nasimiyu why?

Yes, that was the answer. Money. See? Seokjin was already thinking like a king.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[bigmack2go]

Newsies as Things my friend and me have said bc im shocked i haven’t done this yet

Sarah: THIS!

Sarah: *points at tailor doll*

Sarah: this is the reason i‘m into women!

(Sarah *in a whispered sob*: my hand fits her waist so perfectly….)

Race after getting one single question wrong: if you’re alowed to be dumb, so am i

Albert *shocked*: why is there no crossover of „sing“ and „zootopia??“

Albert: i mean—… NOT EVEN A FANFICTION!

Jack: there are very few names that are acceptable for sausage dogs

Jack *clears throat*….

Jack: NUMBER ONE—

Race:*wakes up david from his much needed afternoon nap*

Race: do u ever mix up the feeling of attraction with the one of jealousy???

Les: so if harry potter is an otter—

Les: and ron weasly is a weasle….

Les: whats hermione??

Albert: anyone else ever wonder how it would go if henry danger went to hogwarts?

Davey (in the middle of a conversation about hotdogs or smt): is there a place where you can give emoji suggestions??

Hotshot: what are you doing?

Autistic!Spot *squatting*: i need to make sure these pants don’t give me over sensory issues

Race: i dont get hyperfixations

Albert: you— you litteraly memorised Hamilton

Race: IT WAS TO KEEP MY BRAIN IN FORM

Katherine: why is it, whenever i find someone hot, they get a haircut???

Albert: SHUT UP YOU LITTLE— YOU LITTLE… i can’t think of an insult but imagine something thats really bad just so you know i am in fact very mad

(Race: woah who would have thought i’d live to see the day albert dasilva isn’t able to think of an insult)

Albert: ok but like… the characterbuilding of pawpatrol is like,,, really fucking good

Albert: like that shit deserves an oscar

Spot: did it hurt when you fell—

Race (litterally from down on the floor): when i fell from heaven?

Spot: no when you-

Race: when i fell for you?

Spot: RACE YOU JUST F E L L OF THE STAIRS

Jack: ah where did i put my crutchie?

Jack: GAYS HAS ABYONE SEEN MY CRUTCHIE?

Jack: damnit why do i keep losing i— ahhh there it is!

Elmer: ask for forgiveness, not permission

Hotsot: *sighs exasperated while watching elmer proceed to pull out a baloon sword with a genuinely evil look on his face*

Jack: you ever notice how you can deescalate literally any situation by [doing smt] as long as the situation is right?

Davey: *blinks* what?

Smalls: soooo i think i may or may not have just accidentally invented backwards stealing

Jack: ugh! Nephew, grandson! Wheres the difference, really??

Jack: i just stepped on my painting

Jack: haha! Look at those cute lil paint pawprints on the floor

Jack:

Jack: wait why do my feet make pawshaped pawprints???

Davey: thats it. Im done. I quit.

Elmer: quit what?

Davey:

Davey: life.

Spot: im trying to work on my anger issues

Albert: you literally just punched somebody

Spot: and it made me less angry

Mrs Kirby: buttons what are you doing here? This isn’t your classroom

Buttons (shamelessly): avoiding my teacher hopefully for another….

Buttons (squinting at the clock):

Buttons (happy as ever): 36 minutes!

Graves: my bf is being homophobic

Hotshot: youre single???

Graves: exactly!!

Davey: i may be antisocial but im still a socialist

Albert: spot, if i dropped dead here and now and race wasn’t there to witness that you didn’t murder me, what would you do with my body?

Spot: bold of u to assume I didn’t murder u

Spot: or need race as a witness

Spot: or—

Albert: OKAY I GET IT

Albert *putting on creme-deodorant*:

Jack: is this hair wax you’re putting under your arms???

Albert:…

Albert: yes.

Albert: it blocks the sweat glands.

Jack: *proceeds to go on about a ten minute speech about how tiktok spreads false information and life hacks*

Race: ow ow ow ow

Spot: what?

Race: i put on the wrong glasses

Spot: race w h a t

Albert: im a left handed green eyed ginger and thats not even the worst part—

Race: there are four types of people.

Race: watch.

Race: *shoves crutchie so he falls*

Jack: *gasps and runs to fight race*

Davey: *gasps and runs to help crutchie*

elmer: *gasps and laughs at crutchie*

Albert: *gasps and laughs at race*

Race: see

Race: *the most satisfied hes beenin his life*

No one:

Absolutely no one:

On this entire planet no one:

smalls *giving b i r t h*: ow ouch ow ah- yeah that does in fact hurt, owowow

[table-the-princess]

Part 4

(Explore) Hey Narrator, how much would you say that crown she's wearing is worth?

