#pirates in chaps

[niffbluegriff]

Hydroid prime without the flaps makes me think of a pirate wearing chaps. I will not apologize for the embellishments, I couldn't help myself.

[turtletoads]

horse study turned into cowboy pirates

[the-kr8tor]

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

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Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

“Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?��� Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Wary Sailor Pt. 3 | Matthew Joy x fem!reader

summary: A storm is coming to threaten the Essex and her crew, and not even second-mate Matthew Joy is ready for the toil that it will cause. When he's thrown overboard, his sweet Siren saves him, but she begins to understand the danger of their relationship.

warnings: Thalassophobia, drowning, and bodily harm.

word count: 2210k

I'll Believe in Anything- Wolf Parade 🎶

Asleep- The Smiths 🎵

shout out to @everandforeveryours for helping me with ideas! More to come 🖤

That night the sea was rough and the captain called for all hands on deck. Matthew did not sleep that night or much of the day. His thoughts of the girl were incessant and his body still held the memory of her, making it even more difficult to focus on the important tasks of the day. Through the turbulent waves, the Essex sailed with the help of her crew. Their calls and shouts could barely be heard over the roar of the sea around them. Matthew wondered if Y/N was watching from the sea, the waves a place of safety even in the worst storm. 

As rain pounded the deck, Matthew stood at the railing and looked out at the storm, his hands gripping the edge. They’d lowered the sails and were preparing the ship for storms. 

“Joy,” Owen’s voice pulled Matthew from his thoughts and he looked over his shoulder at the Essex’s first-mate. Owen stood beside him at the railing and looked out at the sea. 

“You alright, mate?” He asked quietly, not meeting Matthew’s eyes. Matthew furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his friend’s face. “You’ve been… off since the morning we spotted the pod of whales, and you were down in the boat alone for a long time last night. You and I both know how we can get after years at sea…” Owen cleared his throat and waited for Matthew to speak. 

“Do you believe in Sirens?” Matthew asked him instead and Owen scoffed, taken back by the random question. 

“What?” Owen shook his head, “no, I don’t believe they’re real. Why? Do you think you saw one?” Owen shrugged light-heartedly and scratched his mustache.

When Matthew didn’t respond, Owen lowered his hand and sighed slowly. 

“Be careful, Joy. Don’t let the sea play with your mind, at least for our sake,” Owen patted Matthew on the back and stepped away. “I’m going to help secure the sails for the night. Captain wants us to continue straight, he thinks we’ll clear the storm before it gets bad but I don’t know, Joy. No whale is worth testing the sea and her temper.” 

“Oh, Joy,” Owen turned back, remembering something, “do you remember what they say about seeing a Siren? Seeing one likely means the ship will sink,” Owen set his brow, his voice dark like a warning. 

Matthew glanced back at his friend and nodded, “I’ll make sure my men are ready if anything happens tonight.” 

“Good.” 

Owen walked off to help the younger sailors fasten the sails in place and chain the barrels of fresh water below deck. Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose and silently cursed the Captain. Joy had been on the water long enough to know that the storm clouds in the distance were not a good sign for a ship. The sea was already riled up, so heading beneath the dark gray and greenish sky seemed the worst decision to make. 

Could she see him now? He wondered. 

…

Matthew managed to get a few hours of sleep before the ship entered the storm. Matthew was not alone in his frustration. Every sailor groveled over the Captain’s poor direction, knowing this trip would cause more harm than good. Matthew climbed to the top deck and began scaling the rigging system of ropes. A mast had been knocked from its place by the wind. Matthew directed the men, calling for help in fixing the massive piece of wood. The Captain watched from below, his nice uniform ruined from salt water and the rain. 

“Joy! Come down from there and help secure the mast’s rigging!” The Captain yelled up at him and Matthew cursed below his breath. The wind whistled in his ears as he climbed down the rope system, slick and slimy. Landing hard on the deck of the ship, Matthew helped a few other men lift the bundle of cord used to hold the mast in place in case of emergency. The ship plunged between massive waves and one of the ship’s Booms swung around, knocking Matthew over the railing. There was no time to hold onto anything or try to save himself as he was forced over the edge and fell down, down into the sea. 

…

His body sunk below the surface of the angry sea. Waves engulfed him, forcing him down whenever he almost swam to the top. The sea was dark green and blue, so much so that he couldn’t see anything around him. His coat and boats weighed him down but he couldn’t take them off in his determination to swim to the surface. The air had been knocked out of him when he landed, his back was surely already bruising. Without any breath in his lungs, Matthew’s lungs began to spam, trying desperately to pull in air. Soon, he could feel himself sinking further, no longer making progress to the surface. He could feel his muscles loosening as he began to lose consciousness. Matthew was a good swimmer, and yet, he was no match to the severity of the sea during a storm. 

Y/N, he thought as swallowed some of the water around him in his instinct to breathe. His arms were stretched out in the water, reaching for the Essex and safety. 

You shouldn’t be here.

Matthew tried to open his eyes when he heard the familiar voice in his head. Between his eyelashes, he saw a ray of soft light. As his eyes opened more, he realized the ray of light was the Siren, the woman he’d begun to love. 

You can’t be here, Matthew. I need to get you back to the surface. 

He didn’t remember closing his eyes but could feel Y/N’s arms wrap around his shoulders, dragging him with her. The action was swift. Her tail was pure muscle that propelled them as fast as she wanted it to. In what felt like seconds, Matthew’s head cleared the surface of the water. 

Breath, Matthew. 

Matthew heard her in his head and tried to breath but he already felt dead. 

“I think that’s him, sir!” A sailor yelled from the deck. Men gathered at the railing to assist, piecing together a rope ladder for their lost second-mate. It was raining so hard that the men on the deck could barely see Matthew nor the woman-like creature beside him.  

The sound of his crewmates awakened something else inside Matthew: duty. 

They need you Matthew. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t breathe right now.

Matthew’s eyes snapped open and he began to cough, clearing the water from his lungs. His arms began to instinctively tread the water to keep himself afloat. She appeared beside him at the surface, keeping her head low. It took a few moments for Matthew to clear his head and catch his breath. 

“Y/N,” he croaked and gave her a crooked smile, pain in his eyes, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, sailor.” She released a sigh of relief and glanced up at the rope ladder the men were trying to detangle. “Your men are lowering a rope. You’re going to be fine.” 

Matthew looked between the rope and the woman who had just saved his life.

“Come with me.” Matthew’s blue eyes flashed as he spoke, “I’ll look after you. We can be together after they know what you did to save my life.” 

She shook her head and bit her lip. “I can’t, Matthew. That’s your world, not mine. And besides,” she glanced up at the rope ladder starting to fall, “I can’t survive up there… for short periods of time, sure, but not forever.”   

“I don’t think I can be away from you,” Matthew admitted and coughed again. 

“You must.” 

The ship tossed and turned in the rough water. The men threw down the rope and it landed in the water yards away. He’d have to swim to it, fighting the massive waves. 

“This is getting dangerous. I should have never come aboard your boat. This is all my fault…” the Siren closed her eyes. 

“What do you mean, love?” Matthew tried to reach for her face in the water. 

“It’s bad luck for a woman to board a sailor’s boat. I knew it was unlucky and I still did it because I needed to meet you. I’m so sorry, Matthew.” 

“Don’t say things like that,” Matthew furrowed his brow, ignoring the calls of his crewmates, “you saved my life.” 

“We’re tempting fate.” 

“Fuck that! I love you. I’m- damn it- I’m in love with you, Y/N. Come with me, please.” 

The Siren smiled painfully and closed the distance between them. She kissed Matthew deeply, their lips sliding into place against each other as they were meant to do. Her nose was crushed against his as he kissed her back. He sucked desperately at her bottom lip, pulling her mouth closer to his. His hands held her face painfully tight, boring into the flesh on her cheeks, somehow still staying afloat as he did so. Finally, she pulled away but kept her face close so that she could speak quietly to him. 

“I don’t trust your Captain Pollard, sailor, and neither should you. Be wary.” With a sad expression on her beautiful face, she slipped below the waves. Her silver tail flipped up into the air, sending a wave that carried Matthew the few feet closer he needed to swim to the base of the ladder. 

“Y/N!!” Matthew screamed into the wind, spitting salt water from his mouth. 

“Joy! Climb the god-damned rope right now!” Owen ordered from the deck. After a moment Matthew forced himself to swim to the rope ladder. He released an angry yell and slammed his fist against the side of the boat, his hair sticking to the side of his face as he looked back at the sea. 

“Joy!” Owen’s voice was louder now that he was closer. Having no other choice, Matthew found one of the rungs and dejectedly began to climb. 

…

He choked on the water still in his lungs when he fell back onto the deck. Hands grabbed at his clothes and dragged him away from the railing. Owen crouched beside him and slapped his face with both hands, stimulating blood flow. 

“You alright, second-mate?” Owen tried to joke. Matthew coughed up more water before wiping his mouth and nodding. 

“I’m alive.”

“Barely. Take him below!” Owen ordered a smaller boy to help Matthew to his feet and escorted him below deck. There was a small sick-bay between the sailors’ berth and the Captain’s quarters. No doctor worked there, but it could be used for quarantine when necessary. At that moment, Matthew was placed there more for comfort than anything. After he was helped onto the shallow bunk and the boy left him alone, Matthew began to remove his wet clothes. Dropping them on the ground, he looked for injuries, Y/N’s words still echoing in his head. 

Yes was leaving him, probably forever. And they had parted with one last warning: don’t trust Captain Pollard. Matthew didn’t trust him very much to begin with and now he disliked him even more. The man had no tangible experience with commercial sailing, especially not whaling boats. Owen should have been Captain and Matthew should have been first-mate. Things would have gotten done, they would have never entered a storm like this. 

He was changing into dry bloomers when someone knocked. For a moment, Matthew watched the door, expecting to see the girl on the other side but when the visitor entered, it was not her. 

“Everything is secured. There are men still keeping watch but I’ve ordered everyone else below deck until we clear this storm.” Owen stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Pollard?” Matthew cleared his throat and slowly sat back down on the bed. 

“He’s… doing some calculations, navigation.” Owen waved his hands about and sighed. After a moment of silence, his eyes returned to watch Matthew and he drew in a strained breath. 

“Joy,” Owen started ominously and Matthew looked up, his icy blue eyes drowned out by the darkness, “I saw… well how do I say this… I saw who saved you, Joy.” 

Matthew looked to the side and nodded absently. 

“So you were right then, they’re real. She… saved you?” Owen grimaced as he tried to confirm what he saw. 

“Yes, she did,” Matthew laughed tiredly, his smile falling short. 

“Why?” Owen asked hesitantly. 

Matthew turned his head back slowly to look at his best-friend. His pale skin looked yellow in the light of the whale oil lamp. His hair was still damp but it had begun to dry where it had fallen in waves around his head. 

“She loved me,” Matthew answered with what he believed whole-heartedly to be the truth and wrapped a blanket around his shoulder, hissing as his back muscles clenched in pain. Owen looked Matthew up and down and nodded, understanding that he was supposed to leave.

Once alone again, Matthew sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and looked up at the ceiling. Rainwater managed to sneak through the cracks between floorboards above his head. He watched it drip around him and sat in silence. 

…

End of Pt. 3!

[firstdivisiongirl]

One Piece: A New Adventure Begins

Chapter 1: Thirty Years Later, A New Straw Hat Starts His Journey

Monkey D Ace stepped onto the shores of Wano Country.  His father had told him so many stories of this place over the years.  He had visited it a few times, but he never felt like this before when walking onto its shores.  He came at the most beautiful time according to his father.  The cherry blossoms had started to fall and the Flower Capital was covered in the delicate petals.  It had been a few years since he’s been here.  Today though, he couldn’t go exploring because he was on an important mission.  Well, he was until his stomach started to growl.  He had a more important mission now: getting food.  He looked at all the brightly colored stalls.  There were so many choices, but sadly Ace had very little money.  He wasn’t great with money.  There was soba, onigiri, sushi, so much!  He eventually settled on beef ramen.  

As he was finishing up his delicious meal, he heard a girl yelling from the alleyway to his left.  “Get off me,” she yelled, trying to push her attackers off.

The guys who were attacking her yelled back.  “Thought you were so tough.  Not so good now, huh,” one spat as he punched her.

“You’ll never be a swordsman,”  another yelled as he was about to punch her.  The guy went in for the kill shot, but he felt someone grab his fist.  He turned around when Ace said calmly, not showing his eyes from under the brim of his dad’s famous hat, “Leave her alone.”

The one guy angrily asked, “who the hell are you?”

Ace punched the guy as hard as he could.  “I’m Monkey D Ace.  And I’m gonna be king of the pirates!”  The guy spit some blood out, his nose now gushing.

“Shut up you Straw hat wannabe.”  He pulls out his sword and goes and swings at Ace’s head.  He stops it with his arm coated in armament haki.  He takes his left fist and punches the guy again, sending him flying, hitting the ground hard when he finally landed in the back of the alleyway.  His friends look in horror at what this random guy did to their friend.  He wasn’t like anyone they’ve ever seen before.  They tried to retreat as fast as they could, but Ace grabbed their shoulders.  Before they knew it, they were laying on the ground themselves, bloody and bruised

The girl, Roronoa Kuina, just hid her face.  She snuck away as fast as she could.  Ace looked around to see if he could find the girl to make sure she was okay, but she was gone.  He shrugged and headed to his destination: The Roronoa Dojo.

Please do not copy, modify, translate or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

[luv-again]

this pirate au is gonna be a titan actually. i'm only a few scenes down, sitting comfortably at 3.2k words and we're very VERY far from the end

posting this as one solid chapter might give y'all heart irregularities </3

[vincess-princess]

in darkness shall you be reborn

Chapter 19

Word count: 3740 Warnings: blood, guts, etc. A/N: let's pretend there hasn't been nearly a month between the chapters. i like to have some writing in reserve when i post, so i usually write a little bit in advance. and writing has been especially hard lately

Vince climbed through the hatch and looked around. Nausea rose up his throat, his breakfast almost spilling out.

The deck was a bloodbath. Bodies were strewn around, missing limbs, heads, guts spilling out. Right by the hatch thin-legged Tom looked at the sky with unseeing eyes, his throat slashed so deep his head and neck were held together by a sliver of skin. An unfamiliar man lay nearby, his arm nearby slashed neatly off his body, still grasping at his saber. A smell of blood and smoke hung in the air.

Well, Vince’s guess about the assault seemed to be correct. And the Shout crew were the ones left standing. Well, some of them. Most were sitting or lying down, Izzy fussing around them like a mother hen. But the majority seemed to be alive – for now, at least.

“Oh, hey Vince!” he heard a familiar voice from behind his back. He turned around and saw Duff. With one hand he was pressing a rag to the deep cut on his forehead, with the other – holding Slash by the shoulders. Slash seemed to be unable to step on his foot and groaned every time Duff made a movement. Duff led him to a crate by the board and unceremoniously dropped him on it. “You made it, man! We saw two Metallicos climbing down the hatch and thought you were done for.”

“Apparently not.” Vince headed towards the two pirates. “What in the fresh hell happened here?”

“Fucking Metallicos. Thought they could fool us, take us by surprise. Well, they are no more.” Slash pursed his lips. “Should’a trained better.”

“No damn privateer has an ounce of honor. Though, what else could we expect from the king’s whores?” Duff continued.

“You were attacked by privateers?” Vince blinked.

“More like heinously betrayed,” Slash grumbled. “I knew from the start there was something fishy here. Metallicos and cooperation? Unheard of. I wonder how the captain even believed them.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re short of gold at the moment. But he wanted more, apparently.”

“Wait – cooperated?” Vince tried to clarify.

“Yeah. Hetfield offered Sixx to take over a Dutch ship carrying spices to Americas. Promised a huge profit. We board it, eliminate the crew – the Dutch are poor slaves anyways – and then his men attack us! Of course, once we realised what was happening, they didn’t stand a chance. But they got a few of our boys by surprise.” Duff sighed. “Anyway, we’ve got both Hetfield’s ship and the spices, so I guess we’re winning here.”

