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gyuswhore · 7 months ago

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Never Shall We Die (1)

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

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

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

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

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

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

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

masterlist

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

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

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground.

No, that’s a branch.

Or is it a plank?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You have one more option.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wait with baited breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi.

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

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

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

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

This was bad. Very bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

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

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

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

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all.

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause.

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

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

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

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

If it’s his ship that he wants…

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

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

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

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

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

“I can help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue.

“I want you to kill my father.”

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

“I want you to kill my father.”

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

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

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

Is he about to cut your hands off?

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I’m being serious.”

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

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

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

“I’ll protect you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he was considering it.

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I led you astray?”

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard.”

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

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

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

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

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost?” he questions.

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

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain! One of the—oh.”

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

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just saved his life.

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

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

“Not even an inkling?”

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

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you shake him off last time?”

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

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

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

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

“Portwater?”

“Too far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was something you wanted from him.

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

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

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

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

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

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

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

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

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

A kid. He was a child.

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you pulled the trigger.

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

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

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

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

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

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hasry. Right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused.

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ten coin.”

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

“I’ll do seven!”

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

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer.

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

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

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

You remain silent.

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

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

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

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

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

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

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

“You’ve looked into my eyes?”

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

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

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

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That could’ve been your throat.

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

That could’ve been your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

You just pushed Chan overboard.

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

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

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

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

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

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly.

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

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

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

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

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

Hoshi pushed him into the water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me what? you grind.

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

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise.

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

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

848 notes · View notes

gureumz · 1 year ago

Text

wide open

rating: explicit

member: heeseung

premise: forced to marry a dictator king of a nearby kingdom, you're advised to shut up and take whatever king heeseung gives you and give him everything you have in return. in truth, you'd rather kill yourself than be married to this monster, but he has a way of changing people's minds

notes: fem!reader, dom!heeseung, royalty au, very slight angst, marriage of convenience/forced marriage, hate-ish sex, breeding, mentions of impregnation, use of pet names, unprotected sex, strangers to sort-of-lovers, mentions and descriptions of death and injury, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: sixth and final entry for my 1k follower special! this is the end for my two-month 1k event! i'm so thankful for the love this received and i'm excited to start my new series/anthology! i can't wait to write your other requests as well and bring you more stories you can enjoy!

it's making your stomach churn.

the way your father looks at you right now, as if he's sorry but not really. apologetic only because shouting in delight would hardly seem appropriate at a time like this.

you can practically see the sparkle in the East king's eyes.

"the decree says so," your father says with a sigh like he regrets to inform you of such news. you bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from flinging the pewter cup filled with wine in front of you at him.

"the decree can say one thing but we can do exactly the opposite of it," you challenge, balling your fists in your lap. your father turns to you sharply.

"and then what, my love?" your father coos condescendingly. "race to see which one of our heads rolls off the gallows first when the new king of the West chops them off?"

you stare at your father, clad in his deep velvet garb, the lines on his forehead pronounced in the flickering firelight in his solar. you feel your whole face stiffen as you stare back at the spitting image of yourself, the exact source of the flame raging within you. you love your father and you know him. know him enough that it's no use arguing with him now. he would fling whatever words you had right back at you with double the force.

"you're lucky he didn't snatch you in the dead of night once he proclaimed victory," your father presses on. "you're lucky he's being diplomatic about it, issuing decrees so that all the four kingdoms are bonded legally to his whims."

"it hardly feels lucky being the sole maiden of royal blood fit enough to wed him," you spit back, turning away.

you hear your father lets out a breath and you can feel him walk away towards the large window that adorns the north side of his solar. you watch as he gazes out the glass panes, his back to you.

"he's a strapping young man, a talented general as he's proven, and truly the royal seed of his father before him," your father says, something unfamiliar in his voice. he turns back to you and you see, for the first time, the fear in his eyes.

"he turned on his own father, just as his father did with his father, took over that poor dead man's kingdom, and waged a war against his neighbors."

your father's voice trembles now.

"refusal would not only mean death, my rose," your father points out quietly, slipping in the endearment he so often used with you since you were a child.

"he would make sure you wished you were dead," he warns.

you swallow, letting his words sink in.

you think back on the past year, the months of hiding, the weeks spent banged up in the highest tower of your castle, the days of weeping as you waited for your father to come back, the minutes of terror as you were told the West king had emerged triumphant.

the second you saw your father, the Almighty Blessed King of the East, staggering through the palace gates, bloodied and broken.

that wretched tyrant from the West almost took your father away from you. giving yourself to him willingly hardly seems like the right move. but not doing so would mean a fate worse than death.

"is he really that terrible?" you ask, almost in a whisper.

your father walks up to where you're seated at his dining table. he reaches down and takes your hands in his calloused, war-scarred ones.

"i couldn't give you an answer to that if i tried," he explains. "i surrendered before i could get the chance to meet him."

"then how are you so ready to give away your only daughter, your only reminder of the woman you loved?" you implore, looking desperately into your father's eyes.

he shakes his head.

"this is how i want to remember you before you're whisked away into that cruel man's arms," your father says tenderly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"feisty, with the zeal only your mother could pass on to you."

your eyes sting with tears at hearing your father mention his late queen.

your own mother feels like someone from a dream to you. she was there one moment and gone the next. much like yourself.

you let yourself cry silently, rising to let your father hold you in his arms.

---

the trip from the East to the West typically took a little over two weeks if no hiccups are encountered along the way. but you realized, merely two days in, that this whole marriage was cursed from the beginning.

it's as if the whole world conspired against this union, and you would have been grateful for it, but after days of running into problems (thieves and hunters and sudden thunderstorms and a pack of wild boars), the only thing you wanted was to be sheltered inside a warm castle room with a cup of spiced wine on your bedside.

so unbridled was your happiness when you heard a sudden shout from outside your carriage announcing your arrival at the gates of the West Kingdom castle. your two ladies-in-waiting riding with you had equally relieved faces, your hands immediately reaching out to grasp theirs.

"we're here, your grace," the younger of the two, yuna, whispers excitedly.

olivia, the older and more cynical one, swats at yuna's arm.

"don't sound so happy," olivia berates. "this is a dictator's castle we're entering."

yuna shrinks back in her seat and you reach over to clasp her hand reassuringly.

"i'm the only one fit enough to marry him," you remind. "he should know better than to lay a single finger on me."

olivia eyes you worriedly while yuna nods in agreement.

"i'll be alright," you say. whether it's to them or to yourself, you're not entirely sure.

the entirety of your royal party comes to a halt after what you felt was an hour's worth of treading on a steep incline and only then do you allow yourself to peek through the curtains of your carriage.

you gasp as you see the fog all around. you're aware that the West was the mountainous region of the four kingdoms but seeing the clouds form beneath the castle grounds made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"let's hope he doesn't throw me down the ravine," you mutter quietly. olivia and yuna exchange looks before giggling quietly.

you alight from your carriage a few more minutes later, the sudden light nearly blinding you. the sun is covered in dark clouds but the lack of any greenery to shield your field of view has you squinting to see in front of you.

"good morrow, your grace," a voice greets. you turn and see a smartly-dressed man approach, bowing deeply. he's adorned in the West king's court colors and it's then you notice the pin affixed on his chest.

"i'm lord jake, the royal chamberlain," he adds, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your skin. he straightens up and gestures behind him.

your eyes follow where he's pointing and you see a grand staircase leading up to the heavy wooden doors at the entrance to the castle.

"let me assist you to the throne room," jake offers, holding out his arm to you. you take it, fixing a firm grip on his bicep.

"the king is waiting," he adds.

---

you let yourself be pulled through the towering hallways, resisting the urge to gape at the lavishly adorned walls. portraits of Western monarchs, legendary shields and swords owned by said monarchs, heavy purple drapery. jake seems to understand, walking at a pace that hardly indicates that you're in any rush.

you turn behind you to see olivia and yuna following dutifully, your other ladies and servants following close behind, flanked by guards both from your party and from the West King's.

you turn back ahead of you, catching sight of the heavy doors to what you can only guess is the throne room.

"if i may speak freely, your grace." jake turns to you slightly. you return his gaze and nod.

"of course," you say.

"you need not be nervous," jake reassures. "i know of the tales you might have heard about our king. but i've been a companion of his since we were boys. he does not hurt those who are not deserving to be hurt."

you remain silent for a few seconds as you continue to approach the throne room. after a while, you respond to jake.

"i appreciate the words of comfort, my lord," you begin. "but what indication do you have that i'm nervous?"

jake smiles warmly at you just as you reach the doors.

"you've been squeezing my arm since you've arrived, your grace," jake points out.

a pause. your face breaks out into a smile and jake mirrors your expression, both of you allowing yourselves a moment to laugh.

the guards by the throne room doors heave them open and you stand, stiff but adorning your face with a look of resolve. jake pulls his arm away and steps in front of you. just as the doors fully open, jake bows to the throne and then to you.

"my most revered King of the West, this is Princess _________ of the East and her royal household," jake announces in a booming voice that startles you slightly.

"princess," jake continues, turning to you once more.

"i present to you, the Most Royal King of the West, King Heeseung,."

---

everything was a blur after that.

you do, however, remember the silver shock of hair atop the king's head. the deep purple of his doublet. the tight black breeches and black boots laced up around his ankles.

you could see King Heeseung's lips remain unmoving as you curtsied deeply in front of him. you remember the feeling of fear, humiliation, and embarrassment at having to bow in front of a cruel tyrant.

you remember the hint of a smile grace his mouth as you straighten up. you remember the sweat gathering on your palms.

you remember muffled words being exchanged between the king and jake. you couldn't make out what they were saying with the blood rushing in your ears. you remember curtsying one more time before jake takes your hand and leads you and your people out of the throne room.

now, hours later, seated in front of a mirror in an airy room somewhere on the north wing of the castle, you remember to breathe, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"your grace, are you alright?" olivia asks from behind you, her hand pausing mid-brush as she gathers your hair in her other hand.

you meet her eyes through the mirror and nod.

"yes," you answer. "just a little...tired."

"i would assume so," yuna speaks up from the other side of the room, her slender figure bent over the numerous chests containing your belongings.

"i asked and it turns out we traveled close to a month," yuna rambles. "a month! who takes a month to get from the East to the West?"

you smile at yuna's shrill voice, a comfort from the eerie silence that seems to surround the castle.

"how are you two liking it here so far?" you ask, addressing your two ladies. a palpable pause comes over the room as you wait for their response.

"it's...alright," olivia begins. "better than i expected. i pictured brutes and barbarians to litter the halls but that's a misjudgment on my part, your grace."

"everyone seems kind enough," yuna chimes in. "the king barely said a word so i'm not sure how to feel about him yet."

"better to hold your tongue when speaking of the King of the West, child," you lightly berate. "we don't know who's listening."

olivia and yuna both nod in understanding.

a knock from the door to your room interrupts your discussion.

"come in," you call out. you turn to see another one of your ladies poke their head in before straightening up and bowing.

"your grace," jen, a sprightly lady-in-waiting of yours addresses you.

"i've been informed that the king asks for your presence in his study," jen relays, hands folded in front of her.

time seems to stop as you hear these words. you feel olivia grip your shoulder and you hear a clatter of something as yuna drops it. jen avoids your eyes as the four of you soak in her words.

"well," you say after a moment. "i better make haste, then.

you meet olivia's eyes through the mirror once more and she smiles encouragingly.

---

you ask jen to accompany you this time to give olivia and yuna time for their own personal needs. jen readily agreed, not more than five paces behind you as you make your way to where you were told the king's study is.

the castle is bathed in late afternoon light, a gentle breeze fluttering through the hallways. hardly any noise can be heard save for the occasional footsteps of servants and soft chatter from some of the rooms. your heart hammering against your chest is the only thing that fills your ears constantly.

"this is it, right?" you turn to ask jen. she nods as you two stop in front of an intricately carved door with a heavy golden stag knocker.

"you may take your leave," you tell jen.

"your grace?" jen asks, voice meek. "should i not wait for you out here?"

you shake your head. "i have a feeling neither of us knows how long the king will keep me in there."

jen opens her mouth as if to say something more but she stops, sighing. she nods and bows to you before starting down the hallway.

you turn away from jen's disappearing form, hand grasping at the stag knocker. you pound the heavy metal against the door three times before stepping back, waiting to be let in.

"enter," comes a voice from inside.

you swallow, reaching for the door handle. you give it a turn, the door easily swinging inward. you step through the gap, pressing your lips in a thin line as you anticipate what you might see.

the study is a respectable size, with bookcases adorning nearly every wall. a fireplace crackles with flames at the far left end of the room and a large desk rests in the middle of it all.

hunched over a stack of parchment is King Heeseung himself, a quill twirling lazily between his fingers.

your eyes meet and the king straightens in his seat.

"your grace—"

you pause, having both said the same thing at the same time. to your surprise, King Heeseung offers a smile. not knowing what else to do, you force an uneasy smile back.

"sit with me, my lady," he says, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. you gather your skirts and perch yourself at the very edge of the seat.

no one speaks for what feels like an eternity. the king has paused in his perusing of the parchment in front of him and you've busied yourself with staring at your hands resting on your lap.

"there will be a welcome banquet tonight," King Heeseung's voice cuts through the silence.

"to celebrate your arrival," he continues.

you dip your head low.

"you have my gratitude, your grace," you say mechanically.

King Heeseung clears his throat. "i also arranged for the wedding feast to take place a week from now."

you allow yourself to gaze upon the King of the West, your eyebrows pinching together.

the king sees your expression and pauses.

"but if you wish to either hasten or push back the ceremony, then i'll take it into consideration," King Heeseung hurriedly adds, his sharp eyes rounding into a softer form.

you realize that sitting here, eye level with the king, that he's merely a man like any other. a man who smiles and startles and laughs.

your mind flashes back to your father's beaten and bruised face. your expression falls.

"no, your grace. a week from now is fine," you concede.

a long stretch of silence follows. you avert your eyes to the window to your right, gazing at the vibrant sky painted in the colors of the sunset.

"heeseung," comes the king's voice. you turn to him, a questioning look on your face.

"you can call me heeseung," he clarifies.

your face must have been of utter confusion because the king smiles again.

"we are to be wed, are we not? i would assume that you'd prefer a much more relaxed method of addressing each other." heeseung leans back in his plush seat, awaiting a response.

"of course," you agree. "and you may address me however you wish."

"my betrothed."

the two words roll smoothly off heeseung's tongue and a strange tug pulls at your chest. you nod silently as if to grant permission.

heeseung clears his throat again, pushing himself off his chair. you rise as well but you make no move to look at his face.

you see from the corner of your eye his hand reaching out to you.