The Narrator: What? Well, I suppose it must be somewhat valuable, but I strongly advise you to just slay the Princess. The monetary value of the Princess's possessions are entirely irrelevant.

Voice of the Hero: I don't think you should slay her, obviously, but I'm not sure I like the direction this is going. Are you planning to rob her? Murdering someone like He wants us to is wrong, but stealing from someone imprisoned in a basement isn't great either.

Voice of the Hero: Just... I want to trust you, but please, help me understand what your plan is.

The Narrator: The plan is to slay the Princess. Or at least, that's what the plan should be, because it's the only thing you can do that doesn't end up with everyone dead.

The Narrator: Go upstairs, retrieve the blade, come back down here and slay her. I get that you're trying to lull her into a false sense of security, so maybe make up some excuse. Maybe say you left a second table upstairs. That could work.

Voice of the Hero: Or, instead of doing any of that, we could free her.

The Narrator: Sure, if you want the entire world to end. Please don't listen to him.

Hey, are you ok? You were just staring off into space for a while.

Is that kind of thing normal for you? How often does it happen? Were you doing it intentionally, or does it happen against your will? Were you able to think during it?

Oh, that was kind of rude, sorry! You don't have to answer any of that if you don't want to. We only just met. Still, I'd appreciate it if you tell me!

The Narrator: Don't tell her anything.

Choices:

A: (Explore) "You're a Princess, right? Maybe you could give me some land, or some coins from the kingdom's treasury instead of borrowing them from someone?"

B: "I have an idea. Would you be willing to trade your crown for the table?"

C: "I'm sorry, I lied about being a merchant. I found this table upstairs. But it was pretty funny, right?"

D: "Sorry, you seem nice and all, but I'm not willing to free you from this basement. Not without something in return. Getting you out of those chains isn't going to be easy, and tables can be expensive."

E: "Sure! It would be pretty rude of me to try and sell you a table while you're stuck down here. But you have to promise me that you'll actually think about buying the table. I'm a bit worried you're just saying that to get me to free you."

F: "If you can't pay with money then you'll pay with your life!" [Pick up the table and charge at her]

[aliciameade]

Darkness at Dawn - Ch. 2

Title: Darkness at Dawn Author: aliciameade Rating: M/E Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: Even Bonnie & Clyde met their fate eventually.

Set five years after "Baby."

Also on AO3

Stephanie has been to the Santorini police station in the past of her own volition to call upon their services for a minor inconvenience that Emily had, at that time, insisted she could handle herself. Stephanie won the debate, arguing that Emily punching the man who sideswiped Stephanie’s parked Vespa, breaking one of its mirrors, would bring unwanted attention from law enforcement.

She recognizes the female officer at the desk where she’s being booked. She’s handcuffed, hands behind her, Detective Summerville’s hand on her left arm as if she might flee, and one of the INTERPOL agents is waiting to her right. The officer speaks to her in Greek, a curious and judgmental eyebrow raised. Alyson and Dillon Reid are about to be the talk of the town.  

“Mrs. Reid, this is a surprise. Dillon was brought in yesterday. What in the world have you two gotten into?”

Stephanie knows Summerville can’t understand the language. She has no idea if the INTERPOL agent can. He had an accent when he spoke English in her home, one she can’t recall now to identify it.

She opts for a sheepish smile in response and answers the basic questions asked of her:  to confirm her height, weight, birthdate, name. Her answers are half true, half false. In this country, she is Alyson Reid. Stephanie Smothers is a missing woman. She hears Summerville grunt when she gives her false name, but it’s who she is here.

She’s fingerprinted and now remembers when she took Miles to the police station in Warfield when he was two, after the car accident, for them both to be fingerprinted so that in the event of a tragedy, their fingerprints would be in the system.

Stephanie Smothers will be found as soon as the computer finishes searching AFIS. She was always so prepared. 

She’s made to strip and is thoroughly searched and left to put on an orange jumpsuit two sizes too big with flip-flops that she’s expected to wear with socks. They take her watch, necklace, and earrings. They take her wedding ring.

A dozen other women are waiting in a line in a hallway when she’s deposited by a local police officer at the end of it. None of them are Emily, but Emily didn’t spend the night in the hospital. Emily has a head start.