Hetfield. That was the man the Baldie and Three Fingers mentioned when they came to the galley. He gave them Vince’s description – and, apparently, told them to search for him on the ship. How did he get to know Vince was here? And more, why did he need him? Could he recognize him on sight? Or maybe the Whartons put out a call for Vince’s rescue together with the description?

A lump formed in Vince’s throat. Those men could have come to save him. His family surely offered a big award for his rescue – Metallicos would absolutely want to cash in on it. And if they were privateers, maybe the Crown itself had a say in the matter. What if Vince’s rescue was one of the reasons they attacked the Shout crew?

And he killed them. Killed them with his own hands. Sure, they were a bit nasty, but that didn’t mean anything, right? A privateer is still a pirate, serving the king or not. And pirates weren’t the most well-bred kind.

“Dude, you alright?” Duff frowned. “You look like you’re gonna drop dead.”

“Yeah,” Vince heard himself saying, “yeah. I just need to sit down. I just need to… sit down.”

On shaky legs he shuffled away from the two friends and lowered himself on the deck. He killed his saviors with his own hands. He killed his own chance at rescue.

The air was filled with moans and yelling, Izzy gave commands somewhere in the distance, pirates hurried by. It was all a background noise to Vince. The thought gnawed at him, consumed him piece by piece. He was doomed to stay on the Shout till the end of his days.

He wasn’t allowed to wallow in his misery for long.

“Oh, here you are!” Tommy came up to him, his now bandaged hand hanging off his chest on a dirty rag. “We need to get rid of all these damn corpses onboard, and you’re among the only ones who’s almost unscathed. Robbin will help you.” He pointed at a grim blonde man with an eye patch crouching before one of the corpses. Vince hadn’t spoken to him before, and Robbin didn’t seem too eager to communicate either.

Vince rolled his eyes. “So I’m not a man enough to fight but a man enough to drag around corpses.”

“We didn’t let you fight not because we think you can’t,” Tommy replied sharply. “We’ve seen you in practice. There’s a different reason.”

“What reason?”

“You’ll get to know it someday. But for now, you’ll have to make do with what you have.”

“Did these privateers want to rescue me?” Vince asked directly. He didn’t doubt Tommy would lie to him, but maybe he could see a clue in the face of the first mate.

But Tommy just grinned wide. “Not everything is about you, princess. These bastards, may they burn in hell, wanted our loot. And now they don’t want anything because dead people don’t need things.”

Vince sighed. Tommy wasn’t as easy to crack as Mick. Or maybe Vince just didn’t know him well enough. “What about corpses of the crew?”

“We’ll bury them with honor, so just drag them to the center of the deck. Izzy will give you some sheets to cover them with. Wait, are you bleeding?”

Vince showed him the gash in his forearm he got from the pirate. It slowly but surely soaked his sleeve in dark-red.

“Oh, that’s nothing. I’ll call Izzy, he’ll patch you up in a moment. I think he’s done with the heaviest cases already. And then – corpses!”

Tommy strolled away. He was energetic and high-strung, as if the battle excitement still hadn’t let him go and he had nowhere to pour it into.

Izzy came with his usual bottle of vodka and a bundle of rags.

“Not as bad as it could be,” he murmured, pouring vodka all over the gash. “I’ve heard you took out two of Hetfield’s bastards all by yourself. Nice work.”

“Thanks.” Vince felt a tinge of pride. News spread fast, apparently.

Izzy dabbed a rag on the edges of the wound, wiped the blood that trickled down Vince’s arm and bandaged the gash.

“All done. You’re good to go.”

“Thanks. A lot of work today, huh?”

Izzy sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

He left. Vince glanced at grim Robbin that he was supposed to dispose of corpses with. He didn’t look one bit friendlier, but Vince surely wasn’t going to do everything alone.

Robbin didn’t answer his greeting, but did follow him to the first corpse. Guts that were spilling out of its stomach dragged on the deck behind it. The corpse sunk with a loud splash, and the water went wine-red in that spot for a second.

Getting the two corpses out of the galley up the hatch was an especially excruciating ordeal. Robbin on the deck pulled them upwards while Vince pushed them up from down below. The Baldie’s guts dripped all over his shirt, and Three Fingers’ boots left a trace on his cheek, and Vince, sweaty and dirty by the end of it, regretted killing them a hundred times over. Should have cut off their arms or something so they could walk out on their own and bleed out on deck.

At some point Vince lost count of how many spilled guts and cracked skulls and cut off limbs he saw that day. By the end of it he got numb and tired enough to not care. He only hoped they wouldn’t make him scrub the deck as well.

There were four corpses of the crew which Vince and Robbin arranged at the center of the deck and covered with white sheets. Soon the sheets were peppered with little red spots, but the corpses weren’t bleeding anymore so it didn’t go beyond that. Vince’s muscles were ringing with exertion and his legs were shaking – all those pirates sure ate too much for his liking.

When they were done, he and Robbin plopped down on the deck in a spot clean of blood to take a breath. For the first time Robbin looked Vince in the eyes and gave him a barely noticeable nod. Vince must have done well in the eyes of the pirate.

Just as he settled to have some rest and watch the sunset, he saw Mick approach him in big strides with a determined expression on his face.

“Here you are!” he said. “I need you in the galley. Dinner isn’t gonna cook itself.”

“Oh, come on,” Vince moaned, hiding his head between his knees. “I just spent two hours dragging corpses around, can I have some rest at least?”

“You’ll have to answer to all the hungry crewmates then. C’mon, c’mon.” Mick pulled on his sleeve. With a groan, Vince rose from the deck, shook off dirt from his irreparably ruined pants and followed Mick.

***

Blood soaked into the wooden floor of the galley, and the floor was cold and wet under Vince’s bare feet. He already dirtied his feet on the deck, so it didn’t bother him much. The blood on his pants and shirt already started to harden and stink, and Vince disposed of the shirt – it was ruined beyond repair anyway. The breeches weren’t much more pleasant to stay in, but he couldn’t walk around the ship naked. He hadn’t fallen so low yet.

“Which one of them broke her?” Mick suddenly asked as he lit up a lamp.

“The one with three fingers.”

“The one whose stomach you cut open?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he suffer? Or did he die quickly?”

“One doesn’t negate the other.”

Mick sighed. “Yeah, that’s true.”

He pulled out a rag, poured some water on it and gave it to Vince.

“Wipe yourself up. I don’t want all that blood to get into the food.”

“Do you, by any chance, have another shirt you don’t need?” Vince asked, wiping blood off his chest. It dried up and stuck to the skin, and he had to rub it hard to get rid of it.

“Nah, kid, you took the last one.”

“But I can’t just walk around like that.”

“You very much can. It’s not like it’s too cold for that, and no one cares about that bony chest of yours.”

“I care.”

“That’s your problem. C’mon, we need to get to work. Hungry pirates after a fight are no good to deal with.”

Mick decided on regular porridge: it was quick and filling and required low effort. Muttering went across the crew when they presented them with a pot of porridge instead of meat, but the hunger prevailed. Soon quiet descended on the deck, and it was even quieter than usual during dinner: no one was eager to make jokes and talk much that day.

Nikki dined on deck with Tommy a bit away from the crew. Vince feared even to look in his direction: what if he triggered the captain with a mere glance? He was extremely enraged at him today in the galley for no reason. Well, Nikki had some reason he thought up, something related to that Hetfield man whose crew they defeated. Did he suspect Vince had something to do with their betrayal? But why? He didn’t even see any of them before those two barged into the galley, let alone speak to them.

As the dinner neared its end, Nikki rose to his feet.

“Friends,” he said loudly, attracting everyone’s attention. “Crewmates. Let us honor our dead.”

He stood over the four corpses Vince and Robbin laid on deck. A speech followed, something along the lines of “we shared our bread, our beer and our battles”, reminding of each of the dead’s merits, recalling fun times together. Vince didn’t listen very closely – he didn’t know any of the dead. Besides, if he thought too much about what Nikki would say over his dead body, his heart would probably burst.

At the end everyone applauded very solemnly, and the corpses were gently descended into the water, with much more care than what Vince and Robbin applied. As everything was done, Nikki wished everyone good night and retired to his cabin, not sparing Vince a single look. It was a relief.

The one to spare more looks than Vince would like to was Tommy this time. Already slightly drunk, he came up to Vince, plopped on the bench next to him and invitingly patted his knee.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Vince heaved a heavy sigh. He wasn’t as afraid of Tommy as of Nikki, but all his touches and pinches and smiles were not pleasant to say the least. Tommy hadn’t done anything of the sort to Vince yet – but Vince had a feeling it wouldn’t last for long.

“C’mon. Don’t make me wait.” Tommy’s voice hardened.

Vince looked around. Nobody but Mick noticed it, and Mick was assiduously looking away. There wouldn’t be any help from him.

“I haven’t finished my porridge.” Vince pointed at his half-finished plate.

“So?”

Vince bit his lip. Yeah, Tommy probably wouldn’t hit him too hard for disobeying, a smack on the head at worst. But he was also treated Vince pretty well (compared to Nikki, at least), and Vince didn’t want to lose his favor.

So he set down his plate, rose from the bench and walked up to Tommy. His moment of hesitation was cut short as Tommy pulled him onto his knees with his healthy arm. Incredible how much strength there was in those lanky limbs of his.

Vince wriggled on his knees a bit, trying to get more comfortable – if that was possible in such a pose. No one looked in their direction, but it was still only a question of time.

“That’s right, darling, get comfy,” Tommy said in his ear, hugging him with his healthy arm and drawing closer. Blood rushed to Vince’s ears, and he dropped his head, hoping that his hair would shield him from Tommy’s eyes, would help him keep his shame to himself. But Tommy didn’t let him.

“It’s alright,” he said, tucking Vince’s hair behind his ears. “We’re not doing anything, right? Just sitting there enjoying each other’s company.”

“Definitely not me,” Vince murmured, quietly but loud enough for Tommy to hear him – and grin in response.

“That’s the princess I know. Your obedience made me a bit wary.”

He pressed Vince’s head against his chest. For the uninformed they could look like a pair of lovers. Thankfully, the whole ship was informed enough, and the glances they were getting were quickly averted. That didn’t decrease the shame pooling in Vince’s stomach, but at least they didn’t stare openly.

“How you doing?” Tommy continued like there was nothing happening. “Was that, what, the second fight in your life?”

“Yes.”

“Were you scared? I was scared at my second fight. I was barely eighteen, and there were all those grown men brandishing sabers and guns. The smoke, the blood… We fought, we won, and I spent the night puking over the board from sheer stress.”

Well, even seasoned pirates had their first fights, Vince reasoned. He didn’t understand why Tommy was telling him this, though. What was his purpose? Get him all soft and trusting and then break it all – or let Nikki do it – to hurt him even more?

“I’m fine.” More scared of Nikki, he wanted to add but didn’t.

“Yeah, I see how you’re fine. Quiet, suspiciously obedient, and, oh, look at those shaking hands. That’s a fella who is totally fine.” Tommy cupped Vince’s chin and turned his head to face him. Vince looked him in the eyes defiantly – see, I’m not scared, not of you, not of anyone else.

“I have killed before,” he said. “Two of your men, to be clear. And two today. That makes a count of four.”

“That’s a solid count for a non-pirate. I killed only nineteen people, which, at ten years of experience, isn’t much. Nikki’s count is twice as high.”

“Only?!” Vince choked on his own saliva. “And do you mean Nikki killed nearly forty?”

“Well, he says so. He might embellish the number a bit, but I think it’s pretty accurate.”

Forty kills… forty people dead at the hands of the captain. He took lives like he took his morning beer – quickly, easily and ruthlessly. Killing Vince would probably be like snapping fingers to him. It was probably how it all would end. The question was not if, but when.

“You’ve been pirating for ten years?” Vince decided to change the topic. Tommy seemed benevolent enough to share some information. “But you don’t look much over twenty. How old were you when you started?”

“Do I look that young?” Tommy pouted. “I’m twenty-five already. Maybe twenty-six. My parents weren’t sure on an exact date. So… fifteen, I guess?”

“Some crew took you in at fifteen?”

“Me and Nikki, yeah. I was a cabin-boy. Not in the way you are now a cabin-boy, though. Hey!” Vince poked him in his hurt arm, and Tommy jabbed him with his elbow in response. Vince tried to use this momentary hassle to wrestle free, but Tommy’s grip was unyielding. He gave up and continued the conversation.

“And Nikki?”

“He was a bit older, so he qualified as a sailor. Nineteen, maybe?”

“So he’s now twenty-nine.” Vince examined Tommy’s face, looking for a joke, but there was not a sign of it even on Tommy’s eternally-grinning face. He must be serious.

“You sure know how to count.”

“Only twenty-nine, and already a captain of his own ship? How come?”

“Oh, that’s a long story. Let’s just say: a whole lot of blood got spilled.”

Tommy talked about it light-heartedly, but a shiver ran down Vince’s spine. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the details. On the other hand, it was always useful to know who you were dealing with…

“That’s probably because he gets angry often,” he said. “Sometimes without a reason. Like at me today.”

“Today?” Tommy suddenly got very serious. “Oh yeah, he was mighty pissed, and as much as I explained to him that you couldn’t possibly conspire with Metallicos – on account of you having never talked to a single one of them in your life – he still, I think, somewhat believes it. So you be careful around him for the next couple days. Try not to piss him off too much.”

So Nikki thought for some reason that Vince conspired with those enemy pirates of whose existence he learned a couple days ago and hadn’t seen till today? And even Tommy couldn’t convince him otherwise? Great, just great. Nikki didn’t look like a person who would let an emotion subside by itself; he was the one to make it everyone else’s problem. Vince’s problem, in particular.

“It seems me merely breathing already pisses him off,” Vince murmured.

“Well, sometimes you can be rather annoying just standing there with that expression of yours.”

“What expression?” Vince blinked in confusion. He might have let a grimace or two slip through, but usually tried not to let his emotions spill onto the surface. He wasn’t sure if he was successful in it, though.

“Well, that expression. When you pout and look from underneath your lashes. Like you’re all high and mighty and we’re just ants under your feet.” Tommy pinched his cheek. “Get rid of that noble residue, Vinnie, or finding friends on here will be extremely difficult.”

“I’m not doing that! At least, not on purpose!” Vince pushed Tommy’s hand away. In return Tommy grabbed him by the jaw, dug his nails into the skin on Vince’s cheeks and pulled his face very close to his.

“Don’t do that.” His hot breath blew over Vince’s face. “Or I might get angry too. And you wouldn’t like it.”

Yes, Vince had to agree, he wouldn’t like it. If Tommy didn’t lie – and he probably didn’t, seeing how he was defending Vince at the galley – he tried to talk sense into Nikki on Vince’s behalf. With questionable results, but it counted. And Vince didn’t want to lose an – it was hard to admit, but he had to – an ally.

“Sorry,” he said as clearly as Tommy’s hand on his jaw allowed him too. Which was not really clear, but Tommy understood him.

“That’s better. Now, let’s try again.” He pinched Vince’s cheek a second time, now much more painfully. Vince gritted his teeth and said and did nothing.

Tommy was satisfied. “Good boy,” he said. “Now give me a kiss and you can go. On the cheek, don’t worry,” he added, laughing at Vince’s miserable expression.

It didn’t make the situation much better, but Vince wanted to get away way more than he wanted to give the motherfucker a piece of his mind. He quickly gave him a peck on the cheek, his lips burning from the touch to the warm skin, and slid off Tommy’s knees the moment he released his grip. He couldn’t see Tommy watching his retreat, but he knew the asshole was laughing.

“Hey, Vince!” he heard Mick’s voice. “Where you going? We ain’t done here.”

Mick made him gather all the plates from the crewmates and only after that permitted to go to the galley with an additional ordeal of washing the dishes. But Vince was happy to, as long as he was away from all the pirates, and especially Tommy. He wasn’t violent, or cruel, or particularly unpleasant today, but Vince felt sticky all over from all those little touches and small taunts. It took him all his willpower to ignore them, and now he was tired and empty and just wanted to crawl under his blanket.

