al1x00

[al1x00]

Idk mine design goes harder/hj

[al1x00]

More 📻🎸 because I can and I miss them sm sry

[al1x00]

It's finals week which means it's ending my life BUT I missed reading your fics so I'm back🤭🤭

ALSO OPIN!HOBIE IS BACK?!?!?!? AAAA HOW I MISSED HIM

AND THE BABIES TOO :(( I'm so happy R and Hobie got the life they deserved after everything they risked

Oh my God R's pregnant again?😭😭 SOMEONE GET HOBIE OFF OF HER ISTG😒😒/j

Aww and Cherry and Bucky's foals too🥺🥺 everything looks picture perfect

AND CLOVER HAS PUPS TOO?

That's so sweet of Hobie though, he wants to give Mona and Billie a better childhood than the one he experienced :( that makes him the greatest dad ever ngl

HDHAJFBAIFNAK THEY'RE SO SOFT I LOVE THEMMM :(( I missed OPIN sm I swear

"What did you do, Hobie Brown?" DAMN CALLING HIM BY HIS FULL GOVERNMENT NAME ALRIGHT

STOP TELL ME WHY THE ENDING MADE ME CRY :( Words really cannot express the joy this epilogue brings me, I'm just so happy that after all the death and dangers they've both been throught they get to build a life together with their family😭😭. OPIN has a special place in my heart fr.

Countryside Bliss

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: A life together after your supposed death.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), mentions of pregnancy, one suggestive comment, cowboy AU, wild west AU, Our place in the middle of nowhere AU (a must read to understand this one), an epilogue, dad! Hobie, Billie and Ramona AU, cw food mentions, fluff!

Navigation

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

“Billie! Ramona!” You call from the porch, eyes sparkling under the setting sun. As you hear giggling and small feet bounding across the grass, you see a glimpse of Mona's floral dress before disappearing inside the duck coop. “Your dad's coming home soon! You two better be inside by then or you'll catch a cold again!”

Smiling, you place your elbows on the wooden bannister on the porch so you could rest your aching back. And you thought carrying your third would be easier this time around, but alas, your symptoms are just as the same as when you had the girls. Sometimes you blame Hobie due to your hormones, but in truth it's half your fault when you're as insatiable as the cowboy.

The house glows bright under the fading orange glow, you and Hobie have made a good home from scratch. It has remnants of the one that was burned down— a wrap around porch, blue paint that bears a striking resemblance to the sea. And various knick knacks and photographs all placed inside the cozy farmhouse like you always talked about to Hobie, one that you weren't fortunate enough to achieve back in the first home. As you look around the glade, it's all you ever wished for back then, a home and a family you could call your own. Sometimes you think that it's luck that got you to this point, but it's also blood and tears, dirt under your fingernails, and sacrifices. You try not to think of those days, but it made you who you are now, and in turn it has made you a better mother and a partner than the people who were in your life back then. They're long gone now, their faces fading in your mind’s eye, just like how you like it.

The horses trot along the glade, sunlight drenching your form in warmth and hues of orange. Cherry ushers her foals inside the stable, neighing and kicking the dirt under her while her oldest, a dappled mix of Cherry's and Bucky's coat— waits for them inside the barn, trying to hurry them along with a loud huff. If Bucky was here he would be the one telling them to get inside quicker, ever the stubborn and impatient one like his rider. You guess humans and horses aren't as different when it comes to their children.

Clover is sniffing around the garden for her pups, who are probably hiding in the thicket to keep playing around the dirt some more. She's older now, but still full of energy as she bounds towards her litter, probably telling them to head inside the dog house that you and Hobie made just for her and her own little family.

The cows moo inside the barn together with the small flock of sheep that Hobie herded in a few hours ago before he left for town. You still have no idea why Hobie left in the first place, excusing himself promptly right after lunch to grab something from town. You still worry for the cowboy sometimes even though you know he's more than capable of defending himself out there. But with what happened back then, you can never be too careful. People who might bear ill will towards him might think that you're both dead, empty graves dug and filled in right beside the burned down farm, but you'll always look over your shoulder, not for you but for your family. That's why you've kept your eye sharp and your gun hidden underneath your skirt.

You and Hobie have built a perfect home, and you won't let anyone burn it all down like before.

As you twirl the gold band around your finger, the same imperfect gold that Hobie made— the baby kicks, as if they're trying to wake you up from your swirling thoughts, making you smile and rub your swollen stomach. “I'm alright, I'm sorry for worrying, little one.”

Just as when you look back at the farm, you see a familiar figure on a dark horse heading towards the house. You grin wider at the sight, waving them over whilst your worries ebb away.

—

“D’you think mummy noticed?” Billie asks while chewing her apple, front teeth missing after her baby teeth fell out just a few days ago. She's having a harder time taking big bites of the fruit than her twin.

“I don't know, Bee, we did steal an entire basket.” Mona winces but continues to munch on her apple. The wicker basket creaks as she adjusts it in her lap. The duck coop doesn't provide much space for the two as they hide amidst the feathers and quacking ducklings.

“It's not stealin’ if aunty Riri gave it to us!” Billie exclaims, duck feathers sticking to her denim overalls and braids.

Mona shushes her sister, index placed right on her lips. It earns a glare from her twin. “She asked us to share. And uncle Miguel said apples are good for mummy and the baby.”

“It's not like we're goin' to eat all of it.” The older twin bats her lashes, taking another bite of the apple with a crunch. Her eyes widen at the harsh sound, “uh oh.”

“Why uh oh?” Mona exclaims, matching her expression, a bit concerned for her sister.

“I phink mah pooth pell out.” She says with the apple still in her mouth. Sure enough, when she moves the fruit away, her baby tooth is half embedded into the apple's skin.

“Not again—!” The roof suddenly lifts up, revealing their dad's face with the sun shining behind him as the girls scream in surprise.

“What’re you two doin’ in ‘ere?”

“Mothin’” Billie smiles, small droplets of blood dribbling from her lips while Mona hides her face behind the apple basket.

“Says your missin' tooth, squirrel.” Chuckling, Hobie tilts his head at his daughters. “C’mon, we need to clean that or your mum will have my head.”

“You're not mad at us?” Ramona asks, lips wobbling as she looks up at her dad with her big green eyes, a copy of her dad's emerald eyes. She even pouts the same. “We ate a lot of apples.” She eyes the couple of apple cores by her feet.

“Nah,” he can't help but smile at his girls. He's glad that he dug himself out of death to witness this moment. “We’ll jus’ ask aunty Riri to send us another basket.” That earns a relieved smile from them. “Why’d you think I'll get mad at you for eatin’?” He'll never scold his girls for something like this, not when he promised himself while they were crying in his arms just after they were born, that he'll never let his children experience the same childhood he had.

“Because you get mad at Bucky when he eats all the apples.” Mona answers for her sister, lifting up the basket as best as she could for Hobie to take it away from her hands.

Tucking the coop roof under his arm, he takes the basket, it looks a lot smaller in his hands compared to when Mona was holding it. “It's because he's a horse, chipmunk. Are you a greedy horse?” They both shake their heads. Laughing, he puts the basket down on the grass to help his girls out of the coop. “See? You can have all the apples you two want, jus' ask mum first next time, yeah? We can cut it in bunny shapes just like how you like it. We jus’ don't want you two gettin’ a stomach ache.” The girls smile softly at his words.

One by one, he carries them out of the feather covered floor and back outside where the sun is painting the whole glade in pinkish hues and dark blue tones. Putting the roof back on securely, he hands Mona the basket again before scooping her and Billie up in one fell swoop. His metal spurs clicking with every movement.

“Daddy, my teeth hurt.” Pointing at her gums, Billie still smiles even though she's probably aching. “Do I get ice cream like last time?”

“We'll ask mum, maybe I can whip something up quickly.” In truth, it'll take hours for him to churn the mixture up, but he doesn't mind if it's for his girls. Hobie pecks her temple while he spots her tooth sticking out of the half eaten apple in the basket. “Shi—” he pauses, clearing his throat. “That went in there good, huh?” Fixing his hold on Mona, he makes his way to the porch right where you're waiting for them.

“Can Billie still hide it under her pillow?” Admiring the said apple in her hand, Mona plucks a feather away from Hobie's shoulders. He kisses her cheek in thanks, and she giggles from the casual affection.

“Yeah, we can.” Smiling, finally back on the porch, you greet him with faux annoyance, complete with your hands right on your hips. You don't look intimidating when you're about to pop. “Hi, lovie. Caught a couple of ducklings for you.” You resist the urge to smile back when he flashes you a lopsided grin that has you reminiscing about your younger days with Hobie.

“Hello, cowboy.” He lets out a fond chuckle at your affectionate tone. “Now, what's all this talk about hiding things under a pillow?” You raise a brow as Mona hands you the basket and you pat her head in return. The sight of your girls all properly tucked in their father's arms has your heart feeling warm.

“Mummy, I lost a tooth!” Billie ecstatically says while showing you her mouth that's clearly missing more than a couple of teeth than the last time you saw her. “The tooth fairy will come back again, right?”

Hobie glances at the apple with the tooth right on it, and you follow his line of sight, wincing at it. Whistling lowly, you grimace at the thought of Billie hurting. “That's a tooth alright.”

“Can I have ice cream too even if I didn't lose a tooth?” Ramona asks, flashing her puppy dog eyes at you as if you need convincing. If you're still able, you'd carry your girls and squeeze them in your arms.

“Of course, my flower.” You coo, cupping her cheek briefly before taking out your handkerchief to wipe Billie's lips. She closes her eyes and politely lets you clean her up. “As long as your dad still has the strength to churn it.”

“Me?” Hobie acts shocked, prompting the girls in his arms to pout and flutter their lashes at him. They're definitely your children, their expressions alone are a direct copy of yours when you want something. “‘m sure, I can.” He surrenders almost immediately. “Your dad is as strong as a bull, y’know?” To show the evidence of his strength, he wiggles them in his arms, bouncing and twirling them around effortlessly as if his knees aren't creaking from the combined weight. The girls cackle in delight.

Giggling, you watch on with glee. “I think your dad has to show you something first though.”

Your words stop Hobie in his tracks, almost forgetting why he went to town and rode for hours just for it. “Right,” chuckling, he puts the girls down on the porch to their slight dismay. “C’mon to the stables.”

“Why?” Mona immediately gravitates towards your free hand, swinging the joined hands together in hidden excitement.

“But we already fed the horses!” Billie protests in place.

“You'll see, stop complainin’ like your mum.”

“Hey!” You yell, but your smile betrays you as he takes Billie's hand and runs away in fear.

“Hurry, Billie, mum's goin' to eat us jus’ like your little brother!”

“What?!” She tries to catch up with Hobie, but her little legs could only take her so far, so Hobie lifts her up and carries her halfway towards the stables. “Mummy!” She yells like you've betrayed her.

Sighing, you tug at Mona's hand. “Come on, let's rescue your sister.”

She tugs back, big green eyes gazing at you with slightly furrowed brows. “Daddy's jus’ jokin’ right?”

“Of course, that's not how babies work.” Nodding, you gently bend your knees and carry her despite the strain. You can't help it anymore, you need to carry your girls while you still can and while they still let you.

She immediately lays her head right on your clavicle like how she always did when she was just a little baby. She's careful with your stomach, legs dangling on your side to avoid accidentally kicking you. “How are babies made anyway?”

Slowly walking towards the stable and across the glade, you're extra careful with where you're stepping. “You should ask your dad instead, I'm sure he has all the answers.” You laugh at yourself, palm cupped at the side of her face to shield her eyes from the sunlight.

Billie's happy shriek has Mona perking up. “Mon–Mon, hurry!”

Craning her neck towards you, Mona smiles sweetly. “Can I go see?”

“Of course.” You let her down gently on the grass and she immediately bolts away towards the stables, bare feet bounding across the grass.

Her excited scream soon follows while you waddle closer. “Mummy, look!”

“I'm coming,” heaving, Hobie pops his head from the stable doors, meeting you halfway with his hands outstretched towards you. “Please don't tell me you got them a basket of kittens.” Taking his hands, he tugs you beside him gently, holding you by your waist, fingers grazing your stomach as he lets you rest against him. Weaving your fingers around his own, you feel for the identical gold band around his finger.

“It's somethin' better.” He fondly kisses your temple while slowly helping you to the stable. “I tried gettin' ‘ere quickly, but Miguel was in town and we talked for a bit.” Hugging you tightly, he inhales your scent as if he was gone for days. “Were they a handful?”

“No, they're angels, Hobs.” You breathlessly say against his neck, lips brushing along his scar, prompting goosebumps to rise on his arms. He doesn't hide his scar anymore. When the girls were younger he was afraid that they'd be terrified of the raised skin, but they never got scared of it, simply because it's a part of their dad. “What did he say? Is everything alright?”

Rubbing your sore back, the two of you can hear the loud chatter of the twins inside. Their boisterous thank yous ringing across the farm.

“Everythin’ is fine, love, we're safe ‘ere.” He whispers against the crown of your head. “Don't worry your pretty head ‘bout it, yeah? Especially now that Hobie Junior is ‘bout to pop his little head out.”

“Fuck, don't say it like that.” Laughing, you slap his chest playfully while he mirrors your smile. “And we're not going to name him Hobie Junior. We don't even know if he's a he.” Tugging the brim of his hat down to hide his eyes, he chortles before fixing it properly on his head, he then decides to take it off and place it atop yours instead. Your heart leaps from the small action.

“I've got a knack for these things, love. ‘sides, I predicted the girls didn't I?”

“Not really, you said girl, not plural.”

“Still, I was right.” Taking your face in his hand he kisses you softly under the fading light right at the entrance of the stable. Leaning away, brilliant green eyes fluttering open, he keeps your chin in place. “Before you say anythin’, I want you to know that I love you, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “What did you do, Hobie Brown?”

“Nothin’, didn't do nothin’ but make our girls happy.” He grins, nosing the tip of your nose.

Before you completely melt in his arms, you flick your eyes towards the inside of the stable, and you see two new saddles perched on top of the fences. One has a red tint on the leather, saddle bags etched with Billie's initials, and the saddle itself has subtle flower shapes stamped on it. The other has a blue tint dyed right on the leather, they're a mirror of each other, except for its saddlebags that have Ramona's initials, and with small stars instead of flowers.

The horses look calmer now that Bucky's back. Cherry nuzzles him lovingly, while their foals sleep beside them as if the girls’ excited shrieking doesn't bother them. Perhaps they're more used to their laughter than their cries. The thought alone has your chest feeling warm.

“Look, mummy! We can ride along with you and daddy!” Billie jumps for joy, if she has the strength to carry it she would've by now with how she's hugging the whole saddle like it's her stuffed toy.

“Daddy said once our horses are grown we can ride together!” Mona runs to hug Hobie's leg, flashing her pearly whites and batting her lashes at you. Most probably from Hobie's direction.

Hobie grins innocently at you, “it's their birthday present?”

“Their birthday isn't for another six months, Hobie.”

“The tooth fairy gave it to ‘em.”

You eye him down with a feigned annoyed look, arms crossed over your chest, and a hidden smile.

“They already know how to ride. And they have to wait for their horses to grow a bit more for the girls to train ‘em.” He adds to his case as he grabs Mona off the ground and shows you her puppy dog eyes. “Look at how happy our baby is.”

Mona grins wider, kicking her tiny feet about while Billie rushes to your side to hug your leg. She mirrors her sister's dramatic smile, embracing you tighter.

“Please?” The three simultaneously ask, all similar eyes and pouts thrown right at you.

They drive a hard bargain.

“Fine—” their loud celebration wakes up the horses while Hobie puts Mona on his shoulders and scoops Billie in his arm while he grabs you gently and tucks all three of you close.

“Thank you, love.” Hobie blindly peppers your face with kisses while Mona hugs his face and accidentally covers her dad's eyes.

“Thank you, mummy!” The twins speak at the same time. Billie hugs your side, all the while careful of your stomach.

“Yeah, yeah.” You melt in their arms, happy and satisfied with the life on your little farm. The past is nothing but memories thrown over your shoulder now that you're able to replace them with happier ones.

And Hobie is more than willing to build those memories with you.

[al1x00]

AAAAA I'M SO EXCITED TO READ THIS I MISSED OUR PIRATES SM :(

"It's not your fault" GOD FORBID A GIRL HAS ARSON AS ONE OF HER HOBBIES.

Not the bandana to hide Hobie's bald ass head💀💀

AWW HE STILL HAS THE PEARL :((

HEYYY TEAMWORK

The way he still finds time to kiss R even while they're fighting, HE'S WHIPPED ASF.

Ngl I totally forgot Lyla and George were with the crew now💀 Maybe I should've re-read the last chapter before getting into the new one but eh, I'll manage. I still remember most of the things anyway :)

The crew is so over R and Hobie smooching every chance they get LMAOO, they're like "Really? RIGHT NOW?"

WAIT LYLA AND YURI ARE TOGETHER?? AWW WAIT THAT'S SO CUTE LOVE THAT FOR THEM

...or maybe not? WAIT ARE THEY A THING OR NOT?

LMAOOO R IS COSTANTLY LOSING THE DAGGERS😭😭 Good thing Hobie promised to keep giving her one until she manages to keep it

Aww poor Gwen still suffering from the shot :(

LMAOOO YURI BULLYING HOBIE FOR HIS FLAT ASS😭😭

"Sometimes you think the crew knows that the curtains around his bed are being put to good use and not just for sleep" OOP🫣🤭

DON'T YOU DARE BRING UP NED AND FINN KATY YOU STILL OWE ME THERAPY FROM THEIR DEATH

NOOO WHY IS R DOUBTING OF HOBIE'S LOVE? :( IT'S CLEAR ASF THAT HE'S WHIPPED FOR R WAKE UPPP

AWWW R doing Hobie's hair :(( atleast it's finally growing back.

Imagine how bad it must've been the first few weeks bc when they were about to execute him he was in prison, and there aren't exactly that many tools to cut hair, so maybe there have been many nasty cuts :(

And also he probably didn't want anybody to touch it for the time being because of all that happened.

DNAJJDKSKDK I MISSED THEM SM SEEING THEM HAPPY TOGETHER AFTER ALL THAT HAPPENED MAKES ME SO HAPPY

Oh to wake up to a giddy Hobie *sighs longingly* WHY ISN'T HE REALLL

WAITT THAT'S SO PRETTY THO, love me an island who looks like some kind of ancient being put to eternal rest.

I CAN'T WAIT TO READ THE OTHER CHAPTERS DHAJNFANK I'M SO GASSED!! I missed our little pirates so much and I can't wait to see what you have planned!! Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be amazing🖤 TY KATY FOR BRINGING BDAS BACK MWAH MWAH💋💋

Port of Call

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 13k

Synopsis: The start of a brand new adventure.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Pirate AU, CW blood and injury, CW violence, TW death, CW food mentions, CW guns, CW alcohol mention, chapter 1 of Beyond the sea of night, a sequel to Between the Devil and the Sea. Fluff.

Navigation

Beyond the Sea of Night Masterlist

Chapter 1 >>> Chapter 2

The ship is on fire, only this time, it's not your fault. Well, technically it isn't.

And it's not your ship, it's a navy ship that thought they could mess with the bloodsail pirates just because your numbers have dwindled. That's true and sometimes you're afraid of acknowledging it, but the crew is as fierce as ever. It's been three months since it all happened— Mathias, the truth of your lineage, and the declaration of your love for your pirate captain in front of hundreds. Three months, it still feels like a fever dream concocted in your mind. But it's all real, from the new scars and memories— both good and bad ones. It all happened, and you'd choose to do it all over again just to end up right here on this flaming ship with your family and your captain.

Your shoulder hits the door of the lower deck, leaving the flickering flames behind as you climb up with two sacks of supplies over your shoulders. The fire is truly not your fault after a lit candle accidentally got knocked down by a sailor who tried to grab you by the neck. It's their fault for leaving it lit in a wooden boat no less. The sailor is no more and also the whole ship quarters. The flesh around your neck still aches as you dodge bullets left and right.

Eyes skimming over to the small battlefield, you breathe a sigh of relief to find the crew still in one piece while the navy sailors find themselves on the edge of their cutlasses and blunderbusses. The navy ranks have fallen out of order ever since the people sacked the palace walls and kicked the royals out of the country. So much so that even the large ships lack the men to fill it with only a handful left on board. And yet there's no lack of ego on the blasted navy ship after they shot a cannon right at you first.

Grunts and yells fill the ship as more and more sailors fall to the crew's hands. The Osprey— still a temporary name for the bloodsail pirates’ home, is a formidable opponent in the tides. Its façade is laden with gold that glimmers in the waters and the searing sun above. Its bird figurehead stands tall on the bow, wings outstretched as if it's about to fly away, a reminder of your heritage. The cannons boom around you, splintered wood flying about, gunpowder singeing your nose— you're in your element. Within flames that burn, amongst the waves that you've come to revere.

Fast footsteps thud against the floorboards as the fire slowly consumes below deck, flames licking at the soles of your worn out boots, and acrid smoke filtering through the cracks. The embers slither up to the sails, burning it together with their navy flag. Flecks of ashes stick to your sweaty skin as blade clashes against blade. The cutlass in your hand has grown familiar, calloused palms tight around the pommel, fiery eyes staring at your opponent. You quickly toss the supplies at your feet, eyeing the man down.

The sailor is stronger than you, taller, and with the same fury you have. But you have more to lose if you let his blade cut you down. You're a pirate, and you refuse to play fair by polite society rules.

The man tries to swipe at you, but you dodge it, blade nearly nicking your arm. With a swift hard kick to the man's shin, he buckles, staggering on the floorboards before his stomach is met with your sword. Flesh and blood squelches as crimson coats your cutlass. You try not to dwell on it. Don't let them try to kill you for the second time.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Hobie, your captain, guffaws from the upper deck whilst he's steering the massive flaming navy ship away from the Osprey as everyone on board flings to the side. Your back hits the bannister, but you shake it off. “You alright, love?!”

There he is just across the chaos, the destruction and the bloody battlefield— your angel shaped by a hurricane.

He's covered in soot and crimson, and yet his smile doesn't waver. With a red bandana around his head, silver chains dangling on his chest together with your black pearl that's proudly displayed, he looks like a picture perfect pirate captain. The giant spider tattoo on his chest is in full display while his linen shirt is open and blowing in the breeze. With the sun behind him, and the fog of gunpowder at his feet, he looks right at home.

“One to ten?!” You ask, adrenaline flowing through you as you quickly shoot down a navy man trying to climb up towards Hobie while you hold onto the bannisters. The uniformed man falls on the stairs, flopping down into the deck. “I'd say a nine on being fine, but I accidentally knocked down a candle below deck so a seven, I think!” Just as you say it, more smoke rises through the floorboards.

His loud cackle reigns above the booming canons. “That's my bloody arsonist!” Eyes widening, he warns you with a simple look.

You turn around, dodging an axe thrown your way. It hits the wood behind you, splitting it. “Shit!” The navy man charges towards you, and you quickly scramble away but he still ends up snatching your ankle, making you fall as your body hits the hot floor with a thud. Ankle in flames, the pain ebbing through your leg and head pounding. You're in between a rock and a hard place. Your vision swirls as you see him raise his fist, gold rings covering each finger. Before it hits your face in a smattering of blood, he gets flung away by a familiar pair of boots.

“Up your pretty arse, scuttlebutt!” Your captain stands before you in all his glory, the burning sails fluttering behind his back, and cutlass soaked in crimson. He's holding onto a rigging rope tightly with the other hand. He swung down to you, hence how he managed to get down from the helm that quick and how far the man flew just by a kick.

You're immediately on your feet, adrenaline pumping in your veins, heartbeat sounding like a drum in your ears. You take your fallen blade, standing side by side with Hobie just as when the man charges again, shoulder first, yelling a battle cry.

Hobie side steps away, using the pull of the rope to lift him up from the floor, and using the momentum to cut the uniformed man's back. Simultaneously, you drop down to your knees, swinging the cutlass in a line and slashing the man's joints down to his bone.

The shared enemy tumbles down, bleeding on the floor, twitching for a second before he stills, unmoving.

Hobie sprints towards your crouched form as you watch the blood soak the floorboards, and the flames lick at the man's face. He lifts you up by the armpit, and away from the fire just underneath you. He turns your head towards him, hands smelling of gunpowder and iron.

“You alright?!” He asks frantically, afraid that you've broken something based on your far away stare.

You shake your thoughts away and the trembling in your legs as you nod. “I'm fine—” The ship lurches to the side of the osprey, almost making you fall backwards if not for Hobie's hand. “Shit, the fire’s gonna spread.” You worry for the remaining crew on board.

“I need to get back up there!” Hobie talks of the helm, the wheel wildly shifting around when no one's taking control of it while the waves flings the ship back and forth.

“Go!” You yell, and you're abruptly met with his lips upon your own for a brief yet affectionate kiss in the heat of battle.

He sends you off with a wink, swinging away towards the helm with the rigging rope around his fist, raising him up and dropping him to the helm. Taking control of the wheel, you brace yourself as he corrects the ship's course away from the osprey.

There's a sudden shriek, and then a high pitched whistle that has your ears ringing.

“Chain shot!” Miles yells and tackles you to the ground before a metal chain shoots out towards the deck, breaking its mast and taking a few navy along with it. They only leave a mist of blood as the mast cracks and slowly falls, but is still held up by the sails. Burning cloth floats all around you, ash mixing in with blood and sweat.

“Shit!” You heave, hearing nothing for a second before the sound of chaos returns, ears still ringing. Your eyes are wild and bloodshot from the smoke as Miles helps you stand up with a hand. “Thanks, Miles.”

“Fucking Yuri and her goddamn chains! This ship isn't long for this world, doc!” He yells above the chaos. “We need to get the rest of the loot and get off it!”

Looking around, the flames have reached up to the deck now, eating quickly at the cracking wood. Hobie fights off two men simultaneously with his cutlass, barely breaking a sweat. His wide grin has you shaking scandalous thoughts away. He shoots one with your father's lilac blunderbuss, and the remaining man almost falters from the sight of a cracked open skull. Bodies lay on the floor, some falling through the deck as the fire drags them down. Thankfully, none of them are your crew, especially that you can count them all in one hand.

Lyla dropkicks a uniformed man towards the depths, and George Stacy shoots down two men with a single bullet. Wait, Stacy? He shouldn't even be on board when he was supposed to help steer the Osprey together with Pavitr and Gwen. You'll deal with him later as you nod at Miles and help him haul the sacks of supplies over your shoulders while he covers for you like always. Flicking your eyes towards Hobie on the helm, checking if he's alright, you find that the number of his opponents has dwindled to zero. Your chest fills with pride.

Bullets whizz past, but you ignore it as you toss the sacks over to the dinghy where James lies in wait. A grappling hook helps keep the small boat in place with the navy ship, reminding you that you still haven't figured out how to properly toss the bloody thing.

“Over here, doc!” James raises his arms, catching all the loot you lob at him.

Your eyes widen at someone barreling towards Miles, who's occupied with another. With quick thinking, throwing the sack haphazardly off the ship, you grab a dagger from your belt and fling it towards the enemy. A harsh thud follows and Miles takes down the last sailor with a quick slash to the throat.

“Damn, you're getting good at that.” Miles smiles and shoots at the same man who tried to stand up with a dagger embedded in his chest cavity. “Still room for improvement though.”

“I've got a good teacher.”

Hobie swings towards you, rigging rope in hand as he uses it to get down to you quickly from the upper deck. “That was bloody perfect, love!” He gravitates towards you, eyes roaming to check for injuries, and when he finds none, he resists the urge to kiss you. So instead, he squeezes you once for good measure, a promise that he'll give you a proper one later.

He smells like adrenaline and sea salt— like home.