They’re shuffled down one hallway and into another and she’s surprised by the destination. She had envisioned sharing a singular barred cell with another woman.

Instead, it’s a huge room divided into four Plexiglas holding cells, at least ten women in each. Nothing more than a built-in bench that wraps around the cell, a toilet-sink combination, and a single bed that she can immediately tell is always owned by whomever the most powerful person is.

Emily is not in her holding cell—she knew she wouldn’t be—and as soon as she’s uncuffed and pushed into it, she rushes to the far end of the pod to peer across the expanses. Emily shouldn’t be difficult to spot here; she never has been. Tall, blonde. 

She finally spots her in the cell directly across from her own. She’s sitting on its bed reading a book. Her hair’s been split into two braids sitting over her shoulders. Where did she get a book?

Stephanie smiles. It shouldn’t be attractive. She shouldn’t be thinking about such things right now, in jail for murder and a litany of other crimes. But her wife has been in jail for one day and she’s already the boss of her group and it is incredibly sexy.

She doesn’t bother knocking on the glass. It’s nothing but a cacophony of loud talking and yelling in her cell and she can see just as much chaos in Emily’s. She opts to wait. She’s in Emily’s line of sight if only she would look up from her book.

It doesn’t take long. Emily’s cell receives newcomers as well and she looks up, first at the door and the detainees, immediately saying something that Stephanie wishes she could hear. She’s about to return to her book when her eyes cross the room and find Stephanie.

Stephanie’s hand presses against the glass reflexively as if she can somehow reach Emily through it. Tears hit her cheeks and she opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t. She sees Emily rush to the glass; she’s saying something but Stephanie knows it’s not for her. It’s pointed, and she can imagine what she’s saying.

“Don’t fucking think about it,” in Greek. She’s heard Emily say it a hundred times, usually to men on the street, drunk American tourists.

Emily’s cot remains untouched as she presses her hand to the glass in her own pod. “I’m sorry,” she mouths. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Stephanie mouths in response.

She watches Emily tap her finger against her temple. Think. Be smart. She moves her finger in front of her lips. Shh. She taps her nonexistent wristwatch. Be patient.

Stephanie nods, wishing she knew what Emily possibly knew that she didn’t, to feel that all they need to do is be patient. She watches Emily retreat to her throne and returns to her own little piece of hell, searching for a place on the floor that is both away from the women who look like they’re considering strangling her and somewhat clean to wait until they decide to let her out to call her lawyer.

It’s a long week.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Stephanie finally gets in touch with her attorney, she learns that he is already at JFK Airport waiting to board his flight to Athens.

Emily’s attorney had contacted him already, so she was spared explaining the situation. She’s encouraged to be patient, that he will do everything he could to get her released on bond, and that she and Emily are scheduled to be transferred to the prison on the mainland, but getting a bond hearing will take time. That their case is complicated. That he’ll visit her in prison as soon as he can get through the excess bureaucracy that comes with her particular case compounded by the disorganization and corruption within the prison system there.

She already knows what the argument against releasing Emily and her on bond will be. They’ve changed their identities and fled internationally once; they have the know-how to do it again. She’s not hopeful.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thiva Prison is a serious adjustment from the local jail in Santorini. The sights, sounds, and worst of all, smells overwhelm Stephanie’s senses. She has five cellmates, all of whom make clear they do not appreciate her presence and appreciate less her affinity for keeping her bunk tidy. For some reason, they find it irritating despite their bunks being relatively neat. They have no uniforms, and she sorts through the assortment of random clothing she’s been given; she assumes it’s been donated or salvaged. Most of it is too big.

She hasn’t seen her wife since their lengthy transport from their island home, separated at intake when they arrived at the prison. She assumes Emily’s been assigned to another section of the facility and spends her time observing the other inmates when they’re allowed out of their cells, but she never wanders farther than she’s required to go. She’s also watched a lot of prison reality shows and knows to take note of their cliques, their habits, who’s the alpha, and who the troublemakers are. She’s no fool; she’s an easy target in a place like this. Petite, pretty. Not a hardened criminal as many of the other women appear to be.

If only they knew she was there under suspicion of killing a woman by strangling her with a rope cinched around her neck in a meticulously premeditated murder before becoming an international fugitive.