He did, eventually, after all the dishes and a couple other errands from Mick were done, and passed out of sheer exhaustion the moment his head hit his rolled-up rag that served as his pillow.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Friends In Low Places (part 1 )

Tech and Hondo Ohnaka

Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)

Warning: Violence, death, injury, all comparable to what we see in The Bad Batch, stealing, foul language, sass, pain mention, broken bones mention, secrets, fight or flight.

Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.

Word count: 5k+

Notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired by Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone," and by an ask I got from @spicedrobot :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.

P.S.: This will have a few more chapters, but I am sure I will not be able to finish this before Wednesday (the season 3 premiere), though I do intend to keep writing this story no matter what happens in canon.

Read on Ao3

Tech had only milliseconds to formulate a plan of action, yet there was nothing that could be done.

A dense fog stretched on for what felt like kilometers, the world below advancing swiftly as he descended. His head whipped to the left and right, the remnants of the railcar bearing down on him with regrettable rapidity.

There was not anything to grapple onto, nothing to prevent his fall.

The clone craned his neck; there was a rumbling sound the likes of which sublight engines made, the distinctive shape of a ship materializing like a phantom from the breadths of the mist. From this unnatural angle, it appeared to be 55.52 meters in length, painted brown and gray with yellow detailing, some additional markings on its nose and sides.

There was no time, much like he had told Wrecker moments earlier.

Tech disengaged from the length of cord that was still attached to the hunk of metal threatening to overtake him, his unmoored form slamming hard into duralloy, a resounding thud most likely heard by all within. At the same time, the tail end of the railcar met the tail end of the unknown vessel he had landed upon, hazardous debris shooting off in one direction while an electrical discharge and the beginnings of a fire sparked to life shortly thereafter.

Alarms sounded; he heard voices rising in fear and anger. He tried to breathe, clinging desperately to shreds of the ship’s hull as it began to make a nosedive toward a vast expanse of trees. He could not decide what might be worse: being crushed by the massive weight of the railcar, or shredded to pieces in what was sure to be a nasty crash.

Tech sat up; he stood, albeit shakily, activating the appropriate leg muscles to tighten his grip and stay his balance, even as the starship tipped. Once the canopy of the trees beneath him was within range, he sprinted with all his remaining energy, running to the closest edge.

Leaping as far as his momentum would carry him, Tech braced for impact, the first of what must be a thousand branches pummeling his body as he dropped, once again, toward the ground.

---

Two brown eyes fluttered open at the sound of a tenacious grunt; something or someone was attempting to acquire his right boot. In his delirium, the clone could not understand what one would do with it, noting that the two came as a pair. He moved to speak, though he found it difficult for his vocal cords to produce sound, the onset of a splitting headache having silenced him from protesting against this attempt at robbery.

“Hmm?” a deeply resonate hum filled his ears, the voice belonging to a face he could not see; it appeared that his eyewear had been lost in the fall, Tech left in a world full of undefined shapes and vague outlines in comparison to what he was used to; it was a thing that worried him despite there being so much else to worry about.

Currently, it was the theft of his shoe.

“Oh, uh—” there was a clearing of this person’s throat, “—you are not dead.”

“No,” Tech managed, beginning to flex his fingers as he stretched them in turn, determining if one or many of them were broken - so far so good.

“Den... I shall come back later,” this oddly vivacious voice declared, the rustling of nearby foliage signaling to Tech that he was lying in a bed of something fibrous and soft.

Eriadu. He was still on Eriadu. A series of factoids flooded his overtaxed mind.

A terrestrial planet in the Eriadu system of the Seswenna sector, Eriadu is located in the Outer Rim. Known for its varied geophysical elements, it is defined by landforms such as mountains and jungles—

The canopy - the native flora - he assumed, had slowed his descent. It was the last thing he remembered before his vision inevitably went dark.

“I—I will be needing that boot.” His voice sounded unlike himself, weak and pained. His chest burned, though he was sure had it not been for his armor, he would be dead. Reaching out with limbs that were sore and stiff, Tech found the grass beneath and around him to be dense, yet spongy.

A part of a larger family, either Poaceae, Cyperaceae, or Juncaceae, this monocotyledonous plant had narrow leaves, hollow stems, and clusters of very small, usually wind-pollinated flowers— though Tech could not tell given his present condition. Grown for either food, fodder, or ground cover, this particular variety had helped to save his life and occurred naturally, much to his silent thanks.

“Deeey are not my size, anyway,” the previously ebullient voice replied, now having taken on a dry and dour tone. He felt movement and heard a “thwack” at what he theorized was his boot returned to him, the crunch of vegetation being trampled underfoot accompanying the retreat of the mysterious figure.

“Wait,” this clone called out, the form before him turning to glance over his shoulder.

“You look like him. Are you… one of dem?” the man questioned, Tech not having an answer as his inquiry was incomplete; it lacked specifics, yet he surmised he meant one thing.

“Are you speaking of Jango Fett?” Tech asked, hands pressing against earth for fingers to splay apart as he used his forearms to halfway right himself, though it was tough going.

“Ah, so you are,” the man replied, traipsing forward through the grass in Tech’s direction once again; his black boots were the only thing clearly visible at this height and at this range - he had his own, so why did he need his?

“I thought so. A clone, den, but you look… so different. Skinnier. Sort of, how you say, sickly. Not at all like my dear old friend...”

Tech brushed off his insults, not taking offense, as that sort of thing did not interest him. He cared not what others thought about his outward appearance, as he knew that it was what is on the inside that counts.

“I am a member of an experimental unit that was engineered with an enhanced mental capacity and superior intelligen—”

“Dat es all fine, well, and good, but. BUT. You look ab-so-lute-ly terrible. I am… surprised dat with de level of damage tu your factory-made armor, you are still among de living.” 

Then, Hondo paused, as if thinking about something. “Yes, yes… perhaps you are of his ilk, after all.”

“I need to get back to my brothers; to Omega—”

“—Indeed. I am en a bit of a predicament, tuu, you see—”

“—They are in danger, the Empire—”

“—De Empire shot. me. down!” this man practically yelled, overcome with a sudden, zealous anger. Though not privy to the exact way his beloved, modified luxury yacht had been taken out, assumptions could. be. made!

Tech thought perhaps it was in his best interest not to admit he may have had something to do with it, although it had been out of his control.

“You would tink dey have never seen a Weequay pilot a SoroSuub 3000 over restricted airspace before,” the man continued, Tech taking this time to slip his boot back on. “Why, I even masked its signature! But de area was swarming with activity from de moment I arrived,” he was quick to claim, Tech staring up at the blurry sentient who was much too loud for his pounding head.

“Lower your voice. Someone is bound to hear you, and I do not think that—”

“—Are you giving Hondo a command?”

“—we should remain here for much longer.”

“I am not one of your subordinates; I am Hondo Ohnaka! De king of pirates, and captain of de notorious Ohnaka Gang,” the being professed, Tech noting his hand to be wafting in the air. “Ef et were not for being dragged entu your war, I might still be sitting pretty, hm?”

Hondo did not want to think on his ravaged base. At least his ships had been safely stowed away beneath the desert, residing in a spacious, private vault of his own design. He also did not want to think about how his favorite amongst them was now nothing more than bits of twisted and charred shrapnel; it would never again grace the skies or soar amidst the stars.

Then, he seemed to rethink things, the Weequay emitting a low growl in disapproval. “Mn… But I suppose dis es not your war, either. You were… created en a lab,” he finished, Tech’s attention having waned to the point he was now searching the surrounding area with both hands, looking for his goggles.

Studying the clone commando down the tip of his nose, Hondo found a new topic to speak on rather quickly. “You are very, very lucky,” he informed him, “what wit you not yet being dead, and for Hondo tu be here at de very same time. Tell me, what was dat other explosion I heard?” he asked curiously, the self-named pirate king bending forward at the waist to hunch over the wounded man.

“Our mission should have been straight-forward, but it was a failure,” Tech stated matter of fact. “It was complicated by the presence of Saw Gerrera; he sought to bring down the entire Imperial facility when our goal was to install a homing-beacon on one particular ship that—”   

“—Ah, you speak of ships! Yes, yes… Dat es what I need,” Hondo glossed over the rest of the conversation, ignoring Saw's mention entirely and the series of unfortunate events that had led Tech to this place. “But tanks tu you and your little playmates, de planet es now crawling with Imperial forces, more so dan usual, I suspect!

Another pause. “Are you not… Imperial?”

Tech was tempted to ignore the question. “No, I am not. However, it seems we are both in need of the same thing,” Tech snapped back, his temper rising. “Though it would benefit me to find my goggles,” he added wryly. “I do not suppose you might help with that.”

“You supposed correctly!” this Hondo fellow confirmed with a smile in his obnoxiously jovial voice. “Unless…” he  trailed off. “Dere es something en et for me, perhaps?" Never mind he knew what it was like to desire one’s own eyewear should it be lost or taken from you; at the moment it did not matter, nor did he care.

Tech sighed, already exasperated. “You said you are a pirate. I happen to know one such similar person, a treasure hunter by the name of Phee Genoa. Perhaps there is something of value that can be traded if we manage to leave Eriadu alive. My destination would be the planet Pabu. It is where I exp—”

“Phee Genoa?!” Hondo asked, exhilarated. “Why, I have not seen her en years!” He turned his back, something red and splotchy nearly hitting Tech in the face. It was this scoundrel’s coat, though unable to make it out for what it was.

“Pabu…” his voice darkened, Tech not noticing the way this devil’s eyes lit up, glinting behind worn transparisteel as his lip curled upward in a toothy grin.

Wheeling back around, Tech was nearly smacked a second time by the brigand’s foppish attire, raising one arm to protect himself as this Ohnaka brandished a finger toward the dark pall that hung over the sharp and dangerous cliffside, settling just above the jungle’s canopy. “So, DAT es where she has been hiding… What a wily, enterprising woman she es…”

Tech felt a pang like he had not felt before, not in the least bit enjoying the shade this man had taken when he had mentioned Phee by name. He also wondered if he should have brought up Pabu in conversation at all, mentally scolding himself, even though this stranger was no friend to the Empire.  

“Is it a refugee planet,” he reminded himself, knowing that Pabu’s location was not exactly a secret, only that their presence there ultimately put many lives at risk, and that Phee had been kind enough to take them in.

“Do you know her?” Tech asked, attempting to mask the unsettling feeling that lingered in his gut. Then, he thought to pose another question. “And just what are you doing here?” he queried harshly, unable to prevent the acerbic inflection that was produced alongside his curiosity.

Ohnaka chuckled, easily deducing he had struck a nerve. Tucking that bit of information away for later, he placed two fingers along the outside of his swoop-goggles and gave them a gentle tug. “You see deese?” he inquired.

“No,” Tech answered brusquely.

The Weequay frowned, at once understanding his meaning and correcting himself accordingly by giving a more thorough explanation; he was walking, or rather crawling, blind. “Lommite,” Hondo whispered with a sinister air. “You see, et es—”

“—a type of ore considered to be one of the primary constituent materials of transparisteel, durasteel, starfighter canopies, and dura-armor. It is mined on both the planet Didyma five and here on Eriadu. Chalky in both texture and coloring, lommite is often utilized by artists and can be molded like clay for—”

“—My dear child,” Hondo interrupted as he had so rudely been, “you forgot one ting en your quite elaborate and unnecessary explanation.”

Tech brushed off what was meant to be another insult, struggling to stand on his feet. The rogue commando would groan in pain and straighten out; he would tower over the other man if he could only manage to keep proper posture, as he was in too much quiet agony to do so. He ascertained two of his ribs were broken, and that his already injured femur had incurred another setback, though he only stared blankly ahead, thinking hard on what it was he may have missed in his otherwise accurate description of the mineral in question.

“Et es easy money,” Hondo finally offered, clasping his hands together in front of his ornate belt buckle as he observed the clone rise with great difficulty. Not commenting on his physical condition – yet – Hondo began to circle around the boy, for that is exactly what he was. A young man in the prime of life, forced to spend it perhaps not how he saw fit, but with a blaster in his hand and a bucket on his head.

“En fact, dere es a mining operation not tuu far from here – one with ships!” Hondo finalized, Tech squinting to barely make out the excited expression the Weequay sported on his striated face; he had waltzed back around.

“And you plan to steal it,” Tech stated flatly, his body turning slowly toward the left as he began scouting for any differences among the grass; he was looking for something gray and yellow, with a recording device affixed to its side. He would even settle for something large and bulky: his helmet. Unbeknownst to Tech, it had bounced off his head once his body had landed roughly in the grass; at least it had stayed on for the majority of his troubling descent.

“What else would one du with et? Bury et like treasure tu come back for later?” Hondo asked in a petulant, derisive tone.

“Is that not what pirates do?” Tech retorted, his own tone less than amused. He managed to locate his bucket in some nearby brush, inspecting it for damage. His visor was cracked as well as the circumaural radio muffs that allowed him to communicate at close range with his squad. He tapped his vambrace with two fingers as he held on loosely to his headgear; the components within sizzled and sparked. He was in fact stranded here, and without a way to comm for help.

Then, he had an idea. One that was better than nothing.

The pirate scoffed, Tech ignoring his theatrics to readorn his battered helmet. He flipped the visor down. Though the head-up display had a hairline fracture that split apart into various directions, it was still somewhat functional. He felt suddenly elated, though this was only a small victory.

“Perhaps you are… unable tu understand when I am joking, for however smart you say you are,” Ohnaka quipped.

“It hardly seems worth the effort,” Tech commented in regard to his poorly thought out plan.

“Ap-Ap-Ap!” the Weequay interrupted viciously, “—dat es where you are wrong, my friend.”

“I am not your friend,” Tech said in his defense, “and I am seldom wrong.”

“I am betting dat you are,” Hondo rejoined callously, all teeth.

Tech did not speak for a moment, gathering his thoughts. One bit of local history came to mind, a fascinating story that pertained to the current topic of conversation. “Have you ever heard of the pirate queen Q'anah?”

Hondo narrowed oblique, gray eyes, “And what of her?”

“Well,” Tech began, “Eriadu used to be a frequent target for pirates, marauders, and privateers. Lommite shipments leaving the planet on their way to the Core were of particular interest to these pirate gangs. This planet formed their own paramilitary group, which was named the Outland Regions Security Force; they attempted to handle the situation by themselves. This force found itself to be stretched too thin to deal with the problem on a more permanent basis, the pirate threat becoming far worse when multiple gangs formed an alliance under the leadership of queen Q'anah.”

“Take a breath, why don’t you?” Hondo chided, though truth be told he loved a good story, even if it was one he had already heard, and, more often than not, he preferred to be the one telling them, however humoring the clone only so much as he desired.

Tech disregarded him, continuing unperturbed. “Eriadu Mining and Shipping was ingeniously outsmarted by Q'anah's Marauders, who brought the mining company to the brink of bankruptcy. The raids ended when Wilhuff Tarkin, a then lieutenant in the Outland's anti-piracy task force, managed to crack the sequence Q'anah used to decide which specific lommite containers she would target.”

“What a decidedly smart woman she must have—”

“—the same Wilhuff Tarkin who is working under the authority of the Galactic Empire, the man whose home base sits at the top of Raven’s Peak,” Tech pointed out, having just come from there only a few minutes ago. Or perhaps it was hours now; he did not know for sure.

“Uhh— Uh-huh,” Hondo offered in response, not able to come up with anything more articulate than that.

“He managed to infect the chosen lommite containers' hyperdrive motivators with a virus that would spread to the pirate’s vessels, forcing their navigational computers to override the coordinates entered to instead deliver the ships to the waiting Outland Security Forces.”

“Mhm, mhm, yes, alllll very fascinating, but I du not see what dis has tu du with—”

“—Q'anah's reign ended abruptly when Tarkin ordered that Q’anah and her crew be placed into empty shipping containers that would be subsequently programmed to slowly pilot themselves into the sector's sun. The feed from within the container was broadcasted live as the pirates were slowly roasted to death in order to strike terror into the hearts of anyone who dared to follow in Q'anah's footsteps.”

Hondo cleared his throat, turning his back on the chatty clone. “Dat other planet you mentioned, er, Daddy fiv—”

“—Didyma five—”

“—Perhaps et would make for an easier target, but—”

Tech scrutinized the man, or that part of him which he could barely pick out against a backdrop of tall trees, opening his mouth to counter his assumption.