Lyla suddenly appears with a bruise on her cheek, tapping it and wincing. “Yeah, yeah, you two are so in love with each other! Let's get the fuck out before we become barbeque for the dolphins!” She clasps your shoulder before plunging down on the side of the ship.

She's followed by Stacy, who only managed a few scratches on his arms. His blond hair is soaked in crimson, and his hands still shake from the fight. Before you could ask what the hell he was doing on board with the attack group instead of being defense, he jumps off the side and swims towards the dinghy without sparing you or Hobie a glance.

Miles chuckles, “I hate that she's right.” He notices your heavy gaze on the older man and pats your bicep. “He'll come around, don't worry.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he jumps off the ship and the sounds of splashes echo above the roar of the fire.

Tucking it in the back of your mind, you turn towards Hobie, whom you already know is thinking the same thing as you are.

“Is she right about us becoming barbecue or that we're so in love with each other?” You nudge him and in turn he takes your hand in his blood soaked one. Taking inventory of his injuries, it doesn't seem like he's even injured. Not even a nick nor a bruise.

“I can confirm that the latter is right.”

You roll your eyes with a chuckle, stepping further, precariously teetering over the edge. “I see that you’ve been peeking through the osprey's library.” All your late night reading has gotten to him, and it has made you feel closer to him than ever after he decided to read together with you.

He shrugs and points at his temples with shining grey eyes. “I need to keep up with you, love.” As if he ever needed to.

With mirrored smiles, the two of you take a plunge into the cold depths. Your stomach falls as you fly for a second, all the while still holding onto his hand.

Briefly, you see him under the water. He's as handsome as ever, piercings shining around the bitter blue of the water, and as the fire rages above, he even manages to smugly wink at you.

Bubbles escape from your lips as you let out a chuckle, almost forgetting that you're underwater. Hobie takes your hand in his again, melded around your own as if his hands were sculpted together with yours. Rising above the tides, you gasp for air.

Before you could wipe away the salty water from your eyes, he takes your face gently and kisses you right there and then. Oh the things adrenaline does to a person in love.

Your eyes open as he parts, and all you could see is him, smiling at you, dimples in full show, and grey eyes swimming with affection. None of the rage or sorrow, just love and happiness, the very things he deserves.

“C’mon, scuttlebutt, let's get back—” You cup his cheek and kiss him again, he smiles against the kiss as his arms wrap around you. Legs embracing him, you lean away with a giggle. “Fuck…”

“Mm–mhm, now we can go.” Satisfied, you wipe water away from his eyes and loop your arms around his neck, fingertips brushing along the baby hairs above his nape.

“Do we have to?”

“Do you want to be fish food, captain?”

“‘m flirtin’ and you hit me with somethin’ grim.” Hobie leans again, but this time he pecks your jaw, peppering it with dozens of kisses.

“Just reminding you of reality—”

“Oi!” James curses under his breath, and Hobie seizes his barrage of kisses. “Get the fuck on, we don't have all day!”

You and Hobie share a look and a chuckle before swimming towards the dinghy filled with supplies and a very annoyed crew.

“Come on, right in front of us?” Miles groans, rubbing his temples while James and Stacy help the two of you up.

“Seriously, I should drop you.” James says as he hauls the captain on board. “And you,” he points accusingly at you once you're on the boat. “You almost dropped the sack on my head! I could've died!”

Your hands are on the side of your head, surrendering. “I've got a really good excuse, James.” You explain while Hobie shrugs off his vest and puts it over your shoulders for warmth or comfort, either way it works. James waits with a raised brow, “I saved Miles.”

James groans, “‘I saved Miles.’” He mocks your tone, huffing and puffing as he sits down and rows the dinghy with Hobie sitting beside him. “Last time it was Pav!”

“I really did!” You defend, and as you look at Miles and Lyla, who are rowing the boat behind you, they just shrug with a glint in their eyes. Sitting down with a huff, you squeeze yourself in between them. Hobie gives you a look as the Osprey looms over the dinghy. “Alright, I'm really sorry, James. I'll be careful next time.”

James frowns but nods his head. “Fine, this just proves that we need a new crew, Hobie. I can't be down here catching sacks forever.”

“I heard you, James.” Hobie clasps his shoulder, wiggling him in place until the man manages a small smile. You stare at them with fondness. “Once we get to the mermaid's head, that'll be the first thing we do.”

The mermaid's head, it's a one and a half day sail away now. After not feeling solid ground for the whole three months, too afraid to dock and face whatever's waiting for you at the shore after what happened at the capitol, you're more than ready to dock once again.

“Right, love?” Hobie smiles as the dinghy hits the side of the Osprey with a light bump.

“Yeah, you won't be on sack duty anymore, James.” With a nod and a reassuring pat on James’ knee, you roam your eyes around the crew. “Everyone’s alright, right? No need for my services?” They look at themselves, taking note if there's anything to be patched by you. After a minute, they shake their heads and you sigh in relief.

There's shuffling from above, a metallic clink, and then a familiar click of tongue.

“Took you lot long enough!” Yuri peeks over the cannon hole, waving at you while Gwen and Pavitr lower the ropes, which Stacy and Lyla attach to the dinghy. “Did you all see the chain shot?!” Her shouting is probably caused by the loud canons.

“Yuri! I told you to protect your ears!” You and Lyla simultaneously say, a bit eerie as the two of you give each other a glance.

“I love you too!” She calls out and slithers her way inside the ship.

“She meant me by the way.” Lyla whispers to you as the boat gets lifted up.

“Calm down, Lyla, I'm not trying to steal her from you.”

“Sure, sure, your grace.” She teases, patting your bicep. “We all know that between the two of us, I won.” Her eyes flick over to Hobie and he scrunches his nose.

You roll your shoulders, feeling the adrenaline start to ebb out. “I know, Lyla, you were definitely the first choice.” Sarcasm drips from your lips.

A chorus of laughter echoes from the small boat as it slowly rises up with a squeak. You wink at Hobie as reassurance and he knows that you meant it as a joke by tapping his boot with your own. He answers with a smile, sunlight illuminating the side of his face, grey eyes glowing while the double blunderbusses on his hips shines in the light.

“Wait, what does that mean?!” Lyla gasps out just as you face the warmth of the sun.

“It means that Yuri is so smitten with you, Lyla.” Gwen says as she secures the ropes with the help of Pav by her side. Her comment drips with sarcasm, earning snickers from the rest of the crew.

Lyla huffs, glancing at you. “When will the hazing end, your grace?”

“When you stop calling me that.” You pat her shoulder reassuringly before standing up and taking Hobie's helping hand to get you on board.

His hand is warm against you, damp with sweat, and slick with crimson. You don't mind it one bit when your hands are just the same as his. Your calluses meet with his own, clicking into place with each indent.

As you find penchant on the foot hold, standing on the firm bannister, you get a good look at the decks of the mighty Osprey. She has three balconies on each end, railings painted with gold leaves, wood carved immaculately into violet flowers and into the shape of hazelnuts. The whole place reminds you of what could've been, it's a floating Hazelside. Apples are etched on doors, birds, both perched on trees and flying— they're all occasionally seen on the walls. It's opulent, but intimidating at sea with its size. There are two dozen cannons all lined up on each side, and swivel guns on each balcony for added defense. The ship is a man-of-war, a force to be reckoned with, and an honour to sail beside with her allies, if you ever do find allies. But it doesn't quite feel like a pirate's ship just yet, or a bloodsail pirates’ home. It's missing the iconic crimson sails, and its spider skeleton jolly roger flag.

Hobie will shape her into his vision once you dock at the mermaid's head.

“Careful now, love, your leg.” With a hand on your hip, he lifts you off the bannister and onto the deck.

“Thank you, captain.” You're chest to chest with him, hand in hand as you gaze at him as the sunlight kisses his skin. “I left my dagger on board again,” wincing, you apologize to him for losing another blade.

“I told you, I'll keep givin’ you one until it sticks.” Squeezing your hand twice for good measure, his attention turns to Gwen who's fussing over her father, half chastising him and half dotting.

You follow his gaze. “Well, they're adorable, annoying but adorable.”

“He's overbearin’” Hobie says with a shake of his head, still holding onto you while George checks on Gwen's healing injury.

“I heard that most fathers are.” You whisper to him with slight sadness.

“He needs to get off the ship, that's what he is.”

“Hey, cut him some slack. His daughter is a bloody pirate.” You poke his cheek, turning his attention back to you as he raises a brow.

“He's a shit cook.”

“Well he's no Finn, but he's not exactly navy material either. Give him some time.” Patting his jaw, Hobie huffs at you.

As quickly as his annoyance came, it fades when he meets with the softness of your eyes. He smiles at you like he had on your little island. “You hurtin’ anywhere?”

“No, nothing unusual, you?” Hobie's hand rubs at your back lovingly while he shakes his head, relief felt through his touch as he gives you another once over before helping the others off the dinghy.

The second Hobie leaves your side, Pavitr embraces you from behind. “I'm okay, Pav!” You giggle as he sighs in relief. He has gotten taller than Miles now, and he always takes the opportunity to remind the navigator. You pat his hand and he releases you. “I told you, there was nothing to be worried about.”

“Yeah, but then I saw the fire—”

“She's an arsonist, innit?” Hobie adds while dragging the supplies to the middle of the deck.

“Again, landlubber?” Gwen raises a brow as she does final checks on her father's scratches.

“It was an accident!” Exclaiming, you help haul the rest of the bags before Hobie grabs it from your arms. “C’mon, Hobie, tell them.”

He pauses, eyes all on him. Smacking his lips together, he looks between you and the crew. “I wouldn't bloody know, I was above deck—” a resounding groan echoes around the deck. “I wouldn't fuckin' know! I wasn't there!”

“Always the favouritism with you!” Lyla stomps away, hauling a sack over her shoulder. “I mean, I get it, but come on!”

James makes a gagging sound. “I'm gonna be at the crow's nest if you need me.” He then starts to climb on the mast with a huff.

“Just to be sure though,” Yuri suddenly appears from below deck and places her arms over your shoulder and Hobie's casually. “You're not allowed to have a lit candle every night, right?”

Lyla chuckles together with Pav. And you swear you heard James chortle while climbing the ladder.

Gwen shakes her head with a smile, still tending to her father by using the knowledge you taught on basic wound care. He grumbles but with one glare from his daughter, he surrenders. Miles watches them with a fond smile, but stays slightly away from the duo. Gwen notices his stare, smiling affectionately at him before crossing the distance and takes Miles’ waiting hands, whispering something to him. George looks away, finding the pile of loot more interesting.

You roll your eyes at the woman behind you, flinging Yuri's arm away while Hobie drops the remaining bags together with the rest. Everyone stands around it while Hobie, Miles and Pavitr dig through each bag for the contents. All the while Yuri and Lyla sort through it, opening boxes and cans as they're all crouched down next to the pile. There are beans of coffee that's just enough for the whole crew, a couple blocks of tea that would last the everyone a whole year, and navy uniforms that need a wash.

“Ew,” Gwen winces when Miles lifts a pair of dirty trousers from the bag. “Is there anything that we can sell?”

“Not that I could see, Gwendy.” Hobie says, voice muffled while his body is halfway inside the sack. You crack a smile.

“Let me.” Gwen clicks her tongue in mild annoyance and decides to help.

She begins to crouch down, but she winces immediately, trying to hide the ache but her contorted face betrays her. Her hand flies to her chest, and you quickly go to her side with a careful arm wrapped around her middle. Her father joins you on her other side, furrowed brows and frowning deeply with concern.

Miles stands up but Gwen stops him with a hand braced on his shoulder. You and Hobie share a worried look. Pavitr shares the same worry, and Yuri's eyes drop towards the pile, distracting herself from Gwen's pained flinch.

“You should rest, kid.” Her dad whispers kindly to her.

“You shouldn't force yourself, Gwen.” You utter with the same concern in your tone. “Besides we got this, you can do inventory later once we sort it all out.”

She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply before opening her baby blue eyes. “I'm so sick of this. I should be better by now.”

“You got shot, it'll take some time.” You say while wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Give yourself some time.”

“We need to sit her down.” Stacy looks over Gwen to address you. With a nod, the two of you sit her down on a nearby crate.

“I'm the goddamn quartermaster, I should be helping more.” She's not entirely wrong, with a large ship like this, it needs a bigger crew to operate it. The whole place is barely functioning because of the lack of manpower, and it frustrates her to always be placed on the sidelines while everyone else does the heavy lifting. “I want to help more.”

Hobie stands up, “Pav, can you go over to the helm and make sure we're still on course?” Pav nods with a small smile and heads over to the wheel. You can tell that he's hiding his concern for Gwen too from the slouch of his shoulders, and deep frown.

The captain crosses the small distance and hands you a medium sized box filled with medical supplies. The two of you communicate with your eyes, and he takes your place beside Gwen as you join Miles next on the pile.

“— We'll find a reliable crew once we port.”

You catch the tail end of their conversation as you crack open the box that's filled with labelled vials, they're sparse, but you'll find some use for it. You know that Hobie's reassuring her as a friend, all the while telling her to go easy like a captain should with his ship's quartermaster.

“Is she alright?” Miles whispers to you while checking each trouser pocket.

The sun beats down upon you, already drying you, and the humidity almost chokes you. The heavy look on Miles' face doesn't help. “Yeah, I check on her everyday. She's getting better, it's just—” you inhale, remembering her warm blood splattered on your face in the capitol square. “With an injury like that, it'll take more than three months for it to fully heal.” Or maybe not at all. You shudder at the thought.

“The surgeon who saved her said that it was a miracle that she even survived through the whole thing.” He sniffs, finding a large clinking pouch.

“I'm guessing that the money you gave him helped with his determination to save her.”

“Our guns too.” He opens the pouch, eyes widening and face lighting up. “And speaking of money.” Showing you the contents, you see enough coins to weather the whole crew for at least a whole season.

“Shit.” You chuckle, and you notice similar looking pouches on the bottom of the sack. “Wait, maybe there's more.” Handing Miles one while you open the other, the two of you mirror each other's expression. “I guess they weren't out here to just protect our national waters.”

Yuri and Lyla notices your hushed tones and looks over each of your shoulders for a peek.

In each bag contains a dozen or so of gold and silver jewellery. Each looks fancier and more intricate than the other. Rings, bracelets, brooches, you name it and the pouch carries it. They were probably out here trying to survive just like you and the crew are. With the government in shambles, and the crown separated from the country, the branches of military— especially the ones who remained loyal to the crown, are left to fend for themselves. If only Mathias could see them now, he's probably rolling in his watery grave.

“Captain!” Yuri yells, and Hobie almost jumps in his skin. “Get your flat ass over here!”

—

“It's not much.” Gwen says, sitting down on Hobie's desk as she jots down the supplies on the ship logbook. “But with all of these plus the one we got from the merchant ship last week and the privateer ship we raided a month ago, we're set.”

“Thank fuck.” Yuri exclaims, placing her arm over Lyla's shoulder, waking her up from her nap on the plush couch.

Lyla lays her head on Yuri's shoulder, fondly gazing at the side of her face before dozing off.

Miles sits beside Pavitr, who is oiling up your blunderbuss for you when you've told him countless times that you could do it yourself. He insists, telling you that he worries that it'll one day blow up in your face if you don't take care of your guns. He's a sweetheart, and you think he just likes to keep his hands occupied ever since the whole crew started working overtime for the large ship. You take a mental note to check up on him every once in a while. Miles continues to scribble on his scrapbook, almost filled by the looks of it and you remind yourself again to get him a new one once you dock. Just above you on the deck, you can hear James hum at the helm, keeping watch at night together with George.

This is all hard work, you think as you sit on Hobie's bed that's situated in a cubby with a heart shape engraved on top of it, to which he called it fitting the first time you two shared it. The bed is all plush pillows and velvet covers that's all shoved on the foot of the bed in favour of a simple linen under it and a couple of pillows for his head to rest upon. A pair of blue velvet curtains are tucked and tied on the side of the bed, and more than once it has been closed during your journey. You're the main reason why he closes it whenever you come slinking towards his cabins at night since you haven't fully left your own cabin. Sometimes you think the crew knows that the curtains around his bed are being put to good use and not just for sleep.

The captain's quarters is bigger than the one on the first people's revenge, much larger. And it functions as the captain's office too. There's a sitting room, its own bucket with a silk partition depicting a garden with lotus flowers in a pond. And a water basin that Hobie always refills whenever you're around, which is always. The place is just under the bow of the ship where there are large windows that face the glimmering sea. He has his own table and bookshelves filled with books and logbooks of the osprey. Your own history that you have flipped through in hopes of seeing your parent's handwriting in them.

There are various knicknacks all over the place, conch shells on the shelves, bones of sea creatures— a hammerhead shark, dried pufferfish, a few starfishes and a bone of a swordfish on display just above his desk. *It's all gaudy, he said, too aristocratic for his taste with all the naval themed tapestries and silver candelabra. He stopped complaining after he realized he could make it his own space. His bandolier is hanging from a fancy oak coat rack with your father's blunderbuss safely tucked inside, one that you gave to him for good luck. Musket balls are freely rolling around the shelves together with the gold inlaid picture frames of the countryside. And of course his clothes are in the wardrobe and shoes under the bed. He tries his best to make it his own when that's all he could do until he has the opportunity to make the ship more to the bloodsail pirates' tastes.

As you take note of the floor with a bear rug on it, you notice a nick on the back of your hand. It's small, not even hurting you in the slightest. The adrenaline has fully weaned off, and the oncoming crash would have you falling back on the bed. Then you see the shaking of your palms as you stretch your hands that were meant to sew flesh close and not rip them open. You know what will follow the trembling, and it's just tears. But it had to be done, they were just surviving but so were you, so were your family. Sometimes you wish it doesn't have to be this way. But the world is built over the bloodsoaked dirt and corpse ridden sea that you now call home. And sometimes, fighting back is just a means to survive. Maybe one day it doesn't have to be like that, that the world could be better for everyone to just live and not kill.

A world where he could just sail and explore the seas without the threat of death.

“Love.” The man occupying your thoughts calls for you. “You alright?”

You exhale out, stretching your aching ankle. “Yes, why? We're good, right?”

Hobie smiles, resisting the urge to beckon you over to his side. “Can you ask Stacy to help you prepare supper if you're alright to do it for tonight?”

“I'm always up for it, captain.” Hopping off the bed, you point at Lyla and Yuri on the settee. “Besides, whenever those two get inside the galley we always end up eating hardtack instead.”

Gwen manages to crack a smile while still doing the numbers on the ledger, her longer hair annoying her as she blows at the strands in front of her face. And Miles shakes his head with a knowing grin. Pavitr makes a face and scooches away from Yuri, making the said woman scrunch her nose at him.

Hobie chuckles, and spares you a knowing glance. “Right, go back to your stations, we've got a long night if we want to get to the head at dawn.”

Yuri spreads her arms and legs, waking up Lyla, who rolls her eyes and yawns, glasses askew on her face. “Fucking finally!” The ravenette reaches over Lyla to nudge at Pav playfully. “Can you believe it? We'll be home by tomorrow!”

Pavitr nods and pats the back of her hand politely. “Yeah, yeah, we all know you're excited to see Riri.” The second the name leaves Pav's lips, he regrets it.

Lyla jumps awake, head turning quickly at Yuri. “Who's Riri?”

You clamp your mouth shut from letting out a laugh. Hobie tells you to leave and save yourself with a gesture, and as you close the door behind you, you hear Yuri's stuttered explanation.

Shaking your head with a wince, you head up towards the deck. The halls are as confusing and winding as the revenge, but multiplied tenfold when it has more floors than the older ship. The walls of the osprey are shinier, all smooth oak with its perfect packing to prevent drafts from getting in. Its floors are just as smooth, albeit scruffed now from all the walking around it by the crew. You'd smoothen it out with wax, but doing that isn't on top of the list of chores when it's just you and a handful of people that help maintain the gigantic ship so it could keep sailing.

Your muscles ache, and your throbbing leg and ankle aren't of any help either. Whenever fatigue rolls over you, your old injuries flare up, the bullet wound on your leg that was entirely an accident. The sprained ankle from running away from your godfather Miguel, and the sharp phantom pain around your neck and on your hip. As always, you tend to ignore it when the day isn't quite done yet. As you reach the doors to the deck, you swing it open, and the hinges don't even announce your presence when it's well oiled.

James, still on the wheel, immediately finds you, trained eyes already honing in on you. His days in the crow's nest helped give him that experience. He waves at you from the helm, smiling tiredly. Everyone is too tired these days, as much as you're apprehensive about a new batch of crew coming in, you need the extra hands.

“Hi, James.” You say above the sea wind as the ship rocks in the calm waves. The full moon looks down at you, a guiding light in the night filled with stars. “You okay up there?”

“Better than up there.” The blonde points at the crow's nest up on the mast. “That fucking wind is terrifying, doc.”

“Do you think you can manage on your own for a bit?” You look apologetically at him. “The trio will relieve you in a few minutes, I just need help in the galley.”

“Sure, I might spot a mermaid here and this time I won't tell anyone.” Chuckling, he sends you off to fetch Stacy up on the raven's nest.

You start to climb up carefully as the wind whips at your cheeks. The fatigue in your bones is multiplied by a hundred once you're dangling a dozen feet in the air. You can feel it in each step, in each grab on the ladder. Head falling on the metal, you take a breather, it seems that the air is much thinner up here where you can practically wave the clouds away. The mast back on the revenge didn't go as high as this, or is it your tiredness making your memory fail? As you heave, you feel something rubbing on the crown of your head.

Looking up, you see the frayed edges of a rope hanging above you, it's tied together like a noose, giving you a sense of dread just by the sight of it. “George?”

“It looked like you needed help.” He noticed your odd stare at the piece of hemp rope. “Put your wrist in, just in case you fall, you'll have me to hold you up.”

“You should've said that earlier,” you chuckle shakily, placing your hand inside as you continue to climb up. “It looks like a fucking noose, George.”

The older man smiles, lifting the rope up as you climb. “Sorry about that.” With a hand, he helps you up the last step.

“Fucking finally.” You stretch your back and aching wrists when you're finally on the nest. “I don't remember it being that high.”

Even with the climb being bothersome, the view can't be beat. There's not a cloud in sight, and you're thankful that there won't be any rain for tonight that'll rock the ship throughout the whole night. The glimmering sea is calm as a few gentle waves greet you from below. The sea stretches far and wide, everywhere you look there's nothing but the dark depths waiting for you. It's as if the salty sea water has swallowed the whole world while you and the crew were gone.

“You're just tired, kid.” He sits down on a stool, tucking the rope away back to where it's supposed to be. “Are you my relief?”

“No, I think Yuri will replace you.” You're still breathing heavily so the man gestures for you to sit down on the floor, which you gratefully do. Sweat dribbles from your temple, and your head swirls from the sudden surge in height. The sails wave just under you, a sea of white amidst the darkness. You spot a small hole in one of the sails, Ned would've noticed it earlier and patched it up already. “Can you help me in the galley?”

George furrows his brows. “Why? The crew doesn't like my cooking.”

“Well,” his eyes urge you to tell the truth. He has some sort of air around him that makes people tell him nothing but the truth. A good trait to have when you're a gambler like he is— or was according to him. You wonder what Gwen's childhood was like with him around as a father. No wonder why she's so good at lying. “You want the harsh truth?” He nods. “Hobie asked me to talk to you about today.”

“I left my post.”

“Yes. You're there with Gwen and the others for a reason. You're a good fighter, Stacy, we've established that. But with just us here, we can't afford to leave the ship unguarded with just them on board.” Your eyes bore into him, knocking some sense into the older man while a breeze passes by and blows at his blond windswept hair.

“We got lucky. Again. But next time we might not be. So please understand that the plan is there so that everyone is protected. That no one is alone during the fight.” He was noble, just like you were, and you understand how much he wants to prove himself to the crew. Especially that you were in his position just a few months ago. And your captain understands that, that's why he sent you to talk to the man, knowing that you and George have some sort of understanding. “Gwen's still out of commission, don't leave your daughter alone on board ever again.”

He nods, eyeing the crochet basket Yuri must've left on her last shift. “I— just… can I tell you something, doc?”

“Sure.”

“I’m planning on leaving the crew.” Your brows knit together. “I love my girl, she's my world. But this isn't my world.” George's shoulders slouch, like a weight has finally lifted off him. “I know what being a pirate entails, all the pillaging, the thievery… and I know that not a lot of you will live to see forty. And I'm more than forty, an old man like me can't survive this long out here.”

“Then why did you go and fight?” You blink and you see Miguel's face for a second. “Why are you letting your only daughter stay here if that's how you think will happen?”

“I guess I wanted to be useful before I leave. Admit it, I've been a burden to you and the crew.”

“More or less. You just haven't found your role here yet.”

He shakes his head, curling and unfurling his fists. “As for Gwen, I would be lying if I didn't try to persuade her into leaving.” His tone is small as he scratches off the caked blood on his knuckles. “I almost ruined what was left of our relationship by doing that and I— I don't want that. I don't want to bury her, but I don't want to push her away either. After seeing her—” He pauses, sniffing and clearing his throat. “—I never want to witness that ever again.”

“I'm sorry. This isn't a safe life, I know that. But it is a happy one, fulfilling? I don't know yet. And yet I'm still here when I had every opportunity to get out.” You smile softly at all the times you were supposed to leave but stayed instead. “It's the people, Mr. Stacy. For me it’s not the ship or the pillaging or the thievery. If you want an out, then Hobie will grant it to you, same goes for any crew member.”

Then you get a vision in your head, of another life where you're talking to your own father, his voice a mere imagination in your ears— is it high or as deep as Mr. Stacy's? But you know his face, seen it on a tiny portrait that used to hang around your mother's neck. But his face is young, probably the same age as you now, and you never got to see him grow old with her. It hurts to think about you being older than him now. That you never got to tend to his wounds or talk to him while the moon washes over you. You wonder if he's like the man before you, if he'd be conflicted about the life you're leading. Will he leave you too?

“I know this is something I shouldn't even be asking you but…” George's eyes soften as you seem to shrink in his eyes. “Can you look after my girl? Make sure that I go before her. If she's not planning to retire any time soon, at least it'll give me some comfort to know that she's being looked after.”

There's heat behind your eyes, legs shaking underneath you. “That's a hard ask, but yes, I'll do that— I'll keep doing that as long as I can't.” You begin to stand up on trembling legs, throat filled with heaviness. You know you can't promise him anything, but you'll try, not for him but for Gwen, for Miles, for Pav and Hobie. You can't lose another one.

“Thank you, doc.” He stands up in gratitude, sad blue eyes that mirrors his own daughter's stare at you with guilt and apologies.

“Just promise me something, George.” Your jaw clenches. “Write to her, and keep her in your mind even when she isn't writing back. At least you'll have that. You'll still have someone to come home to you.”

“I will, she's my daughter.” The word strikes an arrow right to your heart.

“Then don't forget her.” With your parting words, you start to climb down but you pause when he calls your name. “Yes?”

“Does this make me a bad person?”

“What do you think?”

Your words punch him in the gut. “At least let me help with supper.”

You shake your head, maybe some time alone will do you some good. Working with your hands would be a good distraction from your thoughts. “No, I think I'll be fine.” Your words come off as callous, his expression falls and you immediately think to explain yourself.

George fixes himself, exhaling and smiling softly as if he didn't drop a cannonball on you. “Maybe I should've just gone down instead of you coming up here, kid.” Chuckling, he hands you the rope again for extra security.

You blink and groan at the realization that you should've done just that and called him down instead. “Fucking idiot.” You thump your head on the ladder as the man above you tamps down his laughter lest he angers the ship doctor.

—

You were right, some alone time helped your mind ease down for tonight. With your hands occupied with the pot of stew, you shoulder the door to the deck open and you're immediately greeted by the captain himself.