She’s stir-crazy after a month and follows the line of her fellow inmates out of the prison and outside to the rec yard. She hasn’t had fresh air or sunlight since she set foot on the mainland and as soon as they’re in the yard, she heads for a makeshift walking track. There is no actual walking track; it’s just a dirt path worn into the field of weeds that circles much of the yard. There’s a fence at least 15 feet high surrounding the yard topped with razor wire, and beyond that, an even taller wall. There are watchtowers in every corner and a large one in the very center of the space. She can see the prison guards pacing them, sizable weapons in hand.

She works hard to keep her head down and not make eye contact with anyone. She has no friends here, no one to protect her, no one to help her, and she doesn’t yet know how an obvious American, even if she’s fluent in Greek, is going to escape becoming a target. The only thing that saves her from panicking is knowing that her boys are safe, even if Sean is likely doing everything he can to undo her adoption of Nicky and the guardianship she and Emily assigned to their neighbor Helen as a part of their emergency contingency plan. She wishes she could at least talk to him, to try to explain some of what was happening. He had adjusted so well to their new life and he and his brother had become close after a few rocky months of adolescent angst. 

And Miles, her darling Smooch... If Sean, or Detective Summerville, decide to rip apart everything she and Emily built in their new lives, if they manage to have the guardianship overturned…tears prick her eyes at the thought of Miles becoming a ward of the state.

“Yo!”

She manages to turn just in time for a basketball to miss her head and smack her shoulder. It falls to her feet and rolls a few meters to settle in a clump of weeds.

“Hey, throw it back before I come over there and beat the shit out of you.”

Stephanie’s heart is racing as she picks up the ball, first out of fear that she’s managed to disturb a group’s game, and then because it’s Emily’s smooth voice threatening her in Greek from across the yard.

She doesn’t react as she retrieves the ball and tosses it back to the basketball court, which is little more than a slab of cracked concrete and a single hoop. She meets Emily’s eyes and struggles to keep it together. She wants to run to her, to kiss her, or to cry, or both or all, but Emily’s cool stance, arms crossed, is enough of a message. They don’t know each other here.

“What block you in?”

“Uh, C-block.”

“If you come near our court again, I’ll find you there.” She mimics slicing her own throat, and while it’s barely noticeable, Stephanie catches it. She winks.

Stephanie puts her head down and hurries away, publicly threatened by a prison yard bully, privately elated that they finally found each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[griefabyss69]

Steddie prompt: former Experiment!Eddie messing with Steve using his gifts because he’s bored. What that entails is entirely up to you! :) NSFW or SFW, dealers choice.

This is such an interesting concept! One that I've somehow never thought to write about before. I could've written like double this, but it was already like four drabbles long. I might come back to the concept one day!

[Drabble request series on ao3]

---

4.1K words - Steddie - Rated: E

Contains: Tiny bit of dub-con (basically nothing is negotiated but they're both into it all), metaphysical anal, face slapping, ass slapping, Eddie taking control of Steve's body

Once the poisonous, bloody, dust has settled, and the fluorescent sterile aftermath endured, Eddie comes out to everyone.

Not in a Robin kind of way, but in an Eleven kind of way.

Or rather, reading the tattoo he's kept hidden under his watch this whole time, Twelve.

Steve had been kind of shocked, like way more surprised than he thinks he should've been, but he absorbs the information and adjusts, just like always. Eddie's still the same guy after all, they all just know him a little better, and he gets to take some of the super-powered pressure off of El whenever being that kind of weird gets rough.

And call him naive, but Steve didn't really think he had anything to worry about, it's not like the guy's actually a murderer or evil or whatever, even though the town hit too close to home with the whole Has-Powers-Like-The-Devil thing. It burns Steve's guts a little, makes him feel sick with how close Eddie could've come to getting snatched up by the wrong people again.

So when he gets a weird glint in his eye one evening, Steve doesn't think "Oh shit, he's going to Devil-Power me to Hell". He thinks, "He's about to go find a pen and a notepad and spend the next hour ignoring me.", which sucks way more than having any kind of evil attention.

Well, his wish for it certainly gets granted.

Eddie stretches out on the couch, eyes slotting into place right where they should be – holding Steve's gaze – his shirt loose enough at the bottom to ride all the way up to his ribs when he wriggles around restlessly. His mouth quirks up into a little smirk, Steve can't tell if there's meant to be humor in it or not, but he's sure if he's about to open up with something dry and sarcastic he'll find out soon enough.

For a minute though, it's just a staring contest, one that has Steve enthralled. He doesn't even think about looking away, even when he feels his own hand raising up into the air, knuckled into a loose fist.

He does frown though, confusion tugging at his mouth when his fist punches down into his own leg, not hard enough to hurt but definitely not something he did on purpose.