"come. the banquet should be starting soon."

you shakily place your hand in his and he gently wraps his fingers around yours.

"after you, my dear betrothed," he says, motioning towards the door.

---

it turns out, a week flies by extremely fast.

you've managed to meet all of the people of importance in heeseung's court in that time, memorizing names and faces and feasting with a number of them.

heeseung hovers around, greeting you as you go about your day but ultimately keeping his distance. you wonder if you should be doing more to prepare for your wedding but you don't dare question any of heeseung's or his council's plans.

in a blink of an eye, the week is over and you're standing in the throne room, draped in your finest garments, practically glittering from head to toe with the jewelry you've brought from home.

heeseung stands tall and regal beside you, his hair perfectly done and his royal regalia adorning his broad frame. strangely enough, his face is what you anchor on for most of the ceremony—a blur of vows and prayers and oaths and finally, a restrained brush of lips to make things official.

the feast may as well have not happened with how blurry your memory of it is. you sat at the high table, watching the festivities but not really seeing anything.

that is, until a particular loud courtier knocks over a chair, bringing down plates and utensils as collateral damage in his drunken state. the noise jars you for a moment but heeseung lays a warm hand on yours to steady you.

and now, sitting on the edge of your bed, stripped down to your undergarments by your reluctant ladies, you shiver at the thought of what your wedding night may bring.

you've heard stories from your ladies and you've been taught enough by the tutors you've had over the years. but to lay with a man such as heeseung, it chills you down to the bone. would he hurt you? would he demand things from you? perhaps kill you?

you shake your head. it would do no good for him to kill you now. you're both in dire need of heirs for your respective domains, him especially now that he's deposited himself as the supreme ruler of all the kingdoms in your land. and even without taking children into consideration, would he really drive in his image as a tyrant? slaying his wife on their wedding night?

your thoughts are dissolved when you hear a knock come from the door. a second later, heeseung walks in, his cape and gloves amiss, and so are the tightly-laced hunting boots, leaving him in his doublet and breeches, wool boots covering his feet.

he almost looks...nervous.

"my b—"

heeseung pauses, taking in a sharp breath.

"my wife."

your head spins as heeseung says these words. you can physically feel the color draining from your face. when heeseung says it like that, it makes it more real, your fate looming over you like an impregnable fortress caging you in.

"yes, your grace?" you respond, trying to sound composed amidst your anxiety.

heeseung studies you for a second before sighing. he tugs his boots off, undoing his doublet right after. he shrugs the garment off, leaving him bare from the waist up. you gasp softly, abruptly turning away.

"you need not address me like that, remember?" heeseung reminds, trudging carefully before coming to a stop in front of you.

he reaches a hand out, attempting to hold a side of your face but you flinch, your whole body lurching at the feeling of his skin against yours.

your heart pounds as you quickly realize the fault in what you just did. you peer up at heeseung, eyes shaking with fear.

you expected anger, annoyance, or even confusion.

but all you see is a pair of despondent eyes looking down at you.

"why are you afraid? why do you fear me?" heeseung asks, voice quiet, defeated.

your insides churn as you try to find the right words. in a moment, the whole ordeal comes crashing down on you, the day's events flashing in your mind, a reminder that this is your life now. you're married to a dictator for the rest of your days.

"shouldn't i be?" you reply, voice stony. "i'd be a fool to not be scared of someone who murdered their own father and waged a war against the entire world."

heeseung remains silent. he heaves a sigh, turning away from you.

"it seems as if it was a mistake to ask for your hand in marriage," heeseung says.

a flicker sparks inside you.

"you didn't ask!" you cry out, voice accusatory. you stand, pulling yourself to your full height. this outrage has sprung from nowhere, seized you fully, summoning all the anger within you.

"you commanded me here, you took me away from my family, my home! i came all the way here to marry an evil man and he suddenly decides that marrying me was a mistake?"

"i gave up everything i had to fulfill a duty i was called to, that you called me to," you continue, placing yourself right in front of heeseung.

"i need you to prove to me that all this is worth it. that i did not come here to be some poor slave to a tyrant! show me and prove me wrong that you're not just some monster that nearly killed my father!"

you feel the air knocked out of you as a pair of lips press against your own. you cry out in surprise but something snaps within you, the final branch needed to let the fire catch and spread.

heeseung is kissing you and you're kissing him, your hands clawing at any part of him you could reach. his own fingers tug at your chemise, pulling it down your shoulders until it slips off your body completely.

"you're sick, forcing yourself on your wife like this," you pant against heeseung's mouth. he undoes his breeches, letting them fall.

"my wife is free to leave if she pleases," heeseung retaliates, kicking off the last of his clothes.

both of you are stark naked now.

you stand there, breathing heavily as you look into each other's eyes.

"your wife will not leave until you've bedded her and put an heir in her womb," you seethe. "that's all she came here for, after all."

heeseung grunts lowly, attacking your lips once more. he shoves you down on the bed, caging you in easily with his firm body. he runs his hands up and down your sides, squeezing and fondling at every piece of flesh he can dig his fingers into. you moan and squirm under his touch, an ache growing between your legs.

"you'll give me as many heirs as i wish," heeseung says as he kisses his way down to your neck. he suckles on a spot just beneath your jaw and the sound of defiance that you originally wanted to let out is caught in your throat.

"of course, so they can usurp you when it's your time," you say through your teeth.

heeseung says nothing, only looks at you, his face pulled down in an angry frown.

"listen here, darling," heeseung commands, voice dipping even lower. he pulls you by your thighs to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs open.

he glances down and you stare at his face as it turns into a look of intrigue, his eyes transfixed on your core.

you're soaking wet, clenching around nothing as your husband continues to survey what's between your legs. he looks back up at you, a hand reaching over to grasp your jaw in one large hand.

"my father was a madman and so was his father before him," heeseung begins and you feel something prod at your entrance. you gasp as half of him is pushed in with a single swivel of heeseung's hips.

"maybe i'll turn out to be one too, but right now, all i did was clean up the mess he made," heeseung continues, fully burying himself inside you. your legs tremble at the painful stretch and all you want is to hide your face away in the sheets but heeseung's firm grip on your face won't let you.

"he started this war," heeseung says accusingly. he draws back, allowing you momentary relief before thrusting back in, a half cry, half moan escaping you.

"yeah, my sweet?" heeseung pauses to address you momentarily, his eyes dark and evidently hungry.

"feel good?"

he doesn't wait for an answer as he lets go of your face in favor of holding your hips tightly between his hands. heeseung sets up a ruthless pace, mouth hanging open as he watches himself slide in and out of you.

you grit your teeth and refuse to look away yourself, gazing upon the face of what might be another in a line of mad kings. your husband, half of who you are now, half of what your children will be.

the thought sickens you to your stomach.

but the delicious fill of his cock deep in you has you quivering with want, breathless with desire. if this is how good it feels to fuck a mad king, then maybe you are the perfect maiden to wed him.

well, not so much a maiden now that he's buried in you to the hilt, one of his hands grabbing at your breast.

his words 'he started this war' echo in your brain, but a shift of heeseung's hips has your eyes rolling back in your head, that thought forgotten momentarily.

"come on my sweet, look at me," heeseung pleads gently. he leans down, nearly flattening his form over your own. he continues to fuck you, thursts shallow in this new position

you hook your own arms around heeseung's neck, meeting his eyes.

"you don't fear me, do you?" heeseung asks laboriously through heavy breaths. "you never did."

you withhold an answer, leaning in to press your lips roughly against heeseung's instead. he growls low in his chest, his hips moving even faster than they already were.

you keep your mouths together, tongues lapping over every expanse of each other. a shiver runs through you as you feel the friction against your core increase, turning rougher and rougher as heeseung seems to lose himself in you.

you pull away, running your fingers through the hair on the back of heeseung's head. you tighten your grip on the strands and heeseung hisses.

"no," you finally answer. "i'm not scared of you so fuck me like you mean it."

the world seems to give out from all around you as the last words escape you, your hips pinned down painfully against the bed. your legs quiver as you feel heeseung pound into you, faster, rougher, harder. you let a sob rip out of you, your whole body seizing as your release slams down on you.

heeseung looks at you and only you, eyes wide and ravenous.

you clench around heeseung and he collapses over you, hands braced on either side of your head, his face scrunched up in pleasure as you feel him throb deep in you. you feel his thick seed warm up your walls and you gasp softly, your body finally relaxing.

you lay there, weak and unmoving, as heeseung pulls out and rolls off you. he comes to rest on one side of you, his hair tickling your shoulder. without another word, heeseung pushes himself up and retrieves his discarded breeches off the floor.

your heart sinks as you think that he's about to leave. your throat tightens, the thought of being used just like that, despite being his wife, his queen, repulsing you so badly.

but heeseung doesn't walk out the door. he loosely strings up his breeches and walks over to the vanity on the other side of the room. you failed to notice when you came in the first time the bowl of water and washcloth resting beside it.

heeseung wets the cloth, wringing it momentarily before walking back over to you. you've propped yourself on your elbows now, watching his every move.

"sit up, my sweet," heeseung implores gently, seating himself beside you.

you oblige, wincing at the slight sting between your legs as you shift into a more comfortable position. heeseung starts with your face, smoothing over your cheeks with the cloth, the cooled water bringing out a sigh of relief.

he moves to wipe at your neck, then your chest. he peers down at you, laying a gentle hand on your thigh.

"let me clean down there too," heeseung says. you nod, feeling vulnerable under his watch. you part your sore thighs, letting heeseung swipe away at the stickiness.

heeseung finishes and returns the washcloth to the bowl. he picks your chemise up on the way back to you, placing it in your hands. you wordlessly stand, pulling the thin fabric over you, overtly aware of heeseung watching you from where he sits on the bed.

you turn back to him and he's gazing up at you, expression softer than all of the other times. he reaches a hand out shakily, as if hesitant, and you take it, stepping between his parted knees.

he places his hands on our lower back as if to cradle you. before you could stop yourself, you let your hand smooth back some of his silvery locks of hair.

"he—my father—sent those decrees of war out when he realized i was on to him," heeseung mumbles.

you nod gently, signaling him to go on.

"i found out he'd been plotting this war for years right under my nose. i was brought up to command my father's army but i never knew it was for this," he continues.

"i begged him to stop but you can't reason with someone mad," heeseung says, voice shaking.

looking at him now, eyes so doe-like and piercing straight through your own, you realize that underneath what you called a tyrant, he was just a boy willing his father to do right.

"i had to end it one way or another," heeseung continues, head bowing.

you pull him to you, cradling him against your chest. you feel heeseng's arms tighten around your torso.

"but by the time i had dealt the final blow, it was too late. the decrees were sent and i had no choice but to fight the war he left me with."

your chest constricts.

"why not just take the decrees back, admit surrender?" you ask quietly. heeseung looks up at you and you're struck by how handsome he looks when he's not acting like the king he is.

soft lips, the delicate turn of his nose, fluttering eyelashes.

"i was already a kinslayer and a kingslayer. i couldn't lose everything after that," heeseung whispers, brows pinched together as if begging you to believe him.

a flurry of emotions course through you. despite this, you smile apologetically.

you bend down slightly, placing a gentle kiss on heeseung's forehead.

"i don't fear you," you whisper against his skin. you feel him deflate beneath your touch.

"but there is so much more i need to understand about you, husband."

heeseung pulls away and nods. he takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

"and i'll try my hardest to make you understand. i don't expect forgiveness, just your open heart and open eyes to see who i really am."

you afford yourself another smile. you lean down once more, kissing heeseung softly.

"they're wide open, my King."

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #w: heeseung

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 7 months ago

Note

oooo drabe request okay

reader is at a family gathering and accidentally slips into a submissive headspace during dinner and calls wanda mommy. the rest is up to you

In Safe Hands

Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x sub!fem!reader

Summary: At a family gathering you have a slip of the tongue and that doesn't go over well with your mom.

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: Age gap relationship (W=34 R=23), Dom/sub dynamics(vague), subspace, R calls Wanda Mommy, R's mom has some emotionally abusive mannerisms/narcissistic, hurt/comfort, Wanda makes sure you're okay.

Authors notes: I don't think I ever would have thought of this prompt on my own, but I loved writing for this scenario.

You feel the warmth of your family's chatter enveloping you as you sit at the dinner table, the clinking of cutlery against plates creating a comforting rhythm. It's a typical family gathering, full of laughter and familiar faces. Your girlfriend Wanda, who your family knows well and has grown to love, sits beside you, her presence a grounding comfort.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself sinking into a cozy, relaxed state, lulled by the background noise and the comforting presence of Wanda. The world around you begins to blur slightly, your mind slipping into a subspace without you realizing it. Wanda's gentle touch on your hand anchors you further, a soft smile on her lips as she engages with your family.

In this serene haze, you lean closer to Wanda, her warmth and scent filling your senses. You feel safe, protected, and deeply loved. Without thinking, you murmur softly, "Mommy, can you pass the salt?"

Your face flushes as you realize what just slipped out of your mouth. The sound of silverware clinking against plates and the murmur of conversations come to a sudden halt. You look around the table, seeing wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Your mother’s gaze locks onto you, sharp and unforgiving.

"What was that?" she demands, her tone harsh and filled with a mix of confusion and anger.

You stammer, desperately searching for the right words. "I… it was a mistake. I didn't mean to…"

Wanda, sitting next to you, gently places her hand on yours under the table, a subtle gesture of support. You feel a mix of gratitude and mortification.

Your mother’s eyes narrow. "A mistake? That didn't sound like a mistake."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Mom, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. It’s... it's a private thing between Wanda and me."

The tension in the room is thick. Your family members look between you, Wanda, and your mother, uncertain of what to do or say. Your mother takes a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain her composure.

"We'll talk about this later," she says, her voice cold but more controlled. She turns back to her plate, signaling the end of the conversation for now, but you know this isn't over.

You squeeze Wanda's hand, silently thanking her for being there. The rest of the dinner feels like it drags on forever, each minute filled with the weight of what just happened.

As dinner finally concludes, you feel a mix of dread and inevitability wash over you. Your mother, still fuming, stands up and motions for you to follow her. The walk to your childhood bedroom is painfully familiar, yet today it feels more like a walk to the gallows. Each step echoes with the weight of what's to come.

Once inside the room, she closes the door firmly behind you. The familiar surroundings of your childhood—posters, trophies, and old books—do nothing to comfort you. If anything, they heighten your anxiety, reminding you of a time when things were simpler and less complicated.

Your mother turns to face you, her eyes blazing with anger. "What on earth were you thinking, calling Wanda that at the dinner table?" she snaps. "Do you have any idea how inappropriate that was? In front of the entire family?"

