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the-kr8tor · 7 months

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In Deep Water

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW vomit mention, CW Inaccurate medical procedures, CW injury, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW guns.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 7 >>> CHAPTER 8

The laughter gets louder as the source of it shows itself aboard the black hellion, the fog makes way like a curtain opening to start a performance.

Hobie's grip is tight, fingers weaved around your arm, bruisingly strong. Your nails dig into his flesh as the uniformed man tilts his head to look at you, his toothy yellowing grin thrown in your direction. His powdered white wig flutters in the breeze, medals glinting off the single lamp on the bow, hands resting on the pommel of his pristine sword. The angelic figure head is a stark contrast to the devil sneering down.

The blackened wood of his ship groans as it continues to break a part of the revenge. The sails unfurled behind him, blue wings fluttering in the wind.

The angel of death has come.

“Look at what we have here.” He clicks his tongue, eyes boring a hole through your skulls, he narrows them into slits, and like a snake, he slithers as close as he can, tethering close to the edge. There's a flash of emotion in his eyes, snarling, the navy man chuckles, the mere sound makes you want to cower. “Hello little birdy, now how far did you fly to get where you are now?”

Hobie clenches his jaw, stepping over to hide you from his view. His hand never leaves yours, the dull ache from his hold says that this isn't just a nightmare.

You want to wake up even if it means losing his hold on you.

“Oh where are my manners? Mummy would whip me if she ever knew I didn't introduce myself to a lady.”

Hobie shifts his weight, ready to pounce if need be. You grab his shirt, making sure he doesn't do anything drastic. Subtly flicking your eyes to the side, you see the crew do the same. They look at you with fear in their eyes, the hunter’s gazes illuminating their contorted faces.

You can't help but let out a shuddering breath, the sound echoing around the open waters, hoping to get your cry for help to somebody who can do something, anything to get you and everyone out to safety.

“My name's Captain Mathias Bradshaw.” He drawls, thin lips curling into a smirk. “This here is my little merry band of sailors who has a bone to pick with—” pointing at Hobie with his thick finger, white cosmetic smeared on his palms. “Him. The red hydra. I forgot to greet you yet, long time no see you rapscallion.”

You hear Hobie's shallow breathing. Grey eyes thundering, a storm brewing, lightning flowing through his veins. The only reason why he doesn't let himself loose on Mathias is your touch.

“You see here, sweetheart,” The man addresses you and you only. “For the past three years your so-called captain and I have had a bit of a tiff.” He chuckles coldly. “A rivalry of sorts.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder. “Is it still a rivalry if you're leagues above your rival?”

“No, sir.” A gruff voice says, hidden behind the mist.

Mathias turns back around. “Well, we got our answer then.”

Hobie sneakily murmurs to you. “Hide—”

“I'm not done talking!” The sudden outburst makes you jump in your skin.

“You should've been done with your senseless dialogue a long time ago.” Hobie straightens his posture, head held high, a picture of a pirate captain. “Come down here and fight like a fuckin' man, show me your flames and I'll show mine.”

The man scoffs, amusement in his green eyes. “Flames? Yours is barely a spark.”

Hobie scoffs. “Let's be done with it then. Get the closure we both want, fight me in single combat.” Mathias knits his brows, Hobie smirks. “No? Thought you were a gentleman, where's your fuckin' honour?”

A booming laugh replaces Mathias’ scowl. “I guess it died with your little red hair—”

Hobie lets go of you, drawing his gun, pointing it directly at the monster's head. The crew takes this as their cue, doing the same, pointing their weapons towards the men surrounding them.

There's hunger in his eyes, beneath the swirling grey there's a hunger waiting to be fed.

The enemy ships don't even aim their cannons at the revenge, instead they float still in the water, unmoving, the men aboard their ships smirk in your direction like you're being served to them on a silver platter. It's then you notice the sons of the sea’s ship is no more. They took the brunt of the hellion’s collision.

No longer their sails fly, their crow's nest and pieces of wood lay floating in dark waters.

Left behind, slowly drowning in the depths.

You feel droplets sliding on your cheeks, for a second you thought it's your tears. And then more and more of it comes pouring down, splashing on the wooden floorboards.

Thunder booms from a distance, lightning flashes in the sky, lighting everyone's scornful faces.

A few of Karl's men stand with Hobie, clutching their injuries. You don't see Robbie, his lack of presence makes you glare at the sneering men.

“Say her fuckin’ name.” Hobie says through gritted teeth. “After what you did— Say her name.”

“Eh.” Mathias shrugs, “I forgot.” the laughter of his men echoes in the mist.

“You fucker—!” Hobie's hand shakes despite this, he draws the golden gun, aiming it at the navy man whose smirk gets wider.

“I recognize that little blunderbuss.” He chuckles, wiggling his pointing finger, “She pointed that at my head too, you'll be unsuccessful just like she was.”

It takes every fiber inside Hobie to not just shoot and face the consequences later. But he's surrounded, his crew is surrounded, they have no chance of escaping death if he shoots. The only option he has is through single combat and to appeal to the man's ego. He's hoping the idea works.

One look over his shoulder, one glance at your trembling face and he's back to that day, the day MJ was lost. He prays that this day doesn't end the same way three years ago.

“Little dove,” Mathias’ devilish eyes roam over your trembling body. “Look at you,” he chuckles lowly, “I'd say dear ol' Hobie here got an upgrade just because this one's got her head still glued on her neck!”

Hobie almost shoots him until someone from his crew screams, their voice full of malice, venom dripping with every utterance.

“Fuck you!” Gwen exclaims, “Don't you have any honour? She's dead and you're still spitting on her watery grave! After everything you've put her through!”

“Ah! Gwen Stacy, the ballerina turned pirate. How you doin', miss Stacy? I heard your father's still down in the stables, trying to repay his debt to the crown.” he rags her on, scoffing.

“You're still defending her? She's a traitor, a navy spy. The greatest one we've ever had in fact. Her only downfall is loving a bunch of…” he sucks in his teeth, trying to find the word. “Thieves like you. Love got her head cut off and love will be your ruin too.” Flicking his eyes to you, he observes everyone's faces after his tirade.

Hobie steps between Gwen and Mathias, his guns still raised, eyes brimming with the anger of a forsaken God. Yet he remains calm, clearing his throat, standing tall.

“Mathias Bradshaw, I challenge you to single combat, a duel. I win, you let us go. You win and you get to take us all back to the capital.” Hobie's voice booms louder than the thunder above. Lightning strikes near, the water sizzles at the contact. “I know a man of your stature can't say no.”

The man in the uniform guffaws loudly, broad shoulders shaking. “Oh that's hilarious, you think you'd win against me, little pirate? Hmm?”

“Yes.” Hobie doesn't miss a beat.

Mathias smiles, “I guess this one's less messy than what I was planning. Name your terms.”

“Guns only, five bullets. You get shot three times you lose.”

“I'll add a tiny thing to your wager.” The navy man looks over to your direction, pointing his crooked finger at you. “Same terms but I get to keep your little bird.”

Hobie turns to you, wide eyes staring back at you. “No—” He's already shaking his head before you speak up.

“Deal!” You roar above the thunder storm, deciding your own fate. The rain is getting heavier, drenching your terrified self. “The captain will take your terms as long as you honour it.” Nodding to Hobie, he holsters his weapon away from you.

Mathias cackles in the background.

Gently holding on to your arm, you already know what he'll say.

“Don't. Do you know what you just agreed to?”

“I do,” you stare at his raging eyes but they're tender when he looks at you. “I know you can take him, I trust you.” Taking his hand away from your arm, you squeeze him once before pulling him towards you. “Don't play fair, because he won't.” you whisper. “Fucking obliterate him, for MJ.”

Hobie takes you in like it's the last thing he'll ever do. He imprints your touch in his mind, wanting to remember the softness of it when the bullets get too much for him to bear.

He nods slowly, still unsure of your decision. If you trust him enough to sell your soul then he'll fight to the death so you don't have to.

With one last look at you, he turns around, facing up to the man he loathes the most, wanting to just strangle him with his bare hands. Maybe he'll do just that.

For the crew.

Mathias takes his blue coat off, grinning the entire time.

For MJ.

He grabs on to a rope, rappelling off the black hellion, landing in a thunderous impact on the deck.

For you.

Now that he's leveled with your gaze, he's a lot smaller down on the deck, stout with a round belly, face painted with white lead that's currently melting in the downpour. Hobie's taller and slimmer but he makes up for it in his agility and speed. You've seen him fight but Mathias' form could be compared to Finn's build, all muscle and strength hidden behind his uniform.

You're glad this was a duel of pistols if it was any other fight Hobie could be in trouble.

A few of his men do the same, jumping off the hellion while the ones on the smaller ships stay on board but keeping their eyes peeled.

Surrounding the bloodsail pirates, the hands of Mathias' men never leave the pommels of their rapiers. Hobie clenches his jaw, now standing before the king's flame, he can't help but gaze behind the man, back to you and his crew.

Gwen goes to your side, lacing her trembling fingers through yours, Pav sidles behind you, clutching the back of your vest. Miles stands next to Gwen, holding her other hand. You see them look at eachother with a knowing glance and glimmering eyes.

Your eyes meet Hobie's, you give him a nod, eyes full of fury, and trembling lips. You mouth a ‘Bleed him dry’.

The simple act of Hobie smiling at you, makes you tear up. It's the same one he gives you after you patch him up, it's the same one when he handed you the hot chocolate. It's the same smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

You're afraid as you part with the crowd to the side of the duelists, lest you get caught in the crossfire. As the one in front, you get a good look at the enemy on the other side, all lined up perfectly like the obedient soldier men that they are. You roam your eyes to their faces, wondering how they could obey a man like Mathias.

You assume the uniformed man walking towards the duelists is Mathias' right hand man. Left eye covered in an eye patch, his hazel eyes observe you. He's carrying a large wooden box, pristine and smooth at the edges with golden locks and embellishments. He opens it with a creak, rain water landing on the wood and soaking the velvet inside.

“You're the challenger, you get the first pick.” Mathias gestures towards Hobie, all smiles like he's not about to meet the end of a bullet.

You stand on your tippy toes to take a peek inside. There are two dueling pistols, flintlocks. One white as fresh snow, one is black like the hellion.

Hobie takes his pick, pocketing what you assume is the five bullets. The black gun in his hand shines when a lightning strikes the mast of the hellion. You hear splintering wood in the distance.

He steps back in place, measuring the metal’s weight in his hand.

“Good choice.” Mathias eyes down the gun. “Death has touched that one.”

Hobie glares, baring his teeth. If only that was enough to kill the man before him.

Mathias takes the remaining gun, wiggling it in his hand. “You ready, little pirate?”

Hobie doesn't show an ounce of fear. “You're going to die today.”

“How confident, confidence alone won't help you aim straight.”

Your entire body shakes whilst they stand back to back, guns raised on their sides. They walk slowly, counting their steps.

The pouring rain doesn't help, raindrops obscuring your vision, the cold mixing in with the ice in your veins.

With every step Hobie takes,

Five

with every hit of his boots on the floorboards,

Four

your heart tries to escape,

Three

pulse hammering,

Two

threatening to give out. Afraid of what's to come. No one else dares to make a sound.

One

Standing end to end on the dock, they turn around swiftly.

After a beat, the man with the box yells. “Fire!”

Bang!

The sound echoes out in the dark, above all the rain and thunder.

Hobie hits his mark, Mathias groans, clutching his dominant shoulder. Smoke bellows out of their guns, dissolving into the rain.

Your words are repeating in Hobie's head ‘Don't play fair’ you say, then he won't play fair.

He notices his bleeding arm, looking down he sees the bullet nicked his skin, leaving an angry gash in its wake. The wood behind him gets the brunt of the bullet, the metal embedding inside, splintering a gaping hole.

You jump when Mathias laughs along the thunder. More and more lightning pierces the sky. You can taste iron in your mouth, not realizing the pain from biting the inside of your cheeks.

They reload, Mathias’ man observing with his watchful eye, making sure they both adhere to the rules; but you highly doubt he's doing it for fairness sake.

Metallic clanking, gunpowder clinking against steel, Mathias' voice enters the fray to your dismay.

“You know, you were too easy to fool.” He starts, finishing up his reload. “You never asked why I left my lieutenant in your hands and why was it so damn easy for you to get my travel documents.” Smiling, the lead on his face melts further, dripping on the floorboards, the white paint mixing in with his blood. “Just like I said, love will be your downfall.”

Hobie doesn't have enough time to squabble, instead he would let his aim talk for him.

“Twenty paces!” The eye patch man yells again.

Hobie and Mathias move forwards, getting closer and closer to each other. You want to put a stop to the duel, but you have to trust Hobie that he'll make it, that he'll win. He has to.

You dare not blink.

“Fire!”

Bang!

Hobie almost keels over, his shoulder heavily bleeds, trembling hand holding his flesh together. You see him smile underneath the pain, following his gaze, Mathias clutches his shooting hand, groaning and hissing. It looks like Hobie shot a hole right in the man's hand. The white gun lays on the bloodied floor, discarded.

Gwen's hold on you tightens, you can hear Pavitr sob quietly.

You catch Hobie's eyes. There's hope in the swirling grey, nodding, you encourage him, mouthing an ‘end it’. He seems to understand, straightening his stance, he reloads the gun as best as he can with an injured shoulder.

Mathias wheezes out a strained laugh. “I gotta hand it to you, your aim is pretty good.” He stands, grabbing his gun on the way up with his uninjured hand. “No matter how amazing your aim is, you're still bloody blind!” He screams, spit flying out of his mouth.

“My two bullets that's in you say otherwise.” Hobie tilts his head mockingly.

“No, no, no.” Mathias clicks his tongue, waving the gun wildly. “You still don't get it do you? You're not asking questions, letting everything fall into your lap, thinking God's on your side on your little revenge quest. But he's not,” he chuckles. “Sacrificing my lieutenant was the best decision I've ever made, especially knowing the fucker can absolutely sing. Loose lips sink ships, little pirate. Do remember that. Especially since you didn't seem to learn from it last time.”

Hobie's face falls, dread filling his chest.

“Bribing the governor to plant my travel documents and telling him to go unwind in a brothel for a couple of days was well worth my coin.” Mathias stretches his shoulder, reloading his pistol with bloodied hands.

He continues. “The two idiots at the gates were…well idiots, I barely had to do anything to them. The lock was a false security to make you sweat a little bit.” The king's flame proves himself. “You're blind. You've focused so much on taking me down that you didn't notice the little details. It's either that or you're also deaf, preferring not to hear your crew's concerns.”

“Not a very good attribute for a supposed captain.” he shrugs, he says his words mockingly.

“Fuck you!” Hobie aims directly at his rival's head.

It's all his fault, everything that led up to this point is his fault.

The gun trembles in his hold. Mathias looks pleased, smiling at Hobie.

“You know the rules.” Mathias sucks in his teeth. “Don't fire until lieutenant Dubois says so or I win and I get your little bird.” he looks over at you. “Oh we're gonna have so much fun together, every night, every day.” His laughter makes you want to grab the nearest knife and shove it down his throat.

You don't back down from his disgusting gaze. “If he doesn't kill you, I will.” Pavitr tries to hold you back. “And it won't be quick.” your voice shakes from sheer anger.

“I look forward to it, duchess.” Mathias spares you one last glance.

You don't notice how Hobie looks angrier than he did, he's clearly holding back. His glare alone could burn a hole through Mathias' skull. Yet he stands tall, getting a second wind; he's gonna shoot a hole in his skull instead.

His head goes a hundred knots per hour, thinking of all the what ifs. What if he just listened, what if he didn't let her stay, what if, what if, what if, the words are tattooed in his mind, clawing and biting at his psyche.

“Ten paces!”

They walk in sync, closer to each other more than ever. Pausing in place, they stare each other down, Mathias' smile never leaving his lips. Hobie's scowl gets deeper with every second that passes.

“Fire—!”

“Fuck this.” Mathias lunges in surprise, grappling Hobie.

Hobie doesn't get a chance to dodge, his gun clattering on the floor as the heavier man tackles him to the ground. The wet floors make it hard for Hobie to find leverage against Mathias who's currently choking him with his large arm.

Chaos ensues, everyone breaks the line, unsheathing their weapons, fighting, steel and skin clashing. Pistols going off left and right, but your main focus is on the two men writhing on the floor.

You hear Hobie choke so you run faster, taking a fallen dagger from a corpse, you quickly dodge people, determined to save Hobie.

“This is what happens when you let your feelings decide for you!” Mathias yells above the mayhem.

Finally making it close to them, in one swift movement, you stab Mathias on his back, crimson ebbs on his white shirt like spiderwebs. He screams, letting go of Hobie.

You don't spare him a glance as you take Hobie by his arm, dragging him below deck. Shutting the doors closed, Mathias bids you farewell with one last cackling.

Guiding him through the corridors, you hope the winding hallways help make it harder for the enemies to find you.

“Y/N.” He wheezes out.

“Don't fucking talk.” Your feet brings you to the galley. Sitting him down, he plops like a fish on the chair, head lolling to the side.

Slapping his cheek, he wakes back up with a groan. “Actually, keep talking. Stay awake, please.”