Hondo added something more; he had not been finished. “Dere es one thing you failed tu mention, however.”

Tech sighed, fiddling with the settings on his visor, aiming to adjust its current configuration to display the heat signatures of sentient beings. All living things gave off infrared energy to a degree. It was with this knowledge that Tech was able to bypass - and even solve - his current dilemma, the one in which he was unable to see, despite it being only possible between a dizzying variety of crisscrossing fractures and uneven lines.

“And what might that be?” he asked, words clipped.

“De fact dat I am Hondo Ohnaka,” the Weequay sneered, gazing at him from over his armored shoulder plate, “and Hondo Ohnaka survives. every. time.”

In fact, he just had survived yet again! Not a scratch on him; it was more than he could say for his poor men.

Tech was not impressed, assessing his DC-17 blaster pistols to make sure that they were still operational. “Who or what you are is irrelevant,” he began, “what matters is finding a mode of transportation that will get us out of here, preferably undetected.”

“Irrelevant to whom?” Hondo Ohnaka asked, already beady eyes constricting further into slits as his prominent brow ridge bowed inward, Tech not reacting to his sudden change in mood. The commando had, without much effort, gotten under the scoundrel’s skin. To deny Hondo’s importance or notoriety within the galaxy at large was perhaps the biggest insult one could have placed upon the Weequay; his reputation preceded him! How dare he suggest otherwise!

“What is relevant is—” Tech was not sure why he hadn’t thought to ask yet, his train of thought derailed before he could finish one sentence to complete another, “—do you have a comlink?”

Hondo huffed, turning back around. “Ef I had a comlink, du you not tink dat I would be hailing my crew  —what es left of dem—” Hondo mumbled, “— for a much-needed rescue? Granted, should my frigate meet ets end at de greedy, grubby hands of de Empire, den, I will be very, very angry. I am not… well liked when I am angry,” he stated in a low, gruff tone.

“Did you arrive here alone? There is security in numbers,” Tech could not help but to inquire, though he thought he already knew the answer; he had heard multiple voices cry out during the ship’s descent.

“I ded not come alone!” Hondo assured him indignantly, “my co-pilot was killed en de crash.”

Tech had nothing to say for once, simply keeping his eyes trained on the man. Part of him felt like it was his own fault. He weighed his options on coming clean.

Already this Weequay was unpredictable; he easily decided to continue holding his tongue.

“…As were two others of my men—” Hondo grumbled, “—dey ded not seem tu understand de meaning of safety. I told dem, boys, strap en! But—splat! A very ugly ting tu witness.”

A few seconds elapsed; Hondo glared. “Since my name es of noooo importance tu you, I hesitate tu ask what yours es,” he stated, obviously rankled.

“I am Tech,” the clone said without fanfare, much unlike his current company.

“Tech,” Hondo repeated slowly. “Tech, who es nothing like Jango; du you have any other bright ideas?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Hondo groaned a displeased sound, yet he could not help but wonder what this brainiac had come up with. Currently, he was thinking about how he could use this child-soldier to his benefit, not above cutting and running should the need arise.

“Enlighten me, oh smart one,” he derided.

“Though I do not have my goggles, my visor will read the heat signature of any living thing. I may have trouble with inanimate objects, not to mention my heads-up display is damaged, but if we work together, perhaps we can make it to the mining facility to procure—”

“—Ah, so you are not above stealing,” Hondo cut him off.

“When the situation calls for it,” he answered succinctly.

“So verrrry wise, you are,” Hondo offered, sarcasm lacing his butter-smooth baritone.

Just then, voices could be heard in the near distance; they sounded human, eager. Hondo bristled and pulled a vibrocutlass from its sheath as Tech reached for his pistols.

The clone did a doubletake, catching the sword's outline thanks to its vibration. When molecules vibrate, they are known to bump into one another, thus transferring kinetic energy to other molecules. Sometimes, this energy radiates outwardly as heat; Tech was more than a bit surprised. “That is an odd choice.”

Hondo glanced to the clone, then into the thick of the forest. When Tech did not cease his unrelenting stare, Hondo turned back to face him. “Es dere a problem?”

Before Tech could answer, a bolt of blaster fire whizzed past his head. He had only marginally shifted to the right in the nick of time, the readout on his display having flashed a warning as the plasma ray came rushing toward him.

“I suggest we run,” Tech said cursorily. 

“What a highly intelligent ting tu say,” Hondo mocked.

Though in an exorbitant amount of pain from head to foot, somehow Tech found the wherewithal to push forward, dashing past the pirate to head into the cover of Eriadu’s jungle, albeit with a limp and heavy breathing.

“Just where are you going without me?” Hondo called out, turning tail to follow in pursuit. “And very slowly, might I add,” he commented, reflecting on the hobbled gait of Tech just a few feet away.

The Weequay groused churlishly as a small group of white-clad soldiers appeared before them. A bolt ricochet off the tip of his cutlass, Hondo having blocked the incoming shot to send it flying back at their enemies. “You don’t even know where de facility es!”

“You should lead the way,” Tech admitted, releasing multiple rounds of fire into oncoming TK Troopers, striking two down with ease. He watched, impressed despite himself, as Hondo Ohnaka sliced the neck of one man and shot another through his plastoid armor with what appeared to be a DL series heavy blaster of some kind; he had withdrawn it from a holster against his hip.

“What an astute observation!” he remarked sardonically, “yooou watch my back, and I will watch our front, yes?”

Hondo was not expecting a reply, nor did he wait for one, putting holes through two more troopers as they vied to overtake them.

Searching within the appropriate pouch strapped to his thigh, Tech withdrew a sonic-based grenade, setting the trigger for a five-second delay. Tossing it with skilled precision, the device detonated, clearing the way for them to move forward through the woods.

“A few tricks up your sleeves, ah?” the pirate called back, having stopped momentarily to catch his breath; he was not as young as he once was, a notion he only seemed to remember when in the heat of battle.

“That was a sonic detonator,” Tech explained for no reason whatsoever, “it emits an oscillated pulse that—”

“Da-da-da-da,” Hondo interjected, snapping as if this man were his own underling,“Iiiiii know what dat was. Now, keep moving, or du you not tink dat you can manage dat?”

The scalawag had squinched deeply, exaggerating his expression to denote that he had not failed to observe Tech’s current condition, which happened to be poor. Even though having this pirate for company was less than ideal, without him, he was unsure if he would be able to escape; Tarkin, or Hemlock himself, had already deployed men to smoke them out. His chances were slim at best.

“Perhaps we can come to some kind of understanding,” Tech offered, already comprehending quite clearly that this man was money driven. While credits were not something he had a lot of, with the help of the others, and hopefully Phee, he would be able to afford to pay him off.

“An agreement?” Hondo nonchalantly tapped the dull, flat side of his blade against the curvature of his shoulder. “You mean you would like tu… make a deal?” he asked, his question not without skepticism, yet Hondo was always game when it came to profits; it was more than obvious his interest was piqued.

“I do not wish for you to run away and leave me behind,” Tech stated concisely, thinking that in this situation honesty was the best policy, although deserving to be withheld in others; he could not remember a time that it was not before now. “The extent of my injuries must have you alarmed.”

Hondo seesawed his head to the left and right, waving his hand and the blaster held by it carelessly in the air. “Eh.”

Tech managed to ignore this, too. “It is plain to see that you are driven by material wealth. We spoke briefly about compensation. I want to be clear: I can promise you the sum of five-thousand credits if you are willing to escort me both to the mining facility, and to find my family.”

“Family?”

“Yes, I mentioned them earlier before you interr—”

“—Five-thousand credits es… paltry at best…”

Hondo tensed; he stopped moving, the tap-tap-tapping of his vibrocutlass coming to a pause. His face hardened as he appeared to observe the man for the first time, his dark gaze traveling the clone from head to foot.

“And what family could a clone possibly have?” Hondo grit his teeth, knowing better than to ask that question.

Tech’s muscles tightened, his mouth forming a thin line. “My brothers are my family; Omega is my family."

“You have so many brothers... Just how many of dem are d’ere?” He did not bother to ask who Omega was.

“They are a part of my Squad. We are a team,” Tech squared his shoulders, not understanding why he had to justify the terminology he had used.

“I see…” His answer was sufficient, tugging the scoundrel’s heartstrings juuuuust enough.

Ah, if only his men were so loyal…

Hondo was no doctor, but he could both sense and see that this boy was on his last reserves. His republic armor had been modified, but it was still beat to shit, cracked in places from whatever chaos had previously ensued. Not to mention, he was compensating for his unfortunately flawed eyesight through that helmet of his; curious, as Jango had a perfect 20/20 and never wore spectacles a day in his life.

The red-clad devil sighed, filling his lungs completely so as to exhale unhurriedly through broad, flaring nostrils. And just like that, he turned on his Pirate’s Honor, sheathing his sword though he kept his blaster on hand.

“I suppose you may come en handy,” Hondo said flippantly, not wanting to admit he had a weakness for sob stories, and especially those that had to do with… family.

He allowed himself to reminiscence on his poor, sweet mother for a time, thinking of a piece of advice she had once proffered him:

“Hondo, someone else’s urgency is your opportunity.”  Truer words had never been spoken.

Finally, he straightened his hunched back and tutted. “Yes, yes, yes, come with me, and we shall survive dis, ah? Or. My name es not Hondo Ohnaka! And I can assure you dat et es,” he confirmed, as if there had been any doubt.

Besides, thought Hondo, there was no reason not to keep this fellow around a while longer; his family was missing him, after all. Perhaps they would be willing to bargain more than credits. If they were stationed on Pabu as this Tech had said, the treasures housed within its renown Archium would more than cover his expenses; a greedy glint twinkled in his eye.

“I owe you my gratitude,” Tech replied, shifting his weight on the leg that in fact hurt less, yet was still not free from pain.

“Ahhh, but you owe me more dan dat. Do. not. forget, my friend,” Hondo stated, repeating the descriptor Tech had already once denied; his face had split apart into two halves as his grin spread from ear to ear. Then, he turned, beginning to walk - though a little bit more slowly – into the depths of Eriadu’s wilderness.

Tech felt unnerved despite their accord, thinking the Weequay’s smile was suspect if not downright suspicious of something greater, something being hidden beneath the contrived contracting of all fifty-three of his facial muscles. But for the moment, he chose to trust him. There was not much else he could do, a reoccurring theme over the course of the last few hours.

Remaining guarded and forever watchful, as best he could be in his current state, Tech trundled forward, surrendering himself to whatever else was likely to occur.

---

Comments and reblogs much appreciated! Thanks for reading!

Part 2 coming soon.

[quarantined-fics]

you when you read this new chapter

[francixoxoxo]

Today is definitely a grind and get my drafts DONE day 😭😭 I don’t have anything to offer 😢

[kaesficrecarchive]

[hongjoong x seongwha]

In This Uneasy Mist by inexperiencedandconfused8 (20/20 | 206,231 | M)

Park Seonghwa had been a prisoner at sea for the past two years ever since he was snatched off the streets. When a battle with a rival pirate crew leads to his capture, he is merely moved from one prison to another. He doesn't realize it at first, but this new prison is different. Against everything he knows, he slowly finds himself warming up to the crew members he had sworn to hate. Park Seonghwa promised himself he would never feel again. Emotions only got people killed. Captain Kim Hongjoong had never felt an ounce of remorse for anyone outside of his crew. If they weren't with him, they were against him. But when they bring a prisoner on board for information, Hongjoong watches as his crew members warm up to him despite their orders not to engage. As their attachment grows, Hongjoong's hate for the prisoner swells. Kim Hongjoong promised himself he would protect his crew. Emotions only got people killed.

[secretagent9]

one of the best things about watching deltarune playthroughs (or any game playthroughs, really) is that people almost always wind up finding neat stuff that i never found in my own playthrough. like this:

the little white dog shows up in the power menu, sometimes! i had no idea!!

[the-kr8tor]

Between the Devil...

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW suggestive, TW blood, CW panic attack, TW death, CW violence.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 14 >>> CHAPTER 15

You wake up to home.

Hobie's arm is slung on top of you, hand holding your own even in his sleep. His leg lays over your own protectively like he's shielding you from unforeseen dangers that lurk in the drafty barn. His hot breath fans your nape, lips brushing along the skin like stone skipping on a lake. You sigh, squeezing his hand, head lying comfortably on his other arm.

You're careful when you shift your weight so that his arm won't fall asleep, but judging by the sun's rays entering the small window behind you— you're sure his arm is already numb.

For a split second from waking up, there's a small part of you that thought you'd wake up alone. You're glad that part of you is wrong.

As if his senses are attuned to yours, he wakes up with a sigh before you felt his smile on your nape. His piercing is warm as he leaves featherlight kisses on your skin.

“Good dream?” You say through the fog of affection.

“I didn't dream,” you twist in his arms to look at him. Those grey eyes you love do much are properly rested, pupils blown out, content and peaceful. “Don't worry, that's a good thing. I haven't slept this well since— a long time. The closest I got was on our island.” He smiles, hand cradling the side of your head, thumb nonchalantly placed on your bottom lashes, careful not to accidentally poke you. You trust him not to.

“You're welcome by the way.” You joke, resisting the urge to kiss the goofy smile on his lips.

“Yes, thank you for eating my face off last night.”

“Please, you loved it. And it's not like you went hungry last night either.” Your skin is still warm from where he touched you. Your lips still remember how he tasted and how he moved with you in tandem.

Humming, he pecks your forehead. “I think I'm gettin' hungry again.” With a laugh, he rubs your bare legs with his frozen foot.

“Your feet are cold.” Instead of moving away, you scoot closer, which was already impossible since you're already laying next to him chest to chest. You can feel his chest rise and fall against the thin cloth of your slip. Nosing his neck, he fixes your fallen collar to hide your shoulder away from the cold. “Hmm, your hands are warm though.” You coo, fingers subtly inside his shirt, fingertips dancing around his hip.

“Can't say the same thing for your hands.”

“You have cold feet but warm hands and I have cold hands but warm feet. We're perfect for eachother.”

Hobie chuckles, you can feel the deep rumble in his chest. “Put ‘em all together and we'd both have normal temperatures.”

Giggling, he buries his nose atop your head, letting himself drown in you. With the comfortable silence, the various animals below the hayloft huff and chew, the hay under your bodies are scratchy and pointy so Hobie lifts you up slightly so he takes the brunt of the pointed hay, so you don't get itchy from the dry material. Your chin rests just below his clavicle, hands caged around his head, lips curled into a smile.

His heart almost stops when the golden rays kisses your face, the light from the window hits your form perfectly, blanketing you in its glow. Eyes shining, linen slip leaving almost nothing to the imagination, dust flying around you like fireflies— he thinks he has died in his sleep and is now in front of heaven's gates. Standing and gawking at the marvelous sight.

“You alright?” You ask like you didn't take his breath away.

“Are you real?”

You snort, “of course I am.”

“Then I'm alright.” Hobie's knuckles knead at your lower back, warming you from the cold. Hand gripping your waist, you feel right at home.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you and Hobie take a minute to bask in the silence and the slowness of the morning; just like on your little island where you learned to appreciate and truly know each other, you both just lay there and stare tenderly like the other would disappear from view.

“I've been meaning to—” You both say at the same time.

Chortling, you gesture for him to go first, “Captain first.”

“Ladies first.” He smirks, patting your back.

“You and I both know I'm not a lady, you're not much of a gentleman either.”

“I know, a lady doesn't snog like that.”

“Fine, I won't kiss you like that anymore.” You joke, acting like you're about to sit up, he brings you back down tutting with a knowing smile. Your cheeks hurt from all the smiling but he quickly remedies that by stealing a kiss right under your nose.

Giggling, nose bumping, you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Giving him what he needed, Hobie grips your waist tighter as if someone would rip you away from him. With a deep groan, he lifts your face up to breathe. He finds that he loses his breath frequently when you're near him.

Staring at your kiss bitten lips, he flips you back to the makeshift bed, leg hooked around yours. You let out a surprised sound from the back of your throat to which he silences with a peck. Fingers twirling at the little baby hairs on his nape, he unwillingly lets out a laugh against your lips.