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts. "Mom, it was an accident. I didn't mean for it to happen. It just slipped out."

She shakes her head, disbelief etched across her features. "An accident? That was more than just a slip of the tongue. It was embarrassing for you, for me, and for everyone else there. How do you think your father felt hearing that? Or your grandparents?"

You feel a lump forming in your throat, the sting of her words hitting hard. "I’m sorry, Mom. I really am. It wasn’t intentional. It’s just... something private between Wanda and me."

"Private?" she scoffs. "There’s a time and a place for everything, and that was definitely not it. You need to understand the impact of your actions. What if people start talking? What if this gets out beyond the family?"

You wince at the thought. "I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful."

Your mother takes a deep breath, her anger slowly giving way to a look of disappointment. "I just expected better from you. I thought I raised you to know better than to do something like this. What happened to you?"

Her words cut deep, and you can feel tears welling up. "Mom, I’m still the same person. I just made a mistake. Please understand."

She sighs, rubbing her temples. "We’ll talk more about this another time. I need to cool down. Just... think about what you've done and how you’re going to fix it."

As she leaves the room, you collapse onto your old bed, the weight of the confrontation settling heavily on your shoulders. Wanda's presence downstairs is a small comfort, but right now, you feel utterly alone in this moment of reckoning.

Laying on your old bed, feeling the echoes of childhood and the sting of your mother's words, you hear a soft knock on the door. Wanda enters, a reassuring presence amid the storm. She carries both your coats, signaling her readiness to leave if you need to, but instead of urging you out the door, she sits beside you and begins to gently rub your back.

"You don't owe them anything, Detka," she whispers, her voice a soothing balm. "Look at me, sweet girl."

You turn to her, as you always do, feeling the comfort of her gaze. You’ve always been so good for Wanda, and her steady presence is a lifeline right now. She takes your hand in hers, her touch grounding you.

"It was an accident," she continues, her tone firm yet loving. "You got a bit overwhelmed and slipped, and it's okay. While you talked with your mom, I smoothed things over with everyone else. I told them about a time when I asked you not to do something and you replied with, 'okay, mom,' and since then, there have been moments where we joke and you say something like that to me."

Tears prick at your eyes, welling up at the corners as you look at Wanda, overwhelmed by her kindness and her instinct to protect you. Her unwavering support wraps around you like a comforting blanket, making the harshness of your mother’s words fade into the background.

"You did that for me?" you whisper, voice thick with emotion.

Wanda nods, her eyes soft and understanding. "Of course I did. I always will. We’ll get through this together, alright?"

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. Leaning into her, you let the tears fall, knowing she’s there to catch you. She holds you close, her hand continuing its soothing motion on your back.

"Let’s get out of here for a bit," Wanda suggests gently. "We can take a walk, get some fresh air. You need a break from all this."

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight lift slightly. "Okay," you agree, your voice small but steadier now.

With Wanda by your side, you know you’ll face whatever comes next, together. As you stand and slip on your coat, you give her hand a grateful squeeze. She smiles, and for the first time since the dinner incident, you feel a glimmer of hope.

#ley answers anons #ley writes #ley writes requests #ley writes drabbles #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff #mommy!wanda #mommy!wanda maximoff #sub!fem!reader #sub!reader

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star-sim · 10 months ago

Text

how you hurt him ☆ ot7

☆ non-idol! ot7 enhypen x fem! reader ☆ summary: all the ways that you hurt him (ft. song lyrics) ☆ genre: angst ☆ warning(s): toxic relationship, toxic! reader, mentions of cheating, this is practice for an english project so please bear with me, most of this is very figurative/abstract ☆ word count: 2.9k total ☆ aka enhypen boys as sad love songs, it’s like 1am i will edit later 😭

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

heeseung ☆

"why would you ever kiss me? i'm not even half as pretty" — heather, conan gray

was there something wrong with heeseung? what if he wasn't good enough for you? did you think he was ugly? disgusting? annoying? needy?

at the beginning of your relationship, you made it clear to heeseung that you weren't good with words.

"don't worry about it," heeseung had told you. "i'm not good either."

he thought you meant that you found it hard to say "i love you."

what you meant was that you were indeed good with words, just bad at saying nice things to him.

at first he thought he was being ridiculous, a prisoner of his own mind.

he knew you loved him— how could you possibly not?

but if you loved him, why did you say such nasty things to him?

"god, heeseung, you're so stupid."

"i can't believe i'm dating someone like you."

"i'm disgusted with you."

he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

what had he done to make you repulsed by him? was he being sensitive?

he hated himself for all of it.

he hated the creeping feelings of jealousy that would suffocate him like a noose to a prisoner whenever he saw you talk to another man. did you like him more than heeseung? what if you wanted to leave him?

he hated how he craved what little kind words you could give him. it was so rare for you to compliment and speak to him gently, so when you did, heeseung was drunk on it.

he hated how insecure he got.

he hated how his mind was a gallow of its own.

he hated how afraid he was.

"you're so pretty," you whispered into his ear.

heeseung's stomach did flips. did you really mean it? was he as pretty as all the other men you entertained yourself with? was that why you kissed him and not them?

did this mean that you really loved him?

heeseung felt something tighten around his neck. not in that suffocating way that made him claw at his skin until he bled as he stared in the mirror asking himself what could be changed, but in the way that made him feel warm all over.

he’d wait at the gallows like a convicted prisoner, he’d stand there proud, ready to say his last words. he’d keep his hands behind his back, he’d admire the brass noose that would be his eternal necklace.

because for heeseung, to be with you, and to love you, was to be helpless.

to love you was to wait like a dog in the cold.

to love you was to eat your every word like it was his last meal.

to love you was to be your prisoner waiting for you to execute him.

jay ☆

"pretend that we are more than friends, then of course I'll let you break my heart again" — let you break my heart again, laufey

it's not your fault, jay tells himself. it's not your fault that you can't love him.

but at what point does it become your fault?

you knew that he loved you. he'd told you multiple times, shown you a billion other times. anyone with eyes could tell that he was head over heels in love with you. everyone knew.

especially you— you who rejected him time and time again, laughing that he was just a friend to you.

but here you were, pressing yourself up against him, looking at him with lidded eyes and licking your lips like you wanted to eat him. you held his hand against your chest, whispering a soft "good night." jay knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, not with you so close to him, not with the ache in his chest.

it's not your fault that he loves you, jay thought. but it is your fault that you lead him on, that you pretend to kiss him, that you snuggle up next to him knowing that he'd lay down his life for you.

did you enjoy torturing him like this?

what pleasure did you take in constantly making him think that he had a chance with you?

was this how it was going to be forever?

were you always going to keep him waiting like this, just because you knew that he'd stay no matter what?

jay swallowed the lump in his throat.

he couldn't continue living like this, having you play with his feeling like this.

"jay..." you mumbled, reaching out for him. jay was pulled out of his thoughts, his eyes flickering to you. you looked so innocent and peaceful despite himself. how could he ever stop? how could he stop when it was you at hand?

"i'm here," he hummed, throwing an arm around you. i'm always here.

you were warm, and soft, and everything that jay could ever want in a person. your soft breathing brushed up against his cheek.

jay stared at your sleeping face.

would it hurt to pretend that you were more than friends?

he let his eyelids fall slowly.

he could imagine you and him dancing in the kitchen, laughing together as the scent of jay's cooking filled the apartment. jazz music would be playing, and you'd pretend to be an old flapper couple from the '20's, swirling around the cold kitchen tiles.

your words from earlier echoed in his head.

"i love you so much, jay!"

"you're the best."

"how could i ever be so lucky to meet you?"

it made his heart pound in his chest, unable to hide the lovesick grin spreading on his face.

he knew your words meant nothing, that you truly only saw him as a friend.

he needed to stop this delusion now, else he'd be even more hurt than he already was. you broke his heart over and over again, as if it meant nothing to you.

but as you and him twirled around his head, basking in each other's presence, jay couldn't bring himself to let you go.

he'd let you, jay thought. he'd let you break his heart.

as many times as you wanted.

jake ☆

"the other man will always cry himself to sleep, the other man will never have her love to keep" — the other woman, lana del rey

of course jake knew that he wasn't the only man in your life.

how many times did he lay in bed at night, wishing that it was him that could hold you? how many times did he dream of being the man that could call you his? how many fantasies did he have of marrying you, of giving you the world?

and how many times did he have to remind himself that he couldn't have you— that you already had someone to love?

it made jake feel sick, seeing all the pictures that you posted with you and your husband, hearing all the chatter about your 2-year wedding anniversary, and forcing himself to smile as a tight-lipped "congratulations" fell from his mouth.

but what made him even more sick was how happy he felt whenever you showed up at his doorstep in the depths of the night.

jake couldn't help it.

he couldn't help how his stomach did flips when your hands slithered up his chest, wrapping around his neck as you pressed kisses against his jaw.

he couldn't help how his body moved on its own as he took in the scent of your perfume, his head filling with nothing but you, you, you.

he couldn't help how he craved you, how he was unable to pull away from you, even though he knew you had a husband waiting for you back home.

he couldn't help how for a moment, he could pretend that you were his; for a moment, he could live in the illusion that he was the one that you came home to every night, that he was the one that you woke up with in the morning, that he was the one that you sat at the kitchen table with to discuss your weekly grocery list, that he was the one that you laughed with in the depths of night, that he was the only man that you loved.

but as quickly as it started, you were already out the door, waving goodbye with a sweet smile as if you hadn't committed a crime against your husband.

jake knew the sight of your retreating back better than anyone, and as he closed the door, he'd suck in a sharp breath.

he would deny it over and over, until his words lost meaning.

but he knew the truth.

he was a fool for thinking that he could have you, for after all this time, he was the other man.

sunghoon ☆

"i bet on losing dogs, i know they're losing and i'll pay for my place" — i bet on losing dogs, mitski

you and sunghoon were never meant to work out, and he knew this.

everyone said that you'd hurt him. he'd seen it with his own eyes, how you bore your bloody teeth and ripped into people like they were your prey, how you barked venomous words at people.

you were a losing dog to begin with, a losing dog that would never truly love him the same way you loved yourself.

and before he knew it, sunghoon realized that everyone was right.

you sunk your teeth into him, feasting on what love he could give you like a ravenous hyena.

but how could he resist you? how could he resist your touch, your warmth, your limited moments of compassion?

wounded, bleeding, scarred, sunghoon staggered away from the killing floor. yet, he was unable to stop himself from turning over his shoulder to see your face.

there was something disgusting he felt, something that made sunghoon nauseous. his stomach churned. and then he realized, he couldn't bring himself to leave you.

because you were a starving dog, thristy for a victim.

because you were a wailing dog, weeping over your kill as if it would atone you.

because you were a losing dog, a dog that sunghoon placed his bets on.

and it was time for him to pay the price of his actions.

sunoo ☆

"i know who you pretend i am" —washing machine heart, mitski

sunoo wasn't stupid.

he knew it better than anyone, that your heart didn't belong to him. it never did, and it never will.

sunoo saw the way that you yearned, he saw the way that your eyes lit up, he saw the way that you gazed with love in your eyes— all for someone that wasn't him.

so why did you kiss him like he meant anything to you? why did you hold him like he could have you?

he knew why.

"i missed you so much," you breathed against his ear, pressing him against the wall. "so, so, so much."

the taste of your lips was addicting.

you liked to kiss roughly. you liked to run your fingers through his hair and pull it harshly, making him groan lowly against your lips. you liked to slip your fingers up his shirt, making him shudder.

sunoo liked to kiss gently. he liked it when your lips would melt against his. he liked it when you played with the clasp of the silver chain around his neck. he liked it when you pulled away and giggled softly at the lipstick smudge at the corner of his lip.

he didn't like it rough like you did.

but he took it all.

he took it all, because he loved you.

he took it all, even though he knew that you were kissing him pretending that he someone else.

it wasn't hard to tell.

you wore the gold necklace that he gave you, never any of the ones that sunoo got you.

you didn't even blink when sunoo's name was said, but the mere mention of his interests or career had you reeling.

and of course, he liked when you kissed roughly so you were a rough kisser, even though sunoo liked it gentle.

you don't even look at sunoo the way you look at him.

when you said "i miss you," sunoo could tell that you didn't mean it.

you didn't miss sunoo, you missed him. you just missed the attention that sunoo gave you.

he knew who you pretended he was.

but all he could do was look into your eyes, and be reminded of a tragedy: that while you couldn't love him back, he loved you.

"i missed you, too," he whispered back, swallowing the lump in his throat, swallowing his dignity.

jungwon ☆

"if you need to be mean, be mean to me" — i don't smoke, mitski

to be vulnerable, to be at someone's mercy, to be someone's lamb for the slaughter, was jungwon's biggest fear. he'd die before he'd let someone take advantage of his weakness.

yet as you slipped out of his grip, your once loving eyes turning cold as hands that once held him in your arms became the hands that striked him, all he could do was sit back and take it.

words like daggers into his back, slashing him over and over like he was a sacrificial lamb for a god that could not save him. hot tears would line as eyes as you raised your knife at him, sending shivers down his spine that made him cower into his skin, chanting apologies like they were prayers.

jungwon should run. after all, that was all he spent his life doing.

but how could he escape you when you kissed his tear-stained face? how could he leave you, for when your anger simmered down you cradled his cheek, whispering that you loved him?

it hurt, it hurt so bad.

but if you must destroy him, if you must slaughter him until your killing floor was covered in blood, if you must cut him up into little pieces for your own pleasure, so be it.

he'd follow you into the slaughterhouse, knowing full well that the darkness was the last thing he'd ever see, and jungwon would close his eyes and thank the person that crafted your blade anyway.

you can kiss him, you can hold him close, or you can strike him, you can treat him like an animal. he wouldn't care. it would be the same either way; he'd be glad that it was you.

for he was your lamb, and you were his butcher; for if you needed to be mean, be mean to him.

riki ☆

"even though she isn’t even really gone, but things are just different ever since she cut her blue hair off" — blue hair, tv girl

of course riki noticed. how could he not?

all those bored looks when he was talking, aimless nods when he asked you a question, and loveless kisses that you pressed against his skin. it took you hours to respond to his texts and calls, and when you did, you responded curtly. you stopped coming home, always having plans on weekends with no time for him.

riki didn't know what happened.

he thought that you and him had such a great relationship, filled with love and laughter.

but somewhere along the way, you seemed to lose interest in him.

he asked all your friends, but they said nothing changed about your behavior.

did riki do something wrong? did he make you angry? all questions that he'd never find the answer to.

the silence was piercing, ringing in his ears. he'd just asked you how your day was, and all he got back was a simple, vacant stare, before you turned back to your phone, scrolling mindlessly. his heart sunk so his stomach, brows crashing together.

had riki lost you? all he wanted was for you to look at him, for you to acknowledge him. was he being dramatic?

please, riki begged. please look at me, please see me, please love me.