“I was about to get you, scuttlebutt.” He takes the pot for you, careful not to spill a single drop of it. “Pav was worried you fell asleep on the counter again.” Propping the door open for you with his body, you exit below deck and hold onto the door until he and the stew are safely on the deck.

“Me? Never.” You chuckle and he nudges you gently as the stew sloshes inside the pot. “Careful!”

“Shit, we almost ate hardtack for supper again.” Hobie's laughter echoes through the night as the crew quickly sets up the makeshift table on the deck, just like back on the revenge. His grey eyes look tired, and yet the crinkle in them stays, still smiling amidst the fog of fatigue.

Everyone does their part in making the meal pretty. Gwen and Miles made paper flowers that are now on the dainty vases. And Pavitr with the help of Lyla folded all the napkins into cranes. Meanwhile James and George are placing each plate and bowl for every seat at the table, while Yuri is carefully placing all the utensils beside the plates. It's pretty quiet on deck, and it fills your chest with heaviness as you see all the empty spaces on the table.

The long table stretches down towards the helm, as if the crew has made space for the ones that can't be there. It's been like this since you left the capitol, grief weaves through every movement, guilt stained their every action. It's in the way they leave leftovers for them, place extra seats and plates just for them. It's in every squeeze of the trigger, every cut of their swords. They go on, for them.

There are candle lights flickering on the table, wax slowly melting off the cheap tallow candles and onto the silver plated candelabra. The plates are all porcelain, smooth with lilac inlays around it. Even the utensils are in solid silver, pretty but not exactly sustainable on the ship when you could get raided by other pirates looking exactly for what is spread around the table. There's an abundance of wine on board thanks to your ‘dear’ uncle Frederick, so everyone's goblets are all full with the sloshing drink. Lyla insisted that you all use the finer things one last time before docking at the mermaid's head in the morning since everyone voted to sell most of it for supplies and ship maintenance. You won't lie, you quite enjoyed the fine dining evenings every now and then.

“We're eating good tonight, we got some carrots—”

“Tiny ass carrots.” Yuri peeks inside the pot while she fixes the cutlery around the bowls.

“At least they're fresh…” you glance at the floating orange bits as Hobie places it down in the middle of the table. “...ish.”

“They're better than hardtack.” Pavitr defends your abysmal stew as he sits and places down a napkin on his lap.

“Thank you, Pav. Looks like someone still appreciates my cooking.” You clasp Pav's shoulder and he grins happily at you. You swear that boy always has enough energy for everyone.

“I've got bread here if anyone wants some.” Gwen passes the basket of day old rolls. She sits on Hobie's right and next to her father instead of Miles. You guess they already had a talk about him leaving, or else it'll get awkward once the ship ports.

Hobie sits at the head of the table, hand immediately grabbing your own bowl to scoop some stew for you. “Do you want some bread too, lovie?”

“Yes, please.” You say with a smile as you sit on his left.

“Can I have some too, cap’n?” James asks, hand already waiting for a roll. Hobie tosses him one that James catches effortlessly. A round of brief applause surrounds the table at the incredible feat. “Thank you, thank you, I take gold as payment.”

Yuri chuckles and shakes her head while Lyla tries to steal her bread roll. Miles snitches on Lyla with a simple tap on Yuri's shoulder, prompting the two to exchange bread. You guess they're on good terms now.

The sound of cutlery echoes around as the whole crew starts to devour their ration.

Hobie sits your bowl down in front of you, but before he sits, he helps himself with his own share of stew and bread. Sitting down with a groan and cracking joints, your hand reaches for his knee, patting him in thanks. He takes your hand from under the table and kisses your knuckles once, all the while gazing at you softly. Good thing the whole crew are all busy eating.

“Hi,” you smile at him as the silver moonlight hits his chiseled cheek. “You alright there, captain?”

“Better now, doc.” He kisses your knuckles again, grey eyes closed this time as you swoon.

“At least wait for supper to finish, man!” Gwen flings a carrot at Hobie's head.

“Alright, alright!” Hobie surrenders, releasing your hand and then raising his goblet. “To the bloodsail pirates!”

“Hear hear!”

“To staying alive!” Gwen adds as she clinks her glass with Hobie's then over to her father's, who is looking at her through sad eyes.

“To this stew!” Pavitr raises his glass and to your appreciation, clinking his glass with yours.

“And to the Mermaid's head we go!” James exclaims, raising his cup high.

“To the Mermaid's head!” Everyone yells out with a grin as excitement rolls off with every clink of glass as wine sloshes on the table.

Chairs scrape as you all sit back down, “what should us newcomers expect in the Mermaid's head exactly?” You ask, scooping a generous amount of stew on the spoon.

“Don't look at me, I've been there. Not a newcomer, remember?” Lyla scoffs, taking a huge bite of her bread. She glances at Hobie briefly, having a wordless conversation about their shared thieves guild.

“Are there rules there or is it actually lawless?” George asks the same question on the tip of your tongue.

��Rules? It's not the capital, Stacy.” Hobie says against the rim of his cup. “‘sides, the pirate code reigns there.”

“Oh I've heard about that, it's different for every ship and crew right?” You ask, taking a swig of your drink to water down the alright stew. Times like these, you miss Finn's cooking.

“Aye, all members have to swear by it, same goes for every pirate that sets foot in the place.” Hobie answers, nudging your foot with his own. “That reminds me, you haven't been sworn in yet, scuttlebutt.”

Pavitr gasps beside you, “that means you're not an actual pirate!”

“Is that still necessary?”

“Everyone does it, doc.” Gwen smiles, patting her dad's hand. “You have to do it too, dad.” You guessed wrong then.

“Yeah, kid, I will.” George scratches the back of his head. “Maybe once the captain gets it all written out, y’know make it legal.”

“It's not legally binding.” Miles adds, immediately clamping down when the older man looks at him. “I–I mean, technically it's not but we all honour it!”

“How about some bread, Miles!” Gwen shoves a roll in his mouth, wordlessly eyeing him.

“That's true,” James says with his mouth full. “You swear an oath and we all honour it. No questions asked, and then you're officially a pirate.” Yuri grimaces and hands him a napkin.

“George is right though, I have to draft it since we lost the copy.” He side eyes you, and you kick him under the table, earning chuckles around the table. “We’ll do the oath taking before we dock. The others can smell it if you're not sworn in yet.” Teasing, you roll your eyes at him.

“Other than that,” Yuri wipes her mouth daintily. “The Mermaid's head is just another settlement on an island, the only difference is that everyone's a no good scallywag.”

The original bloodsail pirates agree with a chuckle. And yet it doesn't curve your nerves. The last time you were in a town, it didn't end well. At least Miguel won't be there to run after you again now that it's all resolved. Just in case though, you'll keep your gun and cutlass by your side.

“You have nothin' to worry ‘bout, love.” Hobie seems to sense your worries as he holds your hand over the table. “You've got us, yeah?”

You nod, shoulders relaxing from his words. “Yeah, I've got all you.”

—

Hair washed, body scrubbed clean, you sit on your hammock in your own cabin. The place reeks of a surgeon's cabin, filled with thick medical manuals that you've already dug into. Pages of illustrations depicting illnesses and injuries, and even a whole skull on the shelf. You have a feeling that it's an actual human skull and not an imitation made of wood.

It's a weird looking room, as if you belong and don't at the same time. Maybe that's the bloodied wedding dress you keep in the closet that just makes you feel uneasy. You almost threw it out a dozen times, but the spare fabric has proved to be useful especially that you managed to clean some of the blood off it. The lace, or according to Lyla, is Italian made, which she has cut a few pieces of with your permission. Stating that Yuri might like it, the next day it's sewed around her bandana. She wears it better anyway. And the silk underneath it is made only in one small town in South America, this time, its according to Gwen's dad, who came from a wealthy merchant family once upon a time. You keep telling yourself that you kept it because it's expensive and could be sold someday, and not as a reminder of that grim day you almost lost it all. It proves that you lived through it, the same reason why you kept your threadbare shoes.

Hobie mentioned, cleverly and subtly at that, that you can always stay at his cabin since you always end up in there every night anyway. You want to move in, but something holds you back. Maybe it's such a huge step that you're afraid once you do there's nothing forward left? That your relationship with him would remain stagnant like a floating buoy. You don't want it to be a floating buoy, and maybe just maybe, you're still afraid that the other shoe will drop and that he doesn't love you as much as he thought back then now that there's peace. Your hand immediately gravitates towards the golden necklace around your neck for comfort. Thumb running along the engraving of a flying bird.

You sigh as you put your trousers on, sleep weighs heavy in your eyelids, jaw aching from yawning too much. Your leg doesn't help much when you feel a strike of pain ebbing through it. The fight and all the chores tired you out, and the sound of the trio above the deck makes you feel older than you seem to be since they're still as energetic as ever. Rubbing your tired eyes, and just like clockwork, you hear the rhythmic knock that he made just to tell you that it's him— two quick sharp knocks, followed by three long knockings.

“You know you could just open it.” Your tired voice bounces off the walls as the sea laps at the side of the ship.

Hobie peeks inside, still wearing the bandana on his head but without the leather vest and bandoliers on his torso. “That wouldn't be so gentlemanly of me, lovie.”

You chuckle, beckoning him over. “Come in, captain.”

With a smile, he enters the small space, head almost hitting the ceiling from how small the room is. “Can I interest you a place in my cabin?” He raises a pierced brow, leaning casually on the doorway, hands braced on top of it, shirt raised up and his stomach peeking in between his trousers and shirt.

“Why is it that you never sleep here? It's always me sleeping at your place.” You say with your arms crossed playfully, gently rocking on the hammock.

“Love.” He gestures at the one person hammock and the ceiling brushing against his head. “Really?”

“Really.” You repeat, “I guess if you really do love me, it won't matter—” you're abruptly quieted down by his whole body suddenly laying on top of you. “Hobie!” Giggling, you flick his ear. The hanging hammock teetered dangerously with the added weight.

“If it takes sleepin' with you in this gnome hole—”

“Gnome hole?!”

“Then so be it.” Hobie fakes a loud snore, laying his whole weight on you.

“Hobie, you're heavy!” Laughing, you lift his head up and he still feigns sleep, eyes shut and mouth agape. “Alright, fine, I'm getting up.”

His eyes immediately open, a smirk playing on his lips from his so-called victory. “This place doesn't even have windows, scuttlebutt.”

“Yes, it does!” You scoff out, glancing at the small porthole on your left.

“You call that a window?” He laughs out, pointing at the tiny thing. “I'll show you a real window.”

“Oh yeah? Like yours is so impressive and huge.” Rolling your eyes, he lifts himself by his elbows and gazes down at you fondly.

“It’s impressive, alright, got all the birds chuffed ‘bout its size.” He wiggles his brows, earning a giggle and a smack on his behind from you.

“What fucking birds?! I'm the only bird here, motherfucker!”

He takes your face, and places a quick yet affectionate kiss on your lips. “Exactly!” Jumping off of you, he knows that if he stays like that any longer he'll end up falling asleep and he'll never hear the end of it from you. Your body swings back and forth so he stops the hammock with a firm hand. “C’mon,” smacking your thigh, he can't help but smile at your flustered expression. “If I say please…” He bats his long lashes at you.

“If only the navy could see the red spider right now—!” You're lifted off your back, carried by him or more like dragged as your heels scrape on the floor while you purposely lay limp in his arms.

“‘m makin’ you walk the plank for insubordination!”

“Hollow threats, Captain! Hollow threats!” You exclaim, for sure waking up half of the sleeping crew with your guffaw.

—

“On your knees, cap’n.” You instruct him with a teasing glint in your eyes as you point at the space by your feet.

“Yes, ma’am.” Hobie sighs with a lopsided grin, hands on his hips as he does what you told him.

Laughing, you open your arms as he sits down by your feet while you're situated on his bed. “Makes me feel an ounce of your power, Hobie.”

“I don't have the power to make people kneel, love.” He twists in his seat, patting your knees as his back rests in between your legs. “No one does.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, cheek pressed on top of his head, kissing his crown before you lean away. “You're right, but I can when we're in here.”

“You're right ‘bout that, jus’ don't tell the rest of the crew, hm?” Hobie chuckles and tugs off the bandana on his head, revealing the small tuft of curly hair that's growing nicely.

Kissing the top of his head again, he holds the back of your hands while you let out a resounding smack. “It's getting longer by the week, Hobie, I can tell.”

“You're just gassin’ me up.” He sighs, fully relaxing in your arms.

Giving one last peck, you take a jar next to you filled with coconut oil, courtesy of Pavitr. “Well, it's true. It's looking good.”

“Really? Not patchy?” He sniffs, calloused palms running down your legs.

“Nope, looks like George and Miles did a good job fixing it.” You try to open the jar but it doesn't budge.

“Think we can put somethin' like shells in it? Like before?” He thumbs a loose thread on the hem of your trousers.

“I think we can try.” You struggle and he hears it as he gestures for you to give him the jar. Handing it to him, he opens it with less effort. “Thanks, speaking of George…”

“What ‘bout him now?” His annoyance ebbs away the moment you carefully run the coconut oil on his scalp. “Did you get to talk to him?”

“Yes.” Gently, you massage the slick thick oil into his scalp, fingers twisting around every curly hair strand. “I know you don't like him, but try not to curse his name again.”

He inhales once you brush your lips against the shell of his ear. “...Fine, what'd he do?”

“He's planning on leaving—”

“What?” Hobie's head swivels to look at you. “Why? How'd she react?”

With a deep inhale, you tell him exactly what the older man told you. “I guess he just doesn't want to see his daughter get hurt again.”

“That's fuckin' bullshit.” He says through gritted teeth, shaking his head.

“It is. But it's still his decision.” You gently tilt his head back around with your wrist so that you don't accidentally wipe oil on his chin. “We can't keep him here if he doesn't want to, at the same time…” biting the inside of your cheek, you pause for a moment and then continue. “We can't keep Gwen here either if she decides to come with him.”

Hobie clenches his jaw but deflates almost immediately. “‘m guessin’ he hasn’t told her yet.”

“No, not yet.” The cool oil trickles down your arm as you generously spread it above his nape.

“What if she leaves?” His grey eyes flick towards you, hand wrapped around your ankle protectively.

“Then we let her, as much as we don't want to see her go.” Your heart clenches at the thought.

“Yeah,” he sighs out, head ducked to give you space to work. “Men like him—” his grey eyes swim with sorrow. “Fathers.” He scoffs, untying your shoes and you let him take it off your feet. “They’re all the bloody same.”

“What do you mean by that?” Closing the jar, you grab a silk scarf found in one of the wardrobes here, probably your aunt's, and place it around his head, carefully tying it at the back.

“Nothin’” He shakes his head, patting down the scarf on his head and twisting around to face you. “We have to talk ‘bout your shoes, love.”

You click your tongue and grin as he lifts the thin shoe up. “We haven't exactly stopped by a town to shop around for new shoes.”

Hobie places the pair neatly next to his boots, right beside the bed. Then he places his chin on your knee, fondly staring up at you. “I'll get you a new pair, a nice one that won't let you slip on nothin’. And a new dagger too.” He reaches behind you and grabs a vial of ointment as he taps your hand, to which you open your dry palms for him.

“I'm sorry that I keep losing them.” You let him rub the ointment around the dried and cracked skin on your palms. He's careful and his warm fingers help spread the thick ointment better, melting it all over your skin as his fingers massage it over your lifeline.

He chuckles, reminiscing where the first dagger he gave you now lies. “And jus’ like what I told you back then, I'll keep gettin’ you a new one. A hundred more if you want.”

You have no words or rhetoric for him, so you lean down and kiss the tip of his nose sweetly. And in response, he turns your palms towards him, thumbs rubbing along the inside of your wrists and bringing them towards his lips, kissing and praising the very hands that helped put him back together. His bird— his peace that calms the storm inside him.

The grey eyes in the shade of a lingering rain cloud gazes up at you, soft lips pressing a kiss with each staggered breath you let out.

“You'll be the death of me, Hobart Brown.”

“I hope not, trouble.” Smiling against your pulse, with the scent of aloe and chamomile wafting over your nose, he leans away and closes your palms for you. “Leg up.” Patting your leg, you bring your heel atop his thigh as he takes the same ointment and gently folds your pant leg for you, revealing the scar where his bullet met your flesh.

You watch with fond eyes as he runs his knuckles over the raised skin, then down to your ankle that never fully healed. “Are you going to keep admiring my leg or—?”

“Am I…” something passes by his stormy eyes, thumb carefully spreading the ointment on the bullet scar. “‘m sorry.”

“Hobie,” your heart aches at his sullen expression. “I told you a hundred times before, and I'll keep saying it to you over and over again, I forgive you. You could shoot me in the foot right now and I'll still forgive you.”

“That's it though, love.” Swallowing thickly, the pads of his fingers hover above your ankle, as if he's not worthy of touching you. “You'll keep forgivin’ me, no matter how many times I shoot at someone, how many people I kill—” he inhales, and he sees his hands caked in crimson. “You’ll always look at me like this, like ‘m made of stars.”

You take his face in your hands, gentle like you're holding water in your palms, careful not to spill all his love for you on the floor but tender enough to let him know that you're right there with him— like how the moon is there for the tides. A companion, a lover, someone to help stave off the raging hurricane inside him.

Your eyes grant him that same love he harbours for you. “My love for you isn't a reward for good behaviour.” Hobie gazes at you through glassy eyes. “I know you, all of you, the good and the bad. I stayed for both, loved all sides of you. Never have I thought that you weren't worthy of me. I'm just glad you let me in, that you let me know you.”

“If I was good—”

“You are every bit of good in this world, Hobie.”

“Better, if I was better— I jus’” His hands grip your shirt. He hopes that if he's ever judged in the afterlife, he'd end up in the same place as you are, or at least let him visit you, knowing that you'll go somewhere better than the place where he'll spend eternity in. “I look at you and I ask myself, ‘what did I do to deserve this?’ To deserve all this good, and yet I let you do all this bad shit.”

“Hobie, my thick headed pirate captain.” You coo with a smile, earning a small smile from him. “I had every opportunity to leave, and every time, I chose you, I chose the crew, and I chose to do all of that without coercion. This is where I belong. I’m not an angel either, we did it to live.” Your lips press to his forehead, letting it ease him further. The night brings worries to everyone it seems, not just you. “Nothing matters, just this.” Just this life that you'll choose every time. Even if it means you won't live to see forty, it'll be a good one, a well lived life and not everyone can say that.

Hobie moves closer, cheek pressed to your chest, arms wrapped around you. He's not just a pirate captain right then, just Hobie, a man trying to live his life without regrets, a man carrying the world on his shoulders. Just a man who's trying to love you the way he thinks you deserve.

The three words fall from his lips, muffled by your shirt as he melts in your arms. Back folded, you lean down to meet his lips, whispering the words back before showing the love you have for him right in the ship your family has owned for generations.

—

“Love.”

You sniff the air, coconut and sea salt permeating around you. Eyes still closed, you move closer to his warmth as the cold of the sea tries to smother you in the captain's bed.

Hobie chuckles, knuckles gently tracing along the curve of your spine whilst you're curled around him. “C’mon, you'll miss it.” His voice is deep with sleep.

“You keep massaging me like that as if it'll help in waking me up.” Your muffled words have him laughing quietly in the cold of dawn. Hand paused and now spread across the small of your back, gently poking you with a ringed finger.

“We’re ‘ere.”

Cracking one eye open, the first thing you see is his face painted in ocean blue. The sky hasn't fully woken up just like you have, the remnants of night still twinkling just outside the ship. The sea feels calm while the ship gently rocks in the waves, as if it's cradling you to fall asleep.

“Morning, captain.” Your voice cackles with sleep. “We're at where?”

Hobie chuckles softly, hand brushing away the hair off your pretty face. “Mermaid’s head, scuttlebutt. Time to become a pirate.”

You hum, hugging him closer, face nuzzling his bare chest. “Five minutes.”

“Don't make me carry you upstairs.”

“That sounds nice.” Your tone drifts off, and as the bed shifts, you think that he's about to leave but the way you feel his warmth above, he's not surrendering. The swinging black pearl brushes along the curve of your jaw, making you smile.

He flings your shirt above your stomach, and before you could flinch away, knowing what he's about to do, he places his frozen hands right on your belly.

Jumping awake, you almost hit your head on the ceiling as he cackles, wiggling his fingers menacingly.

“Fuck you and your weirdly cold hands!” Back hitting the wall, you point at him accusingly while he's still wiggling his hands and slowly moving closer. “Stop! I'm already awake!”

With a victorious guffaw, he jumps off the bed and extends a hand out for you. “C’mon, you'll see why it's called the Mermaid's head.”

You slap his hand away, and he feigns a frown. “Don't touch me with those icicles you call hands.”

“Please, you like these icicles all over you.” You just glare at him in return. “And ‘ere I thought I was supposed to be the grumpy one in the mornin’”

He scrunches his nose, eyes following you as you put on your shoes and clean the sleep off your face with the water basin in the corner. Judging by how warm it still is, Hobie just refilled it for you, waking up earlier than he was supposed to just to make sure that you have warm water to wash your face with.

Handing you a towel, he leans against the bannister of the bed as water splashes on your face. He wants to always have mornings like these, for your voice be the first thing he ever hears, and for him to wake up tangled in your limbs. He hopes that mornings with you will forever be like this as he twirls his fingers around the cool black pearl tied around his neck.

“What?” You ask, eyes still laden with sleep as you wipe your face. “Stop ogling and let's go.” With a giggle, you drop your angry façade and take his hand towards the door.

“Wait,” digging his heels in, he pulls you against him, pecking each of your cold cheeks and then placing a saccharine kiss on your lips that'll put honey to shame. “There, now ‘m ready.”

Fluttering your lashes in hopes you get another one, you smile victoriously when he moves in closer once again. Suddenly, you feel yourself getting lifted up from the floor and placed on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Hobie!” Your squeals fall on deaf ears as he cackles through the halls of the ship, definitely waking up the night shift from their slumber while he runs around, hauling you around until he gets on deck. “You little shit!”

Hobie drops you back to your feet, grinning widely like a schoolboy, who just commited mischief in class. You get a glimpse of what he was like when he was younger through his expression.

“Before you hit me,” as if you'd ever hit him with the sole purpose of hurting him and not for playing around. “Look behind you.” He twists you around with his cold hands on your shoulders, and as the sails part away in the breeze, you now see what all the fuss is all about.

A few miles away, situated in the backdrop of pink hues and cold blues, is a pair of lush islands, standing tall amidst the sea, a green pair of eyes right in the middle of all the ocean blue. The twins are connected by a rope bridge, and hidden within the smaller island is a shipwreck situated on top of it. You have no idea how that even got there, but you're too occupied with gawking at the larger piece of land. The stone façade seems to resemble a head, two eyes— or jagged holes adjacent to one another. A triangular nose and parted lips that opens up to a large port. The greenery above it spills over to the sides, acting like hair. Now you know how it got its name.

It's beautifully grotesque in a way, with every way you look at it, it does have a face of a woman carved into it. But the way you see it from where you stand, it's a hollowed skull welcoming you.

“Welcome to the Mermaid's head, scuttlebutt.”

Banners by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Please consider reblogging if you liked it!!

[al1x00]

SCREAMING AND CRYING ATM I JUST WOKE UP AND SAW THIS I'M SO EXCITED TO SEE THE SEQUEL TO BDAS!!!!

Between the Devil and the Sea: Beyond the Sea of Night

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Synopsis: The king is dead, long live the queen. New beginnings means new adventures, new adventures means new enemies. As the crew heads off south towards the mermaid's head, there's some familiar faces to see, and there's new people to meet. The question is, will they be friend or foe? And with what happened back in the capital stab them back? A war between siblings is afoot, a new government is standing on the precipice, which side will the bloodsail pirates join?

Word count: On going

Tags: Pirate Captain! Hobie, Fem! Reader, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing occasionally), R has nicknames, Arachkids x Reader (platonic), TW blood, TW violence, a sequel to BDAS, The first book is a must read to understand this one, fluff, angst. Set during the golden age of piracy. Specific Warnings are listed on every chapter.

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*I don't consent to having my work translated/published on other platforms and copy pasted on any AI software*

Pirate Hobie fanart above by @pleaktale

Custom banners by @thats-a-mushroom

Support banner and sea banner by @/cafekitsune

Part I: The Crawfish and The Osprey.

Chapter 1. Port of Call

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Part II: A Voyage to the End of the World.

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Part III: The Heron with a Bloodied Blade and the Prodigal Captain.

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Part IV: ???

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Part V: ???

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[al1x00]

Hello,

I hope you’re all doing well. 🌿

I need your help to share my family's story and raise awareness about our struggle. Every voice counts, and your support means the world. 🙏

💬 Please reblog my pinned post or, if you're able, consider donating just $5—it could be life-changing for those facing unimaginable hardship.

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@derawi1994

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[al1x00]

Hello, wonderful souls! 🤍🌍

I hope you're doing well. 🌿

Could you help me amplify my family's story and bring awareness to our struggle? 🙏🏻

💬 Please reblog my pinned post or consider donating just $5—your support could truly make a difference in saving lives amidst war and hardship.

Your kindness and voice matter more than you know. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🤍🌿

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[al1x00]

Hi there , I hope you’re doing well.

I recently shared my story about the challenges my family and I face in Gaza 🇵🇸 and would be so grateful if you could help by reblogging it 🔁.

Every share brings more awareness and support 🫶, and if you’re able to donate 💖, even a little makes a huge difference 🌟. Thank you for caring and for any help you can offer 🙏.

@momennourfamily

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[al1x00]

‼️‼️Please Don't Skip Me‼️‼️

Dear humanity,

I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉

The Israeli occupation forces launched drone strikes on my husband, Fayez, and my son, Mohammad.

Although my husband's condition has stabilized, my son is still suffering immensely and urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺 .

I need your help please donate and share, evry contribution, no matter how small, brings us hope in these dark times.

Mohammed deserves to live a happy and healthy life, just like every other child on this earth.

So I humbly ask you to donate even a little or at least reblog this appeal.

Please Donate now:👇

https://gofund.me/dd7ddc34

Ddonate Via Paypal 👇

https://www.paypal.com/donate

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[al1x00]

Guess who's back🫣 HII KATY HOW ARE YOU MY LOVE?😚 ALSO A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU?!?! HELL YEAH

Ngl I read the first lines before anything else and I was prepared for the worst LMAO glad that Yuri's so comprehensive tho (love her sm)

"After our trip to the beach, I know it's his" GIRL?🫣OOP🤭

"And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the mortherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck" WAITT THAT'S SO CUTE :((

I feel like Hobie would for sure take the responsibility if an accidental pregnancy happened, he's not the type of person to leave it all behind. ALSO, I feel like he'd be a huge ass girl dad (and also a huge misandrist LMAO)

Damn James you got a great timing to go piss huh😒

HELPPP YURI AND NED DRINKING AWAY THE EXHASPERATION BYE I'M DEAD

They're like "pass me the wine, I need to get drunk and forget about this" HAHAHA

KATY HOW TF DID YOU MANAGE TO WRITE THE UNDEAD TO BE THAT TERRIFYING MY GODD I HAD CHILLS ALL OVER. That scene where the horde starts to get in the house is written SO WELL ISTG, I can picture it perfectly in my mind.

You can literally feel the anxiety, the chaos of it all, the ABSOLUTE HORROR OF IT KATY YOU'RE A GENIUS YOU OUTDO YOURSELF EVERY GODDAMN TIME

The fact that Hobie immediately thought of what to do if him and R got somehow separated:( He's too loving for his own good

The burning house is giving the start of TLOU ngl

NOOO NOT THE FUCKING TRUCK AND HORDE THEY GOT SEPARATED BWAJFJSKOFF MY BABIESSS😭😭😭

Okay so the infection is like- instant. Once you're bitten you become one of them, right?