Breaking the kiss, you look at him playfully and he knows exactly what you're about to say.

“You're ticklish!” You exclaim, eyes flicking down to the swinging pearl necklace, it hangs above you and you resist the urge to pull it down so you could kiss him again.

“Just on my neck—” you're already wiggling your fingers, “—dont.” He warns you with a stern glare, but it doesn't last as he hides his face on the crook of your neck. Surrendering, melting into.

“Alright, I won't exploit that knowledge. For now at least.” Hugging him, it's your turn to massage his back. His dress shirt is wrinkled under your touch, you guess the random lord from last night had a very rude awakening when he woke up in his knickers.

“You really do love me.” Hobie mumbles into your skin with wonderment. He doesn't recognize your scent with all the perfumes they doused you in, but it's there, it's faint, yet it's still you underneath it all. Still the scuttlebutt he fished out of the sea.

“I think I proved that last night. Do you want me to say it again?” You're prepared to say it a hundred times a day for him, knowing that those three words won't lose any meaning; and with every utterance of it would set it in stone and in his heart.

He hums, content, the rumble echoing throughout your body.

“I love you.” You embrace his head and in turn, he buries his face into the crook of your arm. “Love you,” peppering the side of his face with warm kisses, you smile through it all. “Satisfied, cap’n?”

“Very.” He sniffs, trying to hide his lopsided smile and stuttered breathing. “What was it you were about to ask?” With a sigh, he lets off of you, now laying side by side, hip to hip. He slithers his arm under you to hold you against his chest while his other hand plays with your intertwined fingers. “Were you about to ask why I attacked Miguel first? I figured your injury made you forget.”

“No,” you stare at your dancing hands in the sunlight. He can feel your new calluses that match his own. “I don't wonder about that anymore.”

“You don't want to know about it?” Hobie cranes his neck to look at your content face. “You, who wants to know about everything?”

“It doesn't matter anymore, it got us here, right?” He nods, the creases in between his eyebrows flattens, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Does it put us in danger?” He shakes his head. “Will it hurt me?” Shaking his head again, you continue. “Then it doesn't matter. I just know that the tension got you both riled up, and it was enough for you two to lunge at each other.”

“It was pride, love.” Hobie swallows thickly. “But you're right if you don't want to know then I won't tell you.”

“Thank you,” You squeeze his hand, fingers slotting perfectly on his own. “I was about to ask how you are. How are you faring in all of this? Everyone keeps asking how I am but no one has asked how you are. You keep dodging it every time I ask. ”

“Does it matter?”

“It does,” you say breathlessly with a sigh. “How are you? Truly?”

“Tired, I think I just want to stay here with you in this musty barn.” You blink, waiting for the rest. “But I'm alright, keep holding on to me like this and I'll be better.”

You smile, sitting up by your elbow to look down at him, to see him fully. “It'll be over soon,” hand on his chest, you feel his heartbeat. “I promise, then we can do whatever we want. Go wherever we want.”

“Do whatever we want?” He teases with a playful smile.

“Yes,” you lean down to rub your nose against his own. It makes him shiver, hands holding you tight on your waist. “I kind of want to stay at a lighthouse for a bit after we figure it out.”

“A lighthouse?”

“Mm-hmm, easier to defend while we plan out things. Plus,” you brush your lips over his own teasingly. “It can only house two people.”

Hobie's breath hitches in his throat. “What are we waitin’ for then? Let's go find the wanker and stay at our tower.”

You giggle whilst he kicks the thick blanket off you. “Or maybe a new ship.” He pauses, neck slowly moving to look at you with a face that says ‘go on.’ “With better defenses, a hundred cannons and a huge fucking sail that can take us anywhere.”

“You gonna build us a boat then? Made out of bricks and steel like your lighthouse?”

You scoff, “that'll be the day. My uncle has a ship docked in the capital, if something happens—”

“Nothin', nothin' will happen.” He pulls you in closer, heartbeats synching, fingers digging in your arm. Yet, he's careful to not leave a mark or make you feel the dull press.

“If, if something does happen, we'll meet there. She's called ‘The Osprey.’ You have my permission to take it, captain.”

“Why are you talkin’ like this?” Concern wracks his body. “Do you know somethin’ I don't?”

“No, it's just that…it's been too good, too plain sailing—” you've been too happy recently. “That I think something will happen, something that would make our plan fail.”

“What do you mean? You got hurt, that's not good, love.”

“I'll live. I meant that you and the crew got out without a hitch. You found me without getting caught and no one has even tried to actively kill me. And Miguel...he told me it might be the king who did all of it. Who commanded Mathias to do it because he wanted to marry my mother. That's what I'm worried about.”

“Do you trust his word?”

“I just think there's something else he missed. That he might be wrong.”

“Do you trust Miguel?”

“A part of me does, I don't know.”

“Who do you think it was then?”

You exhale sharply. “I think there's another cog we don't know about. Miguel told me the king is a buffoon, an idiot. And from what I've seen— do you think an idiot is capable of orchestrating it?”

“Idiocracy could be dangerous too. I'll dig around the estate.” Before you could protest, he gazes tenderly at your nervous eyes. “I'll be careful, I'll dress like the staff, if I get noticed they won't talk.”

You nod, trusting him.

Sitting up to cradle your head in his calloused hands, he smiles to reassure you, attuned to your own worry. “That won't happen. If somethin' does happen, I won't let it.”

“You don't know that, Hobie.” Your chest feels heavy, hands suddenly tensing up. “We failed the last time and the time before that. If it happens again— leave me.”

“No, do you think I crossed the bloody sea, rowed a million times to this city and fought with my crew— my family, just to leave you behind?” His voice is determined. “'m not leaving you.” Taking your tensed hand, he places it on his chest, letting his steady heartbeat calm you, even though he's terrified too.

“No more sacrifices.” Hobie breathes out, hands trembling.

A tear escapes your eye. Nodding your head, you compose yourself, sniffing, letting the thumping of his heart wash over you. You're scared, rightfully so, knowing that you might be against the crown itself. A powerful being, whose word is law.

You finally have your reason not to flee and he finally has his reason not to carve like the knife that he is.

And you're both holding it in your hands.

“You're good to me, Hobie Brown. Too good.” With your confession, grey pools whirl into guit, he has something to confess too.

“Your mother's letter,” his words make your heart stutter. “She wrote not to trust anyone. I intended to hold that burden for you but it's not my decision, so please, don't trust anyone, Y/N.”

“I trust you.”

“And I, you. I love you, whatever happens, know that I do.” His grey eyes swirl with anxiety, hands trembling for fear of death. Not for him but for you, the thought of you lying dead in his arms burns him inside out. And he's more than willing to spread the fire, to burn everything around him if it happens. “I promise I won't let it happen.” He whispers, head placed on your chest, praying that if fate cuts your thread, that they'll cut his too. “We'll have our lighthouse and our ship one day. I promise.”

In that rickety barn, you whisper promises of life to each other.

—

Sneaking out was easier when you had the darkness on your side. Now that the sun has risen and the residents of Hazelside now flock the land, you skitter around to get back inside the estate.

With a quick peck on your lips that has your knees weak, (that shouldn't even be called a simple peck) he reluctantly lets you go. It's not like you wanted to leave him either when he looks properly kissed by you. With his dress shirt completely opened, chest exposed to the golden rays. Elbow propped up, he lounges on the hay with a grin, a picture of someone who's absolutely satisfied, who knows why your skin is on fire and why your hands shake as you come down the hayloft’s ladder.

You shake your head, waving the image away from your brain, tucking it under the folds like a secret. You have to focus, hands holding the blanket over your shivering body, (not to mention how exposed you feel in the almost sheer nightgown) you hide behind a tree when a worker passes by.

Then something in you clicks, you technically own the place so why should you be ashamed? Granted, you did slip away in the night to spend it with Hobie, but they don't know that. So why sneak when you can confidently walk back inside like you own the place. You do own it, your family owns it, so you straighten up your back with confidence, blanket draped around you like an expensive cloak, you strut back inside the little crevice you came out of.

There's goosebumps rising on your arms when you feel their eyes on you. They stop from harvesting the trees, gawking at the new (disheveled) barefooted duchess trudging the field. Scratching their heads, they shrug and just like you thought, they let you on your way without a word.

Speed walking back to the old wooden door, you tamp down a laugh from how ridiculous you must've looked like.

As you close the door, darkness greets you once again. And you already miss him.

Following the walls with your touch, you stop when you hear muffled voices from the other path that you didn't take last night. Straining your ears, you hear arguing. With your curiosity, you follow the sound.

The path leads to a deadend. Light filters through on your left, touching the wall— it's rough and wooden on your palm. It's a bookshelf, you surmise. Peeking through the cracks, you see Victoria and Frederick arguing. And his wife seems to be winning.

Your uncle has his head in his hands, sitting down on a plush armchair whilst his wife screams at him with urgent words.

“—word is law!” She yells, voice shaking.

“I know.” Frederick says in a defeated tone. “Fucking fuck!” He stands up abruptly, pacing back and forth. “Did my father tell you about it?”

“Me?” Victoria scoffs, “he's your father! Not mine!”

“How could he—” Frederick sounds like there's cotton in his mouth, sentence in full disbelief. “He was close to them…how could he—fuck! And here I thought— I thought he didn't have anything to do with it. I've always had a feeling but…” he wipes his oily face with his hands roughly. “The three of them, christ, that poor girl.” Your heart plunges in your stomach.

“It's either us or her.” Victoria shakes her husband. “What would happen to our children if we refuse? What of John and Collette?”

“I don't want to—” Frederick stutters when his wife holds his face softly.

“But we have to.” She nods and he follows.

The door to their chambers fly open suddenly, and out comes a smiling John, completely oblivious to what transpired.

“The artist’s here!” He pauses mid step when he sees his parents' faces. “Collette’s on her way to wake her up— are you both alright?”

“We're fine, Jojo.” Frederick pats his son's shoulder, “let's greet him.”

As they leave the room, with the door clicking softly, you feel for your dagger. The familiar shape of it is missing on your thigh, you rush towards your room with a heavy heart. Your weak leg hinders you from running full speed but you persevere before they could get to you first.

Wincing, entering your room through the secret passage, you fling the tapestry away. Collette greets you with a blinding smile and a lilac dress on top of your bed.

“Oh there you are! I see you found the passages. Where'd you go off to?”

“I think I need to go.” You rapidly take your sparse belongings.

“Wait—what?” She takes your hand away from your shoes. “Why? You just got here!” Her face contorts into worry and sadness.

“I—” you heave from the exertion. “I'm sorry, Collette.” She's innocent from all of this, you thought as you grip her hand. You hear numerous footsteps outside the halls. It's too late to run. In a split second, you make a decision. “Can you do me a favour?” She nods tentatively. “Go to Miguel and tell him—” there's knocking on your doors. “Tell him I need him. Tell him my mother needs him.”

Collette shakes her head with confusion, her curls bouncing on her head as she moves. “Your mother?”

“Just tell him that, please? When you can…just please.”

He's your only hope, he has the power to take you away because he promised. Even if you and Hobie fight your way out of Hazelside, it won't be enough. Heart in your stomach, you fear for his life, not your own. You decide to act, to play the part until Collette brings Miguel back. So you play the perfect duchess like they've always wanted. For Hobie.

His words echo in your mind— ‘no more sacrifices’ and you apologize to him silently.

“I'll—” she understands the urgency in your tone and from your worried eyes. “— I'll tell him myself. You can trust me, cousin.”

“Thank you.” You embrace her, with an almost silent whisper, you tell her about him. Another promise broken at your feet. “There's a man staying in the barn, tell him to leave. Please.” She doesn't have enough time to reciprocate the hug as the door creaks open.

“Oh good, you're awake.” You don't miss how her voice wavers, so do her children. There's an army of handmaidens behind her, “we need to get you ready for your portrait.”

—

You sit stiffly on the velvet chair. The plush seat is in deep purple to match the soft lilac of your dress. The gown is tight on your body, bodice covered in gold stars and golden threads. Corset tight like a cage around your ribs. Sleeves fully puffed, ruffles looking like the waves of the salty sea. The skirt engulfs you, heeled shoes uncomfortable on your feet, making your weak leg shake under the mass of your skirt.

It all suffocates you as the artist forbids you to even move a muscle. Jaw clenched tightly, hand almost breaking the stem of the rose that they forced you to hold. The jewelry on your ears and neck is heavy, cold rubies making you shiver. With the finest garment and expensive yet heavy jewelry, you miss the weight of the dagger on your thigh. You couldn't get the chance to hide it under your skirt when all eyes were on you. Numerous handmaidens come and go from your room as their hands frantically get you ready for the portrait.

Just like the uneasiness in you, Collette stands shakily near her brother, eyes never leaving your stiff form, nervous and worried. And just like the dagger, she couldn't escape the dozens of eyes on her, she couldn't find the right time to escape and warn Hobie and Miguel. You trust that she will tell them, you have to.

Your mother's voice whispers in your mind, ‘Don't trust anyone’ you feel like you're drowning again.

You can hear Collette's deep sigh from across the violet room. The scratchy sound of the painter’s brush against the canvas irks you, makes your ears twitch from annoyance.

Your so called aunt and uncle sit on the couch like nothing happened, like they're not planning for your demise. A tower of sweets sits at the table, colourful cookies decorating their plates, fragrant teas in their opulent cups.

“Collette, darling.” Frederick calls, “you should play something on the pianoforte. I bet Sir Remus here would appreciate the soothing sound.”

“I prefer the quiet, Monsieur.” The artist says in a rigid tone. He dips his brush into a dollop of purple paint, smearing it on his pallet. You follow his movements like he's about to pounce at you and stab you with his brush. “If you don't mind— my lady, please refrain from moving.” He stares at you sternly, pointing his long finger at you accusingly.

“I wasn't moving.” You say through gritted teeth. He doesn't reply, returning to his canvas.

“Can I please be excused?” Collette asks timidly. Her tone raises an eyebrow on her brother's face.

“No, you may not.” Victoria scoffs out, you wonder if she knows.

The stem on the rose digs at your palms.

“But—” Collette turns to her father.

“Listen to your mother.” Frederick doesn't even look at her.

“It'll be your turn soon enough, Collette. Learn from your cousin, be patient and it'll all be fruitful.” Your aunt stares at you above her cup.

“What will be fruitful?” You ask, tone commanding, eyes alight.

“The portrait. You already look wonderful from here.” You can feel the lie in her throat.

“Bullshit.” Your voice echoes around the silent room.

Everyone pauses, frozen on the spot, eyes trained to your furious face. The painter scoffs with an amused smile.

“Excuse me?” Victoria clutches her pearls. “We do not use that foul language here, especially in front of a guest.”

“I'm terribly sorry. Please tell me what this portrait is for, aunt.” You fake a smile, clearing your throat.

She subtly shakes her head, offended. “It's simply for…” flicking her eyes towards her husband, he nods his head. You can see the guilt in them. “...your engagement.” Collette gasps whilst James blinks in shock.

The rose in your hand snaps in half.

“What?” You ask, breath stuck in your throat.

With a click of Remus’ fingers, a staff rushes in, exchanging the snapped rose for a new one.

“The Viscount called for you last night. He expressed his love for you with a proposal to which we…gratefully accepted.”

She stomps her pointed heel on your heart with every word.

“Who?” You ask tearfully, and the painter clicks his tongue, commanding you to not move.

“Viscount Eugene Thompson.”

“I just met him!” You scream, hands gripping the sides of your seat. “You have no right!”

“Madame!” Remus yells back. Instructing the staff to sit you back down. With their gloved hands, they grip your shoulder with a remorseful face, forcefully sitting you back down.

The walls of the purple room seem to get smaller.

Collette shakes her head subtly. James sees this and he immediately gets that something has gone wrong and it's not just the surprise engagement. His ocean eyes tell you to ‘play along.’

Exhaling, letting a tear escape, you act like the duchess you were supposed to be like if not for the past.

“You should've asked me, dear aunt, I would've gotten to know him more.”

“That’s what marriage is for, dear niece. You marry and then you know them after. That's how it's supposed to be for us who are highborn.”