Hobie nods, “I need to go back up, I can't leave them there.” He tries to stand but your hands stop him, making him sit back down.

“You can't help in this state. Let me treat you then you can go and help.” You look in his pained eyes. “Please, at least let me help with your shoulder.” your other hand fumbles to his back, searching for an exit wound. You already know the answer when you feel the hot crimson weeping out from the puncture left behind.

You plead with your eyes.

“Alright, do what you have to do. Make it quick.” he nods, you leave his side to light a fire in the hearth, laying a metal poker on top of the hot coals. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Whatever keeps you awake.” Taking out the first aid kit from your bag, you notice your hands tremble. They never shake when you're treating someone, with your back turned away from him, you swallow down a sob.

“There was this girl, she had red hair like one of those…” he sighs, injuries aching, throat throbbing. “Apples.”

You reach his side once again, trembling fingers dipping into the wound ointment. “You have a way with words.”

He grabs your shaking hands in his, “Are you alright?”

You pause in your frantic movements, blinking rapidly. “Y-you’re the one who's bleeding right now.”

“You're shaking.”

You twist your wrists away from his touch. “I'm alright, worry about yourself and your crew.”

“You're a part of my crew”

“Shut– just…” you exhale. “Continue your story.”

Hobie nods, eyes drooping. “She just one day showed up on the docks, asking for a place.” He inhales sharply. “I needed to fill the second ship so I agreed, I let her in. I shouldn't have done it.” His eyes well up but no tears fall. “I should've turned her away but she was determined, she had the skills to stay— can you give me somethin’ for the pain? A fuckin' rum or wine, anythin’”

“No alcohol, if you want to bleed out be my guest.” You hold a cloth above his wound, pressing down to stop the bleeding as much as you can.

“Fucker!” He stomps his foot, “you can be such a little shit sometimes you know?”

You can hear the struggle upstairs. Weirdly enough, there's no sound of cannons firing.

“I know—” the ship tilts suddenly, flinging you and Hobie brutally to the side. You do your best to shield his injured self, taking the brunt of the impact, back stinging from the wall.

He lands on top of you, arms on your side, face hidden on the crook of your neck. You can feel his staggered breathing on your skin.

Bottles and pans fly towards you two. Pushing him away, you guide each other to the corner of the room, huddled together, protected by the hearth.

“Shit!” Hobie protects your head with his hand when a pot flies towards you. The ship keeps turning and tossing the both of you until it finally straightens out, you can feel how fast its going by how wild the utensils are swinging.

“Someone got hold of the helm.” He whispers, his cool hand on your tender shoulder. “We're running.” Hobie doesn't say it with pride or dejection, he utters it with embarrassment.

“That's good,” you stand up, giving him a helping hand. “We can get out—”

The unmistakable sound of a cannonball whizzes past and the ship lunges harshly on the side again. You can hear frantic yells from above.

Hobie takes your hand, “I need to get up there.”

Helping him up, you nod. “And you will, let me close that wound off and give you something for the pain and we'll go back up there.”

“Y/N, you can't—”

“We will go up there.” the fire in your eyes makes him obey. “Sit down, I'll make this quick but not painless.”

He flops down, masking the pain with a grimace. Inhaling, he continues. “I let MJ in.”

You pause for a second before taking the metal poker. “Even after seeing all the bloody signs.” He sighs. “Maybe I am blind.”

You hold his face tenderly. “You were, but you still have a chance to change that. You can still help your crew. Make it right for their sake.”

He holds the back of your neck, kneading the skin with his bloodied fingers. “I don't regret letting you stay.”

You look at him apologetically. “You will after this.” Shoving the leather pot holder in his mouth, moving aside his clothes. “Inhale” you place the hot poker directly on his bullet wound, cauterizing the gaping hole.

It sizzles, Hobie holds on to your sides tightly, bunching up the fabric in his hands. Muffled screams eaten up by the leather in his mouth.

You move the rod away once it's done. Hobie's eyes roll in the back of his head. Slapping him lightly, he wakes back up.

“Stay awake, hey. Look at me.” He stares at you through half-lidded eyes. “There you are, captain.” You smile to reassure him. He gives you a tired nod. “Now for the exit wound.”

Hobie inhales, more than ready this time around. His skin is clammy, eyes red from the brimming tears. He clenches his entire body, determined to get it over with. Twisting around in his seat, he hopes the ship doesn't rock as you push the searing metal poker on the back of his shoulder.

With a muffled yell from him, you take the tool away, letting it cool down. Moving his head with your hand, you look at him apologetically.

“I'm sorry, if I warned you first you would've flinched.”

Hobie spits the leather out of his mouth, patting your cheek with his sweaty hand, he leaves it there, stroking your skin.

“I wouldn't have flinched.” He chuckles through the searing pain.

“Of course you wouldn't.” You hold his hand that's on top of your cheek. “You did good.”

He laughs, hand leaving your skin to hold your hand instead. “Not the first time I've felt fire.”

You smile, without thinking, you lay your forehead on his as more cannonballs fly around the revenge.

“You did good too.” He whispers. Eyes closed, he leans away. “Now get me something for the pain and let's get the bastard.”

You smile, nodding to him. Taking a bottle from your bag, you rub mint oil on his upper lip, igniting his nerves, keeping him awake.

“That's the only thing I have that could help. I can't give you alcohol.”

Hobie tentatively stands up, “Maybe after this then.” He groans, slightly limping. “‘m gonna need an entire crate of ‘em.” he thinks adrenaline is enough to keep him on his feet.

He faces you, a ghost of a smile on his pained face. Hobie bends at the waist, you scramble to help him but he refuses with his hand raising to stop you. Taking something from inside his boot, he grabs a shiny and slender thing.

“Here.” Hobie hands a silver dagger to you, intricate carvings of a turtle and a sea snake looping around the glimmering handle. “Somethin’ to defend yourself.”

“Are you sure? It looks—”

“I don't mind givin’ it to you.” He closes your hand around the hilt. “Make sure this one hits his neck this time.”

“I will.” Your eyes fill with determination, adrenaline still coursing through you.

He wobbles towards the door, sparing you a smile on the way.

“Hobie,” you call after him. “Continue your story after this?”

“Only if you tell me yours.” He looks over his shoulder, giving you the same smile he always has.

You scoff with a small smile, “Maybe I will.”

“Let's fuckin’ go and be pirates then.”

—

Getting up the deck was tedious work with all the rocking and shifting from the ship and the wild waves, add that with all the cannon balls whizzing past, it was like riding an angry bull. Meeting halfway with Karl on the way there made it easier, filling your chest with hope.

“Where's Robbie?!” He frantically yells, forehead bleeding, hands gripping Hobie's vest.

“I-I don't know.” Karl's face falls. “But we'll find him, I know he got out.”

“Got out from what?” His voice trembles, “what happened, Hobie?”

Hobie holds his friend’s wrist, “I'm sorry.” Karl weeps. “Go find Robbie and your crew.” He shakes his head. “And get the hell out of here, he's after me not you.”

Karl's eyes fill with tears, flicking towards you who look on with sad eyes. “What about you and the others?”

“We'll find a way out. We always do, remember?” Hobie reassures him with a smile. “Take one of my dinghies, and row the hell out of here.” he takes Karl's hands away from his vest. “We'll see you back at the old place, yeah?”

“You fucking better, Hobart or I'll drown you myself.” Karl takes your hand briefly, nodding. “I hope I see you again, doc.”

“Me too, captain. Find Robbie.”

You part ways with Karl, praying that he finds Robbie and what remains of his men.

“Ready, trouble?” Hobie gets your attention by brushing his pinky against the back of your hand.

“I'm right behind you.”

—

It's war.

The moment Hobie opened the door to the deck you smell petrichor and blood in the air.

You get a glimpse of the battle before he could shut the doors. Bodies, both pirates and navy alike lay motionless on the floor. The sound of thunder mixes in with the pained yells, flashes of lightning illuminates the night sky and you see the faces of the dead clearly.

Two-fingers lay face first on the deck, arms bent at an angle, blood pooling from his head. Through the smoke and splintered wood, Foul screams when a sword plunges through his heart, silencing him immediately. Danny takes a bullet for Finn who promptly avenges him with his cutlass, swiftly separating the man's head from his body.

One face you were hoping was among the dead was missing. Mathias isn't on board.

Something flashes in his eyes when he looks at you. Grabbing your arm, he leans in, your heart stops.

Hobie moves past your head to press his forehead on your shoulder. Bathing in your presence, hand squeezing your skin

“Hobie?”

He smiles, moving his hand up to cup your jaw. Chuckling, he cleans his dried blood off your cheek with his thumb. “Do me a favour, Scuttlebutt?”

“What is it? We need to get up there!”

Hobie ignores you, leaning away. “Survive for me would you? Live, find your family. Promise me.” He sniffs, eyes glinting.

“What?”

“Just promise me, trouble.” He shakes you.

“Alright I promise. Can we—”

“I'm sorry.”

“What—?” Hobie pushes you hard, you fall off the steps, landing on your behind, he exits without looking back, shutting the doors closed. “What the fuck?!”

You rattle the doorknob but it's no use, he locked it on the outside. Frustrated, you try to kick in the door, hurting yourself from the hard wood.

“Fuck! Hobie!” You bang the door, peeking through the keyhole you see carnage as Hobie makes quick work of the remaining men. “Let me help!”

The sound of cannon balls going off almost deafens your eardrums. If only you had your lockpick you could open it.

Your lockpick.

It's a stretch but you still run towards your cabin, feet thudding loudly, echoing around the hallways that you've memorized.

You feel relieved after seeing your door. Shouldering it open, you frantically search for the metal on the shelves. The tip of it scratches your hand but you don't care, already bolting off towards the exit. Running off with your bag tied around you, hoping the medical kit inside is enough to treat the wounded, you hold the lockpick in your hand while you run.

Your hope dwindles with every cannon hitting the ship.

Doors whizz past, ankle stinging, the sounds of screams and gunfire makes you sprint faster.

You don't notice the blood soaked hulking man leaving Hobie's cabin.

Running into him, you stagger, tumbling down, heart falling into your stomach as he looks down at you through his nose.

“Hello there.”

Scrambling to get to your feet, you slide under his legs, stabbing his achilles heel with your lockpick. The man screams in agony, you take the opportunity to sprint like you've never ran before. You'd take running away from O’hara any day.

Your lungs scream for you to stop, but you go on as you hear thundering stomping behind you.

There's no exit and you can't run forever.

The metallic click rings behind you, rounding the corner, you barely dodge the bullet aimed at you, nicking your hip.

“Shit!” You almost fall yet you continue on, entering the library, you shut the doors behind you, locking it swiftly.

Lifting your hand away, the sight of your own blood turns your fear into fury. With your trembling hands, you unsheathe the dagger from your belt.

You have a promise to keep, and you never break a promise.

Hiding behind the armchair you always sat on, you crouch down, gripping the dagger, ready to strike like a viper in the sand.

You look back on what she taught you, “Strike fast and hit hard. Don't give them a chance to get back up.” her voice whispers it to you and you intend to follow it.

The door bursts open, splintering the wood to a thousand pieces.

“The captain wants you alive, little birdy. This doesn't have to hurt if you just come with me, eh?” You hear him chuckle lowly, blatantly lying to you.

His heavy footsteps thud closer.

You use the shadows as your guide, the oil lamp left open on the corner table does the work. For once you thank Gwen for forgetting to close the light.

“I can help with your wound. Glue your wings back together again” he whistles. “The red hydra can't help you with that but I can. I'm a surgeon you see.” Getting closer and closer, you time your strike right.

You come out of your hiding place with a battle cry. Still crouches down, “I highly doubt that!” Slicing his tendons in one quick movement. The second he falls to his knees, you stab him in the neck.

Stepping back, he chokes in his own blood. With wide eyes you flinch when he stands, seemingly unaffected but his shaking pupils say otherwise. With a garbled noise from your assailant, he reaches for you.

“What the fuck?!”

With a split second decision, you dodge his hands, moving backwards, throwing books from the shelves which bounce almost harmlessly on his head and body.

There's a loud thrumming sound outside, its warbling is almost mechanical but definitely something an animal could've made.

He heard it too, pausing in his movement for a second before he lunged towards you. With a scream, your back against the corner, he jumps you.

Your head hits the wall in an ugly crunch, seeing stars, sliding down the wall, landing on the floor, he chokes you with his bare hands. Indistinct noises escape from his mouth, your dagger nowhere to be found in his throat. His entire body hides anything in front of you, drowning your vision, filling it with your murderer. His blood drips down on your face, almost drowning you in it.

You know he's running on fumes but based on your vision fading, lungs gasping for air, you think you'd go out first before him.

Hands grazing something metallic on the floor next to you, you inch your fingers towards it. Finally finding your grip, you smack it on his head.

You've got a promise to keep after all.

He yells, the oil from the lamp spreading on his skin and clothes, engulfing him in flames.

You frantically roll away, killing the fire clinging to your clothes until there's nothing left but burned cloth.

The flames light up the entire room in orange and reds, the paper around him helps feed the fire as he tries to desperately put it out.

There's that thrumming again.

You watch on, holding your tender neck. Your face is flat, eyes reflecting the fire that's quickly eating at the man. Fabric burns on his flesh, flesh turns into charred muscle, the fire eats at that too until he falls, silence hanging in the room except for the fire cackling, ashes and flames surrounding his corpse.

You stand up, ratty shoes stepping over fire to grab the fallen dagger with a thick cloth from your bag.

For a second you stand amidst the fire.

The thrumming outside and the warmth wakes you up, flames licking at your clothes, it's heat scorching your skin, nose filling with smoke. Even with all the pain you still escape with your life, determined to keep your promise.

Running outside the former library, the cracking of splintering wood fills your ears, you instinctively dodge, backing away before the mast of the revenge falls on your head.

Shielding your face, you cower. The mast stills, sharp wood lay next to your feet. Tentatively opening your eyes, the sounds from above are clearer in your ears, all the screams and guns going off, you hear it loud and clear that you can decipher whose screams belong to whom.

The fog enters below deck through the gaping hole left by the broken mast. All the while, the smoke from the library rises up, replacing the mist.

Your exit.

You don't hesitate to climb up. Jagged edges of sharp wood rip amd snag your clothes, stabbing your skin. Finding leverage, you manage to prop yourself up on the deck, meeting face to face with a lifeless Ned.

The light in his eyes is gone, unsung music escaping from his open lips. Skin dirtied by flowing ichor.

You don't hear anything else other than skin meeting skin in a brutal dance.

“No.” You quickly jump up, leaving the fire behind you to consume, to devour what's left of the revenge. “Ned?”

Desperately feeling for a pulse, your heart wretches in your throat, saliva filling your mouth, bile rising up from your gut.

There's no pulse.

With a choked sob, you close his eyes for him. The sound of wet punching makes you turn to your side. Hobie's eyes are wild, vicious and desperate, bloodied knuckles pummeling the man under him. Skin broken, nose cracked, skull open for the world to see. Yet, Hobie doesn't stop even with the obvious signs of death. Fueled by rage, he paints the wooden floorboards with the man's brain.

It all feels sickenly real, your heart is still beating in sync with his punches but there's so much death around you that you feel like you're a part of the dead. Blood and smoke filling your senses, adrenaline slowly washed away like the tides.

You're sitting in a graveyard and nobody else has noticed.

“Hobie.”

His fists pound harshly through the man's head, splintered wood now embedded in his skin.

You apprehensively crawl towards him, your various injuries aching, blood seeping out from your hip. The chaos around you still continues on while he still doesn't stop.

“Hobie—” your fingers brush his arm, he flinches back, fist raised to knock you out. But he halts, knuckles kissing the tip of your nose, painting it with crimson.

With wide eyes, he heaves, muscles tensed, grief all over his expression. You shove your fear down, holding his raised knuckles, moving it away gently. You hold his face in your other hand, smearing the fresh ichor on his cheeks, staining your own skin.

“It's done, he's dead.” You nod, caressing his face, turning it away from the carnage below him. “Hobie,” you unclench his fist carefully, shattered bone and hair sticking to him. With a shallow breath, you let the tears flow on your cheeks. “He's dead.”

His face flashes with fury only to be triumphed over by misery. With a heavy heart, he nods.

Behind Hobie, a uniformed man raises his pistol, without a second thought, you take the golden blunderbuss from his waist, hastily aiming it directly at the man's head.

Your ears ring, the smoke from the gun blinds you for a second before you see your target fall dead with a bullet right between his eyes, blood splattering like fireworks from his head.

Hobie looks at you in surprise, taking his gun away from you carefully. Hands soft on your raised skin. He pats your cheek and you could only shake your head.

“We need to—” the ship collides with something, Hobie holds you close, covering you away from debris. With his embrace, he protects you. Scarred hand on the back of your head, face hiding in the crook of your neck. Leather, sea salt and blood invades your senses.

The hellion is once again looming over the revenge, its golden façade cracking under the damage made by Hobie's ship.

Mathias shows himself, looking worse for wear, he wobbles on two feet, clutching his injuries.

You hear footsteps around you, raising your head, eyes widening at what's left of the crew, they stand behind you and Hobie. Wiping blood off their faces, reloading their guns, sharpening their swords. The red sails of the people's revenge still fly above, more than ready to take what they're owed, no matter what it takes.