TWO FUCKING MONTHS HAVE PASSED?! GOOD GOD THAT'S SO MUCH TIME.

THEY CAN'T EVEN DIE?? Imagine how scared Hobie was when he was just taking a bath and he feels a hand around his ankle- I'd never set foot in any body of water ever again, no matter the size of it.

The voicemails :( I'm not even halfway throught it and I'm already starting to sob KATY YOU OWE ME A THERAPIST

OH HELL NAH PLEASE TELL ME HOBIE IS OKAY AND HE DIDN'T TURN INTO A SEA CREATURE

"It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else" I'M SOBBINGG THEY LONG FOR EACH OTHER SM😭😭😭

"Looks like you already took the load" JAMES😨- YOU LITTLE SHIT OMG

My heart literally jumped out of my chest when R almost jumped from the bridge- for a second you had me thinking she was about to die (but then I remembered it's a Katy Special tm)

"The PG version please" HELPP I'M CRYING

"Mudwood Manor" BDAS REFERENCE BDAS REFERENCE BDAS REFERENCEEEEE

AAAAAAA

HOBIE'S ALRIGHT THANK GODDD MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

Aww poor Hobie :( the way the situation remembers him of when he was younger actually breaks him. That and how he's already acclimate with how dangerous and difficult the whole situation is. He deserves all the hugs in the world.

The way R for a second didn't even realise it could be Hobie on the other side of the door or how she thought she was just going crazy and imagining it all

NOOO JAMESS GODDAMN IT :((

NOT R CRADLING HIS HEAD IN HER LAP AND FIXING HIS HAIR KATYY STOP MAKING ME SOB.

UGHH THE ENDING IS SO BITTERSWEET I LOVE IT SM. The life among the death, the gore and the blood and Hobie's hug just makes me want to bawl my eyes out of their sockets I swear.

KATYY I MISSED READING YOUR FICS SM AND COMING BACK TO THIS WAS SUCH A NICE EXPERIENCE SO THANK YOU SM. I know I've said it before but I SWEAR I'll get around to read IPOB because I'm so damn curios abt it🤭🤭. But this was such a great read, it's got me in a chokehold now ngl.

End of Beginning

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.7k

Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.

Navigation

You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.

“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.

“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.

“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.

Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.

It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.

“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.

“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.

You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.

“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”

“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.

Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”

You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”

She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”

You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”

“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”

“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.

Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”

You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”

She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”

Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.

“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”

“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”

“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”

You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.

“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”

You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.

“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”

Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.

“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.

“No buts!”

“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”

“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”

A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.

“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”

“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”

“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?

“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.

“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.

“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.

“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.

“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”

You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.

“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.

“Thank you, Yuri.”

“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”

“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.

She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”

“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”

The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.

“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.

“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.

The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.

“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.

“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.

You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.

“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”

Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”

“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.

“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.

“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.

A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.

“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.

You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.

He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”

“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.

“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.

“Archeologists beg to differ.”

“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.

Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.

“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”

Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”

“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.

“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.

“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.

Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.

“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”

“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.

“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.

A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.

“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”

“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.

Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.

“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”

“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”

“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.

“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.

“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.

Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”

“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.

“Now, what were you about to tell me?”

“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.

“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.

You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.

What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.

“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”

Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.

They're quickly gaining speed.

“Love?”

The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.

Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.

Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.

Your breathing stops.

In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.

“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”

“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.

“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.

“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”

Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.

“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.

“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”

She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.

Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.

The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.

“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”

You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”

Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.

Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.

Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.

“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.

You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.

“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”

The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.

You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”

Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.

You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.

He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.

You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”

Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.

“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.

More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.

“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.

“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.

Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”

You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.

“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.

They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.

You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.

He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”

“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.

“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”

“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”

“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”

“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.

Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”

“Do you think it's contagious?”

“What?”

“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.

“Rabies?”

“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”

“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.

The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.

“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.

“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.

“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.

“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”

“Hobie—”

“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”

“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”

He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”

Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.

“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.

You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.

“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”

“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”

“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.

“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.

A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.

“I think we should turn back.”

“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”

You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”

“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.

The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.

Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.

The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”

“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.

The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.

“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”

He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”

You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.

—

Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.

Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.

He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.

“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.

“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.

His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.

The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.

Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.

With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.

Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.

There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.

On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.

You have to be alive. You have to be.

As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.

Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.

Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.

—

Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.

“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”

You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”

His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.

“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.

He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.

Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.

“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.

“J–James? How?”

“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”

“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.

“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”

James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”

“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.

“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”

“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.

“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”

You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.

James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.

James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.

You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.

“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.

“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”

“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.

“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”

“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”

As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.

With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.

“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.

“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”

The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.

You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.

“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.

The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.

“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”

Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.

“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.

—

Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.

It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.

“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.

He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.

With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.

With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.

The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.

Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.

Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.

But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.

He promises to find you, even if it kills him.

—

Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.

His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.

You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.

“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.

“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”

You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”

“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.

“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.

James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.

“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”

“Guns? That's—”

“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.

You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.

“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.

His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”

“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”

You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.

“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”

“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”

James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”

You chuckle, “that's probably true.”

He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”

“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.

James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”

“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.

“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”

“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”

“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”

You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”

“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.

“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.

“C’mon, you're not that old.”

“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”

“Shit, is Yuri the father?”

You push him playfully. “Fucker.”

“Congrats? Shit timing though.”

You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”

“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.

“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.

James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.

You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.

You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.

James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.

Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.

James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.

A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.

Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.

“James, we need to go!”

James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.

You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.

You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.

Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.

James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.

You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.

Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.

The smell of the river has you running faster.

Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.

“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.

“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.

With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”

You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.

You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.

“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.

He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.

“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.

“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.

The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.

The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.

Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.

“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.

You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.

“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”

You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.

Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.

James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.

The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.

Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.

Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.

There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.

You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.

“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”

With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.

—

Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.

Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.

His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.

The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.

The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.

He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?

At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.

The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.

With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.

The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.

In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.

Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.

The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.

The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.

He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.

He's utterly alone.

With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.

He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.

Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.

He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.

His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.

Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?

As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.

Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.

It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.

Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.

There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.

Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.

“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.

“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”

“How fucking poetic of you.”

Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.

He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.

But it's clear that you're not here.

With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.

Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.

He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.

His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.

Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.

“What was that?!”

“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.

The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.

“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”

Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.

“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?

A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.

“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.

Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.

His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.

“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.

The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.

His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.

Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.

He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.

Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.

He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.

Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.

The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.

Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.

He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.

Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.

Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.

There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.

He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.

As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.

Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.

—

Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.

“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”

“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”

He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”

“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.

“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.

Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”

“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.

“Ow, what?”

“Wake the fuck up!”

Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.

“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.

He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.

Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.

The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.

“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.

Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.

The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.

—

The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.

It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.

Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.

You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.

It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.

According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.

James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.

The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.

You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.

With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.

James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.

The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.

“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”

He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”

You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”

James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”

“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.

James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”

“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”

He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”

You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”

Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.

“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”

“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”

“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”

He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”

“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”

Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”

“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”

He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”

“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”

“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.

You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”

He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”

“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”

“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”

Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”

“Do you think they're alright out there?”

“Don't change the fucking subject—”

“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.

You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”

He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”

You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”

He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”

“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.

His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”

“James—”

“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”

Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”

“Y–Yeah, I want that.”

“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.

“Thank you, boss.”

“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”

“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.

—

After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.

You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.

James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.

“We fucking made it.”

“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.

“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”

The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.

You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.

“We need to go!”

“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.

Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.

“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.

The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.

“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.

You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.

“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”

The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.

You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.

Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.

Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.

The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.

The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.

James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.

“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.

Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.

With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.

“It's probably fine—”

“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.

The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.

Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.

Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.

Five.

“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”

Four.

“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”

“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”

Three.

“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”

“Get the fuck down.”

Two.

“I can't.”

James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.

One.

Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.

He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”

“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”

“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”

You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”

—

“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”

“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.

“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.

Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”

“And?”

“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”

“You have a way with your words, boss.”

“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”

James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”

“Out of my seat?”

“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”

“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”

He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”

“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”

“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”

“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.

“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”

“I'm sorry, James.”

“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”

“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.

“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”

You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”

“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”

He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”

Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”

“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”

You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”

The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.

You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.

“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”

“I know.”

“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.

“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”

“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”

—

“Wake up, Hobie.”

Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.

He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.

Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.

A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.

A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.

It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.

But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.

Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.

Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.

The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.

His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.

—

Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.

He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.

It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.

They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.

Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.

He feels like the last man alive.

He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.

When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?

Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.

It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.

The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.

There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.

A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.

Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.

He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.

Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.

“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.

Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.

With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.

“Why won't you just die?!”

Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.

“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”

“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.

“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.

“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.

“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.

His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.

“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.

“Are you—?”

“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.

He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”

His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.

A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[al1x00]

I CAVED IN A BOUGHT HIM YESTERDAY😭😭 I DON'T EVEN PLAY FORTNITE ANYMORE BUT I JUST WANTED HIM TO MAKE HIM DO ALL THE SILLY DANCES

Installing fortnite right now

[al1x00]

I CAVED IN A BOUGHT HIM YESTERDAY😭😭 I DON'T EVEN PLAY FORTNITE ANYMORE BUT I JUST WANTED HIM TO MAKE HIM DO ALL THE SILLY DANCES

Installing fortnite right now

[al1x00]

I proudly wear the badge of honour as the resident vampire!Hobie lover🫡🫡 ALSO NEW IPOB PART? AAAAA I'M SO EXCITED

Being with each other for more than 250 years is commitment fr!! But I guess living forever might get boring after a bit so ofc you'll need someone to spend your time with (and that someone is Hobie🤭)

Also go ahead for the tag, I don't mind!!! Can't wait to read the next IPOB part :3

250 Years of Longing

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x Fem! Vampire! Reader

Word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: A brief misunderstanding leads to years of heartache. You mourn 250 years of love while his heart remains to you and only you.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, divorced! Vampire! AU, established relationship, CW blood, talks of marriage, hurt/comfort, some fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @pleaktale !!! This au was born in our dms lol

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Vampire Hobie Masterlist

Hobie's words are muffled in your ears as you try to hide your trembling, lovelorn body. Your head is in your hands, wide eyes downturned towards the same scruffed floors you've lived in for thirty years with him. You still remember the day you moved in, the walls were in bright yellow back then, wooden floors hidden by some gaudy shag carpet from the 70s. You still remember that decade like it was yesterday, maybe it was just yesterday, being a vampire means that time has moved differently for you. Time is merely something you gloss over, years flying by in a wink. Barely a flutter in your immortal eyes.

Even technology is moving faster and innovating quicker than you could manage to keep up. The next thing you know, you've been alive for more than 250 years.

250 years of being with him, 250 years of wearing the same identical ring, 250 years of loving him. All those 250 years are going through your mind a thousand miles per hour, your first kiss with him, your confession. Or was it him who confessed to you? Were you the one who got sick and he had to find a vampire to turn you and in turn to change him? Or was it the other way around? Memory is a fickle thing when you're older than any living human on earth. You've forgotten a lot of things, memory hazy and foggy like a dream you don't quite remember the second you wake. You wish this was just a dream, a nightmare that you'll wake up from.

“I need to try— I need to go, love.” His words wake you up from the lucid nightmare. He stands in the middle of your shared room, eyes forlorn, brows pinched together like he's in agony. “I can't stay ‘ere like this.”

If his words could kill, you'd be staked through the heart by now. 250 years of being together, practically joined at the hip. A love beyond a simple marriage on paper. And he's just standing there, breaking your long dead heart.

You look up at him through bloody tears, nails digging into your scalp as you try to hide your wails. An impossible feat. “Was it me? Did I do something?” You've faced vampire hunters together, faced horrors beyond belief to survive and continue to live with him. But you were never terrified, until now.

He immediately shakes his head, moving closer to you to take your trembling hands. The identical rings on his and your finger clinks together as he clasps your hand. “No, it's not you, love.” Kneeling down, he gazes at you through wine red eyes, bloody tears threatening to spill over his cheeks that you would always caress in your shared coffin that's hidden beneath the canopy bed you're currently languishing in.

“That's what they all say.” You utter in a small voice that he hasn't heard in decades.

Grasping your hands, he rubs his thumbs over your pulse where your heart would beat. Something he still does even though your hearts haven't beat together in sync ever since that fateful day.

“You didn't do anythin' wrong. I jus’ need to find myself, go out and see the world in my own eyes.”

You nod bitterly. “Without the burden of me.”

“That's not true, you're not a burden.” His hands reach towards your cheeks, wiping the bloody tears cascading down them like rain drops on a cold autumn day. “There are people I could help out there—”

“And I can't? Why can't you just bring me with you?” You wrench yourself away from him, walking away from the bed to give him space lest you let him see you like this. “Just say you're tired of me.” Hugging yourself, you feel his arms wrap around your middle, face tucked in the crook of your neck right where your scar sits.

“‘m not tired of you.” He says against your skin.

Your twist in his arms to face him fully, palms resting on his chest, eyes dim and scared. “Then why leave? Why do you want to leave me?” His shirt is bunched around your fists, desperate to cling to him despite his wishes. “250 years, Hobie. I've known you for more than that, been with you through all of it. I deserve to know why.” You try to reign in your anger and frustration but your fangs suddenly appearing betrays you.

“I don't want to leave you— Time, love. I jus’ need time. That's all we've got.”

You're tired, tired of asking why, tired of clinging to him like a life raft. Tired of your chest aching and feeling heavy as he looks at you with pity— was it pity? Or something else? So you let him go. Fists unfurling, palms leaving his chest as you step away from him.

“Alright.” You sniff, expression falling stiff as you straighten up. “I won't stop you.” If your love for him keeps him from doing what he loves, then you'll let him go. You can still love him from afar, even if he doesn't want you anymore.

“Love.” Hobie reaches your hand, palm sliding up to your elbows as he pulls you closer to embrace you fully. “250 years, not once did I feel I didn't love you.”

You close your eyes as you find yourself hidden atop his throat, memorizing his scent and how he holds you. Feeling how his own tears drip down on you, how his skin feels against your own. Memory is a fickle thing, you'll soon forget, but you don't want to. So you'll cling to him, even if it's just a memory of him.

“I love you, y’know that right?” He whispers to you, and only to you.

“I—” you falter. If you say it back, it feels like goodbye. And you don't want to say goodbye to the one person you have loved for centuries. “—I know, Hobie.” You could only say, saying it back means that you're never going to see him again. Saying it back means it's the end.

He could only hold onto you tighter, lips pecking the crown of your head so gently that you barely felt it in your lovelorn state.

You've got time, but it won't be spent with him. Eternity would feel empty for you now.

—

It's been six months of being alone, six months since he moved out to find his purpose. He wanted to leave partly so you could also find yourself and be yourself without his presence. 250 years of being together would do that. He doesn't know where he ends and begins when your soul and his own are tangled together for eternity. And he wants that for you too— to be your own self and not just another vampire in the cursed flock.

To be a better eternal partner for you is one of his goals, he needed to leave so he could be better, so he could be good to you for another 250 years more.

And he's willing— wishing that he gets to spend eternity with you after he's satisfied with what he has done to help people. He just hopes that you'd be home to welcome him back once he does. He's sure that you're already making good progress in finding yourself. He already misses you. A lot.

He's already aching for home and your embrace.

So much has happened in those six months, he's excited to tell you everything he has encountered. And even more excited to hear your voice again, to hold you again and sleep in the same coffin with you again and not the shoddy temporary coffin he made out of planks to rest in. He can already see your ecstatic face when he enters the abode again.

Ned has told him that he won't last a year without you. He'd know, Hobie has been friends with him for almost a hundred years now. But he refuses to let him win, even though he really wants to see you right now, or even call you on one of those phones that people seem to be addicted to. But you haven't picked up his calls, or even answered his letters. He has sent one everyday since he left, he's starting to worry now. Even the crew who urged him to go on a worldwide mission with him has placed bets on when he'll run back to you. With the earliest being tomorrow, and the longest being a year. He intends to make them lose, but by god, he misses you so damn much that he's starting to see you in his dreams. And see glimpses of you in the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't regret his decision, but a part of him thinks that you were right— that he should've brought you with him on his journey. Without you his frozen heart feels like it's out of his own body. Walking around without him, living without him. But he knows that it's for the best. It's only temporary, he keeps repeating to himself every night. He'll be with you soon.

As he writes today's letter, he smiles, hands scribbling his day away on the fragrant paper that he knows you'd love especially when it's sprayed with his own perfume.

He can't wait to see you back home.

—

You were absolutely losing it in that house. You keep seeing him everywhere. With every clatter in the halls, you run towards it in hopes that it's him making a ruckus in the kitchen. With every shadow cast on the walls, you see him walking towards you, arms outstretched to hold you. And then for a moment, he's gone, like a whiff of smoke billowing from a lit cigar.

The house that has love built within its walls seems to tilt in your vision. Weighed down by your grief. You don't know where to place your feeling of abandonment, do you place it in the kitchen where you two used to feed together? Or do you put it right next to your withdrawal, your need to be with him once again?

You choke on your own need.

So you take a page from Hobie's book and left. After just two days of him being gone, you packed your bags and headed out to nowhere. You can't stay anywhere that you have stayed with him before, you're afraid that you'll burst into bloodied tears if you even get a whiff of the same place where you two met all those centuries ago.

You haven't felt this alone since you were nineteen, well, you haven't been nineteen in a long time. You could barely remember your days before you were turned— died. It's like looking into a window of a well lit house whose occupants you once knew well but couldn't talk to anymore. In that well lit house is you and him. Just you and him, him and you.

The lamp posts are hazy in your eyes, buildings whizzing by in a blur of crimson tears. You took the midnight bus, hand never leaving the ring on your finger, and just sat there until the route ended. Then you rode a train, then a boat. And again and again until you reached a little coastal town with a name you could barely remember on good days. And with bad days, the crying comes and goes. Chest still aching, claw marks left all over the tiny cottage you brought.

A dark cloud has settled on you, but with each day passes, with each interaction from the town’s people with their good nature and good intentions, the dark cloud slowly ebbs away. The sun shines on you once again after a year and a half without him, it doesn't burn you nor scorch your skin anymore, it lights your way. The people and the soft sea breeze helped you cope through the uncertainty of being alone.

250 years of togetherness, and not one day you've felt alone, or felt like you've wasted your time with him. 250 years of memories, not one you felt like it went all down the drain. It was worth it, all the calm days to the rough one, it was all worth it.

You still wish to see him, to talk to him, to taste his saccharin ichor on your tongue; to kiss him until you're both laughing against each other's kiss bitten lips. It's a normal feeling, a neighbour once told you after you told her your story (excluding the vampirism). It's alright to miss someone who might not miss you back.

There's a hole that he left in your chest, and you find that you can't fill it in no matter how much you try to fill it with friends and good moments. But it shrinks, it gets smaller with time. It gets better with each day that passes. It has gotten better.

No longer do you feel that time has passed in a blur of colours. It has slowed for you, time. You go outdoors and breathe in the salty air, you talk to people, people you would've ignored back then. You do things you haven't done in decades. And you find that time has barely passed. You live each day, savour it, conquer it with warmth akin to his palm atop your own.

You wish him nothing but the best, and as you promised yourself on that day, you'll continue to love him from afar. The moon gazing down on you reminds you of him, everything reminds you of him. And that's alright, love does that. And it will continue to do so for the rest of eternity.

You've got nothing but time to heal and fill the void with as much light as you can.

—

Hobie's gnawed with exhaustion, but happy, incredibly happy. After two years of being away, he has helped so many lives with his ‘abilities’. He has plucked away corrupt officials with his own clawed hands, fangs coated in a sheen of rubies, eyes bright and almost glowing in its pools of crimson. He's proud of what he has accomplished, he hopes that you would be too.

Two years went by without you, he may have won the bet by a long shot but he can't stay for another day more. He needs to go home to you or he feels like he'll combust into searing flames if he doesn't get to see you and hold you within the day. He longs for your warm ichor on his tongue, and how you always laugh at his antics after all these years. He smiles at his ring, excited to see its partner in your finger once again.

So he forgoes to write you a letter in an attempt to surprise you with his return. He packs his bags, waves goodbye to his old and new found friends, going home without wasting another second. You're his bright spot amidst the dark eternity, his sun that lights the way, and he finally feels that he's worthy of you. Worthy of your time.

He knows himself better than he did when he was just nineteen and lost in the threads of life. He feels as if he traveled back in time, back when he was a human who craved to leave his mark in the world. Only this time, he accomplished the latter. Now, as he promised himself that day, he's coming back home.

He's going back home to you.

—

A letter mysteriously arrives at your doorstep. Its pitch black envelope and red wax seal with the unmistakable seal of the vampiric council sends anxiety coursing through your frozen veins.

Is it Hobie? Has something happened to him? Did he fight a council member again? Did you unintentionally and unknowingly break a rule? Or perhaps it's just a newsletter? You could only hope that it's a newsletter.

You open it immediately to calm yourself. Sharp nails ripping the black envelope open. Reading the contents, you sigh in relief at the invitation. An invitation to a soiree, the kind you and Hobie were never invited to because it's well known that you two have been together for centuries. Hell, it's in their records to begin with.

Tamping down your yearning thoughts, you skim the invitation some more. You find that it's a masquerade, ‘to make it interesting in finding your eternal partner,’ it read in its fancy gold lettering. They need to find a better writer to write their invitations, you thought.

You feel like scoffing at the idea of you dressing up and looking pretty just to find a person who may or may not leave you after they feel the urge to change. As you flip the matte paper around, your mind changes with the words ‘goody bags will be given to those who don't find a partner by the end of the day.’ You can't resist a good party favour, especially when it's from the rich vampire council who once gave away mustangs and harleys to the vampires who made it to a hundred. You might hate their guts, but you can't deny how well they can plan a good soiree.

Leaving your cottage, you don your thick coat and take out your trustee umbrella to wade through the sun illuminated town in hopes of buying a somewhat presentable gown to wear. You might've skipped the part in the invitation that says, ‘satisfaction guaranteed!’

—

Hobie stands on the porch of your shared home with a big giddy smile on his face. He notices all the plants you loved so much have wilted, grass turned into a shade of murky brown, and the porch is littered with dust and grime. He ignores the state of his home in favour of the thought of you being too busy traveling and meeting friends or trying out different hobbies. He could only hope that you're well. That you feed whenever you're hungry, he knows how much you hate hunting, especially without him. He remembers that you always make it a night, basically a date night with him that ends with a dead asshole in an alleyway with four unmistakable pin pricks on the side of their neck.

He should've planned more before he left, made sure that you'd be prepared for anything while he's gone. He'd hate to be gone when a would be vampire hunter attacks your home. His fists clenches around his suitcase, now his fear of you being staked through the heart in his own house takes hold of his entire body. You can handle yourself in a fight, but he's afraid of losing you in such a violent way when he could've been there to save you.

With fear clawing at his chest up to his throat, he unlocks the front door with a creak. Then the door stops, as if something is blocking the way.

“Love?” He calls for you in the dark foyer. The vase you always kept filled with flowers that sits on a desk near the door has completely covered in dust, roses wilted. Flowers no longer blooming in its porcelain form. His iced heart shudders in his chest. “Love, it's me, don't attack, yeah?” Chuckling nervously, he pushes the door fully despite the resistance.

The sound of papers crinkling under the pressure of the door sends him into a tizzy. His eyes narrow downwards at the piles upon piles of envelopes next to his feet. Squeezing inside, he tosses his suitcase haphazardly further into the foyer. It thumps loudly on the wooden floorboards, contents tumbling out and spilling over the floors.

His frantic eyes scan the letters, kneeling down, he finds that the letterbox flaps on the door is practically bursting with the amount of envelopes that were shoved in.

Frowning, he takes one in his trembling fingers, thumbs running along your name that he wrote himself.

“What the fuck?” He asks breathlessly into the void. He finds that every single one of them remains unopened.

Standing upright as quick as lightning, he runs around the house like a headless chicken looking for its head. He checks the living room, none, except for spiderwebs clinging on his guitar perched on the wall. His anxiety eats him from the inside out with every door he flings open. The sounds of his thundering footsteps echo inside the shared home, oil paintings of you and him are threatening to fall from its fixtures as he sprints through every door, looks through every crevice for you. And opens every cabinet and even climbs up to the attic to no avail.

There's no blood nor sign of a fight or forced entry. At least he knows that you haven't been attacked. But his mind lingers on one question, ‘where are you?’

He heaves in the middle of the bedroom where he saw you last. The shared coffin was left revealed and out in the open, he can still smell your perfume lingering in the velvet walls of the coffin, fingers running along the sides as he desperately tries to feel you through the fabric.

You're not here. You haven't been here for a long time.

“Fuck,” he balls up the fabric in his fist. There's no sign of you anywhere, not even a letter for him to read. It's unlike you to not leave a note. You always leave one, even if you're just going to the garden. “Where the fuck are you, love?”

The sound of the deep sounding doorbell startles him in place. With his quick movements, he makes it to the door within a half second. That could be you outside.

Hobie practically rips the door open with both hands as he wretches it away in hopes that it could be you. With a grin, he only sees a bat flapping away, and a dark envelope left at his doorstep.

“Fuckin' council.” Quickly grabbing the letter, he closes the door behind him. He could only hope that the letter is for him, that they're chastising him for what he has done. It can't be a letter of condolence pertaining to you, it can't be.

—

Your champagne flute filled with blood is starting to coagulate. Crimson staining the sides of the fancy glass as you slosh it absentmindedly. You stand in the corner right next to the fountain of warm blood gushing out of a mermaid's vase. At least you get to drink your fill.

The party is in full swing, the grand hall is filled with single vampires mingling with each other. Their mindless chatter falls on deaf ears as you look up at the crystal chandeliers illuminating the event. Cigar smoke rises up from the bloodied lips of vampires, turning the air more acrid than the scent of sweat and drying blood from the feeding area just below the event hall.

You're starting to think that the goody bag isn't worth it anymore, even if it has the meaning of life tucked inside it.

The sound of tinkling glass and footsteps takes your attention from the foggy ceiling. The stranger smiles at you through his domino mask. Lips smirking as he makes his way towards you with two bloody cups.

“May I join you?” He asks in a low soothing voice. His suit is in velvet blue, golden charms hanging off him like fine gold threads weaved over him. You raise a brow at him, hopefully he can see it rise above your flowery mask. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn't be spending the night alone like this.”

You scoff quietly, refraining from rolling your eyes. “How would you know that I'm pretty under this mask?” He grins wider at your comment. “For all you know, I'm hideous under this.”

Chuckling, the platinum haired man shrugs. “I just know. You give off the aura of someone gorgeous.”

You scoff light-heartedly against the rim of your glass. “I bet you've said those exact words a dozen times tonight.”

He smirks, fang poking out from his lips. “No, just this once.” Plucking your coagulated drink from your hand, he swiftly and gracefully replaces it with a new one. The drink is still warm, fresh from the veins. “I only use my skills wisely lest it be wasted.”

You stare at him with a raised brow, the corner of your lips curl into an unsure smile. “Wasted on who?” Taking a step away from the man who clearly wants his fangs in your neck, you dawdle on drinking from the glass he gave you.

Chuckling, he glances at the vampires milling about the ballroom, their fancy clothes swishing from side to side as they try their best in recreating a moment in the past.

“The…unremarkable vampires.”

“And you think I'm remarkable enough for you…?”

The stranger takes your hand without another word, leaning down to press a cold kiss against your skin. “Just call me Count Tepes.”

You blink at his name, then you feel it, a recognizable warmth flooding your frozen veins akin to a gentle summer's breeze upon your cheek. A comfortable heat pressing against your throat, a familiar presence making its way towards you in haste.

“Who's this, love? You chattin’ up my wife?” Hobie's arm is suddenly around your waist, calloused hand pressing gently atop your bodice, fingers slithering under the ribbons on your hips in a comfortable and welcomed possessive nature. “Didn't know we were lookin' for a third. If we were, I wouldn't choose this bloke.”