“It's for the best.” For the first time your uncle looks up from his drink to gaze at you. His fingers tremble as he talks. “You get to be a viscountess and we get to stay here at Hazelside. No one loses.”

I lose, you furiously thought. You now know why they want to marry you off to a stranger. It's for them to keep their titles and house while you rot in somebody else's. Someone who might treat you less, someone who could hurt you. Someone who isn't Hobie.

With a cruel laugh, you cackle in your seat. “I get it now.” Your uncle's face contorts into shame while your aunt clenches her teacup hard with an angry sneer.

Collette turns away from you, hiding behind her brother. She knows and so does John who stares out the window, but will they still choose to help you? Or will they choose their titles over your freedom?

“You should be grateful.” Victoria says above the sudden silence. “With how…used you are, you're lucky that a viscount even wants you.” She says with a scoff. “If you weren't as used then you could've been married off years ago to a duke, an earl or even the prince himself.”

“...Used?” You ask rhetorically, making her say it again, making her face you fully with her cruel words.

“You've been to a pirate ship, I have no idea what your role was but I do know that it's impossible that you weren't soiled in that ship.”

You are scorched by the sun.

You almost pounced on her but a staff member suddenly appeared next to you. Her eyes are warm, jade eyes telling you to hold fast, hands telling you to stay down. She takes your bleeding palms, the sting you just now noticed from the spiked stem of the rose. Carefully bandaging your hands, she wordlessly nods at you.

Lips slightly parted, you have an urge to ask who she is and why she's helping you calm down. But you don't let yourself falter, taking this stranger's advice. With a nod and a familiar knot on your hands, she walks away from you, head down in respect or because it's what she's used to.

You take matters in your own bleeding hands.

“Why don't I meet him again? The viscount, so I could get to know him before I marry him.” You lie through your teeth. If you can't talk down your own family or get Miguel for help, then you'd take your chances with the viscount. Maybe he'll think twice about the engagement once you tell him you don't want it, or him. “For tea, perhaps?”

Victoria turns to her children who cower under her glare. “John, why don't you take Collette and send a messenger for the viscount? I'm sure he'd appreciate it if the invitation was sent by your hand, the future duke of Hazelside.”

“But—” John starts but Collette stops him by grabbing his arm.

“Will do, mother.” As the twins leave, Collette gives you a look, green eyes determined. With a nod, you know she's on your side.

“And Collette, darling, straight to your chambers right after.” As if your aunt knows, she forbades them from going out. With a nod to a broad footman, he follows the twins out of the room.

You indistinctly mouth Miguel's name, hoping Collette gets the message before she disappears from view. You wish that they can at least sneak in a letter to Miguel.

If she can't get to Hobie in time, you'll have to do it yourself. For now, you need Miguel back to Hazelside first and foremost. He might not like Hobie but he seems to care for you and your well being, he'll get you and Hobie out, you just know it. He has the title, the power to help you. And the stature that strikes fear into your aunt and uncle. You just hope that Hobie's in the barn, you'd run to him the moment you get the chance.

With your bandaged hands, you grip the arms of your chair. The velvet is slashed under your nails, fluff spilling out.

Victoria stands up, crossing the threshold towards you. “After your meeting with the viscount, there's no escaping this, no matter how you act. I know you're not one of us but you have to try. Marriage is the best option for the both of us. For the family.” She holds onto the back of your chair as you continue to stare at Remus.

“You’re not my family,” you look up at her with your burning eyes. “Whatever you're planning, you'll regret it soon enough. You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

She exhales through her powdered nose. “Hollow threats, dear niece.”

“It won't be, I promise you that.” You abruptly grab her wrist, nails purposely digging in. “If you're part of the reason why they're dead—” she tries to take her hand back but you're stronger. “I'll bury you under my grandmother's apple trees. Then you'll truly be family.”

Unknowingly, you embrace the same fire he has.

Frederick comes to Victoria's side, quickly making you unhand his wife by roughly unclasping your fingers around her.

Your nails scrape and leave a mark on her soft skin, to which you grin at. She has the look of a woman who's terrified for her life. Her husband shares the same look, but with regret in his eyes.

They leave the room, arms embracing each other, murmuring hurried whispers in their traitorous ears.

“Keep that look.” Remus cuts the thick silence. “I like it better.” He smiles, continuing to paint your likeness.

You wait and bide your time, waiting for your so-called aunt and uncle to fully disappear from the halls outside. You count to thirty.

Five.

You listen for their retreating footfalls.

Twelve.

The sound of the brush against the paper is the only thing that you can hear while you ignore your quickening heartbeat.

Nineteen.

Anger rages in you, Hobie finds something in the duke’s office.

Twenty-five.

You thank the artist for his time, using an excuse of not feeling well. His protests fall on deaf ears as you close the door behind you.

Thirty.

You run to him.

—

You try not to make it obvious as you sprint, only slowing down when someone sees you. After you're away from their view, you continue to run towards the barn like a moth to a flame. The ache in your leg is fiery. A harsh throb in your bones, the pain reverberating through your body.

It makes you wince and groan, slightly limping, you finally make it to your chambers. Quickly throwing off the blasted shoes, you immediately kneel down next to your bed in search of your dagger that you've kept hidden under the mattress.

Feeling the cool steel, you grab it, with no time to lose, you hold it in your hand as you head towards the familiar tapestry. Heart pounding like war drums, blood rushing in your ears, sweat dripping off your brows, you feel the fury in your lungs. It buries inside you, shoveling, tunneling, until it reaches your heart. You fight a sob when your knees almost buckle from under you.

Holding on to the walls, you go further inside the hidden path, in search of his warmth. His name echoes in your head, ‘Hobie, Hobie, Hobie’ it says, and you grip tightly around his name like it's your life line, your guiding light as you finally make it to the rotten wooden door.

The sun hangs low in the sky, the cold grass hitting your bare feet makes you gasp but it's not enough to stop you. It'll take more than that to stop you in your tracks, to stop you from reaching him.

The residents of Hazelside are far and few during this time of day. The ones who are left spare you a curious glance but they let you be whilst you run and run, until you reach him, until you reach your reason to live. You'll run forever if you have to.

Ankles burning, palm throbbing from the steel in your hand, you push the barn door open without a thought.

The smell of manure and hay hits your nose, the familiar scratch of a gun being unholstered rings in your ears.

Your heart finally finds reprieve when you see him bathed in the orange rays. Hobie points his gun away, holsters it once he lays his eyes on you. His pulse quickened further the second he spots the deep worry in your eyes. And how you heave like your lungs are about to give out.

Hobie leaves Bernard‘s side, letting the saddle fall on the horse’s back with a soft thump. Fast strides get himself in front of you at a quick pace. Grasping your face, tear stained cheeks tells him of what he feared, what you feared.

“What happened?”

“T-they're going to marry me off.” You weakly say. Holding his arm, you burst at the seams. The fire in you still burns, but you've had enough of its heat.

Now that you stand in front of him, the firelight in you dims, adrenaline fading, letting you be your true self.

You can't lose him.

“I'm sorry,” your hold on him gets tighter with every plea. You can't say it, say that you've given up even though you were forced to. But to you it's all the same. Failure means death, failure means they've died without justice. But failure also means you get to live, to continue to live with him. You're torn between the family you know and love, and the family you never got the chance to love.

And he understands completely.

You now see the cost of revenge laying at your feet, and it's him— Hobie's head rolling on the floor right next to Gwen's, Miles', Pavitr’s, James' and Yuri's. He has seen the same look in your eyes before in the mirror, the reflection cracked and broken. He can't let it happen to you, won't let the hunger burn you until you can't recognize yourself anymore.

And he can't lose you.

“That's alright,” Hobie embraces you, arms shielding you from everyone. Your face hidden in his leather vest, the familiar material helps ease you from the adrenaline rush. “Let's go then, fuck ‘em.” He says against your head. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

“Thank you,” you look up at him with tearful and restless eyes. “Thank you. Let's go look for the others.”

“I found something, but you're right, we need to go. Let me saddle him then we can—”

The doors burst open with a loud bang. The sheer force unhinges the doors from the frame. The sound scares the animals inside, their terrified cries rising above your own.

Hobie hides you behind him as a dozen or so guards filter through the doorway, their heavy boots thumping louder than the horse’s frantic stomping. They all raise their bayonets at Hobie while he stands with his own gun raised.

The men in uniforms yell at Hobie to let the gun go, to let you go like he's holding you hostage. But it's all muffled noise to you both, everything happens in slow motion. Dust floats in the air like it hangs suspended. You no longer hear the cries of the barn animals as you're more focused on Hobie, and he's focused on your safety.

He's calm amidst the numerous guns aimed at his head. He's in his natural state, but your hand around his arm makes him aware, aware that the bullets would pass through him and into you if they shoot.

For the first time, his hand shakes around his gun.

Outnumbered, he clasps your hand behind him, squeezing once. You already know what he's about to do.

“Hobie, please.” You whisper as you look over his shoulder. “No more sacrifices.”

Your words wake him. The fishbone is stuck in his throat once again. Choking him, strangling him as realization hits him.

It's the end.

“I can't,” you see tears in the corner of his eyes. “I can't let them have you.” There's desperation and grief in his voice. He can't lose you.

“I’m so sorry.” Kissing his clothed shoulder, you whisper a goodbye. “I'm so fucking sorry.” You don't want to lose him, but fate has other plans.

“Unhand her!” Frederick appears like he actually cares for your wellbeing. “Fucking scoundrel! I knew you were up to something, dear niece. Glad I got my footman to follow you. I thought you were just gonna run away on a horse but I did not expect to see the red hydra under my own roof.”

Without a second thought, you stand in front of Hobie. Protecting him with your own body. “Let him go, uncle, and I'll marry Eugene.”

“You know I can't do that.” He points his finger at Hobie. “He has a bounty on his head, you see.” He beckons you over. “Come, Y/N, we're gonna need the money for your upcoming wedding.” When you don't obey, his eyes flashes with remorse that's quickly replaced by the need for survival.

“Let him go!” You scream like a knife twists in your gut. Hobie tries to hide you behind him but you fight him. “Please,” your voice falters with desperation. “Please, uncle. Let him go and I'll marry Eugene, I won't fight it anymore. Just let him go.” You're ashamed, but it's needed for him to live.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but you don't hold the cards here.” Your heart falls in your stomach, it dissolves in acid. The duke cranes his neck to the officer near him. “Seize them, don't harm a hair on her but take the red hydra to the capital.”

“No!” You try to swipe with your dagger but it's fruitless as the uniformed men yank you away from Hobie. The steel clunks loudly on the ground as Hobie tries to hold onto you, the sleeves of your dress rips away as the men take you away.

His gun falls as one of the taller men punches him in the gut. Hobie spills crimson from his lips but he continues to fight the men. He kicks, scratches and bites. Getting a few hits in, he yells for you, calls your name with desperation.

Almost all of them hold Hobie down, but even with their numbers they still can't keep him still. Using all his strength, he fights back with sheer will alone. His elbow meets a face, nose crunching. His knee smacks someone on the groin, knees buckling. He draws blood with his nails, his mouth snapping at anyone who gets close. Someone made the mistake of getting too close, now the captor's ear is in his bloodied mouth.

Reaching for you as two men try to drag you away, your heels dig in as you try to reach for him too. Fingertips brushing along yours, eyes glued to your terrified face, he decides that his final words to you shouldn't be filled with agony, but with something that should help you survive, something to keep you alive once he can't be your reason anymore.

Because he's a knife born to cut and bleed, not to love. Or to be loved.

“It's not him!” Hobie screams as they continue to drag you away. “It's her! It's—!” A bag is put on his head, shutting him up with the rope tied around his neck. The men laugh menacingly as they cinch the rope tighter.

Hobie tries to resist, clawing at his captors, guttural screams let out from the same lips who called your name softly in his sleep.

“No!” You continue to thrash, nails digging into the arms of your captors. “Hobie!” Your voice cracks as you hear him start to choke.

“Oi!” The duke yells towards the guards. “Bring him to the king first! He needs to stand before him before you bloody execute him! What will he say if you bring the most wanted pirate in the country dead in front of the whole court, hm? You know how much he likes the theater of a trial!”

Air rushes in your lungs as they untie the rope. He coughs, spit darkening the bag. You yell for him again before a bag is placed on your head. Darkness invades your senses, and you're afraid of the unknown, afraid of what they're doing to him as they tow you away on the moist ground. Throat clumping up, hyperventilating, you try to desperately breathe. The guard's hold on you tightens and in turn, your throat tightens, shutting off your air. Heaving, ears ringing, your own breath fans on your face while you hastily try to take breaths in. Black dots dance around your vision until you fall unconscious.

This is the end.

—

You've been staring at the same spot for hours, blank stare, red eyes. Legs tucked, arms enveloping around it, your mind runs like an unhitched horse. Hobie's face is seared into your brain. You can see his wild eyes with every blink of your own. His screams echo in your ears like a death rattle, it might as well be if his fate is to be decided by the crown who hates every fiber of his being.

The soft bed doesn't provide comfort, the blankets don't shield you away from the stern stare of the guards guarding every single opening in your chambers. A behemoth of a man stands in front of the unicorn tapestry, his cutlass on his hip shines in the moonlight as well as your own dagger.

The once comforting eyes of the sea snake around the hilt now mocks you. You did this, you did this. You've killed him, your hubris killed him. You might as well follow him towards the end.

There's no more tears in your eyes left to be shed. Every muscle in your body aches from your wracking sobs. Your nails leave crescent shapes in your palms, tiny dots of crimson drips on the expensive silk bed sheet.

Yet, you want your mother.

The one who truly knows you, the one who saved you all those years ago. There's a part of you that wishes she didn't, that she left you alone in the arms of your doomed birth mother. But there's a bigger part of you who seeks Jessica's comfort. You seek her warmth from her embrace, like you once sought out your family. Family who turned their backs on you, family who locked you in your chambers like a princess in a fairytale. But this isn't a fairytale, it's real, and you can still hear his screams.

You would've given everything to meet your family back then, if only you could warn your younger self to come back to that small cabin in the woods, to beg Jessica to take you back. Even if it means you've never met him, even if it means you'll never feel his touch again as long as he's alive, knowing that he'll survive is enough. You now wonder if you didn't jump on that net that day, would everything still happen? Would Mathias still find the revenge? Would Finn and Ned still be dead if you just ran the other way?

It's too late to come back, it's too late to save them, to save him.

A bird passes by your window, and it's just now you realized it's dawn. The rose-pink sky upsets you further. Your brain concocts an image, an image where everybody lives. Where Finn and Ned drink on the revenge, where the trio plays cards on the rickety table. Where Hobie has his hands around your own as he guides them on the helm.

You haven't moved an inch from the bed, yet you stand in front of the mirror wearing a white dress.

With every pull of the ribbons behind the wedding gown you feel like they're gutting you like a fish ready for supper.

Silver threads weaved around the golden violets on your bust, the fabric is airy yet heavy and suffocating on your form. White gloves decorate your hands to hide the crescent shapes. There're heeled shoes underneath your feet to prevent you from running away, heavy perfume to hide the iron lingering on your skin. Make-up to hide your sorrows, jewelry to get people's attention away from the tears in your eyes. Top it off with a bow on your back and a golden tiara on your head— you're dressed properly for the slaughter.

And Hobie is too. If he had a mirror in the dimly lit prison they threw him in, he'd wonder who's looking back at him. He doesn't look like the captain he was supposed to be, doesn't *feel like the captain he was supposed to be. He's been beaten, his own ichor flowing out of his mouth and open wounds. Body shaking from the cold, he misses your fire.

He's not terrified of the blade that would kiss his neck, he's afraid to leave his family in this world. Afraid to leave you in this world.

He hates the fates for weaving him like this, to let everyone he has ever cared about die or be given a fate worse than death. Why did they shape him to be a knife that kills instead of something better? Something smoother around the edges, something that doesn't let everything he touches die?

Hobie whispers your name in the dark like you would materialize right next to him. The ground is wet under him, iron fills his nose, he wonders how many people lived and died in this cell. He feels the ghost of your touch on his hand, and he cracks at the seams.

Victoria appears next to you like a gust of wind. She fixes your mother's necklace on your neck, hands cold, nervous, terrified.