Gwen's blond hair is dipped in ruby red, hands tight around her blunderbuss. Miles wipes his face clean, stepping next to Gwen with clenched jaw. Pavitr stands directly behind you, face covered in what you hoped to be someone else's blood. He nods, reassuring you.

Yuri and James take one look at Ned, their expression alone could make you weep again. Finn, crouches down next to you, nodding wordlessly, blue eyes glossy.

Hobie exhales, with shaky legs he stands up, helping you back to your feet. Gripping your knife, you scowl at the man above.

“How cute. The power of friendship isn't enough to save you.” Mathias says through gritted teeth.

The rest of his crew arrives, there's less ships than before, proving how the bloodsail pirates is a force to be reckoned with. They have what Mathias doesn't have, giving them something worth fighting for.

Mathias nods, signaling his ship to turn their cannons towards you and your family.

You step in front of Hobie. “I have a proposition!” Yelling above the rain and metallic clanking, you push away Hobie's hand from your shoulder.

“What is it?” The man rolls his eyes, looking incredibly bored. “We can't be here all night.”

“Me,” the crew voices their concerns, Hobie takes your hand, face terrified.

You smile, “it's alright.” Whispering to him and the crew only. With tearful eyes, you turn back to the devil above. “You seem like you really want me, so fucking take me instead. Let them go.”

You feel the heat beneath your feet. The fire devours everything just a few feet below you.

They all yell your name behind you. Protests fill your ears but you choose to ignore them. You feel his calloused fingers squeeze your hand.

The man guffaws, “Holy shit! You like them that much?” He observes Hobie's contorted face.

“You like her that much?” He chuckles. “You know what? I don't even want you that much, sure, get on up here, birdy!”

There's that thrumming and warbling again. It's much clearer now that you're above, it seems like it's coming from beneath the ship.

“Come here and take me then!” The rain mixes in with your salty tears. Raising your arms, shoving everyone away, you taunt him. “But let them go or I'll plunge this dagger through your eye!”

“Christ, you're as insane as him. Perfect for eachother eh?” he sighs, gesturing for his cannons to cease. “I'm already satisfied even though a few of your men escaped from a dinghy but eh, I'm sure I'll get them soon enough. Just like how I'll get you one day, little pirate. I'm a very patient man, I'll wait three more years if I have to.”

Hobie's face is full of anguish when he swivels you around to look at him. “Don't fuckin' do this. He won't keep his word,” he flicks his eyes to Mathias, then back to you, grey eyes darker than before. “the moment you step foot on that ship he'll kill you.” his mind comes back to that fateful day.

He can't let that happen again, not to you.

You look at him softly. “I know, but I'll make it hard for him, that'll give you enough time to escape. Hobie, I have nothing else, just this.” swallowing the lump in your throat, there's heat under your eyes. Taking his hand, you squeeze it once. “Let me do this, for you and for them. You still have to get your revenge so let me do this. Don't let him win.”

“You promised.” His voice cracks.

“I don't think I can keep it now.” You flick your eyes behind him, the crew looks on with grief marring their eyes. “They're too young for this, Gwen, Pav and Miles, they deserve to live too.”

You hear the rope fall from the hellion's deck. “I'm glad I got stuck in that net even though you made me walk the plank.” chuckling through the tears, you give them your best smile to remember you by.

“Don't leave.” he pleads.

Sliding your hand away, you take one last look at them, making a sketch of their faces in your mind to remember when the inevitable happens.

“I have to go now or this won't work.”

The captain has no plan on how to fix it, how to fix everything, and he beats himself bloody for it.

Turning around, with every step you take feels heavier than the last. You make amends to her in your mind, praying that it reaches back home. You also thank her, but you don't regret running away that day.

You'll never know what lies for you up north or if there's someone there waiting for you. If there is someone, you apologize to them too.

You leave traces of yourself to the people behind you with the hope you live on through those pieces. That at least they won't forget your name.

The howling wind and rain whips at your drenched form, committing the feel of it to memory.

Grabbing the rope, you fight the urge to look behind.

“Hurry up, birdy!” Mathias cackles. “Come on then—!”

The thrumming is deafening, everything seems to freeze mid motion.

Giant mounds of flesh rise up from the water. Snake-like features curl above, rising to the heavens, cutting through the grey clouds.

You can't help but be mesmerized by the beauty of it. Iridescent scales glimmer against the lightning, cracked scales teeming in gold. the lightning bolts ricochet off their scaly skin, unharmed.

More serpents appear from the depths, towers of scaled flesh. They rain sea water from above, dripping from their massive bodies.

One curls just above the hellion, opening its eyes, revealing an entire ocean in its orbs.

You can't stop looking at it, petrified.

“Dragons.” You say in awe.

“Y/N!” Hobie races towards you. His hand brushes against your shirt, so close yet so far.

You get yanked up with the hellion, grip still frozen on the ropes. Holding on for life, the beast has curled around the ship, in your peripheral you see men jumping off, splashing down into the depths, taking their chances in the cold.

Facing the creature, they trill and thrum, crushing the hellion and the navy ships in their massive jaws and swirling flesh.

You wake up from the trance they had you in, almost losing your grip off the rope.

“No!” You screech, saving yourself, arm socket straining against your weight. Twirling the rope around your hand, you tie it just like how they taught you.

Palms burning on the hemp, looking down, you're hanging high above the revenge. You watch as the crew frantically unties a dinghy while Hobie and Finn stay behind, they're too far for you to make out what they're doing.

Your only chance is to jump in the water but you know that'll be the end of you.

Water parts for something swimming fast under the water, it moves towards the Revenge. You scream their names in an attempt to warn them.

“Gwen!” Your throat struggles from the screaming. “Brace yourselves!”

The serpent crashes on the starboard side, away from where the small boat hangs. Hobie clings to the remaining mast, knife in his hand. Heart pounding, you watch as Gwen runs towards Hobie, he yells, she shakes her head but in the end she bolts for the dinghy. You nod, hoping she saw that you forgave her.

The beast constricts around the helion, crashing the oak and its gilded carvings in its wrapped body.

You sway in the wind with the serpent’s movements, praying that the rope hangs on to the figure head. The figure head of an angel looks down at you, lifeless eyes observing your slow demise.

This is the end for you, you've never thought you'd be killed by a mythical being turned into reality but here you are, hanging on by a thread, waiting for death to come.

With one last glimpse at the revenge, you see the fire finally reaching above deck. Gwen and the others lower down on the dinghy while Hobie grabs onto a rope, cutting the knot off the steel rings, remembering James' teachings, if he keeps doing that he’ll get yanked up, and with the wild wind, it will surely be a disaster.

You yell his name in a futile attempt to stop his effort at saving you.

Finn raises something in his hands, heaving it over his shoulder.

You sharply turn your head when a snapping sound fills your ears. The hemp untangles, with the rope breaking in the middle, you close your eyes.

The sea serpent lets out a guttural scream, the sound alone sends shivers down your spine. It uncurls around the hellion and you get a glimpse of a sharp harpoon sticking out from its eye.

Falling with the hellion, the serpent's eyes turn from blue to a bloody red, bathing everything in its gaze in crimson. it's the last thing you see before you shut your eyes.

You feel a familiar arm around your middle, looking over your shoulder, you think you've already died.

“I've got you!” Hobie yells, with him carrying you and his hand grasping on the rising rope, he struggles to hold on.

So you help him, wrapping your arm behind him, you hold the rope in the other, face close to his as you two fly above the revenge, swinging and whipping uncontrollably in the storm.

The beast trills, jaw unhinging, its rows of shark like teeth in full display.

“Shit!” Hobie manipulates the rope to swing you two away from its sharp teeth.

It fails to catch you, instead it turns its attention to Finn on the deck.

“Finn! Run!” Your blood curdling scream gets his attention, yet he pays no heed.

But everyone already knows it's too late, with one last fight in him, he raises his harpoon, yelling, meeting the serpent's opened mouth halfway.

It swallows him whole.

You just stare at where Finn once stood, he leaves patches of his ichor on the floor.

The revenge sinks, fire and water engulfing Hobie's home, your home.

“Love!” The name rots in his mouth, it gets you out of your frozen state. “I—”

The last standing mast cracks and breaks apart. You lose your grip on Hobie.

And you fall once again. For a second you fly, eyes peering towards the clearing sky, with white clouds in your vision, you brace for impact.

“MJ!”

That's the last thing you hear as you fall in the depths in a harsh splash.

A/N: so sorry for the late update!! Hope you like it 🫶 (if i forgot to put any warnings on the tags please tell me)

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wlwinry · 4 months

Note

wait wait please tell me more about the thistlecaster tangled au

oh boy oh boy im about to explode. prepare for a deeply silly heartfelt au that hovers in the back of my mind so very often

gorgug is (approximately) flynn, fabian is (approximately) rapunzel

by this i mean that they fill those two roles not that the personalities perfectly align

but to backtrack a little to that age-old worldbuilding: fabian, youngest (adoptive, but who cares) son of cathilda the black falls grievously ill as an infant. devastated and desperate, cathilda and fabian's older siblings (princess maeve, prince kieran, and princess rory, though theyre not super relevant to the au i just care about them a lot) hunt for magical cures high and low and eventually find an ancient healing blossom blessed by Galicaea, goddess of the moon, and Cassandra, goddess of the night and of mystery. some say that the flower came from the tears Galicaea shed when her sister first died, but that's neither here nor there...

the royal guard sneaks and fights through the wards around the flower and brews it into a healing draught, one that restores the infant prince's strength--but as he heals and grows bit by bit, the royal family notices a shocking change. fabian's hair, previously a pale silver, has turned moon-white. writing it off as a simple change, the likes of which frequently occur with infants, queen cathilda announces that her baby is healed and the kingdom rejoices

except word reaches bill and hallariel seacaster, fabian's biological parents. you see, they didn't want to deal with a child on their adventures, so they dropped him off on the shores of their former friend's kingdom.

a magical child, however...that's not a burden. that's an opportunity.

hallariel tricks her way into her palace to try and siphon some of fabian's magic, but finds it tied to the boy's blood and hair. so, of course, she steals him back. don't worry, she left a note thanking cathilda for taking such good (temporary) care of him, but she and bill have quite the client list looking for the magical youth, healing, and immortality a child with the healing power of a god can bring

cathilda hunts them down to no avail. the hangman (the ship) stops sailing, hiding in a cove shrouded by the best wards money can buy. fabian grows up in a cabin of that ship, never stepping foot off of it and never seeing another person beyond the clients his doting (ha) mama and papa bring in

cue the lantern celebration, a last hope from the royal ceíli family that their last little one will find his way home

cut to nineteen years later. thief duo fig and gorgug need one last score to be able to leave the kingdom behind with more than enough money to pursue their dreams once they end up Anywhere But There. the score in question? the crown of the lost prince

things don't go to plan, though--they get caught on the way out of the vault and end up splitting up, unable to reach their meeting spot now that (junior) captain of the guard riz gukgak is on their tails. fig heads for the forest sans-crown, gorgug heads for the shore with the crown, and when he sees what looks like a shipwreck in the middle of a secluded cove he decides to trust his gut and sneak aboard.

the problem is, of course, that the second he's on board, the glamour fades and the ship is clearly whole and hale. not that he gets much of a chance to process this, though. he gets brained over the head by a large, heavy blunt object, shoved into a closet, and then is blackmailed by the most beautiful man he's ever seen with the longest hair in the goddamn world to take him to see the floating lights in return for the crown. always a man of honor, gorgug agrees, and the ethereally beautiful stranger introduces himself as fabian

and he is. shockingly easy to fall in love with. mesmerized by the outside world. determined to experience as much as he can in the short few days he has without clients. deeply melancholy. maybe a little too fearless

he shudders whenever gorgug holds his hand, like he's not used to the touch. to the comfort

gorgug thinks there isn't much he wouldn't give to see him happy, escape plan aside.

(cue the whole adventure. all of it. except fabian doesnt lose his magic like rapunzel does bc i always thought that was silly. he does THINK that that's where his power stems from, because that's what bill and hallariel always thought and told him)

(also, this is a fabian who wasn't trained, bc bill decided he made a better asset when he was unable to fight the people they sold his magic to. you know, if he ever decided to escape. a lot harder to do that when you can't fight back)

(this au was originally conceptualized with transfem!fabian but really it can be done either way)

(the scene where eugene is totally speechless when he first sees rapunzel? that, but thistlecaster)

(the hangman [dog] is pascal)

#d20 #fabian seacaster #gorgug thistlespring #thistlecaster #figueroth faeth #riz gukgak #tangled au

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chocoblep · 20 days

Text

#2: Sails in the Distance

Prompt: Horizon

Red sails crawled westward in the distance, making a lazy trek toward Limsa Lominsa–a Maelstrom ship, no doubt, making its way to port. Another set of sails, these ones white and much more robust, moved eastward. Perhaps it was a merchant vessel attempting to get out on the open sea before a storm, or a deep-sea-faring ship on its way to one of the far-flung nations across the oceans. As Shev drank his morning coffee, he let the salt-soaked breeze riffle through his hair and ears and tried to imagine what his life would have been like if he’d found work on another ship after he’d left the Illusion’s crew.

Where would he have been now? Sailing the route from Limsa to Thavnair? Perhaps Othard? Maybe even the New World; he’d heard that more vessels were beginning to consider trade routes to the western continent, though those seas had always been rumored to be rough. Maybe he would still be just muscle, or maybe he’d have been favored by his captain and made first mate, or trained to take over the trade when the captain retired. Maybe he’d have bought his own ship, started his own crew. On mornings like this, when the sea was more playful than rough and the sky was clear and blue, he missed being out on the open sea. His hands ached for the halyards, his legs for the sway of the deck. The food was often awful out at sea, but the freedom she provided was well worth enduring subpar meals.

He spied a third set of sails heading westward, these ones colorful as they passed into view from beyond Mist’s sleepy cove. A Hannish vessel. He smiled as he sipped the dark, energizing brew. Their ships were beautiful, and from what he’d seen of Thavnair, he’d have loved living there. Perhaps he should ask Kismet for a few stories from his time there.

Kismet, whose voice filtered out to him as two sets of footsteps approached.

“... don’t think that’s going to work, Sunshine,” he was saying, and a second voice sounded just after, full of feigned offense.

“Are you questioning my expertise, Starlight? Perhaps, if you tried it, you might find that it does work–and very well, might I add.”

Shev twitched an ear and turned his head, and then promptly set his coffee cup down and jumped to his feet to take a tray of breakfast pastries from Anzhi’s hands. Once he’d settled it on the deck’s table, he returned to take the two pitchers of juice from Kismet and do the same. When he turned around again, Anzhi was already perching himself on the seat opposite the one Shev had occupied, and Kismet breezed right past him to settle into the chair he’d been sitting in moments before.

‘’Ey, tha’s my seat, ya little thief! And my coffee–’ey!” Kismet just laughed as Shev leaned in and plucked him out of the chair before he could pilfer that morning coffee, seating himself on it and then settling the lavender-haired viera on his thigh. Caging him with one large arm, he picked up his coffee cup and drained it, giving Kismet a squinty glare the entire time. When he set the cup back on the table, he loosened his arm, and Kismet made himself comfortable on his lap.

“I told you it would work,” Anzhi said, smirking as he popped a mini rolanberry tart into his mouth.

“And you were right,” Kismet replied, reaching out to grab a savory pastry and pick at the flaky crust. “Now I have the best seat on the deck.”

“Yer both little shites, ya know that?” Shev said through a chuckle. Kismet gave him a peck on the cheek for his insult, and Anzhi an innocent smile and a pair of doe eyes that Shev knew far better than to fall for. “Ah, but speakin’ ‘a decks… How d’ya both feel abou’ me gettin’ a sailboat? Maybe one ‘a those little Hannish skiffs? Just a one-to-three man crew kind ‘a thing?”

“Well, you know how I feel about big open spaces, so I’ll let that be mostly a you-and-Kismet thing, but I think it’s a great idea,” Anzhi encouraged, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“And I’d love to learn how to sail,” Kismet said around a mouthful of pastry, his ears perked upright.

“Then it’s settled. We’ll get a little sailboat, go out on the water. I’ll teach ya how t’run a line, Starlight, an’ y’can tell me stories abou’ Thavnair. Never did get to explore past th’ docks there.”

“I’ll laugh every time Kismet does something wrong,” Anzhi volunteered before taking a sip from his glass.

Kismet scoffed at that. “You’ll be too busy ogling us to laugh, Sunshine, let’s be real, here.”

“Probably not wrong.” Anzhi’s nonchalant shrug had Shev laughing, and he plucked up one of the savory pastries to munch on.

He’d been lost in wistful contemplation before, wondering how much more colorful his life might have been had he continued sailing, but the truth of the matter was that no high seas adventure or far-flung port-of-call could compare to the color these two had brought into his life. He turned his eyes to the sails on the horizon again, content to stay as he was.

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #FFXIVWrite2024 #Shev Mhalikh #Kismet Kaze #Anzhi Mhalikh #Prompt 2 #Horizon

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dc-and-arfrona · 1 year

Text

Yogurt goes Yum

Nightwing x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 1k+

Masterlist

Summary: Meet Cute of this list!