As you crane your neck to stare at him, your expression morphs into a combination of pain and relief. “Hobie?”

“Yeah, lovie?” He pulls you closer against him, a pearlescent mask hiding half of his face but you could recognize him by mere touch alone, by his tone, by his warmth. You could lose him in the crowd and you'd know him from the sound of his footsteps. His smirk turns into a frown at your expression, hand squeezing your side once for comfort. “You alright?”

“Is he bothering you?” The count asks with an annoyed tone. Golden eyes narrowed to slits at the punk holding you close.

“I think you're the one bein' a bother ‘ere, mate.” Hobie sneers, tugging away at your glass to chug it in one gulp without leaving his glare at the fellow vampire. He licks at his bloodied lips, fangs bared, blood dripping down from the corner of his smirk.

Tepes raises a sharp brow at you, you, whose mind is running a thousand miles per hour. With a heavy inhale, you give him your best smile. “No need to worry, I'm with him.” Hobie puffs out his chest smugly.

The Count chuckles with a shake of his head in reply. “Not again, just my luck, hm?” Taking a swig, he swallows down the thick blood. “It's either couples looking for a third, a fourth, or even a fifth. Or someone who just went to the party to inspire jealousy in their husband.” Glancing at you, he sighs and nods curtly at you before leaving without another word.

“Really, love, him?” Hobie scoffs with a grin, ringed finger tapping on his— your glass. “You could do better—”

You whirl away from him, not having the heart to fully push him away. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doin' ‘ere?” Hobie furrows his pierced brows, his identical ring still on his ring finger. The ruby glows under the chandeliers, the same shade as his immortal eyes.

You stare at him with bemused shock, “you left!”

“On a bloody soul searchin’ not leavin' you!”

“What?” You blink rapidly at his words. “You said you couldn't stay anymore—” a cough stops you in your tracks. An older vampire with the biggest beard you've ever seen taps his foot impatiently, thick brow raised in annoyance. “Sorry.” You murmur before leaving towards the closed balcony doors.

“Sorry, Santa.” Hobie waves him away, following right behind you as you struggle to open the double doors. “You have to—” he places the glass down to help you by putting his hands above your own. “— love, you have to push the bloody knob.”

His hands felt like how they used to, as if two years hadn't passed. With a click, the doors swing open. “Damnit, I had it.” You step into the cold air, trembling hands resting on the cool marble balcony.

The doors shut close as Hobie tentatively steps closer to you. “You look fit.” You scoff at him as his shoulders heave in an inhale. “I wouldn't leave you.”

“But you did.” You utter under your breath, you know he heard it above the breeze.

“Can I explain myself? I don't want to fight, love.” 250 years together and you've only fought a handful of times, and the serious ones are lesser than the nonsensical ones. With your apprehensive nod, he crosses the small distance, settling himself right next to you and at the same time giving you enough space. “I didn't break it off.” He takes off his mask, sighing heavily as he twirls his ring around his finger. “I should've explained it better.”

You finally meet with his eyes. The ring in your pocket seems to grow heavier. “You were gone for two years, Hobie.”

“For a good cause, I didn't feel like myself and I wanted to be better, not just for you but for myself.” He leans closer to you, the full moon bathing him in silver, the light caught by his piercings. “250 years together, do you think I'd leave you just like that?”

“You didn't have to be better for me. You're already great to me.” Your affectionate words echo in the breeze as his chest clenches, guilt stomping down on him. “I thought you didn't find me fascinating anymore. That you didn't need or want me anymore.” Your voice is small, almost broken. “250 years together could do that, Hobie.”

“I could never not find you fascinatin’, and I get to wake up next to everythin' I could ever need or want. You're anythin’ but.” With a brave hand, he reaches for your cheek, wiping a bloodied tear you didn't notice you've let out. “I thought you got hurt, or worse.”

He feels a tear run down his cheek. Gently taking your mask off of your face, he could finally see you in all your glory. He gazes into your shining eyes— he may not be able to see himself in the mirror, but he doesn't need to when your eyes are enough to reflect his own blissful face.

You lean further into his hold, palms reaching towards his chest like you used to. “D–did you do it? Did you get to do what you wanted to? Are you happy?”

Hobie nods before placing his forehead against yours to savour your close presence. “I did, all that and more. And I've always been happy with you.”

Smiling, you pat his cheek affectionatly. “Then I'm proud of you.” Leaning away, you wipe away a stray tear from his chiseled cheek. “So it was a misunderstanding? You didn't actually break off our…marriage?”

He smiles softly, knuckles gently running along your jaw. “Why’d you hesitate, hm? And yeah, I should've explained myself better. ‘m sorry.”

You thump your fists on his leather clad chest as he chuckles. “You could've saved me from a lot of fucking tears, Hobie.” You can now admire him fully, his outfit is a contrast to the other party goers with their silks and chiffon, but he makes it look good— he always looks this good.

Taking your wrists, placing it atop his still heart, he tilts his head with an affectionate smile. “You didn't answer my question. And you took off your ring.” He raises a questioning brow, fingers bracelets around your wrist as he moves your empty ring finger around. “Were you honestly tryin' to get with that wanker?”

“No,” you say immediately, “And if I remember correctly, we never technically married. I'm only here because they had nice things in the party favors. And I thought, ‘why not? The worst that could happen is that I get a bloody ipad instead of a mustang like I hoped.’” Your lips wobble as you tamp down a sob, eyes getting blurry. “I couldn't replace you just like that. It would take me a thousand years to get over you, you idiot.”

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly, a sound you dearly missed. He pauses then inhales, eyes warmly staring at you through the haze of affection. “Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much.” With a quick pull, he embraces you firmly with his face hidden on the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your throat. “You're right, ‘m an idiot for not explainin’ better, and for not takin’ you with me. ‘m sorry.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter, nose nuzzling his temple. “Could've just told me you were having a mid-life crisis.”

He laughs against your skin. “I sent you letters everyday, you didn't reply.” Subtly, he dances with you from side to side under the moonlight and the music of crickets chirping. “I went home and you weren't there. If I wasn't already dead, you would've given me a heart attack.”

“I couldn't stay there alone.” You hold him impossibly closer. “You weren't there.”

Hobie imagines you in that big house all alone waiting for him. “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

“I know, I forgive you. Just bring me next time, okay?” He nods with a grin. You lean away, cradling his face in your careful hold, thumbs rubbing along his cheeks. “I'll read your letters, all of them once we get back home.”

“Why read ‘em when I can tell you?” He grins, temptation pushing him to meet with your waiting lips. “‘sides, ‘m a better storyteller than a writer.”

You chuckle softly as he pecks you once, twice then leaning away only to move back with another gentle kiss. “I've got stories to tell too.” You utter against his soft lips.

“Yeah?” He smiles proudly at you. “Can you tell me all about them while your lips are on mine?”

You beam at him. “I can, I have telepathy for a reason, Hobs.”

“Thank fuck for telepathy.” He says as he kisses you fervently just like he always had in 250 years of being together. “I should've married you, lovie.” His words are uttered in between kisses.

“We have time.” You whisper against his smiling lips whilst he picks your pockets and slips your ring in your finger once again.

As you kiss him, you can see that he's already planning the event in his giddy mind. You tell him the three words you've been aching to say back in his head. And in turn, he takes you further into his arms as dark wispy smoke envelopes you both in an embrace. In a blink, you're back home with him. The house feels warm again.

[al1x00]

I HAVE ONLY ONE THING TO SAY

GAHH I KNOW I'M LATE TO THIS BUT GODDAMN IT I LOVED IT.

Everytime I read another one of your vampire!Hobie fics I just fall more and more in love with him. IT'S A NEVER-ENDING CYCLE OF MADNESS AND I'M NEVER LEAVING.

The tender words, the touches, the longing for each other but ultimately deciding to give it time AND THE WAY I JUST FELT THE YEARNING UGHH

NGL I WAS KINDA SCARED THE MORE I WENT ON AND READ ABT HE WASN'T COMING BACK AND R GOING AWAY FOR A MOMENT I THOUGHT THEY WEREN'T GONNA MEET AGAIN

The "didn't know we were looking for a third" line made me giggle ngl🤭🤭 Also it's so curious to me how polygamous relationships are so frequent between vampires. Like in WWDITS with the Baron, Nadja and Lazlo both acknowledge they've both been with him and just don't give a shit in the end HAHAHAHA

R is God's strongest soldier fr because if it was me the moment I would see Hobie at the masquerade I would be all over him sobbing and crying pathetically because I'm just clingy like that😔😔

Telepathy can come in handy from time to time I guess🤭🤭

The way I went from almost sobbing my eyes out of their sockets to giggling and kicking my feet in the end made me laugh ngl HAHAHA, but seriously though you always outdo yourself everytime Katy, I LOVE YOU YOU'RE AMAZING🖤🖤🖤

250 Years of Longing

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x Fem! Vampire! Reader

Word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: A brief misunderstanding leads to years of heartache. You mourn 250 years of love while his heart remains to you and only you.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, divorced! Vampire! AU, established relationship, CW blood, talks of marriage, hurt/comfort, some fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @pleaktale !!! This au was born in our dms lol

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Hobie's words are muffled in your ears as you try to hide your trembling, lovelorn body. Your head is in your hands, wide eyes downturned towards the same scruffed floors you've lived in for thirty years with him. You still remember the day you moved in, the walls were in bright yellow back then, wooden floors hidden by some gaudy shag carpet from the 70s. You still remember that decade like it was yesterday, maybe it was just yesterday, being a vampire means that time has moved differently for you. Time is merely something you gloss over, years flying by in a wink. Barely a flutter in your immortal eyes.

Even technology is moving faster and innovating quicker than you could manage to keep up. The next thing you know, you've been alive for more than 250 years.

250 years of being with him, 250 years of wearing the same identical ring, 250 years of loving him. All those 250 years are going through your mind a thousand miles per hour, your first kiss with him, your confession. Or was it him who confessed to you? Were you the one who got sick and he had to find a vampire to turn you and in turn to change him? Or was it the other way around? Memory is a fickle thing when you're older than any living human on earth. You've forgotten a lot of things, memory hazy and foggy like a dream you don't quite remember the second you wake. You wish this was just a dream, a nightmare that you'll wake up from.

“I need to try— I need to go, love.” His words wake you up from the lucid nightmare. He stands in the middle of your shared room, eyes forlorn, brows pinched together like he's in agony. “I can't stay ‘ere like this.”

If his words could kill, you'd be staked through the heart by now. 250 years of being together, practically joined at the hip. A love beyond a simple marriage on paper. And he's just standing there, breaking your long dead heart.

You look up at him through bloody tears, nails digging into your scalp as you try to hide your wails. An impossible feat. “Was it me? Did I do something?” You've faced vampire hunters together, faced horrors beyond belief to survive and continue to live with him. But you were never terrified, until now.

He immediately shakes his head, moving closer to you to take your trembling hands. The identical rings on his and your finger clinks together as he clasps your hand. “No, it's not you, love.” Kneeling down, he gazes at you through wine red eyes, bloody tears threatening to spill over his cheeks that you would always caress in your shared coffin that's hidden beneath the canopy bed you're currently languishing in.

“That's what they all say.” You utter in a small voice that he hasn't heard in decades.

Grasping your hands, he rubs his thumbs over your pulse where your heart would beat. Something he still does even though your hearts haven't beat together in sync ever since that fateful day.

“You didn't do anythin' wrong. I jus’ need to find myself, go out and see the world in my own eyes.”

You nod bitterly. “Without the burden of me.”

“That's not true, you're not a burden.” His hands reach towards your cheeks, wiping the bloody tears cascading down them like rain drops on a cold autumn day. “There are people I could help out there—”

“And I can't? Why can't you just bring me with you?” You wrench yourself away from him, walking away from the bed to give him space lest you let him see you like this. “Just say you're tired of me.” Hugging yourself, you feel his arms wrap around your middle, face tucked in the crook of your neck right where your scar sits.

“‘m not tired of you.” He says against your skin.

Your twist in his arms to face him fully, palms resting on his chest, eyes dim and scared. “Then why leave? Why do you want to leave me?” His shirt is bunched around your fists, desperate to cling to him despite his wishes. “250 years, Hobie. I've known you for more than that, been with you through all of it. I deserve to know why.” You try to reign in your anger and frustration but your fangs suddenly appearing betrays you.

“I don't want to leave you— Time, love. I jus’ need time. That's all we've got.”

You're tired, tired of asking why, tired of clinging to him like a life raft. Tired of your chest aching and feeling heavy as he looks at you with pity— was it pity? Or something else? So you let him go. Fists unfurling, palms leaving his chest as you step away from him.

“Alright.” You sniff, expression falling stiff as you straighten up. “I won't stop you.” If your love for him keeps him from doing what he loves, then you'll let him go. You can still love him from afar, even if he doesn't want you anymore.

“Love.” Hobie reaches your hand, palm sliding up to your elbows as he pulls you closer to embrace you fully. “250 years, not once did I feel I didn't love you.”

You close your eyes as you find yourself hidden atop his throat, memorizing his scent and how he holds you. Feeling how his own tears drip down on you, how his skin feels against your own. Memory is a fickle thing, you'll soon forget, but you don't want to. So you'll cling to him, even if it's just a memory of him.

“I love you, y’know that right?” He whispers to you, and only to you.

“I—” you falter. If you say it back, it feels like goodbye. And you don't want to say goodbye to the one person you have loved for centuries. “—I know, Hobie.” You could only say, saying it back means that you're never going to see him again. Saying it back means it's the end.

He could only hold onto you tighter, lips pecking the crown of your head so gently that you barely felt it in your lovelorn state.

You've got time, but it won't be spent with him. Eternity would feel empty for you now.

—

It's been six months of being alone, six months since he moved out to find his purpose. He wanted to leave partly so you could also find yourself and be yourself without his presence. 250 years of being together would do that. He doesn't know where he ends and begins when your soul and his own are tangled together for eternity. And he wants that for you too— to be your own self and not just another vampire in the cursed flock.

To be a better eternal partner for you is one of his goals, he needed to leave so he could be better, so he could be good to you for another 250 years more.

And he's willing— wishing that he gets to spend eternity with you after he's satisfied with what he has done to help people. He just hopes that you'd be home to welcome him back once he does. He's sure that you're already making good progress in finding yourself. He already misses you. A lot.

He's already aching for home and your embrace.

So much has happened in those six months, he's excited to tell you everything he has encountered. And even more excited to hear your voice again, to hold you again and sleep in the same coffin with you again and not the shoddy temporary coffin he made out of planks to rest in. He can already see your ecstatic face when he enters the abode again.

Ned has told him that he won't last a year without you. He'd know, Hobie has been friends with him for almost a hundred years now. But he refuses to let him win, even though he really wants to see you right now, or even call you on one of those phones that people seem to be addicted to. But you haven't picked up his calls, or even answered his letters. He has sent one everyday since he left, he's starting to worry now. Even the crew who urged him to go on a worldwide mission with him has placed bets on when he'll run back to you. With the earliest being tomorrow, and the longest being a year. He intends to make them lose, but by god, he misses you so damn much that he's starting to see you in his dreams. And see glimpses of you in the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't regret his decision, but a part of him thinks that you were right— that he should've brought you with him on his journey. Without you his frozen heart feels like it's out of his own body. Walking around without him, living without him. But he knows that it's for the best. It's only temporary, he keeps repeating to himself every night. He'll be with you soon.

As he writes today's letter, he smiles, hands scribbling his day away on the fragrant paper that he knows you'd love especially when it's sprayed with his own perfume.

He can't wait to see you back home.

—

You were absolutely losing it in that house. You keep seeing him everywhere. With every clatter in the halls, you run towards it in hopes that it's him making a ruckus in the kitchen. With every shadow cast on the walls, you see him walking towards you, arms outstretched to hold you. And then for a moment, he's gone, like a whiff of smoke billowing from a lit cigar.

The house that has love built within its walls seems to tilt in your vision. Weighed down by your grief. You don't know where to place your feeling of abandonment, do you place it in the kitchen where you two used to feed together? Or do you put it right next to your withdrawal, your need to be with him once again?

You choke on your own need.

So you take a page from Hobie's book and left. After just two days of him being gone, you packed your bags and headed out to nowhere. You can't stay anywhere that you have stayed with him before, you're afraid that you'll burst into bloodied tears if you even get a whiff of the same place where you two met all those centuries ago.

You haven't felt this alone since you were nineteen, well, you haven't been nineteen in a long time. You could barely remember your days before you were turned— died. It's like looking into a window of a well lit house whose occupants you once knew well but couldn't talk to anymore. In that well lit house is you and him. Just you and him, him and you.

The lamp posts are hazy in your eyes, buildings whizzing by in a blur of crimson tears. You took the midnight bus, hand never leaving the ring on your finger, and just sat there until the route ended. Then you rode a train, then a boat. And again and again until you reached a little coastal town with a name you could barely remember on good days. And with bad days, the crying comes and goes. Chest still aching, claw marks left all over the tiny cottage you brought.

A dark cloud has settled on you, but with each day passes, with each interaction from the town’s people with their good nature and good intentions, the dark cloud slowly ebbs away. The sun shines on you once again after a year and a half without him, it doesn't burn you nor scorch your skin anymore, it lights your way. The people and the soft sea breeze helped you cope through the uncertainty of being alone.

250 years of togetherness, and not one day you've felt alone, or felt like you've wasted your time with him. 250 years of memories, not one you felt like it went all down the drain. It was worth it, all the calm days to the rough one, it was all worth it.

You still wish to see him, to talk to him, to taste his saccharin ichor on your tongue; to kiss him until you're both laughing against each other's kiss bitten lips. It's a normal feeling, a neighbour once told you after you told her your story (excluding the vampirism). It's alright to miss someone who might not miss you back.

There's a hole that he left in your chest, and you find that you can't fill it in no matter how much you try to fill it with friends and good moments. But it shrinks, it gets smaller with time. It gets better with each day that passes. It has gotten better.

No longer do you feel that time has passed in a blur of colours. It has slowed for you, time. You go outdoors and breathe in the salty air, you talk to people, people you would've ignored back then. You do things you haven't done in decades. And you find that time has barely passed. You live each day, savour it, conquer it with warmth akin to his palm atop your own.

You wish him nothing but the best, and as you promised yourself on that day, you'll continue to love him from afar. The moon gazing down on you reminds you of him, everything reminds you of him. And that's alright, love does that. And it will continue to do so for the rest of eternity.

You've got nothing but time to heal and fill the void with as much light as you can.

—

Hobie's gnawed with exhaustion, but happy, incredibly happy. After two years of being away, he has helped so many lives with his ‘abilities’. He has plucked away corrupt officials with his own clawed hands, fangs coated in a sheen of rubies, eyes bright and almost glowing in its pools of crimson. He's proud of what he has accomplished, he hopes that you would be too.

Two years went by without you, he may have won the bet by a long shot but he can't stay for another day more. He needs to go home to you or he feels like he'll combust into searing flames if he doesn't get to see you and hold you within the day. He longs for your warm ichor on his tongue, and how you always laugh at his antics after all these years. He smiles at his ring, excited to see its partner in your finger once again.

So he forgoes to write you a letter in an attempt to surprise you with his return. He packs his bags, waves goodbye to his old and new found friends, going home without wasting another second. You're his bright spot amidst the dark eternity, his sun that lights the way, and he finally feels that he's worthy of you. Worthy of your time.

He knows himself better than he did when he was just nineteen and lost in the threads of life. He feels as if he traveled back in time, back when he was a human who craved to leave his mark in the world. Only this time, he accomplished the latter. Now, as he promised himself that day, he's coming back home.

He's going back home to you.

—

A letter mysteriously arrives at your doorstep. Its pitch black envelope and red wax seal with the unmistakable seal of the vampiric council sends anxiety coursing through your frozen veins.

Is it Hobie? Has something happened to him? Did he fight a council member again? Did you unintentionally and unknowingly break a rule? Or perhaps it's just a newsletter? You could only hope that it's a newsletter.

You open it immediately to calm yourself. Sharp nails ripping the black envelope open. Reading the contents, you sigh in relief at the invitation. An invitation to a soiree, the kind you and Hobie were never invited to because it's well known that you two have been together for centuries. Hell, it's in their records to begin with.

Tamping down your yearning thoughts, you skim the invitation some more. You find that it's a masquerade, ‘to make it interesting in finding your eternal partner,’ it read in its fancy gold lettering. They need to find a better writer to write their invitations, you thought.

You feel like scoffing at the idea of you dressing up and looking pretty just to find a person who may or may not leave you after they feel the urge to change. As you flip the matte paper around, your mind changes with the words ‘goody bags will be given to those who don't find a partner by the end of the day.’ You can't resist a good party favour, especially when it's from the rich vampire council who once gave away mustangs and harleys to the vampires who made it to a hundred. You might hate their guts, but you can't deny how well they can plan a good soiree.

Leaving your cottage, you don your thick coat and take out your trustee umbrella to wade through the sun illuminated town in hopes of buying a somewhat presentable gown to wear. You might've skipped the part in the invitation that says, ‘satisfaction guaranteed!’

—

Hobie stands on the porch of your shared home with a big giddy smile on his face. He notices all the plants you loved so much have wilted, grass turned into a shade of murky brown, and the porch is littered with dust and grime. He ignores the state of his home in favour of the thought of you being too busy traveling and meeting friends or trying out different hobbies. He could only hope that you're well. That you feed whenever you're hungry, he knows how much you hate hunting, especially without him. He remembers that you always make it a night, basically a date night with him that ends with a dead asshole in an alleyway with four unmistakable pin pricks on the side of their neck.

He should've planned more before he left, made sure that you'd be prepared for anything while he's gone. He'd hate to be gone when a would be vampire hunter attacks your home. His fists clenches around his suitcase, now his fear of you being staked through the heart in his own house takes hold of his entire body. You can handle yourself in a fight, but he's afraid of losing you in such a violent way when he could've been there to save you.

With fear clawing at his chest up to his throat, he unlocks the front door with a creak. Then the door stops, as if something is blocking the way.

“Love?” He calls for you in the dark foyer. The vase you always kept filled with flowers that sits on a desk near the door has completely covered in dust, roses wilted. Flowers no longer blooming in its porcelain form. His iced heart shudders in his chest. “Love, it's me, don't attack, yeah?” Chuckling nervously, he pushes the door fully despite the resistance.

The sound of papers crinkling under the pressure of the door sends him into a tizzy. His eyes narrow downwards at the piles upon piles of envelopes next to his feet. Squeezing inside, he tosses his suitcase haphazardly further into the foyer. It thumps loudly on the wooden floorboards, contents tumbling out and spilling over the floors.

His frantic eyes scan the letters, kneeling down, he finds that the letterbox flaps on the door is practically bursting with the amount of envelopes that were shoved in.

Frowning, he takes one in his trembling fingers, thumbs running along your name that he wrote himself.

“What the fuck?” He asks breathlessly into the void. He finds that every single one of them remains unopened.

Standing upright as quick as lightning, he runs around the house like a headless chicken looking for its head. He checks the living room, none, except for spiderwebs clinging on his guitar perched on the wall. His anxiety eats him from the inside out with every door he flings open. The sounds of his thundering footsteps echo inside the shared home, oil paintings of you and him are threatening to fall from its fixtures as he sprints through every door, looks through every crevice for you. And opens every cabinet and even climbs up to the attic to no avail.

There's no blood nor sign of a fight or forced entry. At least he knows that you haven't been attacked. But his mind lingers on one question, ‘where are you?’

He heaves in the middle of the bedroom where he saw you last. The shared coffin was left revealed and out in the open, he can still smell your perfume lingering in the velvet walls of the coffin, fingers running along the sides as he desperately tries to feel you through the fabric.

You're not here. You haven't been here for a long time.

“Fuck,” he balls up the fabric in his fist. There's no sign of you anywhere, not even a letter for him to read. It's unlike you to not leave a note. You always leave one, even if you're just going to the garden. “Where the fuck are you, love?”

The sound of the deep sounding doorbell startles him in place. With his quick movements, he makes it to the door within a half second. That could be you outside.

Hobie practically rips the door open with both hands as he wretches it away in hopes that it could be you. With a grin, he only sees a bat flapping away, and a dark envelope left at his doorstep.

“Fuckin' council.” Quickly grabbing the letter, he closes the door behind him. He could only hope that the letter is for him, that they're chastising him for what he has done. It can't be a letter of condolence pertaining to you, it can't be.

—

Your champagne flute filled with blood is starting to coagulate. Crimson staining the sides of the fancy glass as you slosh it absentmindedly. You stand in the corner right next to the fountain of warm blood gushing out of a mermaid's vase. At least you get to drink your fill.

The party is in full swing, the grand hall is filled with single vampires mingling with each other. Their mindless chatter falls on deaf ears as you look up at the crystal chandeliers illuminating the event. Cigar smoke rises up from the bloodied lips of vampires, turning the air more acrid than the scent of sweat and drying blood from the feeding area just below the event hall.

You're starting to think that the goody bag isn't worth it anymore, even if it has the meaning of life tucked inside it.

The sound of tinkling glass and footsteps takes your attention from the foggy ceiling. The stranger smiles at you through his domino mask. Lips smirking as he makes his way towards you with two bloody cups.

“May I join you?” He asks in a low soothing voice. His suit is in velvet blue, golden charms hanging off him like fine gold threads weaved over him. You raise a brow at him, hopefully he can see it rise above your flowery mask. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn't be spending the night alone like this.”

You scoff quietly, refraining from rolling your eyes. “How would you know that I'm pretty under this mask?” He grins wider at your comment. “For all you know, I'm hideous under this.”

Chuckling, the platinum haired man shrugs. “I just know. You give off the aura of someone gorgeous.”

You scoff light-heartedly against the rim of your glass. “I bet you've said those exact words a dozen times tonight.”

He smirks, fang poking out from his lips. “No, just this once.” Plucking your coagulated drink from your hand, he swiftly and gracefully replaces it with a new one. The drink is still warm, fresh from the veins. “I only use my skills wisely lest it be wasted.”

You stare at him with a raised brow, the corner of your lips curl into an unsure smile. “Wasted on who?” Taking a step away from the man who clearly wants his fangs in your neck, you dawdle on drinking from the glass he gave you.

Chuckling, he glances at the vampires milling about the ballroom, their fancy clothes swishing from side to side as they try their best in recreating a moment in the past.

“The…unremarkable vampires.”

“And you think I'm remarkable enough for you…?”

The stranger takes your hand without another word, leaning down to press a cold kiss against your skin. “Just call me Count Tepes.”

You blink at his name, then you feel it, a recognizable warmth flooding your frozen veins akin to a gentle summer's breeze upon your cheek. A comfortable heat pressing against your throat, a familiar presence making its way towards you in haste.

“Who's this, love? You chattin’ up my wife?” Hobie's arm is suddenly around your waist, calloused hand pressing gently atop your bodice, fingers slithering under the ribbons on your hips in a comfortable and welcomed possessive nature. “Didn't know we were lookin' for a third. If we were, I wouldn't choose this bloke.”

As you crane your neck to stare at him, your expression morphs into a combination of pain and relief. “Hobie?”

“Yeah, lovie?” He pulls you closer against him, a pearlescent mask hiding half of his face but you could recognize him by mere touch alone, by his tone, by his warmth. You could lose him in the crowd and you'd know him from the sound of his footsteps. His smirk turns into a frown at your expression, hand squeezing your side once for comfort. “You alright?”

“Is he bothering you?” The count asks with an annoyed tone. Golden eyes narrowed to slits at the punk holding you close.

“I think you're the one bein' a bother ‘ere, mate.” Hobie sneers, tugging away at your glass to chug it in one gulp without leaving his glare at the fellow vampire. He licks at his bloodied lips, fangs bared, blood dripping down from the corner of his smirk.