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garagepaperback · 7 months ago

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absolutely love your fic recs omg! do you have any recs for authors who are currently still active? i'll read anything but i'm a big fan of stories that take their time and have a slow slow slow burn.

aww thank you for the ask! here are some of my top-tier favorites from ~active~ authors, varying degrees of slow burn:

probationary action - @toomuchplor

this fic is like being in a carnival funhouse where the walls are writhing, panting, dumb-hot, rigorously perfect smut and then slowly, slowly, you recognize all the mirrors and the warped floor are actually soft, glancing sentiment and crisp prose and then you make it back outside to a big, real, aching world. in the parking lot you will have also important thoughts about the punitive justice system.

Harry breathes out a sigh, dropping his face into the open palms of his hands. “Thank Merlin for you, Neville,” Harry says, looking up again. “You really are the best of all of us.” “I’m not,” says Neville, “but I do want to see you happy, Harry.” Harry reaches out and squeezes Neville’s shoulder fondly. “It must be very interesting, dating Malfoy,” says Neville, standing up. “He uses a lot of sex spells, doesn’t he.”

la, who am i to love you? - @epitomereally

a masterpiece! i'm actually getting sun-soaked dazed eyes just thinking about it. perfect, heat-scoured (the riddled-with-light skies! the la fires! the radiant blooming gardens! the fucking pool!) lush location, one of the most interesting takes, and still true-to-the-marrow depictions of harry, draco, pansy, luna - the list is endless. also so hot, and so dear. even the traffic feels dreamy.

“Maybe you could list the pros and cons of moving to LA for me, Harry,” Dr Goldstein prods. Uncomfortably, all Harry can think is Draco, Draco, Draco.

the july tree - @oknowkiss

:,) this is so sweet, fun, hot and adoring from another masterful prose-maker. everything that is glanced at feels so naturally done, the vividness creeps in before you're liable to fully realize you're in fact reading and not truly looking. explorative and understanding. 10/10, wonderful, a hundred gold stars.

His neck was in shambles from where it had been bent over to one side. He tried to move but there was a heavy weight on his shoulder. He looked down and saw Potter had fallen asleep on him. Potter’s hand had slipped between Draco’s legs, just above his knees, and then the train came to a stop and Potter woke up as well, lifting his head, his glasses slightly crooked. Draco wanted to go back an hour and keep himself awake, so that he could feel Potter on him, warm and heavy and unguarded. Instead he’d had only a few seconds before Potter sat up straight, stretching his arms overhead. He smiled at Draco before standing, resting his hand on top of Draco’s head as he walked by. It was lovely, and intimate, but all Draco could think of was the hour he’d slept through, an hour of time spent with Potter he wouldn’t ever get back, his brain repeating over and over, I missed it.

cut from the sky - @mallstars

so much of what i'm desperate to say about this fic is [redacted] for spoiler reasons! such a raw romance wound around an incredible, engaging, heart-stuttering plot. i'm jutting my lip out and there's a vacant ache in my ribs where my heart's supposed to be over this one. lovely, queer, splendid, just perfect. god.

"Please," Harry heard himself say, though he didn't quite know what he was asking. Draco kissed his forehead. "Of course," he replied. "What would you like?" Harry shivered, watching the runnels of water against Draco's flushed cheek. "Please," Harry said again, dropping his head against Draco's leather-clad shoulder, thinking of his hotel room, of stumbling into Draco's store tomorrow, calling him Malfoy and pretending his days didn't revolve entirely around him, "Please don't leave. Please don't leave just yet."

gallows-bird - @jtimu

i want to describe this one with eight knife emoji's and nothing more. four chapters in and every single one individually has ruined my day. it's wonderful, dreary, just enough gray that you'll wonder if the glint you thought you saw was hope or just a trick of the light. highly recommend, misery loves company, come on through.

There hadn’t ever been anyone to soothe Harry’s hurts. To fuss over his skinned knees or brush his hair back from his temples with tender thumbs, too coo softly over a scrape. Comfort was something he’d learned secondhand, dear and hard-bought, and so sat there with his fingers twisted together, knuckles like knotgrass, and tried to wrench the words out. He wanted to touch, instinct told him that much, but he lacked the framework for how and where, and so he didn’t, and they sat there together in a thorny silence.

from love, obviously - @starsworth

counting even though bizarrestars is writing mostly (lovely! gender-explorative! wonderful! wolfstar and also black familial fic currently) not drarry because just god damn. an essential read for me. weirdo, phenomenal draco and the best teddy in the game, easily. hilarious but in that way where your breath snags after laughing really hard and the moment sort of echoes.

"You were kissing," Teddy says. "I saw it." Harry's eyes sink shut for a moment, and he drags a hand through his hair, which Draco may have accidentally made a mess of, then he blows out a deep breath and opens his eyes. "That's—well, that did happen, yes. That was…something we did." Teddy's eyes narrow. "I thought you were mortal enemies." "Mortal enemies kiss…sometimes," Harry says weakly, clearly out of his depth here. He grimaces almost immediately after he says this, then seems to remember he's the adult out of the two of them and coughs, standing up taller. "Nevermind that, you'll understand when you're older."

close behind - @oflights

oh my whole fucking heart. destroyed! adrift! she died how she lived. reading this feels like listening to music, something sleek and melodic, and when i actually consider the masterfully-rendered level of complexity in the plot, it feels like trying to peer into the belly of an actively-playing grand piano. certainly does not hurt to be an enormous fan of eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, orpheus and eurydice myth, and general suffering <3

“It’ll be all right,” Draco said again, and Harry swallowed the rest of his words. He couldn’t let them out here, in their bed, in their home; not yet. And his body didn’t know how to say what he wanted it to, not with Draco this close. Harry didn’t know how to tell Draco that they wouldn’t be all right, not in any language. Not yet.

#drarry fic #drarry #drarry fic recs #fic rec

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thewritetofreespeech · 6 months ago

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Could I request Astarion with a s/o who comes from a noble family of mages? S/o's family is super laid-back and chill with everyone, though.

For the first time in nearly 200 years, Astarion was nervous. He couldn't believe it. Him. Nervous.

He genuinely couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been nervous before. Terrified, depressed, manipulated, scorned, disgusted, mutilated to the core. But he’d never been nervous.

Astarion supposed this came with the territory of ‘meeting the family’. He wondered if they had felt nervous when they met his family? Probably not. Since they ambushed them in the middle of the night and then scurried off into the dark, with not so much as a goodbye. Besides, he genuinely doesn’t think that [Y/N] could be nervous. Nervous in meeting people came from a subconscious thought that people wouldn’t like them. Who wouldn’t like [Y/N]?

“You look like you’re going to the gallows.” They comment as they cross the threshold of the estate and head towards an equally ornate door.

Astarion had walked past this gate a thousand times in his years. Skulking in the shadows. Looking for victims. Such grand homes were off limits to him before, because of his condition. Cazador had been very clear that he was only to take wretches and low born when he went hunting. He told Astarion that that would be who he was best suited to go after, as it was similar to his station. Plus, when noble people start disappearing people tend to care. Cazador didn’t need that kind of attention. So he walked past the house, looking at it’s bright pillars and shining light from the windows, with envy and distaste. Now he was being welcomed in.

“What? I’m the picture of excitement, my love.” He told them. Not letting them get a glimpse of his internal monologue. “It’s just…been a while, since I’ve been invited to a social setting. Cazador…before…he would host events at the palace to cull more sheep, but we were only their for a moment before sent back to the kennels. No opportunity to socialize when you’re on the rack. So you lot were the only real conversation I’ve had in decades. Not that I didn’t appreciate everyone’s company, now that it’s over, but they all go leave something to be desired on the wit & banter scale.”

[Y/N] chuckled. Sensing that his jabs were in good fun, and perhaps sensing that they were also made out of nerves. He paused them then, just before ringing the bell for the door. "I want to make a good impression. Not a....pretend one. Like I'm used to. I can put on a good show for a few hours and have people eating out of the palm of my hand. But long term?" Astarion may have just gulped then. "I appreciate that I'm perhaps not the best choice for the only child of a noble family."

[Y/N]'s cheery disposition fell, and they calm close to cup their hand to his cheek. "Don't say that. You're wonderful. And, you're the one I choose." If he had a beating heart it would be singing like a hummingbird's. "Besides," they added as they rang the bell, "who wouldn't be swayed by your charms?"

"Hmm....that is true...”

They are greeted by a maid and then almost instantly by their mother. Who seemed to be waiting in the wings. Clearly over the moon to see them. It surprised Astarion.

When he thought of noble houses, he thought of starched shirts and stiff upper lips. Preening complexions looking down their noses at others with cool indifference. But this woman seemed so….warm.

“You must be Astarion! It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She greeted him with her hand to shake his.

It was like her greetings flipped a switch in his mind, and Astarion instantly went into his ‘charming self’. “The pleasure his all mine, your grace.” He gave a little bow and scooped up her hand to kiss it. Which made their mother giggle.

“Oh my! They are the charmer, aren’t they.”

“I certainly think so.” [Y/N] quipped.

The rest of the evening went….well. Or at least he thought it had.

Astarion was a little lost on the mark on how to charm people platonically. It just didn’t feel as natural as what he was doing before (although nothing was ‘natural’ about it. only routine). Their mother kept the conversation going with her light chatter and bubbly personality. While their father provided stoic, but congenial remarks throughout the evening. He was a good man. An honorable man. It was so rare to find them these days, particularly amongst nobility.

Very late into the evening, almost getting too close to dawn for his comfort, Astarion and [Y/N] bid goodbye to their parents. With an open invitation to come back any time, and a few notes on upcoming social events they were welcome to.

“That was…interesting…”

“What? You don’t like my parents?” [Y/N] asked as they walked home.

“No, no. I do. It’s just….I always pictured noblemen & women to be more…formal.” He doesn’t remember much of his former life, save for his death, but Astarion always assumed that his attitude came from his breeding as a young man of the nobility back in his time. He would be devastated to find out that he was really just an ass of his own doing.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve only ever met nobles in a formal setting.” Astarion shrugged. He supposed that was true. “Who we are for the public and who we are in life if very different. My family ‘can put on a good show’, to use your phrasing, but typically find it exhausting. Neither one of them is the best at politic, but our line is so old that it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“So they had you to be their political cat?” Astarion remarked with a grin. Thinking back on all those poor souls they persuaded into giving up their purse or letting them pass without incident.

[Y/N] returned his grin. “They like you, though. Mother made several mentions of it when we were alone. Father too.”

“He mentioned that he liked me?” That was a surprise.

[Y/N] pondered the question for a moment. “Hmm…it’s more that he didn’t make mention of it. If he hated you, he would have let me know. You too, in fact.”

Astarion let out a heavy sigh from a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He had done it. He had made a good impression. They liked him.

His chest suddenly felt tight. Swelling with…pride?

Astarion couldn’t think of a time when someone generally liked him before; save their adventuring camp. Lusted after him. Wanted to be ‘friendly’ with him. But just plain liked him? That was a new feeling.

They walk home in relative silence after meeting the relatives. [Y/N] seeming to enjoy the night air. While Astarion tried to process these new feelings of nervousness, pride, and platonic affection.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate imagine #baldurs gate scenarios #bg3 imagine #bg3 scenarios

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vivwritesfics · 5 months ago

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To The Gallows

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw had been hiding the fact that he's a pirate from his wife. She finds out just before he's taken to the gallows

Warnings: smut, p in v

His fingertips were soft against her shoulder. His eyes were fixed on her face as she slept against him, fingers laced through his.

Bradley loved her so damn much, but he knew he'd lose her one day soon. For the time being, he kept her close, savoured every moment with her. His lips met the top of her head and she shuffled back, a smile gracing her features.

"Good morning," she said as she turned in his arms. Her lips met his jaw and Bradley let out a hum, tightening his grip on her.

He was so damn content in her arms, and he never wanted to leave. He captured her lips against his own, body moving against hers as he rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her. "I don't want to go back," he mumbled between kisses.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. "It's only a short voyage, right?" She asked, tugging on his hair.

At that, Bradley's teeth nipped the bare skin of her shoulder. "God, I hope so," he mumbled as his hips rutted against her own. He wasn't inside of her, not yet anyway.

Her legs were wrapped around him and Bradley groaned as he slipped inside. He'd never get enough of this, of being this close to her. "Do I need to come down there and speak to your captain?" She was trying to be funny, but her breath was shuddering. Fuck, she was just so full of him.

It was slow and sweet, his forehead pressing against hers, occasionally kissing her lips. He drew things out, kept them gentle. He wasn't fucking her, he was making love to her. His rhythm faltered as he looked down at her. "I love you," he whispered as thehead of his cock pushed through her spongy walls for the final few times.

When she came, she went limp beneath him. The sweetest noises left her lips as her fingers slipped out of his hair, as her legs fell from around him. But Bradley had her, and that was all she cared about.

He finished inside of her, breaths coning out ragged and arms shaking from holding himself up. His softening cock was still inside of her. If he got her pregnant from this, he would be so damn happy.

Finally, he pulled out of her and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, eyes still on her face. As if he wanted to commit every detail to memory.

But Bradley had to pulled away from her. He got dressed and pulled his boots onto his feet, all while she sat there with the blanket pulled up to her chest.

Bradley looked at her as he laced his boots. He touched his chest, touched his necklace and looked at her. His ring was on that necklace, kept save as he travelled the seas.

Saying goodbye was always difficult. Bradley was never sure whether he was going to return to her or not. He took her hand in his and kissed the ring on her finger. "I'll be back before you know it," he assured her, his heart burning.

The blanket was still wrapped around her body, protecting her modesty as she walked him to the door. "Stay safe for me, Bradshaw," she whispered and pulled him in.

His hands were on her waist. She had no idea. No idea what kind of danger he was getting himself into. His smile was so sad as he gave her a final kiss goodbye.

***

Bradley had been on his voyage for a week before the posters went up around town. The first few days without him were always hard, but they got easier. Missing him got easier.

The voyage wouldn't last forever, she knew. He was doing good work, catching fish and providing food to small towns in land. She was so proud of him for the good work he did.

Basket in hands, she headed into town. Her ring was so comforting on her finger as she used the few coins in her pocket to get what she needed. The summer seasons would be over soon, and she couldn't have her Bradley getting cold when he came home. She bought what she needed to sew him something warmer.