“You have a guest.” She says lowly, like she's already mourning.

For a moment hope blooms in your chest. Is it him? Did he escape to save you? Is he alive?

But if it was Hobie, Victoria wouldn't announce it. He would come to you like a dream, quick and quiet, touch soft and careful as he takes you away from your hell.

You have no fight left to scream at her, to claw at her painted face. She leaves before you could find the fight in you.

With gloved hands from the handmaidens, they guide you outside. Face blank and limbs limp, you let them.

They halt by twin doors, gold outlining the shape, birds carved on the dark wood. Eyes solemn, you only now notice the finely dressed man in front of you.

Eugene calls your name softly, like how someone would utter a person's name who's currently rotting six feet below the soft ground.

You are scorched by the sun. And you're ready to burn everything in your path.

“I'm so sorry about this—” Your knuckles hitting his cheek makes him stagger on his feet. He spits out blood, crimson coating the polished floors. “I deserved that.” He groans as he tries to straighten up with grace. With one look towards the staff, they all filter out of the hallway, leaving you alone with the object of your ire. “Listen, I didn't intend for this—”

“What did you intend then?” Your voice breaks from all the screaming and the sudden silence you sported after it. “Hm? Wed and bed me for what? Satisfaction? To breed me like a broodmare?”

“That—no! It's not like that!”

You wish you had your dagger to cut him right where he stood. Standing toe to toe with Eugene, he backs away from your heated glare. “What is it then? They're going to execute someone very close to me just because you wanted to marry someone you've only just met—”

“I fancy you and I had every intention to court you properly!” He sighs, and you notice the darkness under his eyes. “But this wasn't my intention. Getting someone in line for the gallows wasn't in my plan, or anyone's plan!”

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, he continues. “Listen, I gushed about you to my family.” There's no lie in his tone, but you still doubt him. Your punch leaves a mark on his posh face. “They encouraged me to call for you, knowing that I needed to marry or my title and estate would be in danger. When my godfather heard your name he did more than to encourage me. He's the one who orchestrated this…quick marriage. Not me.”

“Godfather?” You ask breathlessly.

“He's inside, I have no idea why he would do anything like this! I promise you, I had no hand in this. I was forced, if I had a choice I would have courted you then let you decide if you wanted to marry me or not.” He tentatively takes your hand, “I'd take care of you though, I promise.”

Frowning, you grip his hand in an iron grip. Eugene winces, eyes darting around for help. “You do have a choice, Eugene. You always have a choice.” Your voice shakes. “It's not too late, call off the wedding and we can forget this ever happened—”

“I can't. Your family already paid the dowry, and we already paid our dues.” He says through the pain, voice faltering. You still won't let go. “My godfather did all the work, it's all set in stone. The priest is already waiting at the altar, your family and mine are already there. I'm sorry, Y/N, if the circumstances were different—”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes boring holes in his skull. Nails digging in, refusing to let go. “There's a part of you who wanted this, you're a man and a viscount, you had a choice. Yet you let it all happen.” Eugene frowns deeply, trying to get his hand back from your grip, head turned away in shame. “You were not forced, you're just as bad as your godfather, whoever he is, I'd like to face the fucking asshole.”

Pushing him away and away from the door, he sighs in relief, clutching his hand. You shoulder the heavy doors. Revealing a room that's finely decorated for the reception.

A sparkling chandelier hangs above, your ancestors’ portraits watch on from the walls. White lilies decorate the expansive room, violets are laid on every table. The fine table setting would've taken your breath away if not for the man sitting at the head of the table.

“Hello, little birdy.”

It's the end.

[joelletwo]

hakozaki next which i actually havent revisited in a while... hell yeah

[my-wife-doesnt-approve]

This has excellent "the stained glass gives them guilt" vibes

https://www.tumblr.com/picrossingguard/736419036026519552

hold on sorry you're telling me the name of the boat was "the terror"?? i always assumed that was a retroactive name! did they WANT things to go horrifically awry???

obsessed with the implication that nominative determinism could have saved them

[inseobts]

OHHHH I GOT AN AMAZING IDEA WHAT IF READER DOESN'T GIVE ONE PIECE MEN A KISS BACK AFTER THEY KISSED READER?

Please Kiss Back!

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law and ace

words count: around 0.9k - 1.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The crew is scattered around the ship, busy with their usual antics, but you’re sitting on the deck with Luffy, legs dangling over the edge.

He’s in an especially good mood today,not that it’s unusual, but there’s a certain spark in his grin, an extra bounce in his movements. You don’t think much of it. It’s Luffy, after all.

And then, suddenly, he kisses you.

It’s quick, impulsive, but undeniably a kiss.

Your entire body goes stiff and your mind goes blank.

Luffy pulls back just as easily as he leaned in, smiling like he just did the most natural thing in the world.

“Heh, that was nice” he says, tilting his head “Right?”

But you don’t move. You don’t say anything. You just sit there, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

Luffy’s smile falters. His head tilts the other way now, brows slightly furrowed “Huh? You didn’t kiss me back.”

You see the confusion in his face, hear it in his voice. He isn’t upset, Luffy doesn’t get upset about things like this, but he’s puzzled.

“Did I do it wrong?”

His voice is quieter now.

Panic surges through you “Wha—no! No, you didn’t—” You shake your head quickly, your thoughts scrambling together “I just… I wasn’t expecting it!”

Luffy blinks at you “Why not?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What are you supposed to say? Because you’re my captain? Because you never act romantic? Because I didn’t think you even thought about kissing people?

Luffy watches you, waiting for an answer. His usual carefree energy is still there, but for once, you see something else in his eyes. A flicker of uncertainty.

“Oh.” He leans back, rubbing his nose “So you didn’t want me to?”

Your heart drops.

“No!” You nearly shout, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away completely “That’s not it!”

Luffy blinks at you again, mouth slightly open like he’s waiting for an explanation.

You inhale sharply. Screw it.

You lean forward and kiss him.

This time, you make sure he feels it.

Luffy freezes for half a second, probably because he wasn’t expecting it, but then, just as quickly, he melts into it. His lips are warm, a little chapped from the salty sea air, but soft against yours. His hands hover for a moment before he grabs your shoulders, steadying himself as he grins into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, breath a little uneven, he laughs.

“Ohhh, so you do wanna kiss me!”

Your face burns “I—Shut up!”

Luffy just grins wider, pulling you into his chest like he didn’t just shake your entire world “You’re funny, Y/N,” he says, resting his chin on your head. “I’m gonna kiss you all the time now!”

You groan into his shirt. What have you gotten yourself into?

You’re still pressed against Luffy’s chest, your face burning as he laughs. The warmth of his body seeps into you, and his chin rests comfortably on top of your head, like he’s perfectly content to stay like this forever.

“I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the ti—” he says, his voice filled with the same carefree confidence he uses when talking about becoming Pirate King.

You groan into his shirt, trying to push away, but his arms tighten around you.

“Luffy!”

“What?” He tilts his head, grinning “You kissed me back, so that means you like it, right?”

You open your mouth to argue but nothing comes out. Because… he’s right. You did kiss him back. You wanted to. You just hadn’t expected him to be so Luffy about it.

“That’s not the point” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

He laughs again, a happy, carefree sound “Then what’s the point?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, and immediately regret it. He’s staring at you with those big, curious eyes, his face close enough that you can still feel the warmth of his breath. He isn’t teasing you, not really... he’s just genuinely waiting for an answer, like he doesn’t understand why you’re so flustered.

And that makes it worse.

You shove your hands against his chest, trying to put some distance between you “You can’t just—just say stuff like that!”

“Why not?” Luffy pouts.

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

He laughs harder “But you’re cute when you’re embarrassed!”

You swear your soul leaves your body “LUFFY—”

He suddenly leans in again, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before you can stop him.

“Mmm, yeah, I like this,” he says, nodding to himself “I’m definitely gonna do it a lot.”

Your brain malfunctions.

“You—! I—!” You can’t even form a sentence.

Luffy just beams “You can kiss me too, y’know.”

Your face somehow gets even hotter “I KNOW!”

His grin widens, and then before you can react he jumps to his feet, stretching his arms.

“Alright! I’m hungry!” He looks down at you, still sitting there, completely overwhelmed “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat!”

He grabs your hand before you can protest and starts dragging you toward the kitchen, like nothing just happened.

Like he didn’t just turn your world upside down.

Like he didn’t just kiss you twice, steal your breath, and then immediately think about food.

You let him pull you along, still dazed, as your fingers stay laced with his.

Luffy is impossible, but that’s why you like him so much.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The sound of swords clashing echoes throughout the quiet ship as the crew enjoys their evening. You sit on the railing, your legs dangling, watching the stars as the ship cruises along. Zoro is nearby, practicing his swordplay as usual, his focus unwavering.

You’ve been in a strange mood today, frustrated, angry, even a little annoyed, but you didn’t want to take it out on Zoro. You just needed some time to think, and he had given you that. But when you saw him practicing so intensely, your irritation began to simmer.

It had been an argument earlier. Not a huge one, but one that still left a bad taste in your mouth. Zoro had made a careless comment about something that had happened during the last fight, something trivial, but it had stuck with you, and now, as you watch him swing his swords with that unshakable intensity, you can’t help but feel more upset.

Zoro finishes his set, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes catch yours, and without saying anything, he walks over to you. You remain where you are, not bothering to look at him. The quiet tension between the two of you feels thicker now, and you can almost hear the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Zoro asks, his voice unusually soft, as he stops a few steps in front of you. He might not always say much, but Zoro knows when something is off with you.

You sigh, leaning back slightly on the railing, crossing your arms “Nothing.”

You know Zoro won’t take that for an answer, but you don’t feel like talking about it. You don’t want to have another one of those half-formed conversations that end up with him brushing it off or getting frustrated with you. He’s not one for deep talks, and you don’t want to drag him into it.

Zoro, being Zoro, doesn’t give up. He steps closer, standing directly in front of you, his tall frame looming over you. He doesn’t push, but the intensity in his gaze is hard to ignore.

“Y/N,” he says, a hint of concern sneaking into his usually blunt tone “You’ve been weird all day.”

You feel your anger stir again, that feeling of being dismissed or misunderstood growing. Without thinking, you snap at him “I’m fine, alright? Just… don’t worry about it.”

The words are harsher than you intended, and you immediately regret them. But you’ve already said it, and the frustration that’s been building up inside you has no outlet other than Zoro at the moment.

Zoro blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden sharpness. There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, you think he’ll retreat, that he’ll walk away like he usually does when he doesn’t understand. But instead, he leans in closer, his face now inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“You know I don’t like it when you’re upset, right?” His voice is low, almost a growl.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and the irritation that had flared up earlier starts to subside just a little. But your pride is still holding on, and you don’t want to let it go so easily “I’m not upset” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, and you turn your head away, hoping he’ll just leave it alone.

Zoro doesn’t move, though. He’s still right in front of you, and his eyes are fixed on you with that intense gaze of his, like he’s seeing through you, reading everything you’re trying to hide.

And then, without warning, Zoro leans in and kisses you.

His lips are firm, yet gentle, pressing softly against yours. You don’t kiss him back immediately. Instead, you sit there, frozen, eyes wide in shock. Your heart races, and for a second, you’re not sure how to react.

Zoro pulls back just slightly, his gaze still locked with yours, waiting. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint trace of something in his gaze, concern, maybe? He wants an answer. He wants to know what’s wrong.

You should have kissed him back, but you didn’t. The confusion, the frustration, it all bubbles up again, and you’re not sure why you’re holding back this time.

Zoro doesn’t say anything at first, but he waits. His hand gently brushes against your cheek, as if trying to coax a response out of you “Why didn’t you kiss me back?”

You try to speak, but no words come out at first. You don’t want to tell him the truth, that you’re angry, that you don’t know how to explain what’s really bothering you.

You finally exhale, your voice softer than before “I was mad. At you.”

Zoro blinks in surprise, and for a moment, you think he’ll get defensive, like he always does when he doesn’t understand something. But instead, he simply nods. His eyes soften, and his fingers gently trace your jawline as if to remind you that he’s not going anywhere.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says quietly. His voice is surprisingly gentle, his usual gruffness gone “But if something’s wrong, you know you can tell me.”

You sigh, your anger finally dissipating as you look up at him. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he’s trying to meet you halfway. You can feel the weight of your pride slipping away, and you hate that you let it build up this far.

You close the gap between you, leaning in to kiss him, this time responding wholeheartedly. It’s slow at first, but it deepens as you feel the tension release from your shoulders. You kiss him like you’ve missed him, like you didn’t realize just how badly you needed this connection.

When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his, breathing heavily “I’m sorry,” you whisper “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

Zoro chuckles softly, his hand cupping your face “Don’t apologize. I get it.”

You smile, and for the first time today, the weight that had been dragging on you fades away completely.

Zoro’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer “But next time, you’ll kiss me back, right?”

You laugh softly, feeling the heat of his chest against yours “I promise.”

And this time, when he kisses you again, you kiss him back without hesitation.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, your breath still heavy, and the silence between you both feels different now, softer, more understanding. Zoro doesn’t speak at first, but his arms remain tightly around you, his fingers brushing gently through your hair, as if he’s making sure you’re still there, still with him.

For a moment, you both just stand there in the quiet night, the ship gently rocking beneath your feet. The stars above are bright, casting a peaceful glow over the deck. It’s in these moments that you realize how much Zoro means to you. Even when you’re angry, even when you push him away, he never truly goes anywhere. He might not say a lot, but his actions speak louder than anything else.

“You know, you’re a real pain sometimes” you murmur, leaning into him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Zoro chuckles softly, his lips brushing against the top of your head “You’re the one who doesn’t kiss me back.” His voice is teasing now, and the warmth of his hands against your back makes you feel safe, despite everything.

You smile, finally allowing yourself to fully relax in his embrace “I know. I’m sorry about that. I just…” You hesitate, unsure of how to express yourself “I didn’t want to drag you into my mood. It wasn’t about you.”

Zoro doesn’t respond immediately, but his hand moves to gently lift your chin, so that you’re looking up at him. His green eyes are soft, understanding. He looks at you the way he always does when he knows there’s more you’re not saying, like he’s giving you the space to figure it out yourself, but also offering his support.

“You don’t have to protect me from your mood, Y/N,” Zoro says quietly, his thumb gently grazing your cheek “You know that, right?”

You blink up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his words. It’s rare for him to be this open, to say something so vulnerable. Zoro’s never been one for words, always more about actions. But when he does speak, it’s clear he means it.

“I know,” you murmur, feeling your heart swell in your chest “I guess I just didn’t want to make it worse.”

Zoro shakes his head, his hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you even closer “You can’t make it worse, Y/N. I’ve been with you long enough to know that.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, and for a moment, the world feels lighter. Maybe it’s because you’re finally opening up to him, maybe it’s because you realize that, despite all your pride, Zoro has always been the one who sees right through you.

The air between you two seems to change, the tension now replaced by an unspoken understanding. Zoro leans down again, capturing your lips in a much slower, more deliberate kiss this time. It’s deep and meaningful, not rushed like before, and you kiss him back just as intensely. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the feeling of his lips against yours, and the reassuring presence of his hands wrapped around you.

When you finally pull away, you smile softly up at him, feeling like everything that had been weighing on your shoulders is finally gone.

“Better?” he asks, his voice a little gruff, but with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You nod, leaning your forehead against his “Much better. Thanks, Zoro.”

He smirks, giving you a gentle, teasing squeeze “I don’t need thanks. Just kiss me back and we’ll be fine.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him being this open with you. Zoro might not always know the right words to say, but the way he takes care of you, without question, speaks more than anything he could say aloud.

“Deal.” You smile, finally feeling at ease, as you stand there together in the quiet night, just the two of you, with the stars as your only witnesses.

Zoro leans in to kiss you again, but this time, he pulls back just before your lips meet.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” he teases with that familiar mischievous smirk.

You roll your eyes playfully but don’t hold back when you respond this time. You kiss him deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Does that answer your question?” you whisper, as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, the moonlight catching the green in them.