Tepes raises a sharp brow at you, you, whose mind is running a thousand miles per hour. With a heavy inhale, you give him your best smile. “No need to worry, I'm with him.” Hobie puffs out his chest smugly.

The Count chuckles with a shake of his head in reply. “Not again, just my luck, hm?” Taking a swig, he swallows down the thick blood. “It's either couples looking for a third, a fourth, or even a fifth. Or someone who just went to the party to inspire jealousy in their husband.” Glancing at you, he sighs and nods curtly at you before leaving without another word.

“Really, love, him?” Hobie scoffs with a grin, ringed finger tapping on his— your glass. “You could do better—”

You whirl away from him, not having the heart to fully push him away. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doin' ‘ere?” Hobie furrows his pierced brows, his identical ring still on his ring finger. The ruby glows under the chandeliers, the same shade as his immortal eyes.

You stare at him with bemused shock, “you left!”

“On a bloody soul searchin’ not leavin' you!”

“What?” You blink rapidly at his words. “You said you couldn't stay anymore—” a cough stops you in your tracks. An older vampire with the biggest beard you've ever seen taps his foot impatiently, thick brow raised in annoyance. “Sorry.” You murmur before leaving towards the closed balcony doors.

“Sorry, Santa.” Hobie waves him away, following right behind you as you struggle to open the double doors. “You have to—” he places the glass down to help you by putting his hands above your own. “— love, you have to push the bloody knob.”

His hands felt like how they used to, as if two years hadn't passed. With a click, the doors swing open. “Damnit, I had it.” You step into the cold air, trembling hands resting on the cool marble balcony.

The doors shut close as Hobie tentatively steps closer to you. “You look fit.” You scoff at him as his shoulders heave in an inhale. “I wouldn't leave you.”

“But you did.” You utter under your breath, you know he heard it above the breeze.

“Can I explain myself? I don't want to fight, love.” 250 years together and you've only fought a handful of times, and the serious ones are lesser than the nonsensical ones. With your apprehensive nod, he crosses the small distance, settling himself right next to you and at the same time giving you enough space. “I didn't break it off.” He takes off his mask, sighing heavily as he twirls his ring around his finger. “I should've explained it better.”

You finally meet with his eyes. The ring in your pocket seems to grow heavier. “You were gone for two years, Hobie.”

“For a good cause, I didn't feel like myself and I wanted to be better, not just for you but for myself.” He leans closer to you, the full moon bathing him in silver, the light caught by his piercings. “250 years together, do you think I'd leave you just like that?”

“You didn't have to be better for me. You're already great to me.” Your affectionate words echo in the breeze as his chest clenches, guilt stomping down on him. “I thought you didn't find me fascinating anymore. That you didn't need or want me anymore.” Your voice is small, almost broken. “250 years together could do that, Hobie.”

“I could never not find you fascinatin’, and I get to wake up next to everythin' I could ever need or want. You're anythin’ but.” With a brave hand, he reaches for your cheek, wiping a bloodied tear you didn't notice you've let out. “I thought you got hurt, or worse.”

He feels a tear run down his cheek. Gently taking your mask off of your face, he could finally see you in all your glory. He gazes into your shining eyes— he may not be able to see himself in the mirror, but he doesn't need to when your eyes are enough to reflect his own blissful face.

You lean further into his hold, palms reaching towards his chest like you used to. “D–did you do it? Did you get to do what you wanted to? Are you happy?”

Hobie nods before placing his forehead against yours to savour your close presence. “I did, all that and more. And I've always been happy with you.”

Smiling, you pat his cheek affectionatly. “Then I'm proud of you.” Leaning away, you wipe away a stray tear from his chiseled cheek. “So it was a misunderstanding? You didn't actually break off our…marriage?”

He smiles softly, knuckles gently running along your jaw. “Why’d you hesitate, hm? And yeah, I should've explained myself better. ‘m sorry.”

You thump your fists on his leather clad chest as he chuckles. “You could've saved me from a lot of fucking tears, Hobie.” You can now admire him fully, his outfit is a contrast to the other party goers with their silks and chiffon, but he makes it look good— he always looks this good.

Taking your wrists, placing it atop his still heart, he tilts his head with an affectionate smile. “You didn't answer my question. And you took off your ring.” He raises a questioning brow, fingers bracelets around your wrist as he moves your empty ring finger around. “Were you honestly tryin' to get with that wanker?”

“No,” you say immediately, “And if I remember correctly, we never technically married. I'm only here because they had nice things in the party favors. And I thought, ‘why not? The worst that could happen is that I get a bloody ipad instead of a mustang like I hoped.’” Your lips wobble as you tamp down a sob, eyes getting blurry. “I couldn't replace you just like that. It would take me a thousand years to get over you, you idiot.”

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly, a sound you dearly missed. He pauses then inhales, eyes warmly staring at you through the haze of affection. “Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much.” With a quick pull, he embraces you firmly with his face hidden on the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your throat. “You're right, ‘m an idiot for not explainin’ better, and for not takin’ you with me. ‘m sorry.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter, nose nuzzling his temple. “Could've just told me you were having a mid-life crisis.”

He laughs against your skin. “I sent you letters everyday, you didn't reply.” Subtly, he dances with you from side to side under the moonlight and the music of crickets chirping. “I went home and you weren't there. If I wasn't already dead, you would've given me a heart attack.”

“I couldn't stay there alone.” You hold him impossibly closer. “You weren't there.”

Hobie imagines you in that big house all alone waiting for him. “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

“I know, I forgive you. Just bring me next time, okay?” He nods with a grin. You lean away, cradling his face in your careful hold, thumbs rubbing along his cheeks. “I'll read your letters, all of them once we get back home.”

“Why read ‘em when I can tell you?” He grins, temptation pushing him to meet with your waiting lips. “‘sides, ‘m a better storyteller than a writer.”

You chuckle softly as he pecks you once, twice then leaning away only to move back with another gentle kiss. “I've got stories to tell too.” You utter against his soft lips.

“Yeah?” He smiles proudly at you. “Can you tell me all about them while your lips are on mine?”

You beam at him. “I can, I have telepathy for a reason, Hobs.”

“Thank fuck for telepathy.” He says as he kisses you fervently just like he always had in 250 years of being together. “I should've married you, lovie.” His words are uttered in between kisses.

“We have time.” You whisper against his smiling lips whilst he picks your pockets and slips your ring in your finger once again.

As you kiss him, you can see that he's already planning the event in his giddy mind. You tell him the three words you've been aching to say back in his head. And in turn, he takes you further into his arms as dark wispy smoke envelopes you both in an embrace. In a blink, you're back home with him. The house feels warm again.

[al1x00]

AAAA IPOB!HOBIE MY BELOVEDD HE'S BACK!!

I can't help but find Hobat cute even when he's being a little shit like he's just a baby :((

“Motherfucker drunk from an incredibly inebriated CEO of a shady tech company.” OUT OF ALL PEOPLE HOBIE. OUT OF ALL PEOPLE YOU COULD CHOOSE FROM.

"you flash an image into your mind of him wearing a fancy three piece suit with a look of sheer egotistical pleasure while counting wads of dirty money." WHY DID I HAVE THAT IMAGE SO VIVID IN MY MIND HELPP😭😭😭

I'm convinced that Hobie's neighbours as either just really fucking oblivious and don't realize their neighbour is a thousand year old vampire or they all just know and decide not to fuck around with him

"You love the place though, it's home and you wouldn't have it any other way." THAT'S SO SWEET PLEASE :((

LMAOO WHEN HOBAT SMASHED INTO THE WALL I IMAGINED ONE OF THOSE CARTOONY SCENES WHERE THE CHARACTER RUNS INTO A WALL AND IT LEAVES A DARKER PRINT OF THEM LIKE PLEASEEE I'M DYING

“What am I doin' on the floor? We havin’ our fun time on the floor now?” OH?😏

"You have a feeling it's because it reminds him of the unobtainable warmth of the sun." That's so sad actually tho, it's like he misses the warmth of the sun he used to be under before he got bit and turned into a vampire but since he can't do anything about it he chose those to remind him of its colour :((

PLEASEE R AND HOBIE SLEEP TOGETHER IN THE COFFIN THAT'S SO SWEETT COUPLE GOALS FR.

“You bathe in a tub full of blood? I don't remember you ever doing that, Hobart.” The way this just gave me the most scrumptious drawing idea RAHH I NEED TO DRAW MORE VAMPIRE!HOBIE HE'S MY RELIGION.

"the blood juice box (that may or may not have come from your veins) helped a lot in flushing his system." I think we took the "being his personal bloodbag" joke TOO SERIOUSLY BUT THE DEDICATION THO.

"He kisses you, and you don't mind the copper taste anymore as the kiss gets sweeter than ambrosia and as saccharine as nectar whilst he pulls you into the tub with him." ...I think my jaw just dropped someone come pick it up and put it back in place please and thank you🤭🤭🤭

Also I love the dynamic between R and IPOB!Hobie LIKE IT'S EVERYTHING TO ME. The way they were supposed to hate eachother, that R was taught to kill him at sight but now they grew to love eachother that much that they put apart their differences, how R learned to love his heart even though it stopped beating a long time ago THEY MAKE ME CRYY I LOVE THEM SM.

KATY I ADORE YOU THANKS FOR THE FOOD I ALWAYS APPRECIATE WHOLEHEARTEDLY ALL THE IPOB TREATS YOU GIVE US THIS WENT BEYOND MY EXPECTATIONS❤️❤️ (ALSO I KNOW I'M SUPER LATE TO THIS BUT IT'S BECAUSE I'VE BEEN RE-READING THIS NONSTOP FOR THREE DAYS IN A ROW..CAN YOU TELL I LOVED IT? HAHAHA)

Bloodbath

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Your vampire roommate accidentally gets drunk off of blood.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire hunter! Reader, wwdits au, mockumentary trope, vampire au, set in the pursuit of blood au, cw blood, cw injury, cw suggestive, fluff.

In Pursuit of Blood Masterlist

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Octobie 🎸

A request from @al1x00 — May I have garlic cloves in a heart shaped bottle please? IPOB!Hobie accidentally drinking the blood of a drunk person and now R has to deal with an incoherent tipsy vampire.(Make sure you get some proper rest and drink lots of water! Ly😽❤) --- i could not pass this one up for the halloween theme it's literally so perfect! Thank you for requesting, angel!!!

“Hobie, no!” You yell just as when he's about to lunge at a poor runner, who's unfortunate enough to jog at night, who just happens to run past you and your very drunk vampire roommate in his enormously large bat form.

The camera pans towards the yelling, lenses zooming in, spotlights shining brightly on the man in the shortest running shorts known to mankind and his entire body floating five feet off the ground as Hobie's claws latch onto his shirt. His screams echo around the park, and Hobie's bat shrieks sound above it like an endless click of a ballpoint pen.

You glance at the camera with your wide desperate eyes, mouth agape and hand pointing at the situation. “Put. Him. Down!” Yelling, you jump up, trying to grab hold of the stranger's trainers. “You've had enough blood!”

The scene shifts to you looking disheveled, hair messed up with your cheek having an unmistakable claw scratch while you hoarsely talk to the camera crew.

“Motherfucker drunk from an incredibly inebriated CEO of a shady tech company.” You explain bluntly.

The lens zooms out of your exasperated face, camera showing you hugging the large shrieking bat in your arms with your jean jacket wrapped around his flailing form whilst he tries and fails to bite and scratch you. “I tried to warn him that the fucker had every drug and cocktail flowing in his veins. But noooo, no one ever fucking listens to me!” You shake him in your arms, making the annoyed and adrenaline filled bat yell in his high pitched shriek.

Hobie's face escapes his denim prison, long ears fluttering in the breeze and fangs in full display as he tries to take a chunk out of you. You manage to dodge his attacks, face turning as far away as you could.

With a crunch of leaves underfoot, the cameraman backs away when you accidentally shove your face in the lens. Panting, the man behind the camera makes sure to keep his distance away from you and the angry bat as it zeroes in on the bleeding corpse right behind you. The body's foot twitches, and the producer takes that as a sign to anonymously call an ambulance.

“Fuck!” You stomp your foot down, and the thousand year old vampire stops his twisting and turning to look up at you with his big red button eyes. Hobie makes a sound akin to a chirp, fangs sticking out from his lip. “We're going home, Hobie.”

He trills in your arms, fuzzy head nudging your chest. You can feel how incredibly warm he is under the denim jacket, a sure fire way to tell that he is still under the influence of…everything.

“Don't flash those pretty eyes at me, you little shit.” You start to walk towards his street, hugging him tight against your chest like a chihuahua gone wild. He sneers, and you realize that he's taking a peek into your head and he did not like that thought one bit. “Get out of your head!” You squeeze him in your arms.

Smirking, you flash an image into your mind of him wearing a fancy three piece suit with a look of sheer egotistical pleasure while counting wads of dirty money. He shouts gutturally, now regretting the little peep inside your mind. The sound makes a few passers by look at you weirdly. The entire camera crew following you around doesn't help. “It's a toy, mind your fucking business.” You say to one of them, making them walk faster away from you.

Sighing, you finally see the dark gothic house around the corner. Its spires just screams ‘there’s a vampire living here!’ and its stained glass windows, circular topiaries, and wrap around porch says that the person living inside wasn't born in the same century as anyone else living in the same street. You still have no idea how no one has noticed their thousand year old neighbor. You love the place though, it's home and you wouldn't have it any other way. Even though the pipes need to be replaced with ones that don't give you some type of rusted water related disease whenever you take a drink from the faucet.

Your trainers stomp on the porch, juggling in between carrying Hobat and getting your keys from your pockets. He tries to escape your hold, head wiggling out of the denim burrito you wrapped him in. You can feel his toes wiggling on your stomach. “Don't you dare, Hobart.” With a stern tone, he falls limp, chirping, sounding like a whine. “Don't be cute with me,” you struggle to find the right key in your carabiner. “we're almost there.” You say much softer this time when the door unlocks.

The second you open the door, Hobie wiggles out and then flies off into the house. He zigzags, making questionable turns as he flies under the influence with his large wings flapping about and accidentally swatting away hundred year old vases and furniture.

“I'll let him empty his energy before I try to sober him up.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, arms crossed as you watch him fly around with endearment. He looks and sounds adorable just squeaking and flying about.

Closing the door, the crew stands just behind you, capturing the perfect moment when Hobie, again, a thousand year old vampire with abilities beyond human comprehension and years of forgotten knowledge from fallen civilizations inside his mind, flies into the far end of the hall. Crashing into the mauve wallpaper, leaving a Hobat shaped mark of dried blood from his unfortunate victims.

His claws try to keep him on the wall but his bat body has run out of steam. He slides down the wall, claw marks dragging down and scratching the wallpaper.

You briskly walk towards him, concerned, you walk a bit slower to feign nonchalance in front of the camera. Once you make it to him, you bend at the waist to look down at his stretched out form. His wings are unfurled, belly up, and ears perked as he sees you in his vision.

“You done now, Hobie?”

With a puff of black smoke, he returns to his form. His legs are sticking up and folded against the wall, arms stretched out next to him with his lopsided grin thrown at you.

“‘ello, lovie.” He chuckles, or giggles more like, as he makes grabby hands up at you. “What am I doin' on the floor? We havin’ our fun time on the floor now?”

The camera crew looks at each other with furrowed brows and questions swirling in their heads. You spare them a look of embarrassment that quickly morphs into fake ignorance.

“Not today,” you say gently, his red eyes sparkling in the yellow light of the hallway. You always wonder why he chose yellow bulbs in some parts of the house including his room. You have a feeling it's because it reminds him of the unobtainable warmth of the sun. “You need your coffin.”

“Will you join me?” He asks, fingers flexing about as he beckons you over. You indulge him, leaning down to let him grasp at your jaw. Surprisingly, he holds you carefully like you're the most valuable thing in the house instead of all the artifacts he gathered throughout the centuries just laying about the home.

“You need to sober up, and you can't do that when I'm hogging all the space in the coffin.”

“That's why I keep tellin' you that we should get a bigger coffin that can fit the both of us together.” He brushes his thumb across your cold bitten lips. Gasping like he got a brilliant idea, he pats each of your cheek, squishing it in his hands, careful not to scratch you with his sharp nails. “We should buy one tomorrow!”

You chuckle, hands reaching up to bracelet your fingers around his wrists, grabbing them to make him unlatch himself off of you. “Okay, sleep first then we'll go out to look for one.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. “Really?”

You subtly (or think that it's subtle enough) kiss his pulse point where you would feel his heartbeat if his heart still beats against his chest. “Really, we'll get a red velvet lined one.”

“How about a coffin with a telly in it so you could watch your shows?”

You smile, “I'd like that. For now, shower first because you smell like the floor of a pub.”

“Still fit though, hm?” Hobie winks, but with his drunkenness, he looks like he's spasming. It earns a guffaw from you, finding it adorable.

“Very handsome, my—” you glance sideways at the camera still recording, you've forgotten about them for a second. Clearing your throat, you help him up on his feet. “Let's go before I puke.” Playing it cool, you still look like your pants fell down to your feet.

Even drunk off his mind, Hobie sees through it, arms snaking along your middle, putting a show in front of the camera by shoving his face into the crook of your neck. Not biting, just smiling against your flushed skin. You can feel his fangs poking and prodding at you playfully.

You curse silently, holding him properly and hiding your flustered expression from the camera as you turn your back from the crew.

—

Locking the bathroom door, you made sure that the camera crew had enough tea and biscuits in the dining room before walking upstairs to check on Hobie. The crews’ chatter echoing from the vents prove that they're well occupied and distracted. Turning around, you face Hobie with a soft smile as he lounges in the bubbly bathtub that smells like Halloween incarnate.

“How's the water?” You ask, closing the distance and sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet to look at him fondly.

Hobie places his cheek on top of the edge of the black bathtub, cheek squished on the porcelain. “Just right, love.” He smiles as steam rises from the water, condensation rising up to the forest coloured tiles, “and the children?”

“Occupied with my expensive biscuits from my godmother.” You place your chin on your palm, eyes flicking from his wet face down to his shimmering torso. “You seem to be having fun with my bath bomb.”

He chuckles, fangs peeking out from his lips. A sign that he's extremely happy, you know it well. “It's red!” With a handful of bath water, he pours it from above to show you its crimson hue. “You're such a big fan of me aren't you? Mimickin’ a fraction of my power.”

“You bathe in a tub full of blood? I don't remember you ever doing that, Hobart.” With a roll of your eyes, you stand up only to sit back down next to the tub. Sitting cross-legged, you place your arms on the cool edge of the porcelain, eyes staring up at Hobie with pure affection while your index finger swirls patterns in the glittery red water. “Sounds like a great bath though.”

“Says the vampire hunter.” He dabs a droplet of water onto the tip of your nose, watching it slowly drip down into the tub. “Stop it with the bloody Hobart, thought we got past that months ago.” He seems completely sober by now, the blood juice box (that may or may not have come from your veins) helped a lot in flushing his system. You always kept them fresh in his freezer next to your orange popsicles.

“Whatever you say, Hobat.” You wink, feeling relaxed with the warmth from the water and the cinnamon pumpkin smell.

Hobie smiles softly instead of scoffing like you thought he would. A single fang peeks out from under his lip, reminding you of an adorable cat. He reaches for your hand closest to him, and then slowly, he puts his head atop your hand, nuzzling close to you. Thumb brushing along your scratch mark on your cheek, he looks apologetic while he heals it with his touch alone. Literally, it's nonexistent now that he poured a fraction of his power atop your warm skin.

Your heart squeezes in your chest. “Just curious, can you turn into a cat?”

“Is that not in any of your tomes?” He raises a brow, red eyes hazy from the hot water and tender affection from you.

You shrug, laying your head down on your arm so that you're facing him adjacently. “I remember reading that it's a rare ability.”

“Yeah?” His eyes soften, leaning ever closer to you. You can feel his cold touch amidst the warmth of the water as his lips gently caress your jaw. From the tip of your jawline down to your chin, he kisses you with so much affection that your breath hitches in your throat and nothing in your mind remains but his lips upon your own. “Tell you what,” he says against your waiting lips. “I'll tell you in exchange for a proper kiss.” He didn't need to open his mouth to say those words to you, you can hear his deep voice in your mind. Whispering those words only for you.

“Deal,” you reply in your mind, and he grins, showing you his fangs that have never scared you. Sharp ends that have always been gentle against your soft skin, fangs that were meant to leave you bone dry, but he never does. Only leaving you woozy on your feet, happy that you've helped him, content in the arms of someone you were meant to kill— taught to kill. You're glad you didn't that day, that day you got close with your wooden stake mere inches away from his heart that you now adore.

He kisses you, and you don't mind the copper taste anymore as the kiss gets sweeter than ambrosia and as saccharine as nectar whilst he pulls you into the tub with him.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

[al1x00]

THE MOMENT HAS COME YIPPIEEE

ALREADY OMW TO START NEW DRAWINGS

OCTOBIE '24

Welcome to the very first Octobie where we celebrate our favourite punk spider— Hobie Brown!!

Any kind of fandom work is allowed, whether it's a gif, a banner, fanfic, or fanart, or even an edit, it's absolutely okay as long as the spotlight is on our main guy— Hobie!!

Rules:

🕸️ Hobie x oc, x spidersona, x reader, or x self ship is encouraged for any fandom work!

🕸️ Have an AU in mind? We love to see it!

🕸️ For fics there's no word count limit, go wild! Blurbs, headcanons etc. are also very welcome!

🕸️ Please use the tag #octobie and #octobie + the theme so everyone can see your work! You can also tag me so that I can reblog it and put it in the event masterlist ❤️

🕸️ Strictly no AI use.

🕸️ If your work has NSFW or suggestive content, please label it accordingly.

🕸️ Strictly not allowed: Toxic relationships, Incest, and toxic racist stereotypes.

🕸️ @mushroom-graphics-allotment will post a set of banners for the event, so if you plan to use it for your octobie post please credit her! It's here! Feel free to use!

🕸️ Be kind and encouraging to the participants. Remember to interact with their posts! Reblogs are highly appreciated!

🕸️ And finally, have fun creating! The themes are there as guides, be creative with them! (Themes run from Mondays to Sundays.) Remember we're here to celebrate Hobie! ❤️

(If there's any questions don't be shy to shoot me an ask! This is my very first character event so I'll do my very best at keeping up with all the works and queries. )

Some theme explanations under the cut if you need some help:

🎸 Comfort— Anything that is all fluffy and makes you go aww 🥺

🎸 Anarchy— Anything that has to do with bringing down the system that Hobie himself would be proud of!

🎸 Wild Card— Literally anything goes here! If your voted theme didn't make the cut, this is your chance to showcase them!

🎸 Halloween— Everything that is spooky, creepy and brings shivers down your spine!

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[al1x00]

⚠️CHAP. 10 SPOILERS⚠️

THE WAY I SCREAMED WHEN I SAW THIS OMFG I'M NOT READY FOR OPIN TO END😭😭

EXCUSE ME "TW SUICIDAL THOUGHTS"?!?! WHO TF IS TRYING TO BLOW THEIR BRAINS OUT MY GOODNESS.

Love how I'm totally chill on the blood and gore part like yeah that's usual Katy™ stuff, you get used to it after reading TF🥰🥰

DAMNN HOBIE'S ON FIRE HE'S GOT NO MERCY ANYMORE. Also I love how you described the factory and the way Hick's office/balcony is placed very high up because he own the place and all that jazz because it just makes him the picture perfect image of the asshole he is LMAO

YAYY WE GOT KARL TOO THE WHOLE GANG IS HEREEE

WHOA WAIT A BAG OF TNT?? That's not gonna go well, is it..? Even if they do manage to bomb the factory, TNT is a very effective and quick explosive so if they aren't fast enough to get away someone might get hurt yknow

Hicks and his shit aim strike once again and fail😌 that man cannot land a single bullet on anyone, not even a couple of horses.

WTF HOW DID HE NOT DIE? ISTG IF HOBIE DOESN'T GET TO KILL HIM

Honestly if R was to look at Hobie and see him kill men so effortlessly while balancing only on one side of his horse they're gonna get married on the spot, like RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

Hobie lost his last whip and said "Fuck it, let's make an instrument of torture out of the new one" And I bet that shit hurt like hell.

"Everyone thinks he should be dead by now" ONE OF THE REALEST THINGS YOU WROTE YEAHH TERMINATE THAT ASSHOLE

YESS HE GOT THE DEATH HE DESERVED NO MERCY FOR HICKS

I always make sure there aren't any symbolism or anything in the paragraphs before I continue reading the chapters so I googled what do alligators symbolize and there many different versions of it. One said they symbolize inner strenght and power so I gues that could work with the power Hobie held in that moment right before he decided not to spare Hicks and let him suffer but it also says they symbolize finding solace in the present which I don't think Hicks got while he was getting eaten alive and ripped apart💀

WAIT IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE THE WHOLE THING HAPPENED? A WHOLE MONTH PASSED FROM THE DAY HICKS AND CROSS FOUND THEIR FARM?

OKAY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK HAS HAPPENED. HICKS TRIED TO KILL R BY THROWING HER DOWN THE WELL? IT'S WORSE THAN ANYTHING THEY'VE DONE TO HER BEFORE WTF HE DESERVED THAT HORRIBLE DEATH.

"A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo." He's gonna join them soon if he doesn't stop with that attitude🥰🥰

R thinking about Hobie everytime someone does something that he would do just hurts so much because R doesn't even know if he's alive or not at this point. She has no way of escaping or getting any source of information about him or Riri and the others and it's so fucking sad. It's hurting me so much I just need to see them happy and healthy once more😭😭

R IS BEING A GIRLBOSS I LOVE ITT

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” Okay just one more thing to add to the list of reasons of why I hate Cross so much🥰🥰 Out of all the things he's done and said this is probably one of the most disgusting EVER.

KATYY WDYM BOTH HIT THEIR TARGET?!?!?! IS R DEAD? NONONONO I CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER SAD ENDING AFTER TF THIS BETTER BE A FUCKING JOKE

DAMN R GOT SOME AIM THAT BULLET LEFT A BIG ASS HOLE THROUGHT HIS STOMACH

...Katy I swear to god if R dies I'm gonna sue you. DON'T GIVE HOBIE ANY MORE TRAUMA HE ALREADY HAS PLENTLY AND EVEN MORE TO SPARE.

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?” Bye don't talk to me for five business days.

KATY YOU HAD ME FOR A SECOND I THOUGHT THEY BOTH DIED IN THE FIRE OH MY GOODNESS I WAS ABOUT TO THROW A FIT I WAS ALREADY SOBBING MY EYES OUT BUT THEN I WENT ON AND I WAS LIKE "WAIT A DAMN MINUTE-"

THEY GOTH DUCKIESS AND BUCKY AND CHERRY HAVE LITTLE KIDS NOW I'M SOBBING OMFG

AND COWS TOO

AND CLOVER HAS HER PUPPIES TOO OH MY GOD IT'S SO CUTEEE

God really must have favourites because how the fuck did R survive that bullet right under her ribcage? Like sure there was a possibility but holy shit R got lucky. NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING OFC

HELLO?? BILLIE AND MONA CANON IN OPIN?? AAAA I'M LOSING MY SHIT I'M SO HAPPY THAT THEY'RE ALRIGHT AND CONTENT IN THEIR HOUSE AGAIN.