The first poster was of a pirate. Pirates. They came through this port, but they were easy to spot and stay away from. Before Bradley placed the ring on her finger, he had nearly gotten into a fight with a pirate.

They were out walking late and the pirate had bumped into him. He made one comment that she couldn't hear, and that was enough to set Bradley off.

'Hangman'. That was the name of the pirate on the wanted poster. He was grinning, winking in his sketch. The Dagger crew. She'd heard rumours about them, about how awful they were. Bradley had encountered them before, and begged her to stay away.

She looked at the next posted, gave it a brief glance as she moved onto the next market stall.

But that posted had her pausing. 'Rooster'. She didn't recognise the name, but the face was undeniable. The moustache, the scars on his cheek, his lips pulled into a hard line. That was her Bradley, and he had a high price on his head.

Dropping her things, she ran back home.

***

The voyage wasn't very long. Bradley stepped off of the ship and made his way back through town under the cover of darkness. He was the only member of Maverick's crew to get off at this port, a fact he was happy about.

It was too dark to see the posters with his face printed across them. He wasn't paying attention, anyway. He just had to get back to his girl.

The house was normal when he walked in. Her shoes were by the door and dying embers were in the fireplace. Slipping off his boots, he walked towards the bedroom.

The door opened slowly. There she was, sheets wrapped around her body as she slept, face pressed against his pillow. Bradley tried to be quiet as he got dressed. He was careful and gentle as he pulled the blanket up to slip beneath.

Two seconds later, a pistol was pointed at his face. Bradley held his hands up, chest heaving as he stared at her. Where on earth did she get a pistol.

"Baby," Bradley breathed, his eyes wide and concern written on his face.

"You're a pirate."

Shit, how had she found out? She was supposed to believe he was a fisherman, not find out he was a thieving pirate.

Tears gathered at her waterline, ready to fall. "Why didn't you tell me?" She pressed, pistol shaking in her grip.

"Baby," he tried again. Her hands trembled more. "I was trying to keep you safe, I swear." He was gentle as he grabbed the pistol and lowered it. "I'm that same man you married," he said gently and stepped closer. "I know it's not good work, it's not honest work." There was a knock at the door, but they ignored it as they stood chest to chest. "But it's all I know how to do. It's how I got you this." He held her hand and moved his thumb over the rock on her wedding ring.

"I love you," he assured her, wrapping his arms around her. "I never want to lose you."

A sob left her lips, but she nodded. Face pressed against his chest, she let the tears fall. "I love you too, Bradley," she mumbled, gripping him so tight.

But it didn't last long. The door was thrown open and men came running into the house. They grabbed a hold of Bradley and ripped him away from her. "No!" She shrieked and struggled against the arms around her. "Get away from him!"

The man in the doorway read out the countless charges against Bradley. "Baby," he said, chest heaving. "Baby stop. Stop struggling, please."

She wasn't listening.

"She doesn't know anything!" Bradley insisted to the men holding her. "She thought I was a fisherman!"

The men let go of her and threw her into the corner of the room. Bradley struggled away from the men holding him and ran to her. He collapsed to his knees beside her and pushed her hair out of her face. "You're gonna be okay," he whispered and kissed her. "Go and stay with your sister. She'll take care of you."

"I'll wait for you," she gasped through sobs.

The smile that crossed his face was so sad. "Don't wait for me, baby," he whispered. "Don't wait for me."

They gripped his arms and pulled him away from her. Bradley looked at her face one last time, committed her features to memory before he was dragged off to the gallows.

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bunysliper · 6 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/gallow-glass/692512417889107968/acta-non-verba?source=share fic prompt

Lake Day

"Having a good time?"

She watches as her words take a moment to register, and grins when Castle blinks a few times to focus on her.

"A good time?" he repeats, allowing his head to swivel a bit to take in their surroundings; the wind has been a little heavy so far, so the water of the lake is choppier than usual, but the sun shines and the temperature is comfortable enough for them to rest on padded mats on the dock. "Oh yeah."

Beckett grins, feeling her cheeks warm.

It's silly to be so bashful because of two simple words, but here she is, blushing like a school girl because her boyfriend is having a good time doing the activity she planned for them.

"Yeah? I know it's not a big house in the Hamptons, but-"

Castle's hand scrambles across the dock, brushing over her wrist before he twines their fingers together. He lifts their joined hands to his mouth.

"Beckett," he murmurs, making sure she knows he's about to say something serious – something that will probably leave her grasping for words, "I don't care where we are – big house, little house, no house – as long as you're with me. The fact that you brought me to your dad's cabin is… it's beyond what I could've ever hoped."

She bites her lip, nodding. "Yeah? Even with the squeaky floors and the doors that don't close unless you shove them?"

His lips dust over her knuckles. "Especially with those things. They make this place yours."

"My dad's," she tries, shifting closer. It hadn't felt like her cabin when she was recovering from being shot. It hadn't felt like her cabin when her dad used to hole up here when he was on a bender.

But now…

"Yours, Kate. It's yours, too."

Now there's a warmth, a feeling of home. Because he's here with her.

#Castle Fanfic #Castle Fanfiction #Caskett #Caskett Fanfic #Fluffy Friday #My Fanfic #Prompt Responses #Season 5 Fic

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apollosunshineisdead · 7 months ago

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my favorite lyric or two from every will wood song

Everything is a Lot:

6up 5oh: "they shoulda fried me, I'll give ya PTSD!"

skeleton Appreciation Day: "give me all your LSD so i can feel my mind unweave again!"

front Street: "you said let loose, but now you're lost"

aikido!: "i told doctor tillis to prescribe an illness, but he said his schedule's filled with children with need Prozac, prilosec and lo-jack, triple-sec and lexapro"

white Knuckle Jerk: "i wonder how i woke up in the middle of my surgery, and i watched them botch my heart"

cover This Song!: "i'm just a little bit crazy 'bout you, just a little bit out of my mind"

Thermodynamic Lawyer: "so all that i see, absolute entropy as the chemical bounds fall apart"

red Moon: "the crescent rests, tethered to the west"

lysergide Daydream: "ooh, i wanna be on the picture on the postcard, pouring pitchers in the backyard by the garden we tend"

the First Step: "i lost count after 21 in the college crawl"

jimmy Mushrooms': "i think the truth is that everyone's wrong!"

Compound Fracture: "bienvenidos a la villa de arañas españas"

everything is a Lot: "night sky, i wonder why i am alive until i die / i find that at this size, no answer can be right"

destroy to Enjoy: "lao tzu, chaung tzu, yin-yang tattoos, FUCK your mystic wisdom! find your own way home from Bonnaroo!"

SELF-iSH:

self-: "i'll shake the apples from my family tree, so when the autumn comes to take the leaves..."

2012: "testing my hypothesis, never finding a theory!"

cotard's Solution: "rolling my third eye into the back, of my head and squinting through the black"

mr. Capgras: "eulogy or biography, i'm who i ought to be, and that is God to me"

the Song with 5 Names: "WHAT IS "IS"? WHAT IS "NOT"? WHAT IS "WHAT"? WHAT'S UP PARTY PEOPLE! WHAT? / WHY I WONDER WHY I'M NOT WHATEVER, WHAT THE FUCK!"

hand Me My Shovel: "looking up, i could say Heaven sent me! / hand me my shovel, i'm going in!"

dr. Sunshine is Dead: "i'm noone if i'm nowhere in between!"

-ish: "well at 27 will i see, that i was born to be the man i'll be?"

The Normal Album:

greetings from Mary Bell Township!: "so give me your half-life crisis / i can tell that you know where paradise is!"

(vampire) Culture: come on, drink that BLOOD! didn't they want your blood?

Love Me, normally: the Lord looked down, said, "hey, you're only mortal"

2econd 2ight 2eer: "my grip on the secrets' slippin' while i'm speakin' in tongues!"

laplace's Angel: "so if you wash your hands of where you've been until you flood the second floor / neatly fold your skeletons, but still can't shut the closet door"

i/Me/myself: "eating your prosthetic, meet your anesthetic"

...well, better than the Alternative: "she's gonna be a lot like me, but i don't wanna be at all like me"

outliars And Hyppocrates: "i am the shadows cast aside by gallows, and you, the red hot sky"

blackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA: "his ribcage was a hornet's nest, his palpitations set the beat!"

marsha, thankk you for the Dialects: "doctor, what's my prognosis if the studies show that / disease is in the eye of the beholder, tell me "so it goes!""

love, Me Normally: "is there nothing to fear, cuz shit's getting weird!"

memento Mori: "no need to fear cuz when it's Here you won't be alive / try not to think about it!"

Camp Here & There: Campfire Songs:

venetian Blind Man: "string on his finger, a tourniquet ring"

yes, to err is Human: "if you don't hate me, then reanimate me!"

your body, My Temple: "furthering the fever of your fervor for believing, I will"

when somebody Needs you: "fishing lure moon on a string for you, didn't you say you need space?"

"In Case I Make It,"

tomcat Disposables: "what's the moon made of? meet me there after i'm gone"

becoming The Lastnames: "weeding out the garden where the milestones gather moss"

Cicada Days: "here at the end of days, my god, what have I done? / christ, now it feels damn inhumane to get all i dreamed of"

euthanasia: "and every, everybody dies / fighting for their lives, just trying to survive"

falling Up: "airplane eclipses over spirals of math – would or could the impact kill me?"

that's Enough, let's get you Home: "but CO2 and fish tanks do enough to get you home"

um, it's Kind of a Lot: "sorry darling, please excuse my constant need to self-aggrandize!"

half-Decade Hangover: "but i can't make amends for things i can't remember"

vampire Reference in a Minor Key: "the seraphim on my shoulder, whispering "please don't turn your head""

you liked this: "Ten Red Flags that a Neurotypical Narcissist is Trauma Dump Gaslighting You into Sex-Negative Self-Abuse Emotional Labor and Internalised Reverse Racism Against Post-Modern Flat Earthers with Facts and Logic (Number Seven Will Destroy Your Family)"

the Main Character: "judge me by what my cover shows, author becomes beyond reproach"

Against the Kitchen Floor: "i'm not a good person, i'm barely a person at all"

Sex, Drugs, Rock 'n' Roll: "and i hate proving that i'm still human after all"

BFB's Blueberry Pie: " "

Willard!: "so gather 'round pandora's skinner's box, look through the one-way mirror / if you can see in shade's of grey, the colors are much clearer"

White Noise: "it begs the question just to tell you the answer!"

ICIMI outtakes:

misanthrapologist: "I hear your hear beating under the floorboards" and if i did, you deserved it: "that i really don't carе what you think or what you say, either that or I do way too much, oh well whatever, either way"

thank you for listening

#i mightve missed something but this is so incredibly long #sunshine silliness #mod midge #will wood #wwatt #everything is a lot #eial #self ish #camp here and there campfire songs #the normal album #in case i make it #icimi

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poisonsage808 · 2 years ago

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hiii! i wanted to say first off that I love your work! i always come back to them whenever I'm in need of some sandor time and they never fail to make me smile.

i wanted to ask if you could do something w/ "i was so worried. it was killing me, not being able to reach out and touch you" from that secret relationship prompt list. I thought it was fitting for sandor cause that man secretly loves physical touch does he not?

♡ Strong Enough ♡

Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader

a/n: hello there! i see your user all the time, i’m so happy you requested something and thank you for your constant support! i tweaked it a bit to suit him more but i hope you like it xoxoxo

tw: blood, violence, death, swearing

The gods were having a laugh at him, weren't they? Giving the ugliest brute in Westeros the heart of the sweetest thing he thinks he’s ever seen in gods know how long just to take them away. Of all the people in the world to weasel their way into the Hound’s heart, it had to be you. Twin to the Young Wolf, Robb, fucking you. A fucking Stark!

You’d somehow befriended the Hound during his stay at Winterfell but then you kissed him on the way to King’s Landing. He was certain you’d hate him after he killed that butcher's boy and end whatever it was the two of you had, but you didn’t. Then he was even more certain you’d hate him after he took you and your sister, Sansa, hostage, but you didn’t. Sandor was abso-fucking-lutely certain you’d hate him after King Joffrey ordered your father to be executed… but you didn’t.

“It’s not your fault,” You told him, some of those times through flooding tears, “Don’t risk your head, alright? Not for me, not for anyone.”

Gods, he hated it when you cried. And Sandor had been seeing you cry a lot ever since Joff had your father beheaded. Even so he allowed it, especially because you never cried in front of anyone else. You were strong like that, never giving them the satisfaction of knowing how you were truly feeling. Your red rimmed eyes may say otherwise, it was proof enough but Sandor still thought you were strong and he would hold you whenever he had the chance.

“Keep your head down, little wolf, and do as you're bid. Tell your sister the same.”

‘They won’t hurt you’ he wanted to say but they could. They did and have, whenever they had the chance. They being the Lannisters— Baratheons, whatever, the royal cunts he worked for. Sandor never felt guilt as heavy as he did these past months. He felt it every damn time he saw your stoic face, albeit the red under your eyes seemed to be permanently stained that way, in court or dutifully beside your sister.

The gods were testing his restraint as if Sandor needed a bloody test. He damn near gutted Meryn yesterday for the punch he gave you in front of everyone. He’d take a tongue lashing or walk the gallows for it, gladly. Then he met your eyes. Don’t risk your head, your voice ricotched inside his skull so loudly it stilled him. Sandor had never been so happy to see the dwarf in his life, ending the beating before Meryn’s sword struck you and only you. The little bird with her ripped dress sobbing on her knees tucked into your protective arms. He would’ve killed the Kingsguard himself if it wasn’t for Tyrion and, as much as he wanted to, he didn’t want the last time he saw you to be in that room.

Sandor bandaged you himself, undoing the shite work that old pervert Pycelle did.

“No one’s gonna hurt you again, little wolf.” He swore— no, he vowed, and the Hound didn’t do vows, “No one, you hear me?”

“I’m ok, Sandor.” You assured him as you always did, each time sounding weaker than the last. Never quite yet a lie, you were still strong.

Sandor felt the shift in the air less than halfway to the Red Keep, the walk was eerily quiet. He knew King Joff wasn’t beloved by any means but utter silence was a warning and he’d curse himself if he didn’t chance a look at his surroundings. He’d tell himself this anyways but his eyes landed on the little bird… then his little wolf following behind her.

You didn’t smile when you caught his brief gaze looking back at you over his shoulder. No, you felt the same tense aura he did and he could see the worried expression on your face. Fear. He thinks he hates that look on you more than tears. Sandor wished he could just grab you, hook you under his arm and make sure you stayed there until he saw you to safety.