"Eddie?" He asks, trying not to sound too worried.

"Yes, Steve?" Eddie replies, raising his eyebrows.

Another punch, this time with his fingers clenched tighter, harder into his jeans, and Steve finally breaks eye contact, looking down at his hand.

The spell over the internal mechanism that urges him to gravitate towards Eddie is broken, but the one over his hand isn't. A couple quick punches and Steve glares over at him, finally trying to actually fight against whatever's moving him.

"What're you doing?" He asks, and Eddie laughs, rolling over onto his stomach.

He puts his chin in his hands and gives him a doe-eyed look, blatantly false innocence pooling under his eyelashes.

"What do you mean?" He shoots back, lips quirking into an enigmatic little smile.

Steve wants to stick his tongue into the corner of it.

"Well. I'm not punching myself on purpose. So if that's not you, then maybe we should do something about it," he says, watching his fist turn into an open hand, slapping down against his thigh.

Eddie sighs, shaking his head at him with a fake kind of pity.

"Oh Steve, I'm all the way over here, how could that be from me?"

Well, he knew it before, but now he really knows that Eddie's doing this.

"Then I guess I'll go call a code red and get the super nerds on the case," he says, getting to his feet.

He doesn't get very far, Eddie halting him mid-step, keeping him off balance with one leg in the air.

"No need to do that, I'm sure I can protect you against the ghost that's possessing you," he says, kicking his feet up behind him.

He looks like he should be twirling some of his hair around his finger as he sighs dreamily about a boy at a sleepover. The look kind of suits him even with the new tattoo that's peeking out from under his shirt.

Steve wants both of his feet on the ground, so he tries, and finds that he can push through Eddie's power like it's molasses and not a brick wall.

It bodes well for not falling over when he lets him go, but it doesn't bode well for the mischievous way he's looking at him. The thing about Eddie is, if he wants to toy with someone, he'll give them a way out of it, if they work hard enough for it. No brick walls there, but you have to want the escape.

Of course, that's always been during things like stupid arguments about movies or the casual flirting he does with everyone, not physically controlling someone like a puppet. At least not in Steve's experience anyway.

"Right. Can you see the ghost? Are my eyes glowing red?" Steve asks, voice bland.

Eddie laughs, wiggles his fingers at him with a wink. It looks fruity and has Steve's gut tugging his heart around on a leash. He can't believe that actually does something for him.

"Yeah, I can see it right now, looks pretty strong," he says, eyes sweeping over Steve's body like he's checking him out, not pretending to assess a threat. "It might take me a bit to fight- oh!"

He's a good actor, but Steve knows he's fucking around, so his pretend surprise when Steve's open palm slaps into his own face doesn't work on him. It's not very hard, doesn't even sting, but it does make him jump, heart racing at the unexpected hit.

"He got you good!" Eddie says, eyes so wide and so absolved of his actions.

Steve gives him his nastiest glare, regaining control enough to rub at his cheek, a small trickle of humiliation building between his shoulder blades.

Eddie laughs and makes him slap himself again, and this time it stings, the pain spearing him in whatever part of the brain that lust resides. That's a fucking problem, has him hoping Eddie gets bored of him soon, because he's known him long enough to know that he'd hold that kind of information over his head forever.

"Man, I'm sorry, this ghost is really beefy," he says, his legs still kicking.

"Call in some reinforcements, then?" Steve replies, rolling his eyes at him.

He fights to get both of his hands down by his sides, trying to brace himself against what comes next, waiting as he watches the gears turn in Eddie's head.

"You're not going to want anyone else around," Eddie says, and Steve feels a weird, nebulous pressure under his chin, forcing it up.

That almost gets a sound out of him, but it's not until the pressure is sliding down his chest, lighting up the nerves in his nipples on it's journey, that his throat opens up and lays a moan out into the air.

"What's the ghost doing now?" Eddie asks, eyebrows raised.

"Being some kind of pervert," Steve says, eyes flying wide when he feels a tugging at his belt.

"Oh, that's a shame, I guess."

Eddie's got his belt all the way undone before Steve can get his hands up to it, and he tries to think over the pounding of his heart.

This is totally on purpose, and seems like a whole different kind of thing than all of Eddie's harmless flirting. Does that mean Eddie's noticed things about him? How he lingers around him too much, how he finds it hard to tear his attention away from him a lot of the time?

Or is this Eddie just fucking with him in a new way?