—

You were in a hurry, trying to balance your groceries while searching for your keys to unlock the front door. Frustrated, you fumbled with the items in your arms, and just as you managed to free one hand, disaster struck. In your haste, you accidentally knocked over a container of yogurt, sending a creamy white splatter flying through the air.

Time seemed to slow down as the yogurt projectile sailed through the air, and you watched in horror as it aimed directly at a mysterious figure standing a few feet away. You barely had time to react before the gooey mess hit its target, splattering all over their chest and face.

"Oh my gosh! I am so sorry!" you exclaimed, mortified by your clumsiness.

The figure wiped the yogurt off their face, revealing a pair of dazzling blue eyes and a warm, amused smile. It was none other than Nightwing himself. You couldn't help but blush, your heart pounding in your chest.

"No worries," Nightwing replied, his voice smooth and comforting. "I've had worse thrown at me."

You gulped, trying to gather your wits. "I didn't mean to... I mean, I wasn't aiming for you. It was an accident, I swear!"

Nightwing chuckled, his laughter soothing your frazzled nerves. "I believe you. Yogurt attacks aren't usually part of Gotham's crime spree."

You managed a weak smile, grateful for his understanding. "Well, that's a relief. I was worried I had just committed yogurt-based assault."

He tilted his head, studying you with curiosity. "So, are you always this graceful with your groceries?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his gentle teasing. "Only on special occasions. You know, when I feel like making a lasting impression."

Nightwing's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well, you've certainly made an impression today."

Feeling a bit bolder, you extended your hand toward him. "I'm [Y/N]. It's nice to meet you, Nightwing, even under these...unique circumstances."

Nightwing took your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "The pleasure is all mine, [Y/N]. I'm always up for an adventure, even if it involves unexpected yogurt showers."

As you both stood there, the awkwardness of the situation melted away, replaced by an easy camaraderie. Nightwing offered to help you clean up the mess, and you accepted gratefully, grateful for his kindness and understanding.

As the two of you worked side by side, wiping away the remnants of your yogurt fiasco, conversations flowed effortlessly. You discovered shared interests, laughed at each other's jokes, and found comfort in each other's company. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring you together through the most unlikely circumstances.

By the time you finished cleaning up, you realized that you didn't want the encounter to end. Nightwing seemed to feel the same way, his eyes lingering on you just a little longer than necessary.

"Would you be interested in continuing this conversation over coffee?" Nightwing asked, his voice tinged with hope.

You grinned, feeling a rush of excitement. "I'd love to. Just promise me there won't be any more yogurt mishaps."

Nightwing laughed, the sound music to your ears. "I'll do my best to keep the dairy-related accidents to a minimum."

And just like that, a chance yogurt encounter had blossomed into something more. As you walked together towards a nearby coffee shop, you couldn't help but feel that destiny had played a hand in bringing you together. Who knew that a little splash of yogurt could lead to such a delightful connection with the one and only Nightwing?

As you and Nightwing entered the cozy coffee shop, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you. Finding a quiet corner table, you settled in, continuing your conversation as if you had known each other for years. The initial embarrassment from the yogurt incident had completely dissipated, replaced by a growing sense of comfort and excitement.

As you shared stories and laughter over steaming cups of coffee, you discovered a deep connection, realizing that you both had more in common than you could have imagined. Nightwing opened up about his life as a vigilante, recounting thrilling encounters and heart-pounding adventures. You, in turn, shared your own passions and aspirations, finding solace in his attentive listening and genuine interest.

Time seemed to fly by as the hours melted away. Eventually, the coffee shop closed for the night, and you reluctantly bid farewell, but not before exchanging contact information. From that moment on, your connection continued to grow.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. You and Nightwing found yourselves inseparable, whether it was patrolling the streets of Gotham together or simply spending quiet evenings at home, lost in each other's company. Your relationship blossomed, built on a foundation of trust, understanding, and a shared desire to make the world a better place.

Nightwing's presence brought a newfound sense of security and support to your life. You were in awe of his unwavering determination to protect Gotham and its citizens, and you stood by his side, offering unwavering support as he battled against the darkness that plagued the city.

But it wasn't just the superhero aspect of his life that captivated you. Behind the mask, you discovered a compassionate, kind-hearted individual who treated you with utmost respect and tenderness. Nightwing cherished every moment spent together, and his gestures of affection made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

The bond between you grew stronger with each passing day, and eventually, Nightwing revealed his true identity as Dick Grayson, a man who had overcome his own personal struggles to become the hero he was today. It was a moment of vulnerability and trust that deepened your connection even further.

Together, you faced challenges, both as individuals and as a couple, but with Nightwing by your side, you felt invincible. The city's trials and tribulations only served to reinforce your dedication to each other, solidifying your partnership in crime-fighting and in life.

As time went on, the yogurt incident became a cherished memory, a quirky tale to recount whenever someone asked how you met. It served as a reminder that sometimes, unexpected accidents could lead to the most extraordinary and life-changing experiences.

And so, your journey continued, with Nightwing by your side, fighting against the forces of evil while cherishing the love and connection you had found in the most unconventional way.

#nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #dick grayson x you #reader x nightwing #nightwing #dc #dc imagines #dc universe #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson imagines #nightwing imagines #robin imagines #robin x reader #robin x y/n #nightwing x y/n

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hannahhook7744 · 1 month

Note

Any headcanons for Derek, son of Dopey?

(And perhaps an answer to why Dopey was the only dwarf to not name his kids after emotions like his brothers?)

Well, Dopey isn't the only one who didn't name his kids after emotions.

Grumpy named one of his sons, Gordon, after all. And though I now can't find the kid, I swear there was a kid named 'Gus' but I could have just used that as a nickname for 'Gesundheit'.

Now, onto the revised Derek headcanons:

His full name is Derek Chico Chavez Cardenas Bergmann.

Yes, it is quite the mouthful and yes he knows that.

He is 5 years older than Doug.

He lives in Charmington with his family and grew up seeing Snow White as his aunt, her husband as his uncle, and her kids (Polly the Parrot, Glauco White, and Sophie) as his cousins.

His mother is a human woman of hispanic descent named Liliana and (based on the actor of Doug's prospective in this video) she is a gold digger who doesn't really care much for either of her children (I said much not at all), unlike her husband.

He's shorter than Doug but has been described as "a hulk of a dwarf, with rippling muscles."

Derek is a mute like his father, but a selective one.

He like Doug speaks many languages. Mainly Spanish and German, as well as different types of sign language (because he loves learning new languages).

Derek is also one of the few people who can understand can keep up with Doug's science-y talk.

He is a mechanic and is great at engineering as well as weightlifting.

He and Diego fall for one another when they first meet.

He has many hobbies including but not limited to: reading, sports, studying cryptids, occasional sailing, swimming playing cards, and hanging out with his friends.

Gordon gets seasick, which assumes Derek greatly when he's being annoying.

He often helps Li Shang Jr with his rockets and breaks up fights among his cousins and friends as the reluctant peace keeper of the family.

His favorite cousins are Gordon and Raphael/Doc Jr.

He always wins at cards.

His friends are sure he cheats but they aren't sure how he does it.

He used to get so annoyed by his friends not noticing when he was trying to sign to them that he started to carry around a bell so he could shake it when they were arguing.

He does it with his family too.

He went to trade school instead of college. He doesn't regret it at all.

Derek, for obvious reasons, hates apples.

But he does in fact, love gooseberry pie.

He also loves fish soup and Germen-brewed beer (not that he'll tell his parents that, because they'd freak that he's been drinking).

He acts like he doesn't drink but he does occasionally. No one can ever prove it though.

Derek is his mom's favorite (though that isn't saying much) because he's more like her personality and looks wise (a fact he hates).

He has many nicknames—Der, Der Bear, Sneaky, Dwarf Hulk, Buff, Buffy, Muscles, and Flex.

He gets along with pretty much everyone in the family but gets along least with Hap because of how immature and unintentionally cruel he can be.

He hates his full name because of how long it takes for it to be announced at events.

He always carries a pickaxe around with him.

Derek is rather close with Harriet's crew.

He has bad memory just like Doug. In his defense, he has a lot of family members.

Derek is scared of being lost and never found.

When he was a kid, he hide in the woods next to his house to see how long it would take for anyone to notice he was gone.

He doesn't like being told what to do and he really, really doesn't like it when their cousins take their teasing too far with Doug (which, again, is why he fights with Hap more than anyone else).

His birthday is August 23rd, which makes him a Virgo.

He knows how to sew.

He has no allergies unlike Doug who has the misfortunate of having dust and pollen allergies.

Li Shang Jr is Derek's best friend.

He helps the vks with their panic attacks quite often. He's quite good at it.

He and Doug are the closest to Snow White out of all the dwarves and their kids. Not that that's surprising.

Derek has twentyish direct cousins—Jane, Gordan, Gus, Sniffles, Nighty, Snot, Hap, Doc the Second, Crabby, Cheerful, Sleepy Jr, Snoozy, Bashful Jr, Shy, Gesundheit, Maddy/Madison, Snappy, Grouchy, Joy, Smiley, Giggles, Bossy/Unity, and Sneezy Jr.

But he also has a lot more extended family members other than his uncle's from his dad's family (look up the scrapped dwarves. He has alot of family lol).

#descendants #disney descendants #melissa de la cruz #disney #descendants au #wicked world #disney descendants au #derek son of dopey #derek descendants #descendants derek #headcanons #descendants headcanons #derek son of dopey headcanons #character headcanons #etc

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naviculariis · 27 days

Text

Making of a Monster

A/N: Hey lol so like. Here's the official history between Malekai & Mihawk. Also, meet Malekai! Captain of the Volk Pirates, the notorious Wolf of the Seas, current Warlord.

Rating: M

Warnings: Mild blood & gore

Word Count: 5,809

December 18th, early nightfall. Eighteen years ago; three years after the death of Gol D. Roger

What happens when bloodlust runs high? Too high for you to come down from, too high for you to ever hope to recover from? What happens when that energy festers and you strike out at the first thing you see?

The ship rocked gently upon the waves as rain-dampened air began to kick up the ocean they sailed upon. Whitecaps broke against the hull of the grand pirate ship, sea spray flying into the air. The Crimson Grace was a ship to marvel at; a large, well built Galleon that held such a vivid red tone to the wood, it was as if someone had simply dipped each individual plank into rubies and garnets. Well cared for, well loved, the Grace was a ship known far and wide thanks to its captain, Anya “White Owl” Novikov. A strong woman from the North Blue, she’d become notoriously known for being able to track Marine vessels and sink them before ever being seen. Some called her a Goddess of War trapped within human skin.

Malekai believed it.

“Storm’s brewing,” Malekai informed his Captain as she stepped onto the forecastle deck, her dark coat billowing in the wind. “Wind is not in our favor.”

“Mm.” Anya hummed, nodding slowly. She reached up, fingers brushing the silvery strands from her eyes as the wind whipped her hair about her face. “So it seems. It will be a difficult night. We should drop anchor, no?”

“Aye.” Malekai nodded before turning, shouting orders to the crew of the Belaya Sova Pirates. They began to bustle about the deck quickly, drawing the sails in, adjusting the rigging, and dropping the anchor into the dark, frigid waters below. As he watched, his brows furrowed; had he seen something to their stern? He could have sworn… “Ivan, to me.” He ordered, watching as the behemoth of a man lumbered over. Third mate of the Grace, Ivan was a half-giant by birth. How that happened? Malekai wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to ask which one of his parents did the taking. “I saw something at our stern.”

“I’m sure it was just a sea bird-”

“SHIP!” Olivia cried out over the sound of the wind and the waves. “SHIP SPOTTED TO STERN!”

“Places!” Their Captain barked, and they scurried like rats. “Man the cannons, hurry!” Rain began to slowly drizzle down over the crew, dampening the deck. Anya grimaced; if it came to a fight, both decks would be treacherous. But rain helped lower the danger of fire.

A blessing, and a curse.

Malekai took hold of the rigging, hoisting himself up to peer over the heads of the crew, studying the ship. It was a small vessel, no bigger than one of their dinghies, truth be told, but held a peculiar shape that he couldn’t truly discern, regardless of how hard he looked. Almost rectangular in shape, with a high mast in the shape of a… Cross? He shook his head, trying to get the rain out of his eyes. “Small ship!” He called down as Anya made her way to the stern.

Lightning flashed suddenly, brightening the world for a brief moment. Yet, in that moment, it felt as if the world had fallen still. Malekai could hear his heart beating within his chest, could feel the cold rain piercing his skin, but all he could see were a pair of molten gold eyes beneath a dark tricorn.

“Run.” A voice had whispered to him. “Run; Death approaches.”

Run, where? Where could they run? There was nowhere to run, they were on the open sea. “Man the cannons!” He echoed as the world plunged into darkness once more. It was a trick of the light, that’s all. A trick, played by his mind. You should never trust what you see in a storm, that’s what his baba would say, when the sound of screams would rise from the coastline, reaching their cottage. Never listen to the lies a storm brings forth, for the storm brings evil upon its winds.

Evil.

“It’s just one ship,” Declan shook his head, brown hair plastered to his head. “What’s the problem?”

“One ship, sailing in weather like this?” Anya murmured, arms crossed over her chest. “I do not trust it.”

“Maybe he was marooned?”

“Maybe it’s a trick.”

“Captain, don’t be so paranoid! Here, I’ll climb down, see what it’s looking like. How about that?” Declan grinned brightly, ever eager to put Anya- the secret love of his life, but it wasn’t really a secret, they all knew it- at ease. She waved him off, lips curving into a scowl as he laughed. Really, there wasn’t anything to worry about. She’d been paranoid since their last stop in the Northern Isles. He isn’t sure what happened there, really. They’d met with a family known as the Kareka, had met with two individuals-... Faustus? Sybil- yes, those were the names of the siblings. They claimed to have an ability to see both the past and the future.

Malekai didn’t believe in that, but Anya did.

He watched his Captain watch the slowly nearing vessel. “What are you thinking, Owl?”

“That you should believe in superstitions more, Pup.”

“Ha!” His head tossed back, a laugh pulling free. “Sure, old woman. I will when I see the last island!”

Yet Anya didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile. She turned to him, then, reaching out to grasp his shoulder tightly. “Malekai, listen to me, now. I want you to understand that if something happens to me on this night, that you are to take control of this ship. You will become Captain-”

His heart skipped a beat within his chest, face paling at the fear within her words. “Anya, I don’t-”

“Stop talking when I am speaking, or I’ll cut your tongue out!” She snapped harshly, silencing Malekai quickly. Stepping closer, she cupped both of his cheeks with her hands, forcing him to look up, to meet her gaze. She was a tall woman, easily a head and a half taller than himself. “There is something I have kept in my quarters. You will find it in a black box. The box is of Janoshima make. You will retrieve it, and you will take what is inside if I am cut down and killed. Do you understand?”

“Anya, you’re scaring me.” He whimpered, eyes wide in fear as lightning flashed overhead once more, illuminating the manic expression that had contorted Anya’s features. Eyes wide, pupils pinpricks.

She squeezed his cheeks hard, nails digging into the soft flesh. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

“YES!” Malekai yelled back, pulling himself free of her hold. He rubbed at his cheeks, fingers coming away crimson from her nails. She’d cut him. “What is wrong with you?”

Anya’s gaze wasn’t trained on him any longer, but on the small vessel that had sailed closer to their side. “He was right,” she whispered, voice oddly calm. “They were both right about it all.”

“What?” Arlo asked over the roar of thunder, loud enough that it shook the deck of the Crimson Grace. “What do you mean?”

“Chum the water.”

“But Declan-”

“Chum the water!” Anya stormed away, only for every living creature upon that deck to freeze at the sound of a blood-curdling scream that sounded from the side of the ship. Anya rushed forward, only to be caught by Arlo a moment later as Malekai pushed past to lean over the railing.

Declan was gone.

Or, not gone. Declan was still there, but half of his body wasn’t. It was as if something had surged out of the depths and bitten a chunk out of him, leaving only his arms clinging, his eyes wide in fear, mouth open in a scream-

Before his grip loosened, and he fell into the dark water with a barely-heard splash.

“What the fuck was that?” Malekai gasped, a hand over his heart as he backed away.

Boots echoed on deck. One by one, the crew turned to find Death Himself lurking upon the deck. He was dressed in a black poet’s shirt, black high waisted trousers, and had a flowing red coat that clung to his arms. Upon his head sat a black tricorn with eagle and hawk feathers poked into the side. His skin was pale, and around his throat he bore the sign of the cross- no, no. That wasn’t a cross, upon further inspection; too large for it to be a cross, but it was golden, and held remarkable resemblance. No rings decorated his fingers, but upon his back sat a massive broadsword that was easily the same height as the man before them. Its pommel had sparkling gemstones inlaid within silver, the hilt holding even more. Black wrapping made for the grip to be easy to hold, and the guards were just as massive.

The legendary cursed sword, Yoru.

“This is a lovely ship you have,” the man spoke, voice lilting with a peculiar accent that undoubtedly hailed from the South Blue. “Beautiful, even. Tell me, who is it’s Captain?”