Don’t they always say “it happened so fast” well it fucking did. Sandor blinked, Joff was hit and his sword was drawn out right after. Then everything went to shit. The Bread Riot they would call it by tomorrow but Sandor Clegane could name it right here and now; his worst fucking nightmare come to life.

Joff was fine, he made certain of that firsthand but when he turned around, though his body never ceased moving, his heart stopped. You and the little bird were nowhere to be seen. Sandor felt like he could breathe at least when he found Sansa, just in time by the looks of it. His sword hacked through flesh and bone then he swung the girl over his shoulder. She cried the whole way back, never ending blubbering was just as bad as her chirping. Only this time they were both thinking the same.

“Where are they!?” She sobbed, “Please, you have to—“

Sandor didn’t need to be fucking commanded to find you, so he didn’t stay to hear the rest of her pleas. He went back to face the riot a third time. Occasionally some idiot came at the Hound only to meet their gorey demise at his sword. Sandor shouted your name until his throat hurt, growing more panicked the longer he went without a response.

Until you called back.

Footsteps come closer, heavier, faster. Rounding the corner his nerves finally leave him alone with relief. Sandor’s shoulders slump as lets out a breath that takes away some of the tension he was holding onto. He takes one step closer while you close the distance with a leap. Your arms locked behind his neck, the blood on his armor smearing against your own attire. You didn’t seem to care, he certainly didn’t. The deathly grip on his weapon shook and his sword clattered when it hit the ground. Sandor enveloped you in his arms and breathed in the scent of your hair. He almost thanked the gods that laughed at him that you were alive—

Then he pulled away harshly, hands flying to your cup your cheeks and turning your head all around looking for any bruises or cuts. He ignored the way you said his name until he inspected every fucking inch of you, making sure you weren’t bleeding or something worse had happened. If you were it would all be his fault, he made fucking vows for you! He—

“Sandor.” You said again

He sighed then begrudgingly met your red rimmed eyes, “It.. it fucking killed me not to reach out and touch you.”

You somehow smiled and attempt to gently pry his hands away to hold them, “I’m ok, I—“

“No.” He growls and holds your face still in his grip.

His eyes are wide, boring into yours. His breaths short and shaking with every exhale. Is this fear? In the Hound— your Hound?

“It would’ve fuckin’ killed me if something happened to you. Do you understand me? I’m strong but,” Sandor sighs and blinks away any traces of fear you thought you saw but he doesn’t meet your eyes for the final part of his little speech, “I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

Halfway through his admission your brows punched up and tears welled in your eyes. You managed to swallow down the sob that almost escaped. Words aside, the seriousness and earnestness in his voice had you choking up. Including his statement, it was just about the closest Sandor Clegane has been to admitting he not only cared about you but quite possibly loved you.

“Look at me,” You managed to say, “I’m right here, Sandor, I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes find yours again. You’re smiling that bloody smile that twists his guts in a way he doesn’t necessarily dislike. It’s weak… but it’s there and it’s mighty reassuring. Sandor’s thumb catches a tear that drips down your cheek. He hates it when you cry.

“Alright…” He swallows hard on nothing.

#sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones imagine #imagine #x reader #game of thrones #sandor the hound clegane #poiboidrabbles #sandor clegane imagine #sandor x reader #sandor clegane

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amywritesthings · 2 years ago

Text

SEEING YOU, SEEING ME. (1/7)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: After handling a life-or-death favor for Tess, you're in deep shit. Until she can make things right, she suggests you lay low at her place for the week. The issue? It's also Joel Miller's place, and you're pretty sure he hates you.

Warnings: Mentions of death and violence, Age gap/difference, Slow burn, Angry!Joel, Eventual Smut, Enemies to Fuckers, Before the events of TLOU 1.01

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter / Masterlist

CHAPTER ONE: THERE, EVERYWHERE

“Where are we going?”

The scoff from the woman stalking ahead tells you it's a stupid question to ask, if not already one too many.

Head down, hood up — in the cover of night, you have managed to slide in and out of alleyways unscathed and unseen. With every darkened hour, curfew gets that much more dangerous. Risky; the gallows are a recent addition to the zone to make an example out of deserters, rule breakers, and degenerates alike.

One false move, and it'll be two additional necks tomorrow morning.

None of this running around, however, is by your own doing: Tess Servopoulos is the thing that goes bump in the night. The smuggler that knows her way around the quarantine zone with little error.

The person that gets shit done around here.

You’re only by her side because you happened to be at the wrong place, wrong time — or, in her instance, the exact spot she needed in order for Tess herself to avoid that miniscule margin of error from increasing.

A lucky fuck-up, she calls it, except the concept of luck is all for her.

For you? It’s a matter of life and death — Fedra, the gallows, are only a drop in the bucket compared to having your fate at the hands of one Robert's underlings in a domino chain of petty fights and turf wars.

Tess swears on an eye for an eye: if she can clear your name and settle a deal, then no blood will have to be shed.

(A luck fuck-up, indeed.)

“You want to live?” she asks under her breath, a pace ahead. The hallway is empty at this time of night, wrapped tightly in militant fear. “Then you stay here.”

You shove your freezing hands in your pockets. “And where is here?”

“Just a place.”

“Yours?”

The woman finally halts at a door, glancing once at you as she fishes for her keys with an irritated boredom; a Tess classic.

“Did I say you could ask so many fucking questions?”

Bingo.

You were right: one too many.

With one quick shove of her shoulder, you’re met with a sea of earth tone pinks engulfed a low light hue. Sun-stained curtains billow against the open air. The dilapidated floral wallpaper brings an uncomfortable Deja vu of a not-so distant world that's still rapidly decaying. The furniture seems well kept, sturdy, with a dining table set and a half-sunken couch. Eerie is the sound of a soft seventies ballad crooning Looks Like We Made It by Barry Manilow from a static-filtered FM radio between the windows.

But someone is already there.

Hunched over the small, square table for two sits a broad-shouldered man with salt and pepper hair. His shoulders lurch protectively over what seems to be paper and pen. The back of the jean-clad torso tightens at the sound of Tess's boisterous entrance, and their chin turns at break-neck speed to assess the intrusion. The person's eyes do not meet yours, but your certainly meet his face.

Shit.

You know that scowl.

It never leaves his damn face.

Here, Tess has conveniently left unconfirmed, is not only her place but Joel Miller’s place. Joel Miller — the guy who will take any hardened zone job no one wants so long as no one speaks or looks his way. The person who, at the end of the day, wants to be handed what he’s owed and to be left the fuck alone.

It's the guy you have spent dozens of shifts working alongside, desperate to make rationed ends meet, without so much as an introduction or a hello.

And you're fairly certain he hates you.

While it's rumor that Joel hates everyone, it's the way he hits your shoulder as he passes by to pick up the next dead body that's festered a full-blown fabricated story like a virus in your mind. You swear his gaze hardens every time he shows up at six a.m. sharp, only to find you waiting at the dig site.

With intimidating urgency he stands, slamming the notepad closed with an open palm.

“What’s all this?” the southern drawl is unamused. Gruff.

Angry.

Tess doesn’t look at you when Joel steps once, twice, meeting her in the middle. “A favor.”

Joel’s eyes narrow a fraction of an inch. “We don’t do favors.”

“No, we don’t,” Tess confirms with an air of aloofness, “but she did one for me.”

“And that’s my problem, how?”

Tess looks him dead in the eye, unblinking. Joel stares back with the same intensity, nostrils flaring. Mentally they continue to argue while you stand at the mouth of the apartment. An unspoken language, fit for the two of them and leaving you clear out in the cold.

Regardless, you’re no fool. You're not a face he wants to see.

(Goddamnit, Tess.)

Joel relents, shifting his weight from one leg to another as he places his hands on his hips. The movement is followed by a hefty, exhausted sigh.

“So then what’s your plan? Since you're suddenly feeling all sorts of generous today, Tess."

Not an outright refusal. Not a threat to turn you in.

Just like that, your not-so-lucky day has turned around.

Tess nods her chin once in appreciation of this acceptance, only to gesture to you.

“Let her lay low.”

His fiery eyes flicker to you, finally, and your fingers instinctually tighten against the strap of your pack slung loosely over your shoulder.

“I assume you mean lay low here.”

“Yes.” Tess tenses, if only a little, as if to brace for the oncoming storm. “For a few days.”

His expression shifts instantly, brows knit tight to blink back at Tess. Joel starts with a bite, louder than before.

“A few—?”

“Days. Until I can sort shit out and make everything even.”

Joel pauses for a moment, taking a much needed breath to level the rage rolling off of him in waves. You shift your bag, attempting to make no noise. Prey meet predator; God forbid you provoke him.

Then he speaks between gritted teeth.

“That’s a big fucking ask, Tess.”

Tess nods, though it's a contrast softer this time around.

“You know I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. I gotta make it right before shit hits the fan. You know how Robert gets.”

And he does know, it seems, by the way he backs off with a miniscule step. His shoe scuffs at the floor, creaking the wooden boards.

Joel lands his eyes on you for a second time. It's lessened in intensity, but it's unforgiving all the same.

You nervously shrug one shoulder, turning into a counterpoint. “If this… is an issue, I can just—”

“Go back out there until someone kills you?” Tess interrupts, craning her chin to watch you, too. “No. It’s just a few days. We can make this work.”

“And where will you be, during all this?” Joel asks, but it’s gentler this time. Worried, even if it’s laced with sarcasm.

Tess keeps her eyes on you as she fixes her coat. “Out, but safe. It’s better to do this shit at night sometimes, as stupid as that sounds.”

"You're right, it does sound mighty fucking stupid," Joel gripes in the midst of Tess crossing the threshold between the two of you towards the door.

You almost want to beg her to stay, just for the night, but you know it'll be for nothing.

"Besides," when Tess reaches the door, she turns her head and smirks at the older man, "you could use a friend that isn’t me every once in a while.”

Joel's face drops in time with the boot taking one step ahead.

“But we don’t—”

Tess doesn't wait.

The door closes behind her faster than Joel can finish his statement.

(We don’t do friends.)

Now it’s just you, the white noise from the radio, and Joel Miller in his apartment.

Great.

Dropping his chin to his chest, Joel emits a drawn out groan and shuts his eyes. Yours wander, uncomfortable with staring, until they land on a half-full glass of amber liquid on the table with two white circular tablets.

Oxy.

Oh.

When you blink back to him, however, he notices you noticing all of this — the room, what he’s been up to, what his vices are. No explanation is read on the tip of his tongue.

Instinctually your head shakes, gentle and non-threatening.

“We all cope with whatever we have, right?” you ask despite yourself. “Not gonna… try to steal your shit or anything.”

“Good,” Joel responds, gruff yet almost uncertain. After a beat passes, the man clears his throat and gestures to the emerald couch in the corner. “I’ll, uh… I only got one bed.”

The statement makes you squint, confused, before it hits you:

“Oh.”

“It’s a small apartment,” he reasons more like a hotheaded apology than anything else, but you wave your hands in front of you.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can take the couch. I don’t even mind the floor. I really don't care.”

“I don't give a shit either, but Tess’d have my head if she found out I was good with letting you sleep on the goddamn floor,” Joel laments, sulking back over to the kitchen table to pick up his whiskey glass. You remain standing where you are in the middle of this makeshift living room as he flops down on the couch, denim-covered knees spread apart. “You take the bed. Got mostly fresh sheets put on yesterday.”

You want to ask — are you sure — but decide it’s best not to make more waves in the tsunami you’ve brought to his doorstep this late Tuesday night. You nod wordlessly, not even sure if he’s looking, before shuffling towards the open floor bedroom.

A mattress sits stacked on top of cement blocks in a makeshift frame. At first you reach out towards the pale salmon-colored sheets, gingerly pressing down on the mattress to test its give.

The bed doesn’t move.

Safe, for now.

From here you cannot see him, but you can feel him. There is a very suffocating air about this apartment; a sense of displacement. This is not home, but neither is this quarantine zone. Some people could make it as such, but it appears Joel Miller is about as unwilling to get comfortable as you are.

“Goodnight,” he chimes out of the blue from the other room.

Your eyes widen, following the creaks of the couch as Joel situates himself on the other side of the wall — until the room goes silent.

You don’t say it back. Instead you slowly lower to the mattress that isn’t yours, afraid to contaminate his safe space with your germs. You sit with your back against the wall, fearful to touch the pillows that smell too much like a man you barely know.

For twenty minutes you wait at the left side edge, stirring in the silence, until incoherent mumbles fill the apartment.

It’s Joel, gone from the lull of an alcohol-induced slumber.

Author's Note: It's officially begun! Thank you so much for reading. This series is tied to my one shot reckless. Chapter Two is quickly on the horizon, so never you fret on the wait. As most of my works are, this is a slow burn. This will also not be the most lovey-dovey Joel, so I warn you all ahead of time. As always, comments and reblogs mean the world to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support and enthusiasm over my first fic of 2023.

#joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #the last of us spoilers #tlou spoilers #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #seeing you seeing me #amywritesthings

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ceasarslegion · 2 months ago

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so ive come to learn that some family members that i thought were smarter than that, ended up voting very stupidly, and then further learned that they are being brainwashed by right wing podcasts

ik you have studied cults, so im coming to you to ask if you knew any resources off the top of your head about deprogramming them and knocking some sense into their head without putting them on the defense and accidentally pushing them farther right?

The first thing I should lay out for you is that deprogramming someone from a cult or cult-like environment is long, arduous, unforgiving, and will take more out of you than you could ever give. It is not your responsibility nor does your value as a loved one hinge on deprogramming your relatives. That is something that not even trained professionals can achieve half the time. I attempted to deprogram someone years ago, and the relationship ended in her siding with her cult and claiming I had slandered god by asking her to consider other worldviews outside of her own. And that was with all the knowledge and education I had on the topic.

With that out of the way, if you really want to pursue this, I can't stop you. And I'm not encouraging anything either way because that's your personal decision to make. But I can tell you what I do know and how to approach these things so you don't fly blind if you decide to take it on:

-NEVER say words like "cult" or "extremist" to them. Nobody joins a cult, they join a group of like-minded individuals who make them feel like they have community and support in an area where they lacked those things before. There is a very real need they have that this group has filled for them, and using words like that around them is a surefire way to make them shut themselves off from you. From their perspective, they introduced you to their fiance, and you called them a hag. No matter how untrue that may be, that's how they experience it. Avoid any sort of cultish language when engaging with them directly.