"Looks like I might get a show, though," Eddie says, bypassing where Steve holds the two ends of his belt in place to get his jeans undone, button fly popping open quickly enough that Steve doesn't register it happening at first.

"Eddie," he starts, not sure what he's going to say.

Should he ask him to stop?

His the leather in his hands slips out of his fingers and his pants fall down his hips a few inches. He should ask him to stop, but that would mean… well. Stopping.

"Uh-oh," Eddie smirks, playing with a piece of his hair. "Interesting tactic this ghost has."

Steve pushes his hands against the power to clutch at his jeans, grunting with the effort, holding them up just before they can fall further and reveal the swell of his cock in his underwear.

"Honestly Eddie, cut the bullshit," he says, aiming for stern and getting lusty leading actress instead. "We both know I know you're doing this."

Eddie laughs, hiding his grin behind where he's twisting his hair in his fingers, looking up at him through his eyelashes. It's cute, though all of the mocking innocence has melted away.

"What, don't want to blame this on a third party?" He asks, all pretend-sympathy. "That way you won't have to admit that you're getting bested by a nerd."

Steve rolls his eyes, because the whole nerd thing is not what this is about and Eddie knows it. It's about facing the fact that Eddie's toying with him in a way that's homosexual, and the fact that Steve's protests have been so weak he can't even call it acting.

"You haven't bested me yet," he says instead, managing to get the top button of his jeans done back up.

"Don't egg me on like that, I might end up thinking you want it," Eddie says, dark eyes giving him another once over. "I'm also not trying very hard, my nose isn't even bleeding."

Steve knew he was pulling his punches, a fact driven home by the way his arms fly out from his sides, trapped in midair like he's stuck under something heavy. Struggling against it does nothing, no molasses to wade through, and Eddie's finally stopped kicking his feet, doesn't look casual anymore.

A real show of his power, even though Steve knows this is still pretty surface level.

"Try to move your arms," Eddie says, nodding at him with his chin as if he's not already putting in the effort.

Steve glares. Eddie grins.

"Alright, if you don't want to, I guess I could find a way to motivate you."

The button on his jeans pops back open and his pants are yanked, pooling around his ankles before he can even open his mouth to tell him off.

He doesn't think that's what he would've done, though. He wonders if Eddie's aware of that, or if he thinks he's doing something that Steve hasn't fantasized about before. Like sure, in his fantasies, Eddie's using his hands – sometimes his mouth – to undress and touch him, but what is this if not an extension of his body?

It comes from him, after all.

Steve doesn't say anything, just watches him, pokes at the little feeling of humiliation and lets it grow, letting the shame for wanting Eddie to defeat him have it's cruel stab in his chest, as he finds his eyes held in place by Eddie's gaze again.

"Nothing, huh?" Eddie says, less playful for a moment, almost like he's frustrated.

Does he want Steve to protest? To beg and fight against something he knows he's not capable of physically overpowering? To ask him to stop?

He sighs.

"You know I'm trying, I know you can feel it," he says, frowning. "I'm not going to beg you to let me go."

Eddie stares at him, the gears once again kicking into motion as he visibly understands what Steve's not saying.

"I'll make you," he replies, pulling Steve's shirt up over his head to brace it against the back of his neck.

Steve's used to being shirtless around people, but the unexpected rush of cool air against his skin has him shivering, has his cock thickening up even more, definitely obvious by now. There's no giving up now, no way he can walk this backwards and laugh it off as freaky ass roughhousing.

"Yeah? You want me to get all sad and desperate to move? To get my clothes back on?" Steve asks, drawing his bitchy smirk up easily. "I bet you think about doing this when you jerk off, getting me on my knees or something. Do you? Think about forcing my mouth open so you can fuck it?"

He watches Eddie's face burn and something hot and satisfied curls up in his gut. He's not often on the offensive with him, prefers to take things as they come and secretly enjoy them, but when he can make him blush hard out of nowhere like that it makes him want to pin him down and kiss him.

"I-I… don't do that," Eddie says, piecing his composure back together. "I don't think about you at all."

Steve hopes that's a lie.

"I'm just bored," he continues, still a little subdued. "And clearly you're a bigger slut than I thought."

That'd hurt, if Steve didn't take it as a compliment, coming from a guy who once went on a half hour tangent about how people should just be able to have sex without judgment, no matter how many partners they had.

"What does that make you?" Steve asks, relieved when Eddie's smirk finds it's way back.

He loves how it looks on Eddie's face, sue him.