“I am.” Anya spoke, silver hair soaked, whipping about with the gale-force winds that rocked the ship back and forth. “You’re the one they’ve been calling the Marine Hunter, aren’t you?” The name rings a bell for the crew; rumors of a sword-wielding pirate that was sailing the Blues, taking down Marine vessel after Marine vessel. Some new hotshot who thinks they’re all that.

Was this truly them? Malekai couldn’t believe it.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” The man grinned, the motion seeming odd on his face- too many teeth showing at once, more of a grimace than a true, proper grin. “I like the ring of it.”

“Why are you here? We are not Marines.” Anya hadn’t budged from her position in front of her crew, though from his point of view, Malekai had free view of her hand- and the signals she was giving. Two fingers, down: be prepared for a fight. Ring finger, pointing right: Keep an eye out for tricks.

The man hummed, nodding. “You aren’t, but…” His voice trailed off as his head raised. Gold upon gold, his gaze akin to that of a bird of prey. “You have something I want.”

“And what would that be?”

“The map.”

“I have many maps, boy.” She snapped, gaze narrowing as she took a step forward. “Which map?”

“The one from Roger.”

“I have no such thing.”

“So if I were go down below deck-”

“I’ll gut you before you move.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise, brat.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “You had the chance. I gave it to you. It’s only fair, now…” His hand raised as lightning cracked, splitting open the sky as his fingers wrapped around the pommel of the blade. “After all, we are pirates.”

“NOW!” Anya barked, and as one, the crew surged. Malekai lurched forward first, sword drawn, blade singing through the air as it struck against the blade of Yoru. Anya backed away, drawing herself to the center of the deck.

“You are pretty,” Malekai grinned down at the man, a baring of teeth akin to a wolf grinning at its prey, “a shame to mark your face.”

The man didn’t respond, only scowling further as he pushed forward. Malekai pushed back in turn, kicking his leg out to sweep the man’s feet out from under him. He went down, but rolled, avoiding the way Malekai had turned and dug down with his blade. It sunk into the wood of the deck, instead- ripping through the man’s pants, nicking his thigh. He hissed, and in a flash, struck out with a much smaller blade.

‘You’re being messy,’ Mihawk thought to himself. ‘Calm down.’ Yet his heart raced, beating like a war drum within his ears and chest as he fought to regain control. This crew was well seasoned, and unlike the Marines, this crew fought dirty. That was damp gunpowder they’d scattered across the deck. It wouldn’t light in this weather, but it gave added traction to their shoes. They were smart.

Smarter than he’d anticipated.

But that’s fine. He just needed-

A muffled yell escaped as SOMETHING grabbed his ankle, the searing heat melting through his pants. He kicked back, hearing a scream of pain in retaliation. Blindly, he struck with Kogatana. It struck soft flesh. “NO!” The strawberry blonde yelled above him, going to kick before Mihawk pulled back, slicing through flesh like a hot knife through butter.

Down goes the second crewmate.

The first one had been easy. He hadn’t been all the way down when he’d drawn Yoru and sliced through flesh, viscera, spinal column with ease. But this one was trouble. This dog.

Mutt. He needed to be put down. Probably had mange. Sick to the brain with rabies.

His foot connected with Malekai’s jaw, knocking him back hard against the deck, sliding across the stained wood. How was he taking them down? How was he making it so easy? What was this man? Was he a monster? Did he have Devil Fruit? Haki? Malekai couldn’t tell, not over the ringing in his ears and the black spots in his vision. ( His head, he’d hit his head; was he concussed? He couldn’t tell, but something twisted in his stomach telling him that yes, he was. )

Mihawk drew himself up, panting as he pointed Yoru towards the woman. The Owl, her bounty in the hundreds of millions. If he were a bounty hunter, he could turn her head in for a hefty reward. He could still do that, after this. Turn in all their heads. “Give me the map, and this is over.”

“I told you, I don’t have any map from Gol D. Roger!” She spat, lip curling. “I never worked with him.”

“Liar.”

“I will show you.” Anya set down her blade.

Arlo stepped forward. “Captain-” Only to be stopped by Anya’s raised hand.

“Two men dead. I’m not losing anyone else.” She motioned for Mihawk to step forward. This was how they said it would go, to the very last detail.

“You will die within the year.” Faust yawned, as if the news weren’t anything out of the ordinary. And for him, she reckoned that it wasn’t. She studied the ornate paint that covered his face, the way it contrasted with his younger sister’s own. Beautiful marionettes, they appeared to be. “A man will appear-”

“-and he will be cloaked in black.” Sybil finished, her gaze not once lifting from the easel she was sat at. “It will be storming, and you will be on your ship.”

“The Crimson Grace will be rocked by waves, you will not have the chance to set fire, nor use cannons.”

Anya swallowed hard, her heart slowly beginning to kick up its pace. “... Will this man kill my crew?”

“No.” Faust shook his head, his brow furrowing as he looked to his sister. “No, he won’t.”

“Death, he will be, but only for you and two others. The one with the mousy brown hair, and the man with hands of fire.” Sybil nodded as she sat back, her gaze flickering between her own easel and her older brother’s. Finished. She turned her easel in tandem with her brother, showing the event in startling detail.

Anya gasped in horror, her shaking hand raising to settle over her lips as she stared at the paintings, gaze flickering back and forth, taking in the details of the events that would unfold. The painting on the left depicted a stormy, rolling sea, waves capped with white foam, the Crimson Grace rocking upon the waves. Lightning cracked across the sky, offering light in what she knows will be naught but a brief moment in time. On the deck of the ship stands her crew. Through her abdomen is a greatsword, pierced from behind. The man holding the sword’s face is obscured by a black tricorn, but he wears a black duster coat, and bears the sign of the cross around his throat. Blonde strands blow in the wind from behind him. Malekai. She can’t see his face.

In the second painting, there is a platform. There are two figures kneeling, but they are blurry, the bodies in the forefront not within focus. The focus is on a man standing off to the side, his head held high, strawberry blonde hair wavy and long, falling to his sternum. His gaze is dark, lips curved into a pleased smile. He wears a deep blue vest over a black button down, and tops it with a navy waistcoat that falls to his knees. His legs are clothed in black trousers and knee high boots. There is a sword belt at his waist, with a blade resting in a sheath. He wears no hat. It is Malekai. Behind him, by a half step, is a man with long, black hair, and a confused, pained expression. To the right of Malekai stands a man nearly twice his height with a large, pink, puffy coat and peculiar pants.

The future.

“And you say these are events that I cannot change?” Anya asks, voice trembling with fear. Something tells her to run, that this is some farce. But a greater part of her, a part that knows to trust in the odd magics that come with the Nokken, roots her to her seat.

The glance between siblings is all she needs.

“Very well.” She sets the bag of berry onto the table between them as she rises, tucking her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll be taking my-”

“Anya.” Faust murmured, reaching out to grasp her wrist, holding her in place. “Your first mate, what is his name?”

“Malekai.”

“Malekai Kuznetsov?”

“Yes, why?”

Sybil sucks in a breath. “Gods help us all,” she whispers.

Anya’s blood runs cold at that moment. “What do you mean?”

“I cannot say anything else.” Sybil shakes her head quickly, rising from her seat in haste. “Have a good evening, Captain.” She leaves, hooves clicking loudly on the floor as she escapes, breaking into a sprint the moment she’s free.

Faust sighs softly, his eyes closing. “Your death will bring forth a rage this world has yet to see,” he warns, voice soft, a mere whisper in the silence of the room. “I pray that you will make the right decision.”

The right decision. Her heart beat steadily within her chest, a humble reminder that she is still alive, at this moment. With a shaking hand, she opens the door of her cabin, stepping inside. The man follows her in; he doesn’t shut the door. “You can search for yourself. I’m not sure who sent you here, but I’m afraid they were wrong.” She hums, folding her hands before herself as the man walks in a slow circle, his gaze critical as he drinks in the details of the captain’s office.

Mihawk crossed to the desk, ignoring the maps on the top of it. It wouldn’t be there, not out in the open in plain sight. That was foolish, something amateurs did. This woman was no amateur. He opened drawer after drawer, rifling through the contents. Nothing. With a soft snarl, he rose, turning to study the rest of the room. “You have Rogers’ Map. You know where it is.”

“Where the One Piece is?” She asked, watching as this man tore her office apart, ripping open cabinet doors, throwing the contents out and onto the floor. “The man has been dead for less than five years, and you act as if I were his closest confidant. The man you want is the Dark King-”

“She told me you have it.”

Anya felt herself fall still, rigid, as she stared at the back of the man. “Who?” She knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him, first. To be betrayed-

“Fujihara Daiyu.”

Daiyu. That was odd; she never spoke to the wife of the Captain. She’d spoken with the Empress, who had gifted her the box. But no, she didn’t have a map. She tried to barter, to get it. The Empress had been rigid. “I do not know who that is.”

Mihawk reached for the box.

Anya drew in a sharp breath.

Mihawk’s hand paused, his head tilting. In the sliver of light that spilled through the room, she could see the golden gaze swivel to her. She made a rookie mistake. He reached, grasping the ornate box. “This box is beautiful,” he murmured, fingers brushing over the engravings in it. Tentacles, he realized after a moment. How peculiar. “What’s in it?”

“Nothing you would want.” She answered quickly, her eyes switching between the box and the Marine Hunter’s face. “I can promise you that.”

“We’ll see.” He fiddled with the lock, brows furrowing when he realized it would need a key. He crossed the room in quick strides, reaching out to grasp the delicate necklace that rested around her throat. With a quick jerk, he broke the clasp. “Last chance. What’s in the box, Owl?” He murmured, slowly twisting the key within the lock.

“Death.” She breathed, watching his hand still. “Death is in the box.”

“Is it a disease?” His voice was wary; did she carry some sort of ailment? Were they all sick?

She shook her head. “No.”

“A cursed artifact?”

She swallowed, mouth dry. “Yes.”

Mihawk hummed, setting the box aside. He nodded towards the door. “Very well. It seems,” he began, nudging her forward, the tip of Yoru pressing between her shoulder blades. She walked slowly, carefully. She pushed open the doors, “that you were-” a flash of beige caught his attention, sticking out from beneath her shirt. “Lying.”

“I was not-”

He shoved her forward into the rain while reaching, gripping the edge of the map and tugging it free. “Then what is this?” Anya did not turn around. She remained facing her crew, her throat burning with bile. Mihawk opened the map, eyes dancing across the parchment. His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of it. It wasn’t written in the common tongue, he realized.

It had been written in the Olde Language, the one that was engraved upon Poneglyphs.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. Anger flooded his system. “No, this isn’t right, this isn’t his map!”

“It’s my map.” Anya replied, chin raised high. “If you want his map, you would have to find one of the members of his crew.”

“You can read the Poneglyphs?”

“I can.”

“Then I’ll take this, and you.” Mihawk decided, folding the map. It wasn’t finished, there were missing blanks and islands, but she would finish it. If not her, then someone else. “And I’ll slaughter your crew here, and now.”

“From this moment forward,” with a wavering voice, Anya began to speak. Final words, Mihawk figured; why not be merciful? “Your Captain will be Malekai Kuznetsov. Your loyalty will lie with him-”

“- in death.” Mihawk interjected, yet she spoke louder, over him.

“And you will follow his directive to the very end! You have been loyal to me for years. Many of you I consider my family. And to that,” her voice caught in her throat as she choked, tears welling upon her lashline. She met the gazes of her crew, watching as realization dawned upon them all, “I am forever grateful.”

Malekai felt as if the world had slowed. The rain was no longer pelting them, the wind was a slow breeze rather than a gale. Anya met his gaze as he lunged forward- too slow, his legs wouldn’t move fast enough. The crew was moving, trying to get to her, but she moved first, throwing herself backwards. The black tip of Yoru exploded from her chest, breaking through spine, through chest plate, shattering ribs and slicing through her heart. Blood bubbled up as Mihawk cried out, cursing as he tried to pull Yoru from her-

“KILL HIM!” Anya screamed, the sound eerily akin to a screech owl crying out into the night. Her fingers clung to the blade as she struggled to hold it in herself, but Mihawk was stronger. With a great tug, he sliced through her fingers to the bone, withdrew Yoru with a sickening twist that crunched against bone. Anya gasped once, her eyes wide, before she fell limp, slumping forward against the deck of the Crimson Grace, staining the wood with her blood.

Malekai couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t hear the screams from the crew as they engaged with Mihawk. Couldn’t hear the thunder that roared overhead. Couldn’t hear his own heart as he sank to his knees in front of Anya, reaching out with shaking hands to touch her cheek. Crimson poured from her mouth, her gaze unseeing. His throat hurt; he was fairly certain he was screaming, but he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears.

She had sacrificed herself after learning the truth from Rayleigh, after confirming it from Ayame.

She sacrificed herself. To save them.

His head tilted back as rain splattered over his face, slicking back his hair. He could see the Marine Hunter cutting down the crew one after another. He rose to his feet slowly, turning to face his Captain’s murderer. One step, followed by another, and then another. Until he was running, sprinting across the deck. Mihawk turned a second too late, his eyes widening, mouth opening as Malekai’s arms wrapped around his middle. The bannister gave way beneath the crash of two bodies against it, and together, they plummeted into the angered, black sea beneath them.

The waves seemed to reach for them, welcoming both swordsmen into her dark, cold embrace. The frigid temperature of the ocean had both men gasping, drawing in salty sea water and coughing it out. Malekai wasted no time in grabbing hold of Mihawk as a wave crashed over them, sending them beneath the surf. Malekai’s arms wound around Mihawk’s middle, trying to drag him further down as Mihawk tried, and failed, to stab at the other. Yoru was weighing him down, he realized with a panic as air bubbles began to escape. He tried to swim up, to swim to the surface. Malekai followed, and as their heads breached the water, Malekai’s hand slammed over his face, cracking his nose and sending him reeling backwards as blood flooded his throat. He hacked, windmilling in the water to stay afloat as waves threatened to rock both men into the side of the ship.

“EVERYWHERE YOU GO,” Malekai was yelling at him, clinging to the anchor chain, “I WILL FOLLOW YOU. I WILL BE IN THE SHADOWS. YOUR HEART BELONGS TO ME, MARINE HUNTER!”

“THAT ALMOST SOUNDS LIKE AN ADMITTANCE OF LOVE!” Mihawk taunted as he swam backwards. Blood and water mingled around him. Soon, the creatures of the depths would come swarming. “YOU’LL DIE OUT HERE, MUTT.”

Malekai grinned as he dove into the water, beneath the surface. Mihawk cursed, turning over and swimming quickly. He needed to get to his ship, he needed to go. He had the map-

The map. His eyes widened as he looked down at his empty hands. The map was gone. Damn it all, the map was gone, no doubt disintegrated in the angry surf. He swam hard against the angry sea. His fingers just barely grasped the wood of the hull of his ship when a hand gripped his ankle, dragging him down with a shout. He turned, squinting in the water, only to find Malekai. In a panicked moment, Mihawk kicked out, hitting Malekai’s head against the hull of his ship. He resurfaced with a painful gasp, coughing and spewing seawater from his lungs. He climbed aboard in the least graceful way possible, gasping and wheezing. He opened his sails, feeling the immediate kick from the wind as his ship began to quickly move.

Lightning flashed, and for a moment, Mihawk could swear he saw that mutt standing within the water. But that wasn’t possible. He’d knocked him out- and aside from that, humans couldn’t do such a feat. Shaking his head, he let the wind push his ship as far from that cursed vessel as possible.

Malekai blinked once, twice; he was on the deck of the Crimson Grace. The ship was floating on calmer seas for the time being, though rain continued to fall, and thunder rumbled in the distance. His head ached, his jaw felt as if someone had broken it. With a groan, he rolled over, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. The Marine Hunter had vanished, it seemed. No matter. He rose to his feet slowly, swaying slightly. He stumbled past the sleeping forms of his crewmates- bandaged, bloodied. There was something he needed to do… The box. It took far more effort than he’d ever admit to get into Anya’s office. The box was sitting on her desk, the key in the little latch. He twisted it.

Lightning flashed across the sky suddenly, illuminating the room. It felt as if he were suddenly below the water again, the air thick, the light in the room oddly filtered. It felt as if he were no longer alone. Slowly, he opened the box, revealing a small piece of… Fruit? A Devil Fruit, no doubt, but he wasn’t sure which one this was. It wasn’t in any of the books they had on the fruits on board.

Was this what she wanted? For him to eat the fruit? Something- something wasn’t right, he shook his head hard. How had he ended up on his ship? How had-

He took hold of the Devil Fruit, and took a bite.

“Do you wish to seek revenge?”

“I do.”

“Do you wish to sail the seas until they dry?”

“I do.”

His arm burned. Hissing, Malekai ripped his sleeve off, staring down at the blood that dripped. A pact.

“On whose grave?”

“Anya Bellova, my Captain. I swear, I will kill him.”

“Wake up.”

He’d made a pact with an old God of the sea- or the Devil himself, given how the ink mixed with blood and ran in rivulets down his arm. A tentacle. His gaze shifted back to the box. Anya… Anya had kept this for a reason, for him. Anya, who had been a mother to him since he was seven. Anya, who saved him from being bought at a human auction. Anya, who taught him everything she knew. Anya, his captain.