-you need to find that need they were lacking that this group filled for them. I can't tell you what that is, because it's unique to every cult victim. But try looking into the common themes among victims who have left and been deprogrammed from the right wing manosphere to see if they apply to your relatives at all. And when you find what that need is, you need to provide them alternatives, but you can not force them to take them. Survivors of the group you are deprogramming someone from are a fantastic resource to draw from for whatever your case is: if something broke the facade for them, that same thing may break it for your relatives too. There's a great podcast out there called Was I in A Cult where two cult survivors interview other survivors and tell their stories through lighthearted gallows humor, and they recently ran an episode about a woman who escaped QAnon that might be a good resource for you on that.

-You need to meet them where they are. This is going to hurt a lot, you will take a lot of ego hits, and you will often have to act like you believe in things that go completely against your most basic morals. But they will not listen to you if you approach as the "them" in the "us vs them" mentality that is a cornerstone of every cult. Does the part of the manosphere they're in align with a religious cult that thinks they can save the "them"s, like Jehovah's Witnesses? If it does, you have an in by acting like a "them" who needs saving. Don't forget that victims still have all their empathy and humanity, its just been corrupted for the gain of the group.

-don't forget who they are inside. This is... very hard. It's very hard to remember that they aren't really like this, that their humanity has been hijacked by a charismatic leader or group.

-its going to take a long time. Like, a LONG time. Sometimes it takes years, you need to chip a little at a time. And it won't feel like you're doing anything until the break happens, if it does. It works a bit like stonecutting: you deal 1000 back-breaking blows to a giant boulder and the 1001st time breaks it clean in half. And even then, sometimes they just break on their own, for reasons utterly external to all the hard work you put in to achieve it.

-if the break happens, your work is not done. Cults completely rewire how their victims perceive the world around them and how they exist within it. That is not going to go away overnight. It will be painful and agonizing for everyone involved, but most of all for them. It's a bit like walking the world with alzheimers while everyone tells you you don't have it and never had it to begin with for a cult survivor. They are going to carry a lot of baggage with them after the break. A lot of survivors develop mental health disorders, eating disorders, and their suicide and self-harm rates go up after they leave the groups they used to be in. They need a very strong, unflinching, and radically non-judgmental support system that will be there to teach them how to walk again and won't abandon them when they do slip back into their old, safe mentality.

-its okay to grieve someone even when they aren't dead. Proximity grief among friends and family of cult victims is exceedingly common and only gets worse the deeper their loved ones fall down the pipelines they tripped into. There's lots of groups you can find, like QAnon Casualties, that exist as spaces to grieve the loved ones lost to cults.

Some books and resources i know that are good for starting this journey include the Freedom From Religion Foundation, the earlier work of the QAnon Anonymous Podcast group, the documentary Going Clear, the Fair Game podcast, the books Cultish, Trust the Plan, The Storm is Upon Us, Conspiratuality: How New Age Conspiracy Theories Became A Health Threat, Doppleganger: A Trip Into the Mirrorverse, Netflix's How to Become A Cult Leader is a pretty good bite-sized series that gets the gist of it right, the documentary Beyond the Curve, Owen Morgan's work on his experience as a JW, and honestly? Your relatives' cult's own literature and media. You will get a very good idea of what their belief system is built on if you see it for yourself. That means no reaction videos, no reviews, no articles ABOUT it, you have to just sit down and honest to god see it for yourself from the perspective of a vulnerable individual who needs to hear whatever they're saying to them.

I included a lot of QAnon resources on this because that's the group I am most familiar with that has a significant overlap with what it sounds like your relatives have fallen into. This is also by no means an exhaustive list, this is what I thought of off the top of my head while writing out this answer on the train after work.

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butterscotch-goat · 2 months ago

Text

Grace's Dream

(a shitty OC comic that I am unnecessarily fond of. Takes place the night before Grace's death.)

warning: noose, near-hanging, discussion of death & existentialism

If you recognize the tune (Dream)Martha is humming I will kiss you on the mouth

[ID: A multi-page comic of two of OP's OCs: Grace and Martha, both teenage girls from the 1890s. Grace has greasy, curly hair, facial vitiligo around her eyes and cheeks, and wears a fancy dress with frills and lace. Martha is tall and lanky with freckles, a scar across her mouth, her straight hair in a loose ponytail. She wears a men's jacket over her blouse and her skirt is a little too small for her, reaching just below her knees.

Image 1:

Panel 1: A close up of Grace's face, her eyes closed in slumber.

Panel 2: The same as the previous panel, but one of Grace's eyes is opened drearily.

Panel 3: Zoomed out a bit, we now see that Grace is leaning against Martha. Grace recognizes Martha from her jacket.

Panel 4: A view of Grace and Martha's feet as Martha steps to the right. The two appear to be swaying in their embrace.

Panel 5: A bust-up side view of Martha looking upwards with a smile on her face. We can only see the top of Grace's head. Grace says: "M...Martha?"

Panel 6: A front view of Martha's contented face. There is a rope dangling in front of Martha, but we can't see where it's coming from. Martha says: "Do you remember...when you said you wanted a house so far into the country that we could dance together with the windows open?"

Image 2:

Panel 1: A close up on Grace's face. She has started separating herself from Martha's body. She says: "...Yes. I do."

Panel 2: Grace is completely separated from Martha, only her hands left gently holding onto Martha's arms. Grace smiles and says: "I'm surprised that you..."

Panel 3: A more zoomed in close up on Grace's face, now showing a shocked expression as she looks down at something out of view.

Panel 4: A front zoomed-out view of Grace. She's discovered a noose loosely wrapped around her neck and is touching it with her hand carefully. She looks surprised and confused. She says: "...remember."

Panel 5: Grace looks up to see where the noose is coming from. Martha enthusiastically takes Grace's hands into her own. Grace says "Wh-" but is interrupted by Martha saying "Well,"

Panel 6: A very zoomed-out view revealing where the girls are. They are in an endless, empty field with an equally endless dark sky with a few clouds floating by. Grace and Martha are on the only structure visible for miles: a gallow, which the noose around Grace's neck is tied to.

Image 3:

Panel 1: Grace looks at Martha, scared. Martha waltzes with her as if nothing is wrong. Grace says: "M-Martha?" Martha hums a tune, drawn with notes on a musical scale: a G, an F, a G, then a D.

Panel 2: A bust shot of Grace, her eyes now watery, her expression desperate. She says: "Martha, I'm scared."

Panel 3: A bust shot of Martha, a confused but jovial smile on her face. She says: "Why?"

Panel 4: A view of both the girls dancing, Grace looking at Martha with fear and Martha looking back, emotionless. Grace says: "I'm going to die."

Panel 5: A view of Martha looking away awkwardly. She says: "You're not...really dying. We'll still talk about you."

Panel 6: A view of Grace, an expression of disbelief on her face. Martha says, from off-screen: "The only difference is you'll be asleep."

Image 4:

Panel 1: A view of both the girls. Martha dips Grace, like in a dance, off the ledge of the gallows, Grace only staying on the platform by the tip of her toes and Martha's grasp, the noose pulling tightly. Grace looks terrified, while Martha smiles happily. Martha says: "You know- maybe it's better that you're dying young!"

Panel 2: A close up on the girls' hands, Grace clinging onto Martha's as her life depends on it. Martha says from off-screen: "Makes it more of a tragedy."

Panel 3: A close up on Grace's feet, inches away the edge of the platform, trembling. Martha says from off-screen: "More people will talk about you for longer."

Panel 4: A waist-up view of the girls. Martha smoothly and confidently pulls Grace back onto the platform, Grace stumbling to her feet. Martha proudly says: "They will sing nothing but praises for you."

Panel 5: A close up of Grace's face, anger bubbling, though she is still scared. Martha says from off-screen: "Aren't you happy?"

Image 5:

Panel 1: A knees-up view of the girls. Grace lets go of Martha and yells angrily: "No!!" Martha looks shocked.

Panel 2: A bust shot of Grace. Her anger seems to have been conquered by sorrow, her eyes watery. She says: "N-No, I..."

Panel 3: A view of the girls' hands, Grace lovingly holding Martha's. Grace says: "I wanted to be with you."

Panel 4: A bust shot of Martha, looking down as if ashamed, a sad smile on her face. She says: "Even after everything I did?"

Panel 5: A waist-up view of the girls. Grace looks desperately at Martha, while Martha is expressionless. Grace says: "Yes. I love you."

Image 6:

Panel 1: A bust shot of Martha staring blankly as if she didn't hear what Grace said.

Panel 2: A view of the girls' feet as Grace takes a step towards Martha. Grace says from off-screen: "I..."

Panel 3: A full view of the girls as Grace tenderly embraces Martha into a hug. Martha doesn't reciprocate, but doesn't object to it either. Grace says: "...forgive you."

Panel 4: A close up on Martha's face as she smiles sadly.

Panel 5: A close up on Grace's face, her mouth covered by her arm embracing Martha. She has a few tears in her eyes and looks conflicted. Martha says from off-screen: "No you don't."

Image 7:

Panel 1: A waist up view of the girls. Martha puts her arms up, about to do something. She says: "But that's okay."

Panel 2: A close up of Martha's hands tightening the noose around Grace's neck. Martha says from off-screen: "It's not like it matters now."

Panel 3: A bust shot of Grace as she slowly begins to separate from Martha once again. She looks sorrowful and says: "What am I supposed to do?"

Panel 4: An elbows-up view of the girls, their arms bent a little, implying that beyond our view, they're holding hands. Martha smiles knowingly as she says to Grace: "Listen for the piano. She'll pick something good for you. And don't worry too much-"

Panel 5: Grace standing alone. No Martha, no gallows, no field, no sky, nothing but her and pure darkness. But, Martha's words make it through to her. They read: "It will all be over soon." End ID.]

#buttersketch #oc #oc art #buttersketch escapism #described art #id

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secret-smut-sideblog · 4 months ago

Text

The Mockingbird

Lavellan x Blackwall

PG-13 - morning after contraception, betrayal, (medical) shock, terror, animal abuse, child death, violence, out of body experience, eye trauma, seizure, catatonic state, loss of vision

Chasing after the trail of her runaway love, Vella is forced to see his crimes firsthand...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

Vella trotted down to the gardens. Head swimming with anxiety.

She didn't have time for this, but it wasn't optional.

"Ah, there you are." Morrigan appraised her.

"I'm sorry, we can't have a full chat yet. I need a favor."

"Oh?"

"Could you make me a witherstalk potion? Quickly?"

"I could..." She tilted her head at Vella. "But, you're bedding the Grey Warden...?"

Vella stared at her. Lost to the question.

"Did he... insinuate that you needed it?"

"Yes, why? Wait, what am I missing?"

"A Warden of his years shouldn't be able to sire children. I can still make that potion, if it gives you peace of mind."

"Yes, please." Vella sighed. "Maybe it's silly, but..."

"Oh, I understand. Does one no good to take chances." Morrigan beckoned her forward.

"This Mornay, any of us know him? Or of him?" Bull offered.

"Nah, but Beardy clearly does. Hope he's alright."

"Sera, you get softer by the day." Dorian praised. "But I have heard of Rainier. Mean figure he's alleged to cut, that one."

"Wait, so have I." Vella recalled, nearly pausing the fast clip of her stride. The chatter of Val Royeaux echoed in front of them. "A note, what feels like forever ago, in the Exalted Plains. He was a captain, if I recall correctly?"

"Orlesian army, yes. Let's hope he's not involved."

They moved into the crowd at the gallows. Vella searched but saw no sign of him in those gathered.

Anxiety hot in her belly. Unable to stop thinking of his note.

There is little I can say that will ease this pain. Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would've hurt more if I stayed. I will always love you, dove. I am deeply sorry.

As the bailiff read off the crimes and punishment, Vella stared at the man with a noose laced around his throat. The fight completely gone from him. Accepting his fate with a mournful stare. Not even giving last words, lost to the certainty of death.

Vella sucked in a breath, preparing to watch a man die.

"Stop!"

Blackwall stormed on the gallows, commanding in his thundering voice. Proclaiming the man's innocence, challenging the conviction.

"Oh, what have you gotten yourself into, big man?" Bull sighed.

Vella stared up at him. Fear tight in her gut.

"Then find me the man who gave the order." The bailiff stepped forward, staring him down.

Blackwall's silence fell like freezing rain as he turned to the crowd.

"No..." Vella breathed as her stomach dropped through the earth. "Blackwall!"

His eyes found hers. Shock, fear, then cold conviction. All warmth lost.

"No, I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall."

Her ears rang with fast blood.

And still he confessed. That he had ordered the massacre. That he had been hiding behind a dead man's likeness. That he had been living a lie.

"I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier."

Her blood ran ice.

His eyes stayed steady on her, even as the executioner and bailiff drew forward. Only breaking from her stare as he stalked away towards the prison.

Vella nearly fell to knees.

The world slid away beneath her.

A landslide ripped it all from under her feet.

"Vella...?" Dorian's eyes took up her shaky vision.

"I don't..." She breathed. Raising her hand to stare at the tremoring limb. The cold of shock left her mind sluggish. "I..."

"Bull?"

"Here, boss. Lean on me."

His large hand took up behind her shoulder, sliding her close. Vella turned her face into him, trembling uncontrolled. Letting his arms envelop her for a warm moment. Pulling away a little less delirious.

"I need to see him." She shuddered.

"Let's go, then." Sera nodded. Her voice thick behind the knot in her throat. "You better give whatever-his-name-is a piece of your mind. Shit ass."

Vella descended down the stairs. Her footstep silent, wearing the boots he made her.

How?

Passing cages of iron. Reality bending around her. The question circling her like a hungry hound.

How?

After all this time. He was one of them.

How?

The home of him had flooded. A place she felt such warmth she now drowned in cold waters.

When she saw him slouched in a cell, she froze. He stayed doubled over on his forearms. Refusing her.

They stood on a razor edged silence.

"I don't understand." Her heart rabbited against her chest. "I can't..."

He kept his eyes to the ground.

She came to kneel at the bars, searching his face. Searching for him.

There must be something.

"Please, get up." He growled.

Her eyes stayed on him. Seeking a change. Anything. Anything to prove that he was a different man. Desperate to separate the man she knew from the one sat before her.

"It can't be true. I would've seen it. I would've..."

Shock filled her limbs again.

Memory flooded her. All of his evasion. All of the vague responses.

It was right there. He was her blindspot.

How could she be blind to him?

"It is." His eyes finally met hers. Glaring ice into her. Standing and charging towards the bars. Shouting with the full of his chest. "This is what I am! You aren't supposed to be here! Leave!"

She backpedaled from the bars. Falling back onto her palm. An angry man bearing down on her again.

An old fear woven inside of her shock.

No, not shock.