"King slut, I guess," Eddie laughs, and with a faint pressure at his waist, Steve's underwear pulls down his thighs, his cock springing up with the force of it.

"God," Steve moans, attempting to pulls his arms out of position, instinctively trying to cover himself.

"Yeah, that too," Eddie says, not bothering to pretend he's not staring at his erection.

Steve has to take a few moments, basking in the attention and also to just catch up with exactly what's going on, how fucking weird it is, how turned on he's getting. There's a lot that Eddie could do to him that anyone would expect him to say no to, but he finds himself hoping that he doesn't have to ask for any of it.

He told Eddie he wasn't going to beg and he meant it.

"Can't believe you're so into being this weak," Eddie says, slowly dragging his eyes up to his face, the nebulous pressure following the path they take.

He's not going to beg, but he moans freely, wants Eddie to know how good it feels, wants him to try to get more sounds out of him.

"I could hold you in place and strip you anywhere, and what? You'd get hard just like this?" Eddie asks, his hips giving a hard grind into the couch. "I can do whatever I want to you, and you're not even scared, are you? You’re like the world's bravest, horniest, action hero."

Steve laughs, finds he can't even move his head, his whole body held in place except for the places he wants to be touched. His cock and his balls are free to move, no invisible pressure holding them in place – which is a little embarrassing, he wonders if it looks stupid – but mostly he just wishes he was being touched everywhere.

"Should I be?" He asks, voice a little strangled. "Scared?"

The pressure around his throat gets softer and he tries not to feel disappointed.

"Depends on what you fear," Eddie says, his hips starting to slowly roll and press into the couch like he's doing it subconsciously. "I'm not gonna injure you or anything like that."

Steve goes to shrug, but he can't, so he just makes a vague sound. He has to think for a minute to figure out how to bring up the slapping without outright asking for it.

"What was the slapping about, then? You could've hurt me."

Eddie rolls his eyes, arranging one of Steve's hands into an open palm.

"Injuring you is different than hurting you," he says, and even though it's expected this time, Steve still gasps when his own hand comes down hard on his cheek.

His head doesn't even snap to the side, stuck in place.

His cock jerks as he struggles, the pain drawing another moan out of him.

"Jesus Christ," Eddie whispers, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth for a second as he looks at him. "You loved that."

Steve knows how he must look, with his eyes watering and he's assuming a red mark on his face, and he leans into it, letting his mouth drop open just a little bit as he licks his lips.

"If you weren't so committed to making love to my couch I'd tell you to come over here and use your own damned hand for it," he says, unable to keep himself from pushing at him.

Eddie hides a laugh behind his hands, his head ducking momentarily before he looks back up, beaming at him.

"You're so fucking cute," he says, getting all of his limbs in order as he gets to his feet. "Also, really fucking hot. And gorgeous? Yes."

He's walking towards him now, and Steve didn't think that was going to work so well, but all he can do is watch him, unable to move.

"Sexy? Beautiful? A Pretty boy? That's three check marks, baby," Eddie's saying, little zings of pleasure building in Steve's chest with the compliments. "And I don't think you could handle it if I slapped you."

Steve raises his eyebrows, still trying to move, still utterly trapped.

"Well, not your face, anyway," Eddie says, and then like a strike of lightning, his palm collides with Steve's ass.

"Oh fuck!" Steve yells, his body trying to jerk away from the impact.

He didn't ease him into that one, the pain hot and sharp and already throbbing as Eddie steps back from him.

"I've always wanted to do that," Eddie leans in to whisper, his teeth glancing off of Steve's ear, his hand back on Steve's ass to grab where he smacked him. "I hope you think of me whenever you sit down for the next few days."

Steve groans, breathing through it as the wall of pain steals the thoughts out of his head.

"You want me to hurt you?" Eddie asks, and he tries to nod. "You get off on it? Being defeated and slapped around?"

Not historically, but he thinks Eddie could punch him in the face and all he’d do is drop to his knees. Let him think he’s forcing him to open his mouth, like he teased him about earlier.

"What about something else? I'm sure losing a fight with someone is familiar to you, but what about something new?"

Steve manages to get his mouth to work, his eyelids fluttering shut as he asks -

"Is this the first fight you've won?"

Eddie steps back, an offended scoff preceding a slap to the face, not even Steve's own hand this time, drawing a high and reedy moan out of him.

He thinks he might be able to cum like this. Even with just the pressure that builds in the base of his spine as he struggles against the nothing, the invisible force – this whole situation is starting to get him there.