It is said that for the next three days and nights, the ocean in the West Blue was rocked with a hurricane. Waves rising nearly thirty feet high, sinking merchants, Marines, and Pirates alike. Yet, one ship did not sink. One ship continued to sail, as if the ocean itself would not touch her.

The Crimson Grace and her crew survived those three days and nights. Word quickly spread of the death of Anya Bellova. Gone was the so-called White Owl, her ship no longer flying the jolly roger of the Bellova Pirates. It had been replaced with the skull of a wolf, and a new name would be given to the crew of the Crimson: the Volk Pirates, headed by the merciless Malekai Kuznetsov. For the next eighteen years, they sailed the seas- staying away from the Grand Line but cutting down any who stood in their way.

Until-

“My Gods, is that the Marine Hunter?” The voice had Dracule stilling in the hall, his heart suddenly ceasing its already slow beat. A ghost story, that was what he’d believed that man to become. “What are the odds?”

Slowly, Mihawk turned to face Malekai. Taller, broader, his hair was longer and his skin holding more of a tan. He dressed like a damn royal, no doubt with clothing stolen from a Celestial Dragon. “Captain Kuznetsov.”

“It has been quite some time, no?” Malekai greeted as he closed the distance, reaching out to take Mihawk’s hand. Mihawk tried to pull his hand back, but found himself unable to. Brows furrowing, he stared at the other Pirate. “We keep barely missing one another, it seems! Until now.” He murmured, gaze bright.

Mihawk found it hard to breathe, as if the man was using Haki. But this wasn’t Haki. Strange; he tried to calm himself. “Why are you here?” He asked, dreading the answer.

A smile slowly split across Malekai’s features. “Why, I am the new Warlord! We will be seeing much of one another, yes? I look forward to it.”

Reports flashed across Mihawk’s mind: Wolf of the Sea sinks Marine vessel; Hearts ripped from chests of Pirates; Throats ripped by what look like human teeth; Marines found catatonic after six weeks missing- “I must be leaving.” Mihawk ripped his hand from Malekai’s, turning quickly to walk.

“Careful. The sea is rough! Stormy-” Malekai called out, voice echoing down the hall. “-Just like that December night!”

As Mihawk turned the corner, he broke into a sprint. Over the years, Malekai had come close to finding him again. He wasn’t sure why he was afraid, this irrational fear that had him looking over his shoulder. His crew was fierce, a terrifying group of individuals that Mihawk had been sent to kill- and each time, they weren’t there. Gone, on a ship with red wood.

One step ahead. Always one step ahead. As Mihawk made his way briskly down the boardwalk, he could see the ship out of the corner of his eye. It hadn’t changed, he realized after a moment, turning to study it. The only thing that had changes was the Jolly Roger. As if nearly two decades hadn’t passed.

And upon the deck, for just a moment, it appeared to be a woman with long, silver hair and eyes like ice. But as Mihawk blinked, the deck was clear. His mind raced as his heart finally decided to beat once more. Ghosts were real; phantoms and haunts were real, those he was far too familiar with. Whatever Malekai Kuznetsov was, whatever Devil he’d made a deal with- that, Mihawk feared.

For Malekai Kuznetsov is the only man to ever bring Dracule to Death’s doorstep.

“He’s frightened,” Kaith murmured as they settled beside Malekai, their head tilting, gaze tracking Mihawk’s movements as he climbed aboard his ship.

Malekai hummed, amused. “He should be. I want to dig my fingers into his chest and pull his heart out- but! Not yet. Work must be done, no?” He reached over, arm draping over Kaith’s shoulders as he lead his Shadow away from the window. “We have much work now! Warlord and all, how fun is that? I wish to meet this Teach man, and the Lady Boa. Oh, and that big man with the pink coat…”

#𝕹𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖘: [ main verse ]#𝕸𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕻𝖔𝖗𝖙: [ portrayal notes ]#𝖂𝖎𝖓𝖊 & 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉: [ dracule mihawk ]#𝖜𝖔𝖑𝖋 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆: [ malekai kuznetsov ]

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crowrave · 4 months

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Just Another ‘Day’ with the Captain

One-shot fanfic about Crown and his antics, shown in the perspective of his crew!

Hopefully it’s good, since I haven’t last written a fanfic in a long while.

Enjoy!

The sun sets over the horizon of the War Seas; bringing forth a beautiful scarlet red and yellow gradient across the sky. A large Grand Navy brig is sailing across the great ocean; its bright blue deck with white highlights matching perfectly with the deep blue beneath it.

On its deck is a small crew, formed of varying people. From Redwake to Ravenna; Quartermasters, Deckhands, and Crewmates alike gathered around the center of the deck in a large circle.

“I’m tellin’ ya, th’ Cap’n ought ta’ burn down them cultists soon enough!”

An older man covered in scars shouted towards the others, hands crossed tightly around himself, and sticking his head up indignantly away from their faces.

Another member of the crew leans towards the elder, scrunching up her face and making a lazy grin. She pulls out a small notebook with a drawing of several large fish attacking an Assassin Syndicate base.

“Nah, watch! That kid’s gonna torment the assassins again with that giant colossal squid he caught a few hours ago!”

The two bicker for what seemingly feels like several minutes before a Deckhand; face covered in a mysterious mask, stops them both in their tracks with a loud clap.

“Enough, you two. The Captain wouldn’t be very pleased if he were to hear your conversation. You’re lucky he doesn’t care enough to listen in.”

The masked man grumbles out some unsavory words before falling silent a moment later.

“Wells, we don’t know the captain as-“ the elder snorts.

“…as well as I know him, I’m aware.”

The faceless Deckhand, now labeled ‘Wells’, replies.

Several crewmates can be heard chuckling at the pun.

“Alright, alright; shut yer traps. I wanna hear what his bet is on tonight.”

Wells sits in unsettling silence for a brief moment before tilting his head up and lifting a closed hand towards the others.

“…Sir Crown will likely bring us into the Dark Sea for another ‘expedition’ once more.”

He drops 300 Galleons into the floor of the deck, setting his bet along with the rest of the crews’ money.

Groans ring out around the circle, both humorful and exasperated about the idea of returning to the magic-polluted seas.

An old, grey-haired wizard stands up amongst the crowd and begins to speak; his slow, raspy voice gaining the attention of the entire ship.

“Now, now, younglings. There’s no need for such negativity. We always come back with grand treasures and stories of triumph, after all!”

“Says you, Enizor. You only like the trips cause you get to experiment with anything we come back with,” A young man replies.

Enizor, being the elderly wizard he is, simply sighs and shakes his head.

Another voice rings from the crowd. This time, coming from a middle-aged man wearing a greyish, purple hood with some stubble on his chin to boot.

The voice belonged to no other than Edward Kenton, a man still young, yet looked far older than one would assume. The man seemed nervous and hesitant to speak.

“We can’t be sure that the Captain will surely bring us back there for another round— we already went just last month!”

Just as the last few words departed from his mouth, the Captain himself, Cain Crown, burst through the door with a smile that surely meant chaos was brewing their way.

The deck stood up, and immediately greeted the Captain with nervous glances towards their fellow members, and quickly returned to their stations.

“Goooood morning everyone! Ready for another adventure?”

Captain Crown stood at the door of his office, smiling brightly with a twinkle in his eye.

His greeting was followed by the sound of quiet whispering; some voices sounding loudly enough to be heard.

“It’s literally almost nighttime…”

“How can one man be so enthusiastic about anything?”

“I’d say th’ Cap’n has a screw loose in that noggin of his.”

The man simply listened to their complaints with a grin.

“Don’t worry, everyone! After this trip, you’ll all be given a vacation fully paid by me for a good couple of weeks!”

“…if you survive, that is.”

And just like that, the mood drops as the deck realizes the implications of his words.

“You don’t mean…”

“Wait now just a sec, Captain! You can’t possibly be talking about-“

“Oh yes I am! We’re all going on another excursion to the Dark Sea!”

The sighs of several exhausted sailors can be heard throughout the silence of the night.

“… you all owe me 300 Galleons.”

“Damn it! I thought you’d forget.”

The group silently hands over a large portion of money to the masked man, who despite being faceless, appeared quite smug.

As the sails dropped down and the brig began to move towards the wispy darkness of the polluted seas, one thought goes through the crew’s mind.

“Here we go again…”

#arcane odyssey #arcane odyssey oc #arcane odyssey fanfic #arcane odyssey fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #cain crown #cain lore

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kte-alxxndr · 2 years

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I promise this is a Tommy Shelby Imagine.

Plane rides aren't really my thing - from watching too much action and horror movies I believed I had developed some sort of aerophobia, or maybe I was just imaging it, I don't know. I've been flying several times a month and look I'm still alive.

"Y/N?"

Yes, that is me. Y/N.

"Y/N L/N?" I haven't been called L/N for sometime now.

"Y/N L/N, it's really you!"

I try to open my eyes. First class should have privacy and not crazy fanboys.

I drag myself to open my eyes only to be met by dark colored eyes similar to mine.

"Yes?" Whoever this person was - I have no idea. He looks neat, sharp in his suit, a killer smile and eyes that I'm almost certain can catch a cabin crew by the end of this flight. A fuckboi.

"It's me, YEx/N L/N." He proudly introduces himself; but introductions are far too gone, I know the man sitting and smiling at me. I know him too well that I'm willing to bet he hasn't changed a bit over the years. "How are you? It's been so long since I last seen you."

"Yeah.." It was all I could say. I try to take deep breaths because in my imagination the plane's air suddenly wasn't enough to keep me alive before we could land.

"20 years," he started. "20 years and you haven't changed a bit."

20 years. I haven't realized it had been that long.

It was a lie, I changed.

"So business or pleasure?" I shot him a look of disgust and he just kept on smiling. "You're going to Boracay, right? So its either of the two: business or pleasure."

I couldn't believe that someone who I haven't seen in over 20 years haven't aged mentally in 20 years. Business on the front and pleasure on the side.

"I'm all about business actually, got an offer I couldn't refuse. It pays well to have connections. I come to the island every once in a while, I'm a consultant for hotels and restaurants."

I never asked yet he tells me his life story. His arse was through the roof, and I could do him a favor if I threw him out the plane just to see if that arse of his have wings. But I chose to be the better person, I decided to keep my silence and nod my head pretending to be amazed by his achievements.

From the side I could see how his eyes would travel up and down on me, until he set sight on a certain thing he found interest to open a new topic on this dreadful flight.

"Big ring," he didn't sound pleased. "Engaged?"

I followed his sight and there it was, a diamond ring and a silver band resting on my left finger.

"Married," I said proudly.

His lips pursed, his eyes looking down on my ring. Disappointment and anger was clearly written on his face, only a idiot head over heels with this fool would misinterpret that look and sympathize for his pain.

Silence was brewing and I knew him too well to know that there wasn't going to be any good in his silence. And I was right.

"With looks like yours and a body like that, you could get any man you want. And by looking at the size of that ring, you've hit the jackpot!"

I didn't know if it was destiny or what but of all the people in this planet, the universe had decided that it would be best to have him seat beside me. I was never the type to make a scene, especially in public, but if it wasn't for the crew announcing the plane would land and everyone must stay on their seats, I would have sworn to the gods that this man would already be dead.

Strangling him wouldn't be enough, stabbing him a thousand times wouldn't be enough, any form of violence and torture wouldn't be enough to satisfy the rotten feelings I harbor for this man.

A bus took us passengers to the port, I had been on this island as it was the starting point of my life, it was also the end and the change. Clear blue crystal waters and fine white sand awaited as the boat crossed the sea.

A five minute sail from the main land to the island and there a shuttle from the hotel awaited at the port exit, and the universe was testing my patience. It seems that he will be staying at the same hotel as I am. 15 minutes of ghastly trip with him seated by my side; I could see how he would turn to smile from time to time or how he would accidentally brush his hands against mine as the shuttle would turn on every intersection.

"Aren't you married?" I asks, as I stepped out of the shuttle. He wasn't amused by my question, as I too with his flirting.

"Unhappily," he says.

I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't. A man who cares about looks and a woman uncontented of anything.

The staff started to unload the luggages from the shuttle to the hotel. The place was breathtaking, from the grand lobby with high ceilings over to the crystal water pool to the white sand beach upfront I could see from where I stand. I had momentarily forgotten a certain someone until I felt a hand grabbed me to which I was pulled back to reality.

"I was wrong," he started. "What I did was wrong and I regretted letting you go. I shouldn't have done what I did, if you could give me a second chance I promise I won't screw up, and I could give you much more than that man of yours can give. Please, give me a chance to fix us."

There was a high pitch sound ringing in my ears, a stinging pain in my hand and as if all the ranging feelings that I had been harboring were slowly escaping my body.

He was stunned by my sudden action, but so was I. It had been one hard of slap for him to keep his hand on his cheeks. A slap was nothing compared to the things he did. Some of the staff and guests were already staring but I couldn't care less.

"A chance is only given to someone who deserves it. The way you looked at me the entire flight and the accidental touch of hands was your way of flirting since then before until now, even when you are married and I told you I was. Do you think you deserve to be given a chance? Even if you did, even if others did give you that chance I. Will. Not.

I gave you chance after chance back then, when you flirted with Gale. When you got drunk and slept with Joan, or when you were forced to kiss Eliza over a stupid game of spin the bottle! You used all your chances and you never got any left since you walked out the door."

He was about to say something but I wasn't through.

"You want to fix us? There is nothing to fix! You left me, remember? You just left without giving a fucking explanation! And I was responsible for picking up the broken pieces of me.

You choose her, because I could never uphold to your stupid explanations and now you see that I'm happy, suddenly you want me back? Don't you think I deserve happiness too?

Do you really hate me that much to want me back and break me again? I never deserved you. You never deserved me and you deserve whatever is happening to you know.

I had always thought that there was something wrong with me, so I changed. I stopped drinking, stopped eating my favorite food to lose the weight, wore fucking dresses and heels to make me more ladylike. I even stopped hanging out with boys even though they were the ones I'm most comfortable with because you always say that people will think that I'm a whore if I continue to be with them!

And I just should have let people call me that; I lost my friends because of you. I lost myself because of you. Some part of me drowned and couldn't be saved because of what you did."

"Then why didn't you fight?!"

He must be joking.

"Fight? Why would I fight in a battle that I already lost halfway? I knew you were seeing her. I knew You. Were. Fucking. Her. And yet I fucking stayed!

So you have no right to ask if I fought, because I did even though I lost. It was you who didn't fight!

You chose Zareena, because she was more pretty, rich, sophisticated, something that I wasn't. And after you left I realized why you chose her, because I was never good enough for you."

People were looking, but I didn't care. I went straight to the bathrooms to fix myself, as I look at the woman in front of me I could say she is damn strong, she's someone I want to be when I grow up. Tears were useless, I already cried for that bastard many years ago and I'm not doing that again.

After fixing my makeup and clothes I went straight to the front desk. Some of the staff were still looking but I confidently made my way, I had carried that weight in my heart for over 20 years wondering what I did wrong, having it all out out was finally shutting the box and throwing it out to sea to drown.

Well of course he will be staying at where I'm staying, I might have forgotten that. I could hear the other front office associates giggling, saying something like how they were excited to work with him.

"I'm looking for Marie," I told the FO Associate.

He must have heard me because he was coming towards me, "If you have trouble with your reservation, maybe I could help you-"

"I'm not." If I did he wouldn't even be an option to ask for help. He must have gotten the message as left going to the other side of the hotel lobby.

"Welcome back Ms. Y/N," Marie, the Front Office Manager came out from the back office; and a dear friend of mine. She was the only one who never made fun of me or called me names when I started as a Hotel Manager in this same hotel, and I made sure to repay her kindness with everything I got. "I already had someone send your bags to your room."

"Mummy!"

A small voice echoes through the entire hotel lobby. I knew it too well that the moment I turned around I see my 3 year old son running towards me with open arms. I scoop him in my arms, and he immediately wraps his arms around me, his head sinking in my neck.

"I missed you, Mummy." He whispers, we only haven't seen each other in two days and my heart would melt on how my son misses me.

"I missed you too, Charlie." I say as I kiss his head and rubs his back.

"I want ice cream."

"We'll have ice cream after lunch. Where's Daddy?"

Charlie then makes this gestures as he brings his hand to his lips and blows an imaginary smoke.

My husband and his habits. He's at the smoking area then.

"Daddy!" I set Charlie down and watch him run towards his father. I couldn't help but laugh as he excitedly announces that we were having ice cream after lunch than tell his father I've arrived.

With our son in his arms my husband came to my side and gave me a kiss to welcome, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Tom." Like father, like son. God I love my two boys.

"I'd like to introduce you to someone, Y/N." Tommy says, he looks over and I saw the person in view. "Love, this is Mr. YEx/N L/N. He's the new hotel consultant."

No wonder those FO Associates were giggling, YEx/N is the hotel consultant who will be overseeing every operations from the front and back.

"Mr. YExL/N, this is my ever beautiful and amazing wife Y/N Shelby and our son, Charlie. My wife is the CEO of the Shelbreeze Resorts and Hotels."

I gave him my most beautiful smile. Oh have the tables turned.

"Welcome to Shelbreeze Crystal Sands, Mr. YExL/N. I'm afraid we won't be needing your services after all." Tommy looks at me with a questioning look, but he knows better. "I'll have Marie send someone to fetch your bags and drive you back to the airport. A ticket will be ready when you get there. I'll assure you that you'll be on the first flight back."