Zoro’s grin widens, and you know, without a doubt, that everything is going to be alright. Even in the moments of silence, when words are hard to come by, you know you can always count on him.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The kitchen feels quieter now, the only sound being the gentle crackle of the stove and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. You stand at the counter, your hands busy with the meal, but your mind is far from the task at hand. You feel a weight on your chest that you can’t quite shake off... guilt.

Sanji had left the kitchen earlier, giving you the space you had asked for, but the sadness in his eyes lingers in your thoughts. You didn’t mean to hurt him, but you’re not sure how to fix this.

You’ve always loved how Sanji dotes on you, how tender he is despite his usual flirtatious attitude, and yet, today, something in you snapped. The moment he had kissed you and you hadn’t kissed him back, the look on his face was more than you could handle. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment. It’s one thing to have an argument, to be upset about something that happened, but the thought that you could break his heart over something so small, something so trivial, makes you feel worse than ever.

Your knife clinks against the counter, the task you’re supposed to be focusing on now forgotten, your gaze drifting to the door.

Just as you’re about to give in and seek him out, you hear the faint sound of footsteps. You don’t need to look to know who it is. You can feel Sanji’s presence always manages to fill a room.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft, hesitant, and you can hear the uncertainty beneath it. You turn to face him, and there he is, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His usual confident, charming smile is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looks… small. Vulnerable, even. It hurts more than you thought it would.

You can’t meet his eyes at first, your gaze flicking to the counter instead, your hands nervously adjusting the utensils “Sanji… I—” Your throat tightens, the apology catching in your voice.

He doesn’t move, not yet, waiting for you to gather your words. The silence stretches on, heavier than you want it to be, but eventually, Sanji steps forward. The faint sound of his shoes tapping against the wooden floor rings through your ears as he approaches. He doesn’t say anything at first, and for a moment, you think maybe he’ll just walk away again, leaving you both in that uncomfortable space.

But instead, he reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands, and guides your eyes to meet his. His gaze is soft, but there’s something behind it, something that makes your heart ache.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he says quietly, his voice nearly a whisper “I don’t care if you’re angry or upset, but when you push me away like that, it makes me feel like I did something wrong.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize just how deeply you’ve hurt him with your silence.

“Sanji…” you start, but your voice falters. What can you say to fix it? How do you explain that it wasn’t him, it was you? That you didn’t know how to communicate what was bothering you?

He pulls you into a tight embrace, his head resting against yours. You can feel the warmth of his chest against you, his breath soft and steady. You let yourself relax into him, for once letting go of the pride you’ve been holding onto so tightly. You know you’ve hurt him, and you can feel the guilt eating away at you.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmurs, his hands soothingly running through your hair “I know you’re not always in the mood for affection, but I… I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, and finally allow yourself to melt into his touch “I’m sorry, Sanji,” you whisper, your voice filled with regret “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s not you, I was just… frustrated. But I should’ve never shut you out like that.”

His fingers stop moving through your hair, and you can feel his breath hitch as he pulls back slightly to look at you. For a moment, he just stares, and the warmth in his eyes makes your heart race. Then, without warning, his lips are on yours.

It’s a soft kiss at first, barely a brush of his lips against yours, as if he’s still unsure if you’re ready. But you don’t hesitate this time. You meet him halfway, kissing him back deeply, letting all the words you couldn’t say earlier pour into the kiss. You press closer to him, your hands finding their way around his neck, pulling him even closer as if you never want to let him go.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and there’s a quiet moment between you, the tension from earlier melting away.

“Are we good?” Sanji asks, his voice playful again, but there’s a hint of vulnerability behind it.

You smile, finally feeling the weight lift from your shoulders “Yeah, we’re good.” You reach up, running a hand through his messy blond hair, before pulling him into another kiss, this time, more tender, slower, filled with the understanding that had been missing before.

“I really don’t like it when you push me away” he mutters against your lips, his hands resting on your waist.

You laugh softly, your heart light “I’ll try not to, okay? No more pushing you away.” You pull him even closer, your arms winding around him “I promise.”

He grins, that familiar, charming grin, as he wraps his arms around you “You better, sweetheart. Because I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

You lean against him, feeling his warmth envelop you, and for the first time today, you feel like everything is right again. You’re not alone in your frustration anymore, and you can lean on him when things feel too heavy. With Sanji, you know you’ll always have someone who understands, someone who’s ready to support you, even when you don’t ask for it.

As you sit there in his embrace, you let your worries melt away, knowing that, for once, you don’t have to fight this battle on your own.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The Polar Tang is unusually quiet tonight. Most of the crew has turned in, the hum of the submarine filling the empty corridors. You sit on the deck, legs dangling over the side, watching the ocean stretch endlessly under the moonlight. The battle earlier had been rough, leaving you sore and exhausted, but the peaceful waves help settle your nerves.

A presence settles beside you, and you don’t need to look to know who it is.

“Can’t sleep either?” you ask, glancing at Law.

He’s watching the water, arms resting on his knees “You took a nasty hit today. Should be resting.”

You roll your eyes “I’m fine, doctor.”

He exhales sharply, but there’s no real annoyance in it. Instead, a silence lingers between you, different from your usual comfortable quiet. There’s something restrained in the way Law sits, the way his fingers tighten into fists before relaxing again.

Then, before you can process what’s happening, he shifts toward you, one hand reaching for your cheek as his lips press firmly against yours.

Your breath catches. Your mind blanks.

Law is kissing you.

The realization slams into you so hard that you freeze completely. He’s warm, his touch surprisingly careful despite the rough way he carries himself in battle. But you don’t move... you don’t kiss him back. Not because you don’t want to, but because you weren’t expecting this. At all.

A second passes. Then another.

Law pulls away first. His golden eyes flicker with something unreadable before he looks away, jaw tightening. He stands abruptly.

“Forget it,” he mutters “That was a mistake.”

“Wait—” you reach for him, but he’s already stepping back, his expression closing off into something distant and unreadable. The wall he puts up is so familiar it makes your chest ache.

You finally find your voice “Law, I—”

“Get some rest,” he interrupts, his tone sharp “That’s an order.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the submarine without another word.

You sit there, stunned, heart pounding.

You wanted to kiss him back. You wanted this.

But now, you might have just ruined everything.

In facts, after that Law starts avoiding you.

Not just the usual, brooding, keep-to-himself kind of avoiding you. No, this is different. This is intentional.

And it’s driving you insane.

Ever since that kiss, the kiss you wanted but had been too frozen to return, he’s been more distant than ever. He won’t meet your eyes, won’t acknowledge your presence unless absolutely necessary, and worst of all, you don’t understand if it him who refuses to be alone with you or just the crew having the worst timing.

Every time you try to talk to him, someone interrupts.

Attempt #1: You corner him in the medical bay, only for Shachi to barge in, whining about some nonexistent injury. Law doesn’t even look at you as he orders you both out.

Attempt #2: You catch him in the hallway, ready to finally get this over with, but Penguin suddenly appears, asking something about the ship’s course. Law walks away before you can say a word.

Attempt #3: The mess hall. Surely, he can’t avoid you here. You sit beside him, he gets up immediately.

At this point, the crew notices.

“Did you piss off the captain or something?” Bepo asks, tilting his head.

You groan, slamming your head against the table “I don’t know! He won’t talk to me.”

“You must’ve done something,” Shachi teases “What, did you steal his seat or—”

Penguin smacks his arm “No, idiot. Captain’s never been like this before. Not even when we wrecked his lab.”

Bepo frowns “Something’s bothering him.”

Yeah, no kidding... it’s all your fault.

You catch glimpses of Law throughout the day, on the deck, in the control room, talking with the crew. But the moment he sees you? He leaves.

It’s killing you.

He thinks you regret it.

He thinks you didn’t want it.

And if you don’t fix this soon, he’s never going to let you get close again.

The frustration boils over during dinner.

You’re exhausted, running on fumes after chasing Law all day. The crew is loud, laughing over some dumb joke, but all you can focus on is him.

Sitting across from you. Silent. Eating his food without looking up.

You can’t take it anymore.

You slam your hands on the table, making everyone jump.

“LAW.”

Silence.

All eyes turn to you.

Your captain finally looks at you, startled.

“First you kiss me.” You point an accusing finger at him “And then you avoid me like the plague, without even give me the chance to explain myself!”

Shachi chokes on his drink.

Penguin’s mouth drops open.

Bepo’s ears twitch in alarm.

Law stiffens. His fork stops midair “This is not—”

“No, shut up,” you cut him off, standing so fast your chair nearly topples over “I need to say this before you run away again.”

The crew is watching.

You don’t care.

“You kissed me, and I—” Your voice cracks. Your face feels like it’s on fire “I didn’t kiss you back, but not because I didn’t want to! I was just—shocked! I like you, okay?! I wanted to kiss you back, but my brain just—short-circuited!”

Dead. Silence.

Shachi drops his spoon.

Bepo covers his mouth with his paws.

Penguin is slowly turning to look at Law, whose ears are red.

Your captain looks like he’s about to die.

You inhale sharply “So if you’re avoiding me because you think I hate you or something—stop.”

Law does not move.

The entire crew waits.

Then, he clears his throat, stands up, and grabs your wrist.

“Room.”

And just like that, you vanish from the mess hall and land in his office with a thud.

Law lets go of you immediately and rubs his face, exhaling sharply “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the one who’s been acting like I have the plague,” you fire back, crossing your arms “Do you know how hard it’s been to get you alone?”

He groans “I thought you...” He pauses. Runs a hand through his hair “I thought you regretted it.”

You blink.

“…You idiot.”

He glares “Excuse me—”

You grab his coat and yank him down into a kiss.

Law freezes. This time, he’s the one caught off guard.

But when you pull away, his golden eyes are wide, breath slightly uneven.

You smirk “That clear enough for you?”

A beat of silence.

Then he grabs you by the waist and kisses you again.

And this time, you kiss him back.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The Moby Dick feels warmer than usual tonight, the air carrying that familiar salty breeze that ruffles your hair. You’re sitting on the figurehead, just like you always do after a long day. The crew has mostly turned in, and Ace, as always, is lounging nearby, throwing out his usual teasing comments that always manage to make you roll your eyes.

Tonight, though? He’s extra insufferable.

“Don’t you think I look particularly good tonight?” Ace smirks, his head tilted back, his hair catching the moonlight.

You narrow your eyes “Yeah, Ace, you look like a sunburned tomato.”

He bursts out laughing, clearly enjoying the attention “Ha! You know you want me.”

“Oh, really?” You scoff, not missing a beat “You couldn’t pay me to want you.”

He shrugs, still grinning like a maniac “Sure, but that’s just your deflection because you’re intimidated by my obvious charm.”

Your eyebrow twitches “I’m pretty sure you’re confusing arrogance with charm, Ace.”

“Of course I’m charming. Just ask me—”

Before he can finish, you interrupt him “Yeah, well, don’t ask me. I’m not interested.”

But as he keeps running his mouth, you realize something. Ace is having way too much fun with this. He’s been teasing you non-stop for days about how “obviously into him” you are, and it’s driving you nuts. He knows you like him. He knows you’ve been trying to keep your cool, but his teasing is getting out of hand.

“Would you stop talking about how irresistible you are? I’m literally going to—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Ace leans in and kisses you.

It happens so fast you don’t even process it at first.

One second, you and Ace are bickering, his usual cocky teasing, your usual mock exasperation... and then bam. Lips. On yours.

Portgas D. Ace is kissing you.

It’s not even a gentle, romantic kiss. It’s an overconfident, smug, I-know-you-want-me kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that assumes you’re going to melt immediately.

But instead of kissing him back, your brain short-circuits, and you freeze.

Ace pulls away, already grinning “Heh. Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?”

You blink again.

Ace smirks, looking so insufferably proud of himself “Damn, I really am irresistible.”

And something inside you just snaps.

You tilt your head, look him straight in the eyes, and say “…Meh.”

Ace stares.

The entire universe pauses.

“…Meh?” Ace echoes, as if he misheard you.

You shrug “Yeah. Meh.”

Ace blinks rapidly, like his brain is buffering “Wait. Hold on. No, no, no, you don’t get it. I just kissed you.”

“I know.”

“And you—” He gestures wildly at you “Didn’t do anything??”

“Guess not.”

Ace’s jaw drops. He looks personally offended.

“Hold on,” he says, pointing a very accusatory finger at you “Let me get this straight. You... just sat there and let me kiss you like I was some kind of—some kind of—unremarkable man?”

You nod “Pretty much.”

Ace clutches his chest like he’s just been stabbed “Oh my GOD.”

The crew, who had been watching very intently, erupts into chaos.

“YO WHAT?”

“DID Y/N JUST—”

“THEY ‘MEH’-ED HIM???”

“THERE’S NO COMING BACK FROM THAT, MAN.”

Ace spins dramatically away from you, gripping the side of the ship like he’s having an existential crisis.

Marco slaps a hand over his mouth, cackling “Damn, Ace, I ain’t never seen you take an L like that.”

Thatch is wheezing “You got ‘meh’-ed, dude. That’s worse than rejection.”

“I KNOW.” Ace yells, throwing his arms in the air. He turns back to you, looking utterly betrayed “How could you do this to me?”

You shrug again “Guess I’m just not that impressed.”

Ace gasps. Actually gasps. Like you just kicked him in the soul.

“This is the worst day of my life” he declares. Then he marches off.

You watch him go, amused “Where are you even going?”

“I DUNNO, SOMEWHERE I’M APPRECIATED.”

From that moment on, Ace enters what can only be described as a petty, over-the-top crisis. Because in his mind, this is unheard of.

He is Portgas D. Ace. He’s a walking inferno, second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, effortlessly cool and charming. He has never, in his entire life, had someone just shrug off his kiss.

And he does not know how to handle it.

Thus begins The Avoidance Arc.

Ace is avoiding you because he’s lowkey heartbroken and incredibly dramatic about it.

He doesn’t even try to be subtle. He goes out of his way to avoid being anywhere near you.

Like, you’ll step onto the deck and Ace immediately turns 180 degrees and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You say one word to him, and he immediately yells, “OH WOW, LOOK AT THE TIME, GOTTA GO.”

You catch him in the hallway? He jumps overboard.

Marco watches all of this unfold with deep amusement “Wow. You really broke him.”

You roll your eyes “I didn’t break him. He’s being dramatic.”

“He’s been in the crow’s nest for six hours.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Eventually, you get tired of this nonsense.

So, while the crew is gathered on the deck, you decide enough is enough.

You climb onto the railing of the ship and shout, loudly enough for Ace to hear from wherever he’s sulking—

“HEY EVERYONE! I THINK PORTGAS D. ACE IS A COWARD!”

There is instant silence.

Everyone slowly turns to look at you.

Then—BOOM. A door slams open somewhere, and Ace comes flying onto the deck like an angry storm “WHO SAID THAT.”

You smirk “Oh, hey, Ace. Nice of you to join us.”

He points at you, eyes narrowed “You wanna say that again?”

“I said,” you repeat, loud and clear, “you’re a coward.”

The crew is hyped.

“Ohhhhhhh shiiiiiit.”

“Y/N called you out, bro.”

“Ace, you gonna let that slide??”

Ace crosses his arms “I am not a coward.”

“Oh, really?” You tilt your head “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Ace falters “That’s—that’s not—”

You step closer “Admit it. You’re mad because I didn’t kiss you back.”

The crew is on the edge of their seats.

Ace shifts uncomfortably “I’m not mad. I’m just… extremely, deeply wounded.”

You burst out laughing “Oh my god, you’re actually sulking.”

“I AM NOT SULKING.”

Marco sighs, shaking his head “Ace, just admit it. You wanted y/n to be all over you, and when they wasn’t, you got all weird about it.”

Ace groans, covering his face “Fine, yes, okay?! It bruised my damn ego! Happy?”

You grin “Very.”

Ace mutters something about how “this is the worst day of his life” and the crew howls with laughter.

Then, before he can complain further you grab his collar and kiss him, right then and there.

The crew loses their minds.

Ace freezes. Then, slowly, his brain catches up, and when you pull away, he just stares.

“…Oh.”

You smirk “Yeah. Oh.”

Then Ace grins, all cocky confidence again “So, uh. I win, right?”

You punch him in the arm.