"S-something new is good," he gasps out, unable to open his eyes as Eddie's fingertips tease over his face.

"Good," Eddie says, satisfied like he approves, his fingers moving to trail down Steve's neck. "Should I assume some things about you, or should I ask first?"

Steve scrunches up his eyebrows, knowing that the right answer and the answer that he wants are two different things. He's not about to make a good decision like this though – his balls are starting to ache and he's getting desperate, craving all of the slivers of Eddie's attention that he’s being given.

"Do whatever you want, I can take it," he says, prying his eyelids open against the force of nothing but his own fogginess.

Eddie looks momentarily shocked, like for whatever reason this is where he'd draw the line and stop doing things they know are kind of stupid, but he schools it quickly, getting his hands on Steve's chest.

"You know, my plan wasn't to touch you at all," he says, squeezing Steve's tits. "But I'll be honest, you've been driving me fucking crazy."

Steve makes a weird sound, a mix between a laugh and a moan, trying and failing to push up into his hands. He has to hope he gets to do this again, without Eddie's powers holding his whole body in place, but right now being forced to go at whatever pace Eddie wants to set is kind of intoxicating.

"Show me, then," he says, challenging him.

Eddie ducks his head, and it seems bashful, until his teeth sink into Steve's neck and both of them are groaning, Steve's a lot louder and ruined than Eddie's.

"Fuck, that's so go- Oh shit!"

There's a sudden pressure inside of his ass now, not even stretching him open, just the presence of nothing, all of his nerves singing through his spine as he tries to breath around the solid tension in all of his muscles. It spreads, more pressure adding to press into his taint, to grip his balls just lightly enough that it doesn't hurt, and then there's –

Eddie's hand, real and warm and calloused around his cock, stroking over the head to catch the pre-cum there, getting the rest of him wet as he slides down to the base, squeezing it hard. That does hurt, and Steve almost tips over the edge, feeling his eyes start to water again.

He's never felt anything like this, having a hard time wrapping his head around how he's getting fucked in the ass without actually being entered by anything, but it feels so good that he wants to live like this forever, trapped under Eddie's power.

"Next time, I want to get inside of you," Eddie's whispering, like he doesn't want him to hear. "I want to hold you in place and fuck you until I'm done with you, make you feel so good you forget who we are."

It's the thought of Eddie's cock slamming into him that does it, the fantasy of being helpless to do anything about it, forced to take whatever pleasure he gives him whether he asks for it or not. He cums hard, shooting hot where Eddie aims his cock, getting cum up in his chest hair and down his stomach.

The invisible pressure starts to ease up from his ass and his balls, reluctant even as Eddie keeps working him with his hand, making him try to squirm away from it when the orgasm ends and the raw nerve feeling of over-stimulation hits.

"Fuck, please," he whines through his clenched teeth.

"Please what?" Eddie asks, the mischievous glint in his eye coming back as he continues to work him over.

"Your hand," Steve manages to grit out, unable to move away from it at all.

"What about my hand?" Eddie asks, laughing.

He does let go though, watching him closely as he tries to catch his breath, casually licking Steve's cum off his fingers like there's nothing loaded about that.

"Gonna drop you now," Eddie says, moving to stand behind him.

He gets his arms around Steve's waist, bracing him as the pressure holding him up slowly eases off, and soon he's slumped and sinking to the floor, Eddie guiding him as he goes.

He doesn't even care that his bare ass is on the cold floor, finding it kind of soothing against what must surely be a hand print so well engraved that he could get Eddie's fingerprints from it.

"God, you're a mess," Eddie murmurs, pressing his thumb into Steve's lips. "I'll clean us up though, hang tight."

Steve's body feels like jello, so he just lays there, frowning as he thinks about what he said.

Us?

Eddie comes back with a towel, a wet washcloth, and a wet spot at the front of his jeans.

"You didn't have to cum in your pants over me," he says, the words a bit murky as he tries to articulate them. "Could've just used my hand or something."

Eddie groans as he kneels down beside him, cheeks blazing as he glares at him.

"I know that, but I…" he cuts himself off, frowning as he shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

Steve's silent as Eddie cleans him up, taking his time to get the cum out of his chest hair, basking in the sweetness of it after all the half-manufactured posturing they just did. This feels more honest than Eddie holding him in place and stripping him, as hot as that was, and he doesn't want to ruin it by making fun of Eddie for cumming in his pants. Maybe he would've too, if their positions were reversed.

"Next time we do this you have to get your cock out sooner," he says, mumbling around a sleepy smile.