Terrified. That what he looks like. I'll make sure that his connections get burned to ashes and he gets an offer he couldn’t refuse.

"No hard feelings, Mr. YExL/N. I just don't want someone to screw over my husband's company then suddenly leave for no apparent reason. I'm afraid I won't live up to your expectations as your boss, after all I will never be good enough, right?"

Tommy placed his hand over mine and holds it tight. I never told him a name, only the story, and I think he got the message.

"I would appreciate it if this will be the time we'll be seeing each other, Mr. YExL/N." says Tommy.

Marie immediately stepped in and assisted YEx/N on his way out.

"Oh, Mr. YExL/N before I forget," Tommy calls out. "She's more than enough."

Boracay Island is truly an amazing place to be, and I decided to set my story there thinking it would be a perfect place for a Tommy Shelby Modern Imagine.

[ MASTERLIST ]

Note: Thank you again for the 100 followers. I hope you like this story. Comments are deeply appreciated.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #shelby reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #charlie shelby

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kiwi2229 · 1 year

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Never ending song

(James Potter / Regulus Black | 606 words)

For @jegulus-microfic prompt: silver

The wax drips from the candle by an almost finished letter. The prince with dark curls is quickly scribbling an instruction to the boy he can’t ever love openly but is not able to let go. Meet me behind the old willow in the back of the garden after midnight. I will be waiting for you. I will always wait for you. The letter says and Regulus let’s few drops of the wax fall on the envelope and presses his silver ring to the seal.

The stars are flickering as the two students against all odds meet every night in the astronomy tower. One Lion, one Snake. And yet they fit together like they were made for each other. They fall into each other arms and it feels like coming home every time.

The wave melts into snow-white foam on the beach as a child laughs loudly with happiness looking at his two fathers building sandcastles just for him. James grins at his son. “My tower is bigger, Reg.” He teases his husband as he dumps a bucket of sand on his side of the castle.

The walls shook with the force with which James slammed the door behind him, leaving Regulus alone and cold with black ink on his forearm and a broken heart. It was inevitable. He thinks as he accepts the fate his family set for him too tired to fight anymore.

The steam comes from the coffee machine as someone calls his name. “Cold brew for Regulus.” He turns around to take his order just to see a tall boy with a spark in his eyes grinning at him. “I like your name.” The boy says as he hands Regulus the cup.

The wind is ruffling James’ hair as he examines the map spread in front of him. The goal is clear here. Another treasure to gain. To embark on the next adventure. He eyes the land they are aiming for. The Black family is supposed to rule over this area. “Rais the sails!” He commands and watches the black flag unfurl above him.

The train slowly starts moving as his brother leads him to the compartment on the train to his best friends. He doesn’t know them, and he is not sure he even wants to. Everything is new and it’s moving too fast, and Sirius doesn’t stop. Counting on Regulus to follow him even though he can’t catch his breath. Sirius opens the door and suddenly everything stops. “Oh, hello there. I’m James, James Potter.” The boy says and extends a hand towards Regulus.

The sun is shining, and two boys are lying on the grass laughing about some silly joke James made. And Regulus can’t resist. He has to kiss him. He knows he can, they were dating for a year now. But sometimes it doesn’t feel real. And he has to make sure. To feel this boy against him. James lets him, every time he lets him kiss like this. And Regulus is light. He is flying not caring if he is getting too close to the sun. He would gladly burn for this boy.

And the song goes on and on and on. Like a never-ending song. There is something tragically beautiful about these two. Because no matter the time or place, they always find each other. Drawn by inevitable fate never knowing if their story will have a happy ending. Their laughter and tears, love confessions and arguments, misunderstandings and apologies in tears, all of the feelings firmly written in the stars. The same stars that are watching them meet all over again in every lifetime.

#This is what reading FF feels like #And it's absolutely beautiful #I'm too emotional about this and I don't even know why #Young and Beautiful is playing at my headphones <3 #soulmates #regulus black #james potter x regulus black #james potter #james x regulus #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus #jegulus microfic #marauders #marauders era #kiwi2229 writes microfics

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ask-elland-n-will · 7 months

Note

*a small little grey owl with white flecks in her wings arrives with a small silver paper wrapped parcel. She lands, allowing Elland to retrieve the parcel and the parchment before flying off back to her owner. Inside the parcel is the tinkling of a dozen vials of freshly brewed wiggenweld, each sealed with green wax with a heart imprint over the corks. The parchment has no signature but is that’s of a young witches swirly scrawl*

Hello Elland, I hope this owl finds you well. And I do hope you won’t send William to identify my owl as I am a Slytherin student but wish to remain secret for now. Despite being cunning and ambitious I do have a shy streak and can’t find it in myself to tell you in person that I admire you. I’ve tried to flirt here and there but maybe I’m too subtle. Hufflepuffs specifically seem to have flirting go right over their adorable heads.

But I digress. While I’m still too shy to outright tell you in person I will continue to drop my subtle hints in hopes you’ll catch on. In the mean time I do enjoy getting to know you and practicing dueling with you when we get the chance and hope you enjoy my small gift.

My dear secret Slytherin,

I can assure you I will not Go telling Will to get you caught. Your adoration flatters me Though I don't know who you might be.

I'm told I cannot separate If asked to dinner or a date From simple walk and friendly chat. It's something I'll get better at!

If you're a friend, then please fret not. I'm sure I'll come across your yacht. Do not be shy but take your time: Confessing is a stressful climb.

I wish not push, I wish not hurt. Please, understand, I'm not a flirt: I say things straight, my word is clear, Just like the things I like to hear.

With little hearts on corks engraved, I'll keep the potions stashed and saved. I thank you dearly even if My heart has sailed the other skiff.

— Elland de Strontium 🌙

#elland #asks #Elland's ears do go red at the mention of Hufflepuffs being adorable #He thinks it probably mostly applies to Theodora and Gwen though #Well he thinks so only at first cause he thinks of all Hufflepuff girls as adorable by default #And then remembers Olivier #And groans cause damn the French transfer student was adorable as well #Does it mean that Elland too can be adorable?#Dear Merlin...#[It took me a bit and sadly that's how my response times are those days]#[I try to reply to owls when I have energy <3]#[It's a very lovely ask!]

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miss-celestia13 · 8 months

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Communing with dragons 🐉

"I know. Time slips through our fingers, love. We -"

Drogon's insistent chittering grew more frenzied. It poured into every crevice of her mind as it pierced the air while she spoke. His colossal body quivered with an urgency that soon filled her own being as if it could not be contained, and Rhaegal mirrored his brother's unease. With a quaking hand, she gestured for Jon to hush as she focused in on her dragon bond, their connection pulsating with a fiery intensity she hadn't known was possible. A torrent of images flooded her mind so fast she was dizzy. A plethora of confusing sensations threatened to overwhelm her senses as Drogon snarled, low and lethal.

Flashes of the battle from Rhaegal's and Drogon's eyes clashed, both dragons seething with a blazing fury borne from blood, magic, and battle, and it fed into her own waning ire, loosening the hold she had on herself. Beneath the enshrouded clouds, sinister shadows coalesced. A malevolent presence lurked amidst its darkest depths and stoked an inferno of rage within their mighty mounts. Whatever awaited them in the darkness, worrying even them. Shaking her head as though to dispel the nightmarish whirlwind of visions, she cut her eyes to Jon.

"The dragons can sense something brewing. Can you not feel it?"

Jon frowned, looking at his hands curled around Rhaegal's spikes, and she wanted to smile as his well-worn, brooding expression crossed his weary visage; a flickering flame danced in her chest as Rhaegal's mind pulled back from hers. Drogon swung his head from side to side, catching the scent of something far below and loosing an iracund growl as she waited, hating every second as Jon summoned his newly forged bond with the green dragon. Time crawled by as she held her breath, unblinking as she memorized the beautiful sight of him leaning into his Targaryen blood, and her own blood heated when Jon's head jerked to her, nodding as she smiled grimly.

"I can't discern its nature, but it reeks of their magic." Her husband said, voice thin as it clouded the chill air, and her heart plummeted into a bottomless pit of despair. An icy dread constricted her every breath, smothering her hopes in its relentless embrace. Bracing herself, she fortified her will and self-belief, drawing from Drogon's unwavering fury and strength as she prepared to confront the horrors awaiting them.

"We will not face it head-on, not yet, at least. But we have to find out what it is. Are you certain that you're both alright?"

His gaze fixated on her abdomen again as if he could see through the soft fur and hard metal cloaking their babe from winter's wrath. Anguish surged through her veins. It nearly consumed her, but she mustered the strength to nod. Drogon's majestic wings beat like thunderclaps, jolting her as the wind carried her whisper to Jon, "Together?"

With his nod of affirmation, she urged Drogon into a rapid, sharp descent as Jon did the same, her body suspended in a moment of sobering weightlessness as she clung to his spikes, fingers white-knuckled. Each passing second felt like an eternity, every too-quick pulse of her heart a countdown to their imminent demise if all went wrong, and they were a force of nature, unstoppable and untamed, hurtling straight into the heart of the battle. Twin pairs of immense wings unfurled in perfect synchrony, just as she could make out the decaying faces of the soulless army. She arced left while Jon sailed right. Rhaegal's flames engulfed her periphery as he and Jon carved a scorching path through the writhing mass of lifeless bodies advancing upon Winterfell.

Following their lead, Drogon's scales shimmered as he carried out her will, his deafening roar tearing through the night as he incinerated a swath of those skeletal abominations. The encroaching darkness, thick as tar, appeared impenetrable as they neared, a maleficent caul that wanted to suppress their very existence. Bolts of cobalt lightning fractured the obsidian veil, illuminating the marauding storm but revealing nothing to their paranoid eyes, and the twisting, menacing darkness whispered of their impending doom if they could not keep it at bay. Doubts pelted her, but she punched them aside; sheer force of will had brought her thus far, and it would not fail her now.

I just liked this part, that’s all 🥰

#fanfic #fanfiction #jonerys #dragons #jon and daenerys

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yujo-nishimura · 9 months

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A coffee break

This is a heartfelt fanfiction dedicated to @lostfirefly, who has been a constant source of support and encouragement for my writing. Спасибо!

I aimed to capture the essence of a tender love story, featuring a little goofy romance between Buggy and a female reader - this story will have two chapters. :)

Warning: female reader has name and certain characteristics, Buggy x fem reader, fluff

Helga stood at the stern of the ship, observing the slow descent of the year's first snowfall. It covered the island before her with a white blanket, veiling also the tip of the main mast of the ship and the captain's cabin. The sails were neatly secured, and the surrounding sea lay in absolute stillness. It had been quite some time since she had enjoyed so much peace, enveloped in her blue scarf, she was savoring the crisp bite of the cold winter air.

A year had passed since Helga embarked on her journey with the Buggy pirates, and it had proven to be a year filled with thrilling exploits. Escaping the harsh winter of her small hometown, she met the Buggy pirates in a neighboring village, encountering their enigmatic captain, Buggy the clown, within a bustling tavern. At that time, Helga worked as a waitress, serving mugs of ale and platters of savory meat to the rowdy crew. It was during one such encounter, as she approached their table with three jugs of beer, that she recalled their first conversation. She remembered his penetrating emerald eyes and the smudged makeup around his mouth, which transformed into a grin.

"I like you, little girl. What is your name?" he inquired. "H-Helga," she stammered in response, her emotions torn between flattery and fear. "Helga, what a beautiful name, befitting of such a stunning young lady," he declared, a smile that was both captivating and threatening on his face. "You shall join us, the famous Buggy pirates. And don't get me wrong, this is not a mere invitation, this is a command." His words trailed off ominously.

Recalling that moment now, Helga couldn't help but smile. Without hesitation, she had rushed home, hastily packing her few belongings, and secured her cherished blue scarf around her neck. That very evening, she embarked on the adventure with the pirates, venturing into the treacherous waters of the Grand Line. At the time, she hadn't given much thought to her decision, but she had never once regretted it. She couldn't believe at this moment, staring at the falling snow, that it had already been a year. The unwavering loyalty she experienced among her newfound crewmates had blessed her with a sense of belonging—a place where she could truly feel at ease and call home. And Buggy had turned out to be less intimidating and frightening as she had first thought - he was a capable and strong captain, keeping her and the crew safe at all times.

As Helga was lost in thoughts, admiring the evening sky glistering in snow, she suddenly heard footsteps behind her. Startled, she turned to find a white-gloved hand extending over her shoulder, presenting a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She chuckled, as she recognized Buggy's detached hand, his body likely situated a couple of meters away.

"Coffee delivery!" he exclaimed with a laugh. Helga turned around to face him, observing him close to the Captain's Cabin, his coat drawn tightly around him to ward off the chill of the winter air.

"Are you not cold, little girl?" Buggy inquired, his gaze fixed upon Helga, who stood before him in her customary pirate attire, only with the scarf to keep her warm.

"Did you forget that I come from a cold country? This temperature feels just right to me!" she retorted, chuckling before expressing her gratitude for the coffee.

"Just thought I'd show you my kind side once in a while!" Buggy jokes, now making his way towards her, the coat enveloping him as he shivered slightly, yet wanting to savor the night sky just as Helga did.

"The snow is so beautiful tonight and the ocean has never been that calm!" Helga exclaimed, her gaze once again drawn towards the vast expanse of the sea.

"Yes, indeed, it is stunning," Buggy absentmindedly agreed, his attention solely captivated by the girl with the red hair, standing beside him, oblivious to the steadily falling snow.

Captain Buggy had been captivated by Helga from the very first day they crossed paths. He had observed her shy nature, coupled with an unwavering loyalty as a member of the crew. Her resourcefulness in navigating their adventures on the Grand Line only deepened his admiration. Little did she know that long before he realized it himself, he had fallen deeply in love with her. The enchanting allure of her beautiful blue eyes and fiery red hair had captured his heart and now he was grappling with the challenge of expressing his emotions.

Standing beside her now, with half of the crew asleep and the remaining members venturing out to explore the island where they had dropped anchor, Buggy recognized that this was the opportunity to have a conversation with her. He yearned to know the truth, to ascertain whether she had similar feelings towards him. Fully aware of her shyness, he found himself unable to guess her innermost feelings, making it all the more crucial to finally talk to her.

He cleared his throat, trying to say something, but she was quicker, turning around with a smile. "Captain Buggy, you seem to be shivering, and your nose appears quite red. Are you feeling cold?" Helga inquired, her words laced with concern. "Did you just say something about my nose?" he asked, startled, his voice rising in a surprised shriek. A blush crept across Helga's cheeks as she realized her unintentional faux pas. She stumbled over her words, attempting to take back her misstep. "I meant... I mean, it looks... um, redder than usual. My apologies." Embarrassed, Buggy chuckled, comprehending that the moment for romantic conversation had slipped away. His own lack of confidence had gotten the better of him, causing him to miss the chance to express his feelings. “I am fine!”, he said, not mentioning her mistake and offering a kind smile. “But maybe we just have one more coffee inside my cabin? I am afraid our drinks will turn into ice outside here..!” Helga smiled, thankful that her captain did not mention her comment about his nose. “I would love that!”, she said, following Buggy to his cabin.

Upon entering, Helga was amazed by Captain Buggys cabin. It emitted an air of eccentricity and flamboyance, mirroring its owner's personality. Entering it, one would be greeted by a mix of nautical and clown-themed decorations. The walls were adorned with colorful tapestries, depicting treasures and whimsical circus performances. Colorful flags and streamers hung from the ceiling, adding an element of circus to the space.

A large, carved wooden desk stood proudly against one wall, cluttered with maps and navigational tools. The cabin was messy but cozy and the scent of coffee still lingered in the air. With no other place to sit than his bed, Helga just carefully made herself comfortable on his pillow side, watching her Captain filling the coffee machine with water and fresh beans. “When was the last time we had such a peaceful night on this ship?” Helga inquired, trying to break the silence with small talk. She was absentmindedly playing with her scarf, rubbing her hands together to create heat. Buggy, his attention fixated on the coffee before him, replied, "I honestly cannot recall..."

Determined now to serve the coffee to Helga, Buggy reached out with the cup in his hand. However, his usually nimble fingers betrayed him, causing a sudden fumble. The hot liquid cascaded out of the cup, spilling over Helga's clothes in an unfortunate accident.

"Oh dammit! I'm so sorry, little girl!" Buggy exclaimed, his face reddening with embarrassment. He hurriedly grabbed a nearby cloth and began to dab at the coffee stains on her clothing, his touch gentle yet hurried. Helga blushed, surprised and embarrassed by the sudden touch of her captain. She couldn't help but feel a mixture of surprise and amusement. She watched as Buggy's usually confident demeanor gave way to a touch of vulnerability, evident in his apologetic gestures.

"It's alright, Captain. Accidents happen," she reassured him, somehow touched by his submissive gesture of trying to correct his mistake. As he continued to tend to the coffee stains on her clothes, he couldn't help but notice the warmth of her presence and the softness of the fabric beneath his fingertips. It was a rare opportunity for him to be this close to her, touching her in a way that conveyed both concern and intimacy. The room had fallen completely silent again and as he looked up to her, he realized that she had blushed. There was an unfamiliar glimmer in her eyes, one he had never seen before. Was that.. desire?