A hand made of lightning grasped the base of her skull. Forcing her eyes wide open. Risen high onto knees.

A song of Mockingbird. A dog strung up by the throat. A mother's arm shielding. The slam of an axe into wood. The scream of a dog. The scream of a child. Her own scream, far away. Far under her.

Her voice begging. A father begging. Begging for them to stop. For it to stop. His hand reaches for a blade. Her hand. Someone shouts for her. For them to run. Seeing her hand underneath her. Don't they understand? The dog won't stop kicking. The child begs to not see.

Her hand fights her as it lifts the blade. The father's blade is kicked away. And still the child screams. Horses panicked. Trying to break loose. She forces her hand up. Eyes wide open but not seeing the blade. Someone is shouting again. Someone so familiar. It won't stop.

"Please, make it stop." She breathes. Blood trickles from her nose. Blood dark on the snow. Blood scratched into fence. A deep sting scratches under her eye.

"Vella, NO!"

Someone grabs her wrist. Knocking the blade from her hand. Chestnut eyes fill her vision.

Her mind comes to it's boiling point. Fever sends her eyes up into her skull. Feeling the first tremors wracking her body as it all goes dark.

"She was trying to blind herself."

Cullen's shaken voice.

She spins inside her body. A hand presses a cool rag to her forehead.

"You did well to arrive when you did." Solas' calm voice.

"Please, don't leave her alone." Cullen urged. His hand comes to her chest. Pressing a warm palm. "She... she helped me. When I was weak. I can't... I'll kill him, I swear..."

"We shall tend her." Morrigan's voice reassures.

Cullen's warm palm stays. She reaches for it. A tether. It pulls away again.

"Where are you?" Solas whispers in her ear.

"Apostate, keep reaching for her. She may find her way back."

A cool hand cups her cheek. She tries to focus. Forcing the touch to a narrow point. A rope she follows.

"Yes." Solas speaks in her tongue. "You are right here. Can you find me?"

She follows it up. Filling into her limbs again.

Her hand reaches out for him. Meeting the curve of his fingers. Her eyes slowly focus.

"Lethallin...?" She croaked. Solas' eyes creased with a smile.

"Welcome back."

She blinked at the low candlelight. Vision obstructed over an eye.

"What...?" She rose on an elbow. Gingerly touching the bandage.

"Gentle. You gave yourself a deep gouge." Solas led her fingers away.

"Quite a scare you've given." Morrigan sat on her opposite bedside.

"Yes. We were all concerned. You had been lost all night." Solas cupped her hand in her lap.

"Blackwall!" She gasped, sitting up sharply. Immediately dizzy.

"Careful. Rainier is safe." Solas assured.

"Rainier..." Her heart deflated in her chest. "Oh..."

"Josephine has sent for him. You were calling for him in your sleep, well, for Blackwall. Bear. He's being transferred to the Skyhold cells."

Awful memory returned to her. A throb of numb in her chest. Rising her palm to it.

And, just like that, she was empty.

Din. One who isn't.

All empty.

All shattered.

Cutting into her with every breath.

No tears came. No screaming or wailing or begging. Just the dull throb of utter absence.

"I will tell the others you've woken." Solas patted her hand and retreated from the room.

She sat silent for a long moment.

"Morrigan?"

"Yes?"

"Could you help me?"

Morrigan leaned her head inquisitive. Waving for her to continue.

"I don't want to see anymore. Is there a way to blind me?"

Morrigan turned fully on the bed toward her.

"Literally? Yes, that is very easy done. But I imagine you mean your sight beyond?"

She nodded.

"I've had enough. I don't want to see again. I can't do it anymore."

Morrigan went quiet in front of her. Folding her arms in thought.

"Well, we may not need Dirthamen's gift after all. I have something that will give us another advantage."

Din looked up.

"You may have had the right instinct. If your physical eyes are blinded..."

Morrigan stood and started to pace.

"Yes... it could force it to compensate. Keep it busy. If the whole world is a secret, that would hold priority."

Turning to her to stare determined.

"You wouldn't see, not like now. But it could release you."

Her chest filled with tender hope.

"Do it."

"Let me prepare. I'll consult some texts."

"Vella?"

She glanced down at him.

"That isn't my name."

"Ah." Solas smiled sadly. Climbing up the ladder.

They seemed truly determined not to leave her alone. Cullen walked with her the last few nights. Letting her lean on him as she eventually got wobbly. Shrouding her in his cloak. Sometimes, he took her hand. His warm and calloused. Giving a soft squeeze. Speaking sweetly as she spiraled.

"Then what shall I call you?" He offered, sitting next to her on the scaffolding. Both stared at the circle of his fresco.

"Lethallan is nice." She handed him a cup of lemon and cayenne honey.

"Ah, thank you." He sipped at the cup, eyes closing for a moment. "That's lovely. What is it?"

"Something I used to make when I was ill." She circled her fingers over the rim. "Small comforts, you know?"

She marveled at the murals

"But this is all so beautiful. You have a vision."

"You're too kind. They're about you."

She stared at him. Heart raw.

"Show me."

So he did. Pointing from mural to mural. Each a moment of her journey. Each a turning point. Explaining the significance of the choices.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to write it down?" She raised an eyebrow with a sly smile, then let it fall. It felt wrong to play. Cupping the mug in her hands.

"You take me for a scribe?" His voice picked up a rare tease. Despite herself, she smiled again.

"Just another way to spread knowledge. But it is much less breathtaking." She leaned her head back, closing her weary eyes.

She could feel his eyes on her.

"You've stopped singing."

Her eyes opened.

"What?"

"I hear you. At night. Why have you stopped?"

"I just..." Her heart dully ached, but still no tears came. "I think something is broken in me. I can't find the joy again."

He studied her quietly.

"Your vhenan, Rainier..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

They both sat in the inflamed wound. All tender edges. Weeping blood with the beat of her heart.

Solas leaned forward, urging her eyes back to him.

"You helped me. When I needed to find peace for my elgar falon. You've been..." He closed his eyes.

"You're unexpected. Wisdom, curiosity, beauty. You've had every chance to shut the world out. Please don't take that path. Stay open."

She shook her head.

"I want to. I do. But I don't know how to stay soft anymore."

He took a deep breath out. Resolving something.

"Let me help you."

Her eyes met his.

"Then Morrigan is right?"

He nodded.

"But you must meet me in the Fade first. Dream, Lethallan. I will follow."

"I can't."

"I will lead you."

She laid back on the scaffolding, resting her hands on her belly. Solas laid parallel to her.

Her body fell fast. Sleep enveloped her as a plunge into the sea.

"Solas?"

She looked around a great forest. An awe near fear sharp in her chest.

"I'm here." He cupped her forearm gently. "Forgive me, I forgot dreaming is foreign to you."

"It's so... it's breathtaking." Her eyes met his again. "Is this what it's always like?"

"Not for most. But my traveling is like this, yes."

He led her by the curve of her fingers to sit on a stone near the water.

"And perhaps, yours shall be too."

She looked up at him. Surprise heavy in her heart. Hope a poison she held in her mouth, ready to swallow.

"If your tie to Dirthamen is weakened, it may let you sleep like this. To dream. But yours is a heavy gift to discard."

His eyes searched hers. Seeking confirmation. Permission.

She held his hand in hers.

"I'm sure. This is what I want. I want to have my own mind. I want to be free."

He stared down at their joined hands for a moment. Rubbing her thumb experimentally with his.

"If that is the case, I must tell you something."

He turned her hand to stare at her palm, running a soft fingertip over the lines.

"The vallasin. I have journeyed far enough to discover what it truly means. They are slave markings. From the time of ancient Arlathan. When the Pantheon ruled elves."

"So my people were wrong." She nodded. Saddened, but not surprised. "Our history is so muddled, I could see it being mistranslated over time."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Thank you. For telling me." She sighed.

"If you like, I know a spell... I can remove the vallasin with your sight."

She lifted her hand to gently touch her face. Giving the ink a tender moment.

"This tattoo has kept me safe. It was subterfuge. A mask. But, I will no longer need it, will I?"

Solas rubbed her thumb, a silent assurance.

"Do it. It has served me well. I will discard it fondly."

He smiled, raising his hands to cradle the air around her face.

"Close your eyes."

"Wait."

She looked around the misty grove. Drinking in the full of the scenery.

"I'm grateful it was a beautiful dream. The last thing I saw. Thank you for bringing me here."

He paused, staring at her with soft eyes.

"Okay, I'm ready." She let her eyes fall closed again.

"You will feel some discomfort, but no pain. I couldn't let Morrigan butcher you. To send you to the dark that way."

She smiled with her eyes closed.

"She was just going to pour some acid in my eyes, wasn't she?"

"You're not far off. Now hush."

She smiled wide.

His hands were warm and tingled along her face, a light visible beyond her lids.

"It tickles!" She stifled her giggle.

He laughed.

"You are a strange, wonderful thing."

"Was that the vallasin?"

"Yes, keep your eyes closed, sulahn."

His palms settled on her temples.

"Song. I like that." She sighed in Elvhen.

"I hope you find a new name." He whispered.

His palms lifted slowly, and she could feel something pull behind her eyes. Squeezing her shut eyes to not squirm.

Then she felt it. A gentle pop. Something separating. Flashes of light filled her vision.

She opened her eyes as a curtain of dark fell. Gasping as it all fell to void. Eyes wide but seeing only velvet dark.

"Now... what do you see?"

She concentrated, feeling for sight deep inside her.

Just as she was about to give up, something bloomed. Gasping out as the world filled around her.

A circle of sight extended around her, definition of shapes like fine shifting sand. Color was gone, the world only shades of light and dark. Vision sliding along the physical as wind.

She reached for the stone beneath her, entranced by the sight of her own hand. The same thin particles dancing around her skin.

"Solas, it's..." She lifted her eyes.

"Oh..."

His body was ringed in many ribbons of soft blue light. Moving in languid circled rivers. Eyes glowing in it.

"Oh, Solas..." She marveled. Lifting her hand to gently twist her fingers in it.

He shuddered, pulling her wrist down.

"I'm sorry." She breathed.

"You're forgiven." He smiled. His face spectral in the shifting dark. "How do you feel?"

She closed her eyes. The vision slowly faded. Only imprints left. Then she opened them again. It refilled as gentle as before.

Her head was quiet. Tears bubbled on her waterline. Cupping a hand over her mouth.

"It's quiet. Oh Gods, it's so quiet. I've never felt peace like this."

She saught his eyes again. "And I can sleep? I can dream?"

"Yes." The soft triumph in his voice filled her heart.

"I've never done it before. I might need a guide."

His smile ached her heart. Cupping her hands in his again.

"I will find you. But now you must wake."

Din kneeled in the garden, focusing on a rose bush. Smiling at the way the particles danced around it. All shapes were made of silt caught in the flow of her river. The intricate layer of petals entranced her.

She wasn't used to the passage of time quite yet, but knew it was night. A new set of conditions she had to live by, ones she was eager to learn.

"Vella? Oh, sorry... I guess I don't know what to call you." Josephine called out sheepishly.

"Sera has too many offers, but Solas came up with Sulahn." She offered brightly.

"Hmm, that is pretty." Josie smiled.

If she focused, she could see the color of her. A warm orange that glowed deep at the crest of her ribs, under her heart. A sunset.

The color was much more potent around mages. Though, not as much as Solas'. She had already dipped her fingers into Dorian's deep crimson river. A sensation he found delightfully tantalizing.

"You seem so much better." Josephine sighed contented. Kneeling with her for a moment. "And no tattoo! But I'm sorry it had to be like..." She gestured to her blindfold. "This."

"You can see me, right?" Josephine held up her hand flat.

Din pressed her palm to hers.

"Yes, I can."

"That's remarkable."

She let out a deep sigh. "Blackwa- Rainier will be here by morning."

Josephine took her hand gently in hers.

"Do you think you're ready? To see him?"

"With new eyes..." She sighed. "I think so."

"I'm so sorry. I know his lie has been devastating."

"It still doesn't feel real. I still haven't cried." She pressed her palm to her heart, if only to confirm its beat. "Gods, it seemed like I couldn't stop crying before. Now I'm just..."

"Numb?" Josephine offered sadly.

"Yeah. So much of myself was braided into him. Having him severed... I don't know who I am here. I feel like I have to start over. I'm exhausted. I dont want to start over."

Tears finally started to pool in her eyes.

"Oh... there they are." She smiled. Wiping gently with the side of her thumb under the mask. Staring down at the shades of her hand. The light fluid slipped down her thumb.

"Are they..." She looked up at Josephine.

"Still silver. Sorry."

"It's okay. I've gained more than enough."

"You will have to sit in his judgment." Josephine sighed, taking her hands again. "Do you know what you'll say?"

She shook her head.

"Could you do something for me?" She hushed.

"Of course." Josephine smiled.

Din pulled off her blindfold.

"Could you tell me what you see?"

She opened her eyes. Staring at the beautiful shift of her face.

Josephine studied the whole of her face with parted lips, her sweet eyes centered back on hers.

"Well, that cut is going to scar, but your eyes are surprisingly beautiful. Like clouds caught behind your pupil. The color is gone, though. In your iris. But it's almost like moonstone. Melding with the white."

She leaned toward her. Voice falling to hush as she spoke.

"And I feel like I can see you now, without the tattoo. You have perfect freckles. Sun-kissed cheeks. Your lips are so..."

Her mouth slid into hers. So softly kissing into her. Just as Din started to lean in, she pulled away.

"Andraste's Mercy, I am so sorry!"

"I'm not." She breathed, pulling her back. Josie whimpered into her hungry kiss. Rising onto knees with her. Din's hand cupped under her ear. Breathing hard through the part of their lips.

"Thank you." She whispered when she pulled away. Josie's pupils were full blown, staring at her with sweet doe eyes. "I needed that. Maybe I'm not empty, after all."

"Happy to help." Josephine breathed.

She pressed a hand to Josephine's glow.

"It's orange. Your light. Marigold."

Josephine looked up at her. Letting out a dreamy sigh.

"I see why you have all the men in camp following like puppies. Mercy..."

"Ha, but I haven't kissed any of them yet. Maybe I'll start with Cullen."

"Don't." Josie laughed, pulling her to stand. Leading her hand over a bent arm. "That man is too sweet to not fall sword first."

"All you knights and ladies..." She laughed. "Nobody has fun, do they?"

"Absolutely not." Josephine patted her hand. "But we try."

Next Chapter

#blackwall you fucked up so bad sweetie #yeah its nuclear levels #blackwall x inquisitor #lavellan x blackwall #dragon age fic #lyrics from: all i wanted - paramore

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