God this has been so bittersweet. Words cannot describe the utter whirlwind of emotions that I had throughtout this chapter and story overall. It has made me cry, laugh, cheer for the characters and have loads of sympathy for them, so much that sometimes I felt it to the very soul. I can safely say that this fic goes onto the podium with BDAS because the sheer amount of effort you put into this has not gone unnoticed, you've outdone yourself again like you always continue to do and I'm SO SO proud of you for writing something as beautiful as OPIN. I am not ready to say goodbye to our favourite outlaw and cowboy😭😭 (I will not say goodbye to him yet, he'll have me in a chokehold until the end of time)Honestly I could go on and yap about this for hours and hours (and I probably will because OPIN deserves it) but like- the intricacy of the storyline, the well done backstories and the way you gave each character a different moral and point of view is just 🤌* chefs kiss * YKWIM?? I will never, EVER, shut up about how R and Hobie were like complete strangers all over again when they found eachother after all those years, how they feared of the consequences of loving somebody, but in the end the only thing that mattered the most was to get back into eachother's arms and stay with the other until the end, no matter if the flames got to them or not; the fact that they were gonna die together in that fire and they were totally fine with that just because they had eachother will always cling with me. They way they both learned to love the other despite all their flaws and the how the horrible things that happened shaped them, but their love was stronger than anything else, stronger than a man and his whole bullet factory that went against two people who just truly loved eachother in the purest and most genuine way ever. They fought with claws and teeth, because they had both everything and nothing to lose, just to see the other one last time before everything caught up.

Alright I won't write more on this but I will return with another yapping session soon so expect a huge message in your inbox LMAO but thanks again for everything Katy!! LY LY LY❤️❤️❤️

Dead Man's Hand

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N, sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Cowboy AU, wild west AU, CW food mention, CW vomit mention, CW blood and gore, CW guns, TW violence, TW abuse, TW suicidal thoughts, TW death.

A/N: if there are any warnings that I've missed please tell me so I could add it in.

This chapter tackles dark themes, read at your own discretion.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 10 >>>

The pungent, acrid and hot air of metal and gunpowder brings Hobie back in time as he slams open the steel doors to the factory with a harsh kick. Machinery whirs, and twists, sharp steel dancing to the beat of the flames as it turns molten iron into instruments of death.

Hobie roams his fury-filled eyes around the factory, green flames flicker in those eyes, finding grime coated faces of strangers staring back at him and his posse. One glances their dark eyes towards the upper level of the factory where a balcony is placed. Where Hicks would look down with contempt, and would scream at the overworked employees to hurry production. Hobie knows it all too well, the factory mirrors the one back home. In the middle of the balcony sits an office with frosted windows that bear Hicks’ name. But the man is nowhere to be found within the crowd.

“If you're not Hicks, get the fuck out.” He doesn't need to yell the command, for everyone turns to run outside towards the back exit where half of Miguel's gang lies in wait; and Hicks' lackeys lay dead on the soft muddy ground.

One running and hiding away amidst the crowd catches his eye with the same face as one of the men who buried him all those years ago. “‘cept you.” With one swift raise of his six shooter, smoke billowing out, a hole now sits on the man's torso where his heart should be. “Hicks, better get down ‘ere or my people will blow this place to the ground.” Hobie steps over the bloody body, crimson coating the sole of his boots. “Rainin’ bullets don't mix well with a room full of explosives.”

There's no movement nor a whisper in the entire factory save for the fading sounds of the machines slowly shutting off. He catches a glimpse of a shadow behind a closed frosty door in the upper level of the factory. It was quick and sudden, if not for Riri's gentle nudge towards the movement, he'd think he was seeing you again for a brief cruel moment.

“Ri, Karl, come with me.” Hobie emerges behind the blackened air from the large machines. Three sets of boots thumping silently as they bound upstairs.

He reaches the door, back on the solid wall and away from the glass. Riri stays on his right, shotgun cocked and ready while Karl checks his bag of TNT on Hobie's left. As he moves to open the door, a bullet pierces the glass, shattering it into sharp tiny pieces. A shard nicks Hobie's cheek, but he ignores the throbbing pain as blood trickles out.

“You're still alive, you little shit?!” Hicks yells, shooting blindly at the door.

The trio stays still and waits for the opening. A click echoes in the quiet, and clouds of gunpowder float through the air. Hobie and the others take their opportunity. Karl lights a stick of dynamite, chucking it inside the room and then ducking down to cover his ears. Hobie doesn't waste time, leaving the safety of the cover, he twists to face the door, shooting at the flying TNT— effectively blowing it near Hicks while Hobie holds onto his hat so that it doesn't get blown away.

The explosion causes Hobie to stagger backwards, if not for Riri pulling him back to the side, he would've fallen off the railings. Sulfur fills the air as they cough, puffs of grey smoke clouds the entire office space.

His ears ring, a sharp high pitched sound that he's awfully familiar with. He gives Riri a thankful nod, which she replies with a smug smile and a raise of her eyebrow. Hobie takes the lead, flicking his eyes towards Karl, who gives him a thumbs up, and with his hair all messed up from the explosion. Satisfied that his group is alright, he enters the fray. Smoke giving way to him and his raised gun. Shards of glass crunch at his feet, singed papers lay burned on the floorboards as embers flicker out in the air.

As the smoke clears out and the hot air of the south enters through the broken windows— Hobie finds no one inside the room.

“Fuck!” As he yells into the emptiness, a horse neighs outside, hooves running frantically away while bullets fly and ricochet. He immediately looks down, finding Hicks half burnt and riding away. “Like a fuckin’ roach.” Without thinking ahead, Hobie vaults from the window, softening his fall with a roll. Landing, knees aching but intact, he whistles for Bucky.

“Hobie, what the fuck?!” Riri and Karl simultaneously scream out, but Hobie's already running while Bucky follows right behind him.

Once Buckeye trots next to him, Hobie grabs hold of the saddle's horn to swiftly lift himself up on the saddle with a quick pull. No one's going to stop him, Miguel already considers Hicks dead just from the look of determination behind those green eyes.

Hobie leaves everyone in the dust. Bucky neighs wildly, huffing and puffing as he tries to catch up. “Hicks!” Said man turns on his saddle a few ways ahead, arm raising to aim and to shoot his gun. Bullets whizz past, hot air passing by as Hicks misses every single bullet.

Hicks’ scalding flesh makes him keel over in pain as his blood drenches his horse. “Shit!” He kicks roughly, his horse whines before speeding off.

Bucky gains speed, catching up to Hicks whilst he reloads. But of course, his hired guns finally catch wind. A handful of them appear from the side, trudging from the muddy swamp with alligators lurking underneath, and riding towards the bumpy road where the main chase is happening.

The rival posse hollars and hoots, sneering smiles and guns aimed at Hobie. Riri and the others are still catching up to him, so he's left alone to defend himself and Bucky. With fury fuelling him, he has everything to lose so he'll shoot through all of them like a hot knife through butter.

While the mercenaries leave the line of trees, Hobie enters the thicket, swerving to the side, using the large and sturdy trees for cover. The ground may be soft and muddy, but Hobie and his loyal horse have been in dozens of situations like this. The swamp might've slowed them down but it doesn't stop them as splintered wood flicks and flies while his enemies continue to shoot at his swift horse.

A bullet comes too close to his head, piercing a hole in the brim of his hat. He clicks his tongue, annoyed at the damage. Patting Bucky, he takes his foot off one of the stirrups to bring it to the safer side where no bullets could come at him. With two legs on one side, hand holding on to the saddle horn and reins, Hobie rides sideways, hiding his body while peeking over and shooting with calculated aim as Bucky runs back towards the path. One by one, the mercenaries fall off their horses with his bullets pierced through their bodies. The road is coated with their blood, leaving trails of rubies for his posse to follow.

Miguel trots closer, shooting at what remains of Hicks' men. The gang hoots at the sight, adrenaline rushing through their veins, and blood heating up from the violence.

While Riri and Karl have their eyes on Hobie, who now sits upright on Bucky, they kick on their horses and off they go, riding side by side with Him. Hicks panics from the sheer volume of horses running after him, with his last bullets, he aims at Bucky's leg.

Hobie beats him to the punch, quickly thrashing his whip made out of jagged metal wires, tearing the skin off of Hicks' arm apart when Hobie pulls hard at it. Hicks screams in sheer agony, tumbling and falling off his horse into the moist ground, soil entering his burns and mouth. When the dust settles, he looks up to only see the end of Hobie's gun.

It's silent in the marsh as the sun shines on his gun; frogs hum in the distance, gators trill when they smell meat while Hicks' labored breathing quickens. Hobie has his gun digging into Hicks’ skull, skin red and angry from his burns. Half of his face has melted into a mess of meat and bones, left eye barely opening from his melted eyelid. A pungent smell permeates from his oozing wounds, clothes torn and burned to ash, and ankle twisted at an angle. Hicks’ hands are buried halfway into the ground as he sinks down to the muddy plains.

Everyone thinks he should be dead by now, even Hicks himself, but death won't grant him the sweet release just yet— not until Hobie takes what he is owed.

“My, don't you look pretty, Hicks.” Hobie doesn't smile nor smirk at the sight of the man who buried him alive five years ago. A man who now kneels before him, disfigured beyond recognition, feeding the soil under him with his own suffering.

“F-fuck y-y-you.” Hicks' lips tremble from the unimaginable pain. “I w-will not b-beg.” He manages to curl half of his melted lips into one final sneer. “Not l-like how you did.”

“I don't want you to beg, Hicks.” Hobie digs the metal harshly, skin ripping and tearing like paper from under the gun. “I need to know where she is. You're dyin' anyway, your last words might as well be somethin' useful.”

Hobie's cold words makes the man scoff that quickly turns into a painful cough. “No. Didn't your old man tell you that revenge is a f-fool's game?”

“This isn't revenge, this is retribution.” Hobie tilts his head, looking behind Hicks where a pack of gators trill and show themselves under the green swamp. “If you tell me, I won't let the gators eat you alive.”

“Wha–?” Hicks' slowly turns his trembling head, skin painfully tugging with every movement. One of the gators snaps its maw, warning with its sharp teeth. The entire gang hears this grown man whimper from fear.

“They look mighty hungry, Hicks. Better hurry up.”

“You'd t-take me away from them?”

“No, I'd put you out of your misery before they get to you. Something you didn't give me back then.”

Hobie can practically see the rusty cogs in Hicks' head turning. “...alright, just don't let them eat m-me.” His burns flares up as he doubles in pain.

Hobie makes the man raise his head with the barrel pushing his chin up. “Sure.”

“She's at the big white house near Blackwater, just west of the r-road. You can't miss it.”

“You lyin’” Hobie doubts the information when he gave it to him too fast. Jaw tightening at the thought of you being so close yet so far from his reach.

“No, I'm not.” Hicks hears the unmistakable sound of the reptile crawling closer. “It's the truth.”

Riri flicks her eyes towards Hobie, leaning close, whispering lowly at his ear. “I know the place.” Hobie doesn't miss the hard look in her eyes. “He's not local, that place is well hidden, he wouldn't know that only the locals know about it.” She glares at the sniveling man, “It's ways away from the road he's talking about. Fucking far from it. Easily missed if you're not familiar with the place.”

Hicks figures out what she's whispering when Hobie's anger flares, hand tightening around his gun. “I'm telling the truth, Hobie. It's there and she's waiting for you! I promise! She's the one lying!” He points a crooked finger at Riri.

“Thought you wouldn't beg.” His fate is sealed with the gators. “Technically you did lie.” Hobie drops his arm, gun aimed away from Hicks. “Off you go with the gators, boss.”

“No, no, Hobie! Please, I'm sorry!” Hicks tries to grab at Hobie's leg, but Hobie kicks him down on the ground and on his back. He tilts his head back, meeting face to face with a ten foot alligator that seems to smile at him.

His screams echo around the marsh while Hobie and the others get on their horses. He watches the gator death roll the flailing Hicks on the muddied ground until the wailing stops completely.

Hobie leads the pack away while he leaves behind the sound of tearing skin and bones cracking under sharp teeth. And all he could think about is you, and how he could've had a good life with you.

—

Draped in chiffon and stab silk, iridescent blues and purples dance along the fabric as light hits it. Expensive fabric that hides all the aching blemishes on your flesh by the same men who claim that they are doing it for your sake, that it's the only way you would obey.

Your hands are tied behind your back with Cross' hand wrapped around your wrists in a sickening grip; preventing you from moving. You shine under the southern sun, all gold and frills but none of the happiness behind your sullen and dull eyes.

For a fleeting moment in those months you were with Hobie, you had peace. You'd stay there forever if you could, if only the world had granted it to you, instead of the pain that it brought down upon you.

You could've had a good life together.

It's been a whole month since the last time you saw Hobie alive. A whole month without hearing his voice, without his loving touch; and a whole month with the same family who has hurt you in every possible way they could. The image of Hobie buried under the rubble of your shared home spirals you over the edge once again. You've cried, wept and sobbed some more, but nothing has helped. You feel like you've died right next to him. You wish you had.

Meanwhile you have a wound that was never meant to be healed inside you. A wound that was momentarily healed, until you were brought back to the reality of your dreaded life.

You instinctively run your finger around the gold band around your finger, finding the unfamiliar diamond instead of the simple gold band that turns your face even more sour at the scalding heat that turns your heavy dress into an oven. You had the foresight to hide Hobie's ring the second you had a chance. It now lays underneath your floorboards waiting for you.

There's a heavy feeling in your chest, grief running along your heart, plunging your very being into darkness. It was like that day five years ago, you have no knowledge of him alive, no way of knowing if Hicks ended him. It's an awful case of déjà vu.

Both men stand beside you, as if they're meant to guard you. The estate stands behind you, its large shadow looming over you. All Its white marble and columns stand tall, doors that don't creak, windows pristine and gleaming— but you'd rather have the pile of ashes you once called home.

This place lacks a heartbeat.

You flick your tired eyes over to the well beside the estate, your body shivers from how cold it was inside, when you sank into it like stone the first time Hicks threw you inside. It's a miracle you didn't break your neck, in that moment, you wished it had.

A carriage arrives from a distance, horses galloping along the road towards the estate. Wispy cypress trees sit around the path, parting way for the dirt road leading to the house. Its soft leaves dance in the wind, leaves fluttering by as you watch the carriage get closer and closer.

“Remember to smile, we can't lose their money.” Hicks grabs the back of your dress, yanking your neck down for emphasis. “Don't be a bitch like last time or you'll get the well tonight. And I heard it'll be cold tonight.”

“I'll be in my best behavior, uncle.” Your glare towards the rich couple exiting the carriage says otherwise.

Hicks only gives you a stern look before letting you go. Cross loosens his grip for a moment and you immediately take your hands in front of you so he couldn't hold you again. You haven't spoken a word to the man you call husband since you arrived at the estate. Your defiance got your bedroom door locked from the outside for now but was taken apart for the first week of your stay. Showing you bare to the entire world, revealing to the world that you're his.

The woman clad in gold and gemstones huffs, flinging away a fly from her painted face. “God, I hate this humidity.”

“This better be good this time, Hicks.” Her husband takes his tophat off, wrinkling his nose at the scent of heat and damp marsh.

“You won't regret traveling for this, Mr. Burnell.” Hicks sucks up to the man. “My, don't you look lovely, Mrs. Burnell.”

She giggles, hiding the blush dusting her cheeks with a fan. “Oh don't be such a gentleman, Hicks.”

“Stop sucking up to my wife, Hicks.” Even though his smile tells you that it's a joke, his tone says that he's completely irked by your uncle. Perhaps this has happened before.

You roll your eyes subtly, Cross’ jaw tightens as he shakes hands with both guests. “It's a pleasure to have you both today.” He says flatly.

“An honour.” Your tone is tight, lips turned into a strained smile.

“I remember you,” the male Burnell smiles faintly at you. “And you too,” he points at Cross. “I was at your wedding, what a wonderful ceremony.” You clench your fists tightly around your lace gloves, almost tearing the fabric.

“Oh I also remember!” His wife claps, “your gown was lovely, and the deviled eggs were to die for!”

You laugh, a sound more akin to a scoff. “I should've had some back then.”

Mr. Burnell reaches for both of your hands, holding you gently as you make a face at him that doesn't quite reach the man's full understanding. “I'm sorry about your aunt, we sent flowers to the funeral. I hope it was to your liking.”

“I wouldn't know, I wasn't there.” You swallow thickly.

“Oh poor dear,” The woman touches your cheek, and you flinch away. She coos as if you're a child. “You couldn't even bear saying goodbye.”

“Sure,” you slide your hands away from the man's hold, and then you take her hand away from your skin. “That's why.”

Hicks inhales deeply, “why don't we go to the gazebo? Tea is being served there.” He takes their attention away from you.

“We came all this way and you don't even have lunch for us?” Mr. Burnell raises a thick brow, his wife agrees with a nod.

“We did.” Cross finally speaks through gritted teeth. “It got cold.” The couple flares their nostrils in annoyance.

“This place was hard to find.”

“You had us waiting for two hours. Hardly an excuse, Mr. Burnell.” Cross doesn't back down from the older man's stare.

“W-what my associate was trying to say was that— we didn't want to serve you all cold beef! No one likes cold beef, correct?” Hicks tries to save the day, but they don't respond. “There's deviled eggs in the gazebo.” That seemed to work as they followed Hicks towards the blue gazebo behind the house.

Cross yanks you back to his side before you could get far. Your chest tightens, threatening to stop your breathing as he whispers towards one of the estate workers to prepare a batch of deviled eggs immediately. The second they leave, you glare at Cross, refusing to touch him even though his fingers dig into your arm.

“Don’t run, Y/N.” He says for the umpteenth time. You would run, and you had a few times while you're with him. But you were only met with your cheeks burning into the shape of his palm, and his hired guns dragging you back inside the mansion with their lassos tied around your ankles.

“I can't even breathe in this dress, moreso run in it.” You try to take your arm back but he stops you with his nails dragging along your sleeves.

“Be good, be fucking obedient. Don't be impossible like you always were.” His green eyes remind you so much of Hobie that it taints his image in your mind. You refuse to let it fog his image.

“I am not a dog, Cross.” You fight back, why shouldn't you? You have nothing to lose now.

He comes close to your face, jade eyes reflecting the fear in your expression, breath wafting over your face. “Then don't act like one.” His eyes pass over your face, finding fear laced in between the creases of your expression. His tone softens, one that sends shivers down your spine. “Why don't you call me by my real name? Cross is our last name, Y/N. Can you call me—”

“No.” You yank yourself away even if it means that his fingers drag along your arm in a manner that makes your skin run cold.

The next thing you know you're sitting next to Mrs. Burnell, who swallows down deviled eggs like its water. The entire table is set all prettily, blue laces sitting under white porcelain, utensils draped in silver, and chairs soft whilst the gazebo with lilacs growing on the roof acts as your shade. A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo. Withering gravestones left unattended, and overgrown grass drowning each of the carved names. It leaves a heavy presence in the back of your mind.

The fork in your hand shakes, silver shining in the sunlight bearing down behind you just as when a pair of red cardinals fly next to the gazebo. The murmurs of the marsh echoes around the estate, gators trilling a few ways away, birds chirping and cawing right next to croaking bullfrogs. You're surrounded by green with a dash of greed as Hicks continues to suck up to the rich prospective partners.

A hand cups your own, and for a flicker, you thought it was Hobie's calloused hand gently holding onto you until his nails jab into your palm. Cross gives you a hard look, gesturing for you to eat instead of staring blankly at the cakes in front of you. With a mocking smile, you take a glass of cold orange juice on your right, condensation drenching your ungloved hand. You don't break eye contact as you gulp down the entire glass, making the Burnells look at you with pinched brows. For the final touch, you exhale loudly as if you were thirsty beyond belief.

Hicks chuckles nervously, eyes darting from you to the rich couple. Cross is fuming silently, letting your hand go limp on the table. An employee comes to your side, refilling your glass as everyone at the table stays in awkward silence. You can't help but puff out your chest with pride. Hobie would've loved to see that. Their faces would be worth it for the wrath you're about to face.

Mr. Burnell clears his throat, “as I was saying, we can't give twenty thousand for only ten percent shares. It's daylight robbery, Hicks.”

“Oh come on, Quentin, you've known me for a long time!” Hicks plays the ‘old friend’ card, a trick you've seen one too many times. “You know I can be trusted, and that ten percent will go higher once we've had our foothold here in America.”

“I do know you, that's why you can't be trusted. Even her aunt knew better when she gave the company to her.” Burnell pauses, bespectacled eyes staring at you briefly. Your lips curl up into a smirk. You probably don't have to work too hard in sabotaging this one. “Besides, that was back when you were the leading manufacturer in the UK. There was a guarantee, now you're here in a country that is practically shitting bullets by the buckets.” He leans back in his seat, “face it, you old dog, there's no profit here for you.”

“He's right,” His wife enters the conversation, dabbing her mouth daintily with a handkerchief. “Why did you even move here in the first place? I heard the company was doing badly back home but not that bad, right?”

Hicks coughs, drinking from his glass, stalling from answering. Cross has had enough, he leans on the table, elbows right next to his untouched plate, white suit unblemished.

“Because I'm here.” He takes your hand, making a show of it for the Burnells. He's using the ‘I love my wife’ card. Surprisingly, it's only the second time he has used it on the rich and stupid. “And my wife deserves to be with her husband, yes?” The couple looks at each other, then returns their attention to you as you try incredibly hard not to vomit all over the table. “I've…ignored her for far too long while I'm always here tending to my own business.” He clasps the back of your hand with his free hand. “We were deeply saddened by her aunt's passing, but I saw a silver lining. Taking the tragedy and turning it into something better by bringing her and her family business here to my home so we could finally start having our own family here without the dark cloud looming over us.” He was right about one thing, your aunt was a dark cloud looming over everyone. Cross leaned close, pecking your hand chastely. “Right, love?”

You close your eyes to prevent yourself from heaving out what little you've eaten. “Right.” Tone small and disgusted, you have the sudden urge to stab his eyes out with a fork. For a second, your mind gives you that exact image. Seeing his blood spurt out from his sockets and spraying on the deviled eggs.

For some reason, even with the disgusted look on your face, the Burnells' hard exterior softens. The missus clutches the pearls on her chest as if she just heard the most romantic story, and the male Burnell nods along with a fond smile. “You two remind me of my first marriage.” His wife chuckles, you frown, eyebrows knitted together as Cross plays along to his concocted story.

They continue their negotiation with more enthusiasm. Hicks pats Cross gladly on the shoulder, already drafting up a contract on a piece of parchment. Thankfully, Cross has let you go. Free to wipe your hand on your dress. You replay the last minute in your mind, like you're stuck in the moment he touched you with his dry lips upon the same hand you used to cradle Hobie's face with.

The conversation fades into the background, a thought passes you by, one that you're too grief stricken to see until now. Why is Cross even helping Hicks? He has the money to fund whatever the factory needs, he doesn't even need to be in the conversation. He has nothing to gain from this. He already has you, so why does he seem so desperate to get this partnership?

Then it hits you, he's as bankrupt as Hicks. Hicks, who drove the company to the ground with his moronic decisions the second your great aunt was in the ground. And Cross, there was never a day in your short marriage with him that he wasn't out gambling his family fortune away, or going to exotic places you've only read in books. When he doesn't have his hands on you, he's at the nearest pub or the derby races, betting everything in his pockets. You always just thought he had that much money to lose. But you were wrong. And the only reason you're here is because of the money your parents have set aside for you, money that is tied up with the company or what is left of it— the company that you own and have the last say in. Until your name isn't written in that contract that Hicks shoves in your face every morning, they have nothing.

“You have nothing.” You blurt out, you don't regret it immediately.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Burnell says, offended.

“Not you, I know you have money.” You place your elbows on the table, chin propped up on your scarred palm. “I was talking about my dear uncle and beloved husband.” Your words drip with venom and sarcasm.

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Burnell asks, concerned, either for your well being with the two men or for the money she almost lost.

“Shut it, Y/N.” Hicks says through gritted teeth, eyes warning you.

“Don't tell a woman to shut up, Hicks.” Surprisingly, Mr. Burnell defends you. “Speak, girl.” And there goes your respect.

“They don't have anything.” Cross tries to yank your hand back but you quickly tug yourself away. “Hicks is lying, the company is losing money, not gaining it. Production has been down since they moved here, probably because Hicks doesn't know how to run a company.”

You continue your tirade without missing a beat. “He was a manager before marrying my aunt, but he was a shit manager. If not for Peter—” you inhale and clear your mind. “All I'm saying is, he's asking for a scapegoat for the debt collectors, not a business partner.” You flick your eyes mockingly towards the seething Hicks. Meanwhile, Cross sits quietly, you're afraid but you have to continue. “I retract my previous words.” Hicks inhales with relief. “It's not probably, it's definitely.” He stutters, trying to save face but you continue. “He's overworking the workers and because of that there's more mistakes. More mistakes means more bullets that come out a little crooked. That's good, if your targets swerve to the left.”

“She's lying!” Hicks laughs shakily, fists slamming down on the table. “You know how women are? She's hysterical because of her aunt's passing.”

You scoff. “You said it yourself, Mr. Burnell, you don't trust Hicks.” All eyes are on you. Your words fill you with pride, Hobie would be proud. “As for Cross, I wouldn't even trust him with my coin pouch.”

The Burnells seemingly believe you, heads turned slowly towards Cross and Hicks, eyes boring holes in their foreheads. “Looks like we wasted our time. You're right, honey, we should've gone for the Winchester instead of this clown show.”

“You believe me?” You ask, bewildered. “That quick?”

“We passed by the factory on our way here, that's why we were late.” Burnell answers back. Already taking his belongings to leave. “We saw the horrid conditions. We were naive to believe that it was like that because you're still getting used to the transition.” He helps his wife up as Hicks follows behind the couple. Cross stays behind silently while you stay with the Burnells in hopes that they'd take you with them. “Thank you, girl.”

“You're welcome, c-can I—” The couple gets in their carriage, eyes blinking at you. “Can I come with you?” You sound like a child, voice trembling in hope that they'll say yes. “Please.”

Hicks chuckles incredulously right next to them, but his eyes grow dark at your request, a warning. Cross appears behind you, green eyes hidden by the shadow of his hat, lips clamped into a fine line.

“What for, girl?” Mr. Burnell asks, “We don't need any more bootlicking. We're not giving you the money for the factory.”

You flex your fists on your sides, eyes darting in between Hicks and Cross. Heart thumping, you have to try. “I don't— it's not that. I don't need the money. I—”

“So you do have the money for the company then? Why bother asking us?” The older man cuts you off, scoffing while his wife rolls her eyes. “Kids these days, so greedy.” He gets in the carriage, following his wife.

“Wait! Please!” It's too late as they run off in the distance. In your desperation, you start to run after them. But before you could go far, Cross stops you with his arms embracing you from behind. “No! Please come back! They're hurting me here—!” Your flailing stops when Hicks steps in front of you with his gun raised.

“Do you have any idea what you've done?” He clicks the hammer down, finger right on the trigger. “You've doomed us.”

With tears in your eyes, Cross holds you against him tighter. Chest aching, breath stolen from you. “No, just you!” Yet, you continue to fight. You might've lost hope a long time ago if not for Hobie. Hope that you'll get out like last time, hope that Hobie will be there waiting for you. But there's a part of you that just wants to let go. Looking over your shoulder, you're met with familiar green eyes that used to fill you with calm. “And you.”

“I should shoot you right here.”

“Do it then. But you can't because without my signature you're fucking broke!” With a cackle, Hicks yanks the back of your head, taking you from Cross' arms, dragging you towards the well. Body scraping against soil, you try to scratch at his hands but it doesn't deter him as his anger fuels him.

“Fucking bitch, you keep ruining shit!” He yanks you to your feet, and then pressing your front to the mouth of the well while pushing you down harshly, making you look down at the depths.

You yelp, sharp rocks digging into your stomach, eyes forced to look down at the deep dark well. It's cold down there, you wonder if this is what it felt like for Hobie back at the farm. Staying quiet, your hands grip the sides to keep your balance, a bead of sweat falling down and leaving ripples as it hits the stagnant water.