"Captain..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, but laden with unspoken emotions. For a moment Buggy was taken aback. She looked so beautiful, her red hair falling over her shoulders, the blue scarf matching the color of her eyes.

In that charged moment, as the air hung heavy with unspoken desires, Helga felt a surge of boldness. Without a second thought, she reached out her hand, her fingers trembling slightly, and gently cupped Buggy's face. Her touch was gentle and filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes. Buggy's breath caught in his throat as her fingertips grazed his skin, sending a jolt of electricity through his entire being. His eyes widened in surprise, he was unable to move. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in this intimate exchange.

#buggytheclown #one piece #one piece buggy

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ffxivaltaholic · 21 hours

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Prompt #21: Shade

#FFxivWrite2024

Some days were meant for one to rest. This day was one such day, where no paperwork would be completed, and not a single task remained to be handled, simply an afternoon sitting under a tree and reading together. At one point the Gleaner had fallen asleep, his head on his partner's lap with waves of long white hair pooling over the other Viera's legs, his face shaded from the sun by a canopy of dark green leaves. Dia didn't know at what point slumber had stolen him, but it had been the most pleasant nap of his life. "Welcome back Darlin' how was your nap?" A handsome freckled face met his and Diarmune offered a gentle smile in greeting, his voice a little groggy and the strong thavnarian accent more prevalent. "Apologies... I must have been tired..." The sleepy Viera frowned a little, somewhat embarrassed, but his worries were quickly brushed aside as the other man chuckled and shook his head to dismiss any concern. "I am glad you found comfort enough to rest." Kristoffer gazed down at the Gleaner, amethyst eyes holding such warmth, and it quelled any concern Dia had for his unplanned nap. "I hope it was not to long..." Still a bit foggy and unsure of how much time had passed while he rested. "Less than an hour, I figured I would let you sleep so long as we had some shade. You may thrive in sun but I burn quickly..." Considering how pale Kristoffer was, that did not surprise him, but thankfully their little spot had maintained a comfortable amount of coverage from the sun's heat through the entire afternoon.

A new concern was brewing and with furrowed brows Dia recalled what had been on his mind before he slept. "Tural... It is not entirely what I expected but I like it here... I know I have work that must be done for the Company but... I also wish to start looking for my family." Diarmune's mother had provided as much information as she could, but it had been over eighty years since the Viera woman had left her home and sailed to Eorzea. Much could change in that amount of time. His grandparents could certainly still be alive, but whether they were in the same place was entirely unknown. They were going into this search with very limited resources, and allot of land to cover.

"We will do everything we can to find them." Kristoffer had placed his book down and was now fiddling with the Gleaner's hair, braiding sections. He was a positive and optimistic person most often, but the man was also realistic in how he approached such an emotional journey as this. There was no guarantee of anything, but he would do everything within his power to help. "For now... We are on vacation love. Rest as much as you need."

"We have time."

#diarmune rhet-khas #ffxivwrite2024 #Dia & Kris #They are off on an adventure

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sprnklersplashes · 9 months

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lifeline (ao3) 1/3

wylan is severely hurt on a job. jesper is pushed to his limit. cw for serious injury and jesper's gambling addiction.

It happens in three parts.

Part one: Kaz asks Jesper to wait outside. They’re already his least favourite words, wait outside. They have boredom laced through every syllable, and they make a mockery of his specialist skill set. But when it involves Wylan, trusting Kaz to cover his back but not wanting him to leave his sight… no. He doesn’t just hate it. He can’t do it.

He argues. He protests. He asks Inej to back him up But Kaz doesn’t change his mind, and Wylan swears he’ll be okay. So… he stays outside.

Part two: the plan goes wrong. It’s what plans do and so he shouldn’t be surprised. Perhaps he’s not. What he is is freaking terrified. The light switches on in the upstairs room, the same one Kaz and Wylan just broke into. Jesper curses, and behind him Inej does the same. They’re positioned outside what they thought was the only entrance. They were meant to be the diversion. Did he not pay attention? Did he miss something or someone past him?

It doesn’t matter. They’re caught, and they have about ten seconds to think of their next move.

Part three: Wylan falls. Jesper doesn’t see what’s happening at first. He’s too busy whipping his guns out of their holsters and debating if they should just run up and start shooting. He doesn’t even look up until he hears Inej gasp and her hand grabs his shoulder.

At first, all he sees is a shadow, plummeting down the side of the building. If luck were on their side tonight, it would have been Kaz sailing down on a rope, Wylan coming after him. They would have been silent, sure, and running back with their prizes tucked in their coats.

Instead, the figure reaches up, desperately grabbing at nothing. Instead of silence, a rough, terrified scream pierces the air, and it stops Jesper’s heart. Then he screams again, and it sends Jesper running.

Wylan hits the ground just seconds before Jesper reaches him, and then he’s silent.

“Wylan?” he falls to his knees, his hands shaking as he cups Wylan’s face. Scarlet cuts mar his skin. Some are shimmering, and Jesper realises with a start that there are small pieces of glass buried in them. Blood runs down his cheeks in thin rivers, trickling into the collar of his shirt. Jesper slides his hand beneath Wylan’s neck and his fingers brush against a series of large knots. Wylan’s breath hitches, and the muscles in his face jerk. He almost makes a noise, almost like a murmur. But then he goes slack.

“Wylan, I’m here,” he tells him. He brushes his rough fingers against his cheek. It’s so white, so still. Like the marble in their parlour. His fingers trace Wylan’s cheek and keep going. They find the little spot behind Wylan’s ear where he’s especially ticklish. Normally, he shrieks with laughter when Jesper touches him there. Now he just lays there, oblivious to everything. He’s not even this still when he’s asleep. Something is very, very wrong.

Faintly, about seven stories up, he can hear someone getting the shit beaten out of them. It feels like it’s a world away.

“Wylan, wake up,” he says again. He’s begging, he realises. He didn’t think he begged. He does, now because Wylan just fell out of a building and he doesn’t look like he’s breathing and-

He’s screaming. He’s sobbing. He’s begging.

“Wylan wake up!”

That was twelve hours ago. At some point, they brought Wylan back to the Slat. At some point, Jesper carried Wylan up three flights of stairs (he wouldn’t let anyone else hold him). They laid him out on the bed and called a medik and did what everyone does when someone is hurt or injured or dying; they made coffee.

His father used to say that there was nothing a nice brew couldn’t fix.

It’s been twelve hours now, and five rounds of coffee. Forgive him if he doubts his Da’s Kaelish wisdom.

The medik made their assessment about an hour after they brought him back. They paid them double to keep their silence. If word got out that Kaz Brekker’s demo man was hurt, every gang in the Barrel would have their sights set on the Slat.

Jesper had stood in the corner as the medik gave their diagnosis. They rattled it off on their fingers. Four broken ribs. Dislocated shoulder. Shattered hip. Glass lodged in his neck. Lost a lot of blood. Significant damage to his head. At the very least a concussion, more likely something worse.

She had spoken in hushed tones that were a little too familiar to him. Tones from another time, a time of farmhouses and cherry blossom trees. As Nina and Matthias and Inej all listened intently, Jesper pressed himself into the corner. As if he could will it hard enough, he could disappear altogether, come back when Wylan wakes and go on as if nothing had happened.

What a childish thing to think.

Jesper flexes his fingers and shifts in the chair beside the bed. Wylan is completely white, the only colour being the purple shadows beneath his eyes and cuts on his cheeks. It’s been thirty hours since the medik left, he hasn’t moved from this spot. Neither has Wylan though. Nina tucked a blanket over him when it turned cold, and Jesper arranged his hands carefully over his chest. It doesn’t look right, Wylan doesn’t sleep like that. Normally he sleeps with one arm around Jesper, his cheek pressed into his shoulder and his knees pulled up to his chest.

But he had to do something. And Nina hadn’t objected.

“Here.” He jerks, instinctively cocking his pistol, but when he blinks he finds it’s just Matthias, standing over him with a stern expression and a bowl of something in his hand. Jesper stares at him for a minute, waiting for whatever is meant to happen next. Matthias sighs softly and places the bowl in front of him. “You need to eat something.”

Oh, right. Eating.

“Thanks.” He pushes the spoon with the tip of his finger. The heat from the bowl sinks into his palm. He hadn’t realised how cold he was until now.

Behind him, Matthias folds his arms and rests against the wall.

“How is he?” he asks, all gruffness gone.

“The same.” He lets the spoon fall against the side of the bowl. Jesper avoids looking at Matthias because the last thing they need is to see the amount of pity held in those ice-blue eyes. He doesn’t need a reminder of how fond he is of Wylan. A million memories flash through Jesper’s mind; Matthias bowing to Wylan in the tomb on Black Veil, the proud, awestruck smile whenever Wylan something new, the countless times he’s carried him away from a bar fight, Wylan shouting profanities from over Matthias’ shoulder. He remembers it all, and he keeps looking away.

He’s selfish, an asshole. But he doesn’t want a reminder of everyone else’s grief.

“I can take over from here,” Matthias says. “If you want to get some sleep or go outside or-”

“No.” The firmness surprises him, and it shuts Matthias up. “I’m not leaving him.”

And he means it. Although his hand has been tapping the same rat-a-tat-tat against the chair for the past two hours, and although he can now hear the sound of his heart bouncing around in his ribcage, he’s not leaving. They’re not leaving until Wylan is awake and talking. They’re not leaving this building unless it’s to take Wylan home.

“Okay,” is all Matthias says. Then he turns his gaze back to Wylan, and neither of them says anything.

It’s been thirty hours. The bowl of… whatever it was now sits on the bedside table, cold. Jesper took a few bites to appease Matthias. If someone asked, he wouldn’t be able to say what it tasted like. It tasted warm and mushy, and he swallowed it. That was enough.

Another coffee sits where the bowl had been. The sun has come up, bathing the room in a weak, silvery light. Jesper wishes it hadn’t; Wylan looks even paler now.

He tosses the coin in the air again. He doesn’t know when this buzzing started, this feeling like a swarm of hornets made a home beneath his skin, but it’s here, and this is one of the few things that ease it. Toss, catch, Fabrikate, repeat. So far he’s made a spring, a needle, a wire, and some other things they can’t remember. They don’t stick in their mind. What they do is calm the relentless fizzing through Jesper’s veins and keep at bay the whirl of thoughts and memories trying to edge into their mind. So they keep doing it.

Toss, catch, Fabrikate, repeat. Toss, catch, Fabrikate, repeat.

A small rush flows through him, the mental shifting beneath his hand, and-

“Oh… is it a coathook?”

“Oh, oh it’s a key.”

He stops. The key/coat hook/whatever it is falls through his fingers. It hits the ground and spins around. It sounds like Makker’s Wheel.

A shudder wrecks his body and he pulls his arms around himself. The memory attacks him on all fronts, compounded by the coin rolling on the floor. They were barely more than kids when he gave Wylan a key to this room. Wylan’s eyes had lit up, and his mouth had fallen open. His hair was sticking up like a bird’s nest. He’d been wearing Jesper’s shirt, and when he kissed him, it tasted like coffee and smoke. His hands had cupped Jesper’s face, and it had felt like home.

“Do you remember that?” His voice sounds like rusted iron. “D’you remember when I first gave you that key?”

Wylan doesn’t answer. The only reply he gets is the sound of the coin, spinning, spinning, spinning like Makker’s Wheel.

It’s been forty-five hours.

Forty-five hours and Wylan hasn’t so much as stirred. He doesn’t know what cup of coffee he’s on now. People just keep bringing them and he keeps drinking them. Not that he needs them. The buzzing in his veins has grown stronger, a low rumble of thunder that has since turned to lightning. His whole body crackles, keeping him on edge and keeping sleep at bay.

He’s reminded, dimly, of his time at the Ice Court. How many hours had that been? No matter, he’d spent all that time running on adrenaline and the promise of a fat pot of kruge waiting at the end.

When the door opens, he’s done three stretches of the room, wall to wall. He can’t find the coin and doesn’t like the idea of fishing around under the bed for it. So he’s paced, twirling his revolver around his finger, in the hope that the energy inside of him goes somewhere.

Kaz doesn’t look all that surprised. Jesper is though. He’s not seen Kaz in… well, more than thirty hours. He’s the only Crow that hasn’t been in to see Wylan and Jesper should be annoyed about that. But he isn’t, for two reasons. One is that he remembers the screams from the window, the night Wylan fell, mixed in with wet crunching and the sound of Kaz’s cane hitting the ground.

The second is the tightness in Kaz’s jaw, the slow, measured way he breathes. He may never know what goes on in Kaz’s head, but it looks like he’s putting a shit ton of effort into walking in. That counts for something.

Kaz walks in, silent save for the thump of his cane, and stops a little before the bed. Wylan doesn’t stir at his presence. Nina had slid another pillow beneath his head, and the medik returned to bandage his ribs again. Other than that, nothing has changed.

“How many ribs did the medik say he broke?” he asks.

“Four.” Jesper coughs into his elbow. Hours of disuse have made his voice rusty. “Why?”

“Just checking.” A pause. And then, “I gave the man who pushed him four.” He turns his cane on the floor. “Maybe I should go and double it.”

If Kaz wants Jesper to agree, he doesn’t. He doesn’t disagree either. Instead, he returns to his chair and grabs the back of it, flexing his back as he stretches. The hours return to his body, bringing aches to his legs and cracking to his knees and elbows.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t need to sleep,” is his reply. The next time he sleeps will be in his own bed, with Wylan beside him. That’s what he told himself during hour two. It doesn’t sound as strong now. Still, Kaz doesn’t have to know that. “I don’t.”

Kaz makes some small noise that sounds like agreement. The silence is thick between them, and Jesper is okay with it. Kaz knows better than to ask if he’s okay, or to tell him to try to get some sleep. Kaz stands with him, not quite shoulder to shoulder, and doesn’t judge him when he twirls the gun around his finger.

They stay together as the sun moves across the sky. Jesper stretches, paces, twirls, bleaches the colour from the curtains. Kaz doesn’t react. He remains still, almost as still as Wylan, except for his eyes. Jesper swears he can see his mind moving behind them. Where it’s moving to he can’t say, but it’s moving.

Eventually, Kaz is called. Of course, Jesper thinks, more than a little deflated. Life goes on. It doesn’t care about them, or anyone’s problems. The world moves on outside, even when Wylan is stuck in bed and hasn’t moved or woken in nearly two days.

It’s not right, but who is he to argue?

“Anything in particular you’d like me to do to him?” Kaz asks just as he reaches the door. Jesper frowns, thinking at first he means Wylan, but then realisation dawns on him. He thinks about all he’s done in the past day; the pacing, the coffee, the unnatural stillness of Wylan through it all. He thinks of Wylan, falling, and his body snapping as it hit the ground.

He thinks about it all, and for a moment he is so, overwhelmingly, completely, angry.

“Give him hell,” is all he says.

He has a feeling Kaz will oblige.

It’s been fifty-nine hours. Jesper’s nails are now tiny slivers on his fingers, framed by hot, reddened skin. His breathing has gotten steadily more sporadic as the sun has disappeared, his chest feeling more like a small engine than anything else. In-out, in-out, in-out. In-out, in-out, in-out.

There’s a coppery taste on his tongue that he can’t place and he keeps shifting his jaw like that will dislodge it.

His ears are ringing, and pressing his shaking hands to them doesn’t help. It just traps the sound inside his skull, and with nowhere else to go it jabs his brain.

What had started as buzzing turned to crackling, and now it feels like explosions. Like someone replaced his blood with gunpowder and lit the fuse. His heart beats louder, faster, pumping more around his body, and it just keeps exploding, and he can feel the ash beneath his skin and-

And Wylan hasn’t moved in fifty-nine hours.

Jesper has tried. He tried to give him sips of water, tried to pour broth down his throat. It barely worked and in the case of the broth, it nearly choked him. Nina had to hold his head up and check his airways to make sure nothing was lodged there, while Inej had whispered to Jesper that he’d done nothing wrong.

Jesper couldn’t hear her, but he nodded anyway.

“Wake up,” he says. His voice is trembling. He’s crying. “For Saint’s sake, wake up! You can’t leave-you can’t do this to me. You can’t leave me here.” His shoulders shake and something is wrenched from inside him, something deep and guttural that burns his throat like cheap whiskey.

“Wake up Mama. Mama, wake up!”

“Wyaln, please,” he begs. He’s crossed over to the bed and sitting on the mattress, one hand on either side of him. The tears land on Wylan’s cool skin. He doesn’t even twitch. “Wylan you have to wake up, you have to because… Because I can’t do this without you, Wy. I can’t do any of it without-” His voice trails off, his words eaten up by heavy, wrecking sobs.

Trembling, he pushes Wylan’s hair away from his face. There’s a little more colour in him now, but his skin is still cold. The bags beneath his eyes are still heavy. “Just wake up. Just come back to me and whatever happens after, we’ll deal with it.”

“Come back, Mama, come back!”

“I love you, Wylan.” He whispers it like it’s a prayer. Because it kind of is. If he would pray to anyone, it’d be him. “Please, please just come back to me. Just wake up.”

He doesn’t.

Jesper falls from the bed. Somehow, he