“What, no begging or screaming and crying this time?” Hicks latches on your hair tightly, scalp burning from his hold.

“I've gotten used to the dark. You won't hear me begging ever again.” Your voice echoes down to the bottom. “You can't hurt me anymore, not in the way that matters.” Releasing your hold on the sides, you lean closer to the edge. Expecting the cold embrace and the familiar weightlessness, it doesn't come.

There's a scoff above before you're let go. “I have to correct your fuck up.” He seethes, giving your leg a swift kick as you lay your head on the stone. “Deal with her.”

“I'm not one of your employees, Hicks.” Cross challenges him.

“She's your fucking wife. You discipline her while I go to the factory. As for you,” he flicks the shell of your ear. “Your name better be on that contract when I get back.” You hear their continued bickering whilst you even out your breathing. Just like what Hobie would tell you.

After a rustle of clothing and dress shoes thumping on the ground, you fall on your knees, still clutching the well. Face hidden from Cross, he sighs, hand reaching towards you. Feeling the sickening familiarity of his hand wrapped around your arm, you instinctively flinch away.

“Why couldn't you just obey, just this once?”

You heave, furrows knitted in anger. Looking over your arm, your glare sends goosebumps up his arms. “I'm not one of your hounds.”

“Then why do you kneel like one?” The sun behind him engulfs his entire form, turning him into a breathing shadow.

“Go fuck yourself, Cross.” You shakily stand up while avoiding his gaze. Walking towards the house, you clench your fists until you feel your blunt nails leave pin pricks of crimson

“I'm trying here, Y/N. You're making it impossible.” He yanks you back, neck craned to the side to look at you. “I'm holding back but you're not making this easy.”

“You sound like this is all my fault.” You still avoid his eyes, forgoing to look at the tree behind him. “I'm not the one who gambled all your money away. And I didn't force you to marry me.” His fingers pull you closer.

“Look at me.”

“Fuck you—” you try to escape but he's stronger.

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” He forcefully turns your head with his hand burrowing into your chin.

With apprehension, you chuckle, a cracked dry laughter. Your eyes slowly move to the green eyes in front of you. “I'll never look at you like that. Nothing you do will make me look at you with the same love I give to him.”

Cross swallows thickly, jaw tightening. “Why him?”

“It felt right. We share the same heart.” It's the first truth you've said in a month, and for once you smile genuinely. “I'll always love him, remember that.”

He inhales, and you wait for the impact.

“Sir?” The housekeeper asks from the side, hands wringing in front of her. “Is everything alright?” Her brown hair shimmers in the sun like copper, lips turned into a fine line.

She reminds you of the former housekeeper that tried to help you by taking your letter addressed to Hobie. Cross found out about it, you haven't seen her since then.

“We're alright, Belinda.” Cross lets you go, leaving a mark on your arm. “Fetch me my hunting rifle.”

You leave with haste, hands shaking as you hitch your skirt up. You can feel his sickly green eyes on you, like a shadow that envelops you whole.

You've crossed the line, and you fear that this is the end for you.

—

Pacing around your room, you walk around and hold your breath. It's like waiting for the gallows, waiting for the bullet to hit you. Hobie's ring is back on your finger instead of what Cross gave you on your wedding day, which is the exact same one you left on the bedside table when you escaped. You twist it around your finger as the room shifts and twirls in your vision.

The room is finely decorated with daffodils painted on the walls, gold fixtures on the ceiling with painted deers trotting overhead on fields of green on the ceiling. The room looks like it used to be a child's room. A pale blue bed sits in the middle of the room, draped in a satin canopy. It's a stark contrast to the room back at the farm, all wood and none of the gilded walls. But you'd choose that a hundred times over if given the chance. Especially if Hobie's there waiting for you.

You feel like you're slowly disappearing into the walls.

Your eyes have been glued to the door as you chew your nails. You'd lock the doors from the inside if the locks weren't instead bolted from the outside. Tears brim at your eyes, but you refuse to let it go as you sniff. You miss your home, you miss the smell of dew in the morning. You miss Clover and how she cuddles on your side. You miss Cherry and Bucky and your afternoon rides with them. You miss him, you miss Hobie and how he holds you gently, how he talks to you about things. It's him talking so you'd listen and speak with him until the sun decides to sleep. You miss his voice telling you that everything will be alright.

You wonder if everything will still be alright when you hear heavy footsteps outside your door.

Cross doesn't knock, and you wait at the foot of your bed, standing straight, eyes forward and daunting despite your fear. If he shoots you through the door now, would Hobie be there to greet you on the other side as darkness engulfs you one last time?

This house will be a tomb. Your tomb.

The door doesn't creek as Cross opens it. “Hunt with me, just like old times.” He has a rifle strapped to his back, suit traded in for his haunting gear, still clad in white leather. Your eyes flick over to the two guns on his belt. If only you could take it from him. Or at least one.

“Giving me a gun? Do you think that's wise?” You cross your arms over your chest, clearing your throat so he doesn't notice the shaking of your voice.

“Why? You'd shoot me in the back?” He asks chidingly.

“In a heartbeat.” You say without even a hint of a joke. “What's even out there, Cross? What are we hunting down?”

“A deer.”

“I don't think there are any deer out here.” A dangerous silence hangs in the air, choking you as he stares deeply at you. You inhale, swallowing down your fear as best as you can. “If you give me a knife instead, I will stab your eye out. Killing other things won't keep us from killing each other.”

He clicks his tongue, hand on the gun like he's mocking you. “Take the dog instead.” Taking the leash off his belt he holds it out for you. “A dog for a hound. At least this one is loyal.”

“Which end of the leash is the hound?”

“What do you want, Y/N, hm?” Tossing the leash harshly, he stalks closer, and you flinch back. A doe caught in the coyote's eye. “I broke your heart, I get it. Do you want me to apologize to you?”

“My heart? That's the only thing you haven't broken yet.” He stops a few feet away from you, yet still too close to you. “You broke my body until I could barely recognize myself anymore. My arms bear the shape of your nails, my scalp remembers the sharp tugs of your hands.” You exhale as a tear falls down your cheek. “Hobie broke my heart, but he pieced it together, piece by tiny piece.” You point at him repeatedly. “You, you broke everything else.”

“If this is about your aunt—”

“Fuck you! This isn't about her.” If this is really your end, you don't want to leave without saying the words you've been meaning to say out loud. You tremble for a second before grinning with tears in your eyes. "I'm glad she's gone. Her hold on me is gone.” You chuckle breathlessly, sighing loudly. “There I said it. It's like a boulder has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Y/N,” there it is, the patronizing tone he uses on you. He's about to guilt you into something you haven't had a hand in, or chastise you like a child.

“Stop being so fucking delusional, take the blinders off for one fucking minute.” The fire in you latches on you. “This is about you and how you hurt me the second you brought me home after the wedding. You knew that I never wanted to marry anyone else, and that my aunt and Hicks hurt me back home. And instead of helping me, taking me away from them, you joined them.”

“I got you out of there. I married you.”

You laugh without an ounce of humour, clapping wildly. “Well thank you very much, Cross!”

“I tried for a little while, Y/N. But I'm your husband, and you continued to disobey so I had to go to them, ask them for advice.” He walks closer, you stop him with a hand in front of you, as if it will shield you from him. You've tried that once, it didn't work.

“Nothing you do will make me forgive you. I hope you drown in your guilt if you even have an ounce of it. I hope you lay awake at night thinking of how much you hurt me. I'd rather die than forgive you.” Cross steps forward with an unreadable expression, and the back of your knees hits the bed as you try to get away. You eye the gun, you fear that you won't keep your promise to Hobie.

The world already ended for you when Hicks killed him.

Cross tries again. You think it'll be the last time he will the second he walks closer to you, so close that you can see yourself in his eyes. “Sign the papers, Y/N, and everything will be over.”

“You know the second I sign it, Hicks will kill me.” Your eyes wander towards his unlatched gun.

“I won't let that happen.”

You laugh in his face, “Sure, but you'll let him hurt me. Might as well sign my death warrant instead.” Standing back up, you inch towards him bravely despite your instincts telling you to shield yourself. You have to get that gun. “I–I tried to love you at first, and remained optimistic in this marriage.” His eyes are on your face, irises darting over your lips while you sneak your hand towards his gun belt slowly. “Even indulging my idiotic childish whims of what a marriage could be like. But I couldn't, not when you hurt me just like they did. Only because I didn't love you like how you thought I would.” Your hand finds the cold metal, fingers wrapping around the handle. “For a second there I thought you'd be my saviour, when in fact it was the opposite. You joined them instead. You were just as bad as them.”

You stand toe to toe with him. You hear a glass breaking downstairs, and then the smell of something familiar. Snatching the gun quickly, you aim it at his stomach, steel meeting flesh. You feel the same sensation against your chest.

“I love you.” Cross utters, finger right on the trigger.

“I've seen love, this isn't it.” With your cold words, you shoot.

Both guns go off.

Both hitting their targets.

—

The sun is just beginning to set, orange peeking from the horizon, hues of pink and orange blanketing the three men. Each inhale from the cigarette perched in each of their lips has grey smoke filtering through their lungs. They should be guarding the front door like they were hired to do, instead they chainsmoke their way out into an early grave while hiding behind the estate, facing the vast green marsh that hides their debauchery from the rest of the world.

“You hear any cryin’ last night?” The one with an auburn beard asks, his rifle leaning against the wall right next to him instead of in his hand like it was supposed to be in.

A dark haired man answers, belching out smoke while crouched on the ground, eyes narrowed at the whispering willows. “Yeah, i think the stable boy wasn't lying, there's a fuckin' ghost here.”

“You two think it's a fucking ghoul or some shit?” The third one replies with a scoff, blonde hair peeking out from his hat as he takes a swig of moonshine.

“Yeah,” The first two responds, spine tingling when a cold breeze passes through them.

“It's the boss’ wife, not a ghost, you morons.” As the yellowed haired man responds, a bright flicker of light appears in between the willow trees. “What the fuck?” The two men next to him follows his terrified gaze, cigarettes falling off their lips.

The light moves, as if it dances in the wind. It flickers, brightening up into an orange glow before turning yellow once again. The three outlaws move from the wall, eyes glued on the mesmerizing ball of light.

“Fuck, it's a swamp ghost—” the one with the red beard gasps, choking on his own blood, frantically trying to stop his neck from gushing out ichor with a knife stuck to his throat.

The other two only had a split second to react before a sharp knife slashes at their exposed necks. They mirror each other, shirts stained with red, palms coated in warmth and crimson while they frantically try to stop the bleeding. They croak and creak out, eyes managing to fall upon hazel eyes, and one with his face covered in soot. They both hold a glinting knife, blood still trickling down from the steel.

Miguel leaves from his hiding place in the thicket, eyes flicking briefly towards their twitching forms before returning his gaze at the ball of light. He nods to Riri and Karl, who stand above the corpses. And then he gestures with his gloved hand, giving the warm light a small nod.

The light comes closer, footsteps echoing as boots sink in moist soil— appearing behind the darkness of the trees and into the fading light of the sun. Hobie's face is revealed behind the light with a lit cigarette in between his lips, shadows dancing around the fury behind his green eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. He inhales before flicking the cigarette away, falling into a puddle. More appear behind him, trees and bushes parting before the dozen men and women following in his steps.

“Karl, light the oleander for me will you?” Hobie tosses the bag of pink flowers in Karl's waiting hands. And then he takes his knife back from the auburn haired corpse, wiping it on the grass before sheathing it back on his belt.

“D’you think that'll work? What if she gets caught in it?” Riri whispers, gesturing for the gang to crouch down and hide beside the wall where the trio were last seen smoking.

Hobie drags one of the bodies, hiding it behind the bushes while the rest of the gang help with the other two. He follows Riri, blood rushing in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins at how close you are from him. It's only a matter of time before you're back safe and sound.

“She knows the smell, she'll cover her nose.” His voice doesn't waver, but his insides are turning and twisting inside him. He can't fail. “As for everyone, cover your damn noses, and protect your eyes as much as you can.”

“This won't kill us right?” Karl weighs the bag in his hands.

Miguel checks his bullets beside him, giving Hobie and Riri a once over if their weapons are lacking. “At most it'll make us sick and itch. Right, Hobie?”

“Just don't inhale it directly.” Hobie yanks his bandana up to his nose, fitting it snugly. He notices his hands shaking, closing his fists tightly, he cannot fail. A month of tracking you down can't end with him failing to save you, he can't lose you. “You know what to do, Karl. Ri go with him.”

“Hobie,” she clasps the back of his fist. “Be careful, alright? If you get hurt, call Roberto, he'll treat you.” Inhaling sharply, she pats his cheek. “Get her back but don't die on us, alright?”

Hobie couldn't look directly at Riri, “She goes first, Ri.”

“I know, that's why we brought Roberto with us, remember? He's the doctor, he knows what to do and…what to expect, if need be.”

Hobie nods, staring at his family. “Thank you for backing me up, I owe you. All of you.”

“Don't die and we're even, Hobie.” Miguel pats Hobie's bicep before heading to his designated position.

“What he said,” Karl smiles brightly, fist connecting to Hobie's clenched one gently. “Also if I don't return from this, Robbie's gonna fucking kill you, man.”

Hobie cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know. Try to stay alive for the both of us then.” Karl makes his way towards the front while Riri staggers behind, still holding onto Hobie's hand. “Just like Valentine, right?” Riri smiles, hiding her trepidation behind her bandana. He fixes the cloth over her face carefully, tugging it over her nose and ears. “Keep that snug.” She could only nod, eyes brimming with tears. “Don't die on us too, Ri.” With a quick embrace, she leaves, following behind Karl who was waiting for her.

Hobie takes a second to breathe. He has done things like this a hundred times before, but never with you on the line. He can't leave without you like last time. He won't cower behind wooden walls like last time, he's not gonna stand here and tremble and rot and bleed. He's going to get you back. He knows he will.

There's a gunshot echoing inside the estate just as when a glass window breaks, signaling the beginning of the end.

—

The house falls and chaos reigns. They tried to stick to their plan of using stealth, but of course someone saw them and alerted everyone in their presence. Karl got the oleander thrown inside the halls, puffs of pinkish fumes swell out from the bag. Hobie sees the result of it as black smoke turns the estate into the pits of hell. Hobie's eyes waters but he continues to strike anyone who wasn't on his side. He throws his spiked whip towards someone who tried to shoot at Karl, the barbed whip rakes and breaks skin as he tugs and pulls until the man falls down next to his shredded flesh.

Screams echo around the estate, his posse lets go of the innocent unarmed employees while the others aren't so lucky the second they aim back.

They try to fight their way inside, finally thinning the outlaws outside as flames trickle from the burning bag towards the velvet curtains. Embers climb up until they hit the ceiling, fire licking at the once white walls, leaving burn marks in its wake.

A few of the hired guns surrender after recognising Miguel's gang, some were fools who tried to shoot them down but his allies were in greater numbers. More experienced, more bloodthirsty than the hired guns.

All the winning cards are in his hand, all he needs to do is play them right.

“Miguel!” Hobie yells while he and three others try to push through the main doors that refuse to budge open.

Miguel, who was currently brawling with a man taller than him, grunts when a fists harshly connects at his jaw. Hobie curses under his breath, without wasting a second, he aims and shoots. Gunpowder fills his lungs once more as the burly man falls on top of Miguel in a thud.

Hobie stalks towards Miguel, he shoots someone who was aiming at him on his left, his bullet doesn't miss even without him looking at the target. He grabs the body by its vest, yanking it off Miguel.

“Get up,” he reaches for the breathless gang leader, hazel eyes smiling at his old friend.

“I had that, Hobie!” Despite his broken nose, Miguel is back on his feet the moment he takes Hobie's helping hand. “Retirement, huh?”

Hobie shakes his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Fuckin' retirement.” Reloading his gun, he goes back to the locked doors with Miguel now in tow. “On three!” His shoulders meet with the oak, “one!” Miguel nods next to him, bracing himself on the door. “Two!” A few more join in, ready to push the moment he says, “three!”

The doors burst open, splintering wood scattering, smoke coming out into the fray. Hobie meets with Sheriff Lee's eyes before a bullet hits him directly on his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He falls on his knees, clutching his wound as blood seeps through his fingers.

“Should've left when you had the chance, Mr. Brown!” Lee taunts, reloading his hunting rifle, giving Miguel enough time to drag Hobie back outside and placed behind the wall. “Come back here, murderer!”

A few shots ring out, both parties exchanging bullets. Your face appears in front of him before it’s replaced by the doctor's face. He needs to get you out quickly before the oleander takes hold. Hands tie a bandana around his wound, Hobie stands up the second that the cloth is tightened.

“Keep that on!” Roberto yells above the booming gunfire. “I’ll fix you properly right after this!”

Hobie nods, blinking the haze away. Miguel shakes him awake while avoiding his injury. “Lee's down! We'll handle the rest down here, we heard that she's upstairs.”

“Okay,” Hobie inhales and exhales, I'm almost there, love.

When the bullets stop flying inside the now bullet ridden manor, he steps foot inside. Glass crunches at his feet, eyes darting and alert from any surprises. He sees bodies littered on the marble floors, both from his side and Lee's. The sheriff lays under a pile of broken vase, eyes wide open, fingers still enclosed around his gun. The smoke thickens, and he hears blasts reverberating around the house.

Miguel's posse storms the place, pocketing whatever shines inside the house. A few more bullets are shot from deep inside the walls, but it's clear who's the winner. Hobie just wants you back.

Just as when he's about to climb the winding stairs with his throbbing shoulder, he sees a man stagger out from a room. “Is that—?” The bloodied man in the hunting gear trips and falls off the railing, plunging down right next to where Hobie's standing.

Cross lays on his own puddle of rubies, a gaping hole in his stomach instead of his insides. “H-help me,” Begging, he looks at Hobie with his bloodshot eyes, reaching towards Hobie's leg with his broken hand. “She's upstairs. Y-you can have her.”

“Is that him?” Miguel asks, and Riri appears from the side. Eyes watching the wounded man. Hobie nods, eyes never leaving Cross.

Hobie aims at Cross' head, seething. “She is not a thing to be had.” His aim stays true, but he shakes his head, lowering his gun down. “Nah, I'll let her bullet kill you.”

Miguel smirks, while Riri and him have a silent communication. “Don't worry, Hobie, we got rich boy.” He takes out his lasso from his waist, crossing the distance towards the dying Cross.

Riri gestures for Hobie to continue up the stairs. “Go! We'll be waiting.”

With a grateful nod, Hobie runs up the stairs towards his fire and his light. His heavy footsteps echo, breathing staggered as he thinks of you. What if he finds you in the same condition as Cross? What would he do if he sees you bleeding out? So he runs despite his own injuries, to see you again, to hold you again.

He follows the blood trail once he gets close enough, instead of your smiling face greeting him back, he stares at your body covered in crimson. Soft blue bed sheets stained with dark rubies. Arms spread on the bed as you lay on the soft mattress with your eyes unblinking towards the ceiling.

Hobie calls for you, air sucked from his lungs with every step he takes. He reaches for you, tears turning you into a watercolor painting in his vision. Red and blues blending into a watery picture.

You feel like you're in the bottom of a well, staring up at your aunt's sneering face. Your breathing is labored while the bullet is stuck in your chest, right below your ribcage. There's no pain, no feeling in your fingers as you see Hobie's face appear from above. Head perfectly lined up with the deer antlers painted on the ceiling.

“Found the deer, Cross.” You murmur, eyes hazy, lips barely opening.

“Stay awake, love.” Hobie's hand trembles as he rips his bandana off to stave off the bleeding by plugging the wound. You cry from the sudden pain, hands flying towards his wrists. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” His tears flow down your cheek. “This'll be over, I need to carry you.”

“Hobie?” Your eyes focus on his face, meeting with his viridescent eyes. “Are you real?” Nails dig into his flesh, you sob, fingers shaking whilst you reach for his face. The pads of your fingers brush along his jaw, stubble returning you back to reality. “I'm so s-sorry, I should've told you.”

“None of that.” He holds onto the back of your hand, letting your palm rest on his cheek, lips brushing along your wrist. The matching rings reflect the growing fire ebbing towards the room.

“It h-hurts, Hobie.”

Sniffing, burning wood enters his lungs, sobs threatening to pull him down to you. “I know, I know.” He wipes the tears and the sweat off your forehead. “But we need to move, love, there's a fire and I need to carry you down.”

You gaze at his green eyes, sorrow and grief twisting and turning behind them. They remind you of home, of Clover, of Cherry and Bucky. And you remember your promise to him, an impossible promise that you will try to keep. But if it means that it's his end too, you have to break it. For his sake.

You grip his shoulders, Hobie notices how weak your hold on him is. “Okay, okay, carry m-me down.” There's a taste of copper in your mouth, lips coated in the bitter taste.

He nods, wiping his tears with his sleeves before sliding his hand behind your back, finding your warm blood sticking to the bedsheets. “I got you.” Whispering against your crown, he lifts you up mere inches away from the bed before you scream in agony. “‘m sorry!” He cries into your hair, your grip weakening even more.

“W-we can try again.” You slide your palm to his nape, “try again, Hobie.”

Hobie flicks his eyes towards you, the light behind your eyes is starting to dim. “Help!” He yells in desperation at the door, in hopes that someone comes bounding up the stairs. “Riri! Miguel! Anyone!”

Your heart breaks, “Hobie, Hobs.” Patting his chest, it's getting harder to breathe. “L-leave. Leave me here.” Hobie's already shaking his head. You smile softly at him, the best you could do despite your body dying. “You have to, you can't die here.”

“And you do?” He cups your face, “we still have forever to go, remember?”

He doesn't want you to come back as a dream anymore, or a shadow embracing him from behind; or a pain in his chest when he hears your name in his mind. He doesn't want your ghostly kiss to taste like ashes on his lips.

He doesn't want you to go.

“I'm sorry, I can't keep my promise. B-but you still can.” You weakly push down at his nape to feel his forehead against yours one last time. Your eyes are starting to close. “Live for me, would you?”

“No, please.” His palm slides right above your heart, feeling your heartbeat slow down. One last time, he yells for help. His throat burns as the ceiling above is engulfed in flames. No one comes to help. “I have to break my promise too, love.”

“Don't, please.”

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?”

You accept death in his warm embrace. “I'll see you in a bit then.”

Flames engulf the room in its fiery destruction. Paint melting off the walls, wood and glass cracking under the pressure. And yet, he still holds on to you, lips pressed on your cold lips in a fleeting goodbye.

“Hobie!”

—

In the middle of nowhere sits the remnants of a farm with clovers growing all around it. Vines snaking along what remains of the farm house, and in those vines, pink hydrangeas grow and thrive amidst the cinders. And behind those darkened wood sits two graves with clovers growing on top of the soil. Two names are etched on simple limestone graves, they bear the same last name and same date of death.

Many travelers pass through the place without ever knowing the story behind the two graves. Seasons come and go, flowers bloom and wither. But only a few ever knew what used to stand on the emerald farm. What used to grow, what colour the house was, and who used to live in it. Stories were whispered and told but only a few truly knew the story behind it, few who came and visited and placed flowers on each of the graves.

And in those few, only three of them know that the once abundant farm where two graves were dug right under an oak tree, are empty.

The stories and the graves were enough to fool anyone left that wants to hurt either one of you to turn back and lament.

The true story lies behind the northern border, where pine trees grow up to the skies. Where snow and ice envelops the whole place. Where the two names etched on the gravestones in the empty farm now live.

“Stop bullyin’ your brother.” The dappled foal yelps, trotting away from his much bigger older brother. The dark horse with white splotches turns his bright blue eyes towards Hobie, huffing and puffing like an annoyed teenager. “Don't huff at me,” great, now he's the one talking to horses. “Go tell your dad not to have any more kids. Not my problem, junior.” The young horse rears, running towards the barn where Buckeye and Cherry sleeps.

Hobie leans on the fence, watching the sunrise on his expansive land. Horses and foals run around freely, feeling the cold gust of wind in their manes. A few sheep roam the grounds, while a pair of cows chew their way towards the fences. Snow-capped mountains rise up high in the background, white snow dusted along the rocks like sugar. While the trees dotted along the mountainside makes for the perfect scenic view. He pulls at his jacket closer to himself, fur tickling his nose as he breathes out puffs of smoke from the cold temperature. Winter’s coming, he can feel it in his joints as another breeze rolls in. He smiles in contentment when the air carries the sound of ducks quacking from their coop, and the smell of morning dew passing by. No more does the smell of fiery gunpowder graze his senses, and no sounds of bullets firing ringing in his ears.

He keeps his hat snug on his head, Clover runs by with her litter of puppies tugging along. And he feels you before you arrive by his side. A smile tugs on his lips, hand already reaching for your waist.

“What are you thinking about, cowboy?” You flutter your eyelashes, chin placed in his shoulder.

“That I have it good, too good.”

You give him a tender smile, leaning to kiss his jaw. “None of that. This isn't too good for you, you deserve all of this.”

“Too early to wallow, huh?” Hobie wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and then he twists around to face you fully, back leaning on the fence, admiring you in the bitter blue of dawn.

You find penchants on his sternum, nose nuzzling his scar. “So fucking early.” He laughs, music to your ears.

“Hard to get used to, huh?”

“Kind of, it's a good feeling though, waking up.”

“You feel okay, right?” His palm pats your chest gently where a scar lies. “No breathlessness? Nothin'?”

You sniff at the cool wind, “nothing, I'm fine, Hobie.” You cup his cheek, jaw rounded at the edges, scruff tickling you, he looks as if time hasn't passed. “Nothing to worry about.” He leans towards your touch, fingers bracelet around your wrist gently, lips meeting your skin. “You okay?”

“Never better, love.” His green eyes twinkle, free arm pulling you impossibly closer. “Especially today.”

You tilt your head playfully. “What's today exactly?”

“Cheeky,” he pokes your side. “You know what day it is.”

You feign realization. “Ah! I remember now, Riri and the gang are coming over.”

“Yes, and?” He grins, biting his lower lip, jade eyes crinkling at the corners. Seeing the matching rings on your finger and his own makes him smile wider.

You suck in your teeth, acting like you're thinking. “It's Bucky's birthday?” Hobie rolls his eyes with a chuckle, and you finally relent. “I know what day it is.” You lean away, taking out a letter addressed to Hobie from your pocket. It's filled with affectionate words, loving thoughts and everything in between. It's a love letter just for him. “Happy anniversary, Hobs.”

Hobie's chest fills with a sense of belonging, heart full with his love for you. He keeps the letter in his coat pocket, right above his heart. “Happy anniversary, lovie.” He pulls you back, you giggle as your palm hits his chest, fingers snaking up to his nape to guide him towards your waiting lips.

“Forgot something, cowboy?” You say against his lips, and he nudges your nose with his own.

You feel something grazing against your chin, and when you flick your eyes down, you see a letter written in his hand, addressed to you. You tamp down your excitement, snatching the envelope, giving it a peck and tucking it inside your jean pocket.

“Never, read it together like always?” He pecks your warm lips once, then twice before indulging himself in your warmth.

“Yes,” you utter, breathlessly. “But inside, your tea, and the girls are waiting.”

Hobie chortles, kissing you again before reluctantly pulling away. “They're awake?”

“They smelt breakfast.” You inhale, letting his sandalwood and mint scent waft over you with ease. “If you hurry, there might still be some left for you.” You begin to walk away, hand grasping his palm.

“Alright, just one more then we'll go.” He pulls you back to his chest gently as you giggle atop his lips. He kisses you like he did all those years ago.

In the middle of nowhere, his story begins. And in the middle of nowhere, his story ends with you.

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking around this long! Our beloved cowboy is finally happy and at peace 🥺 If you loved reading OPIN please consider reblogging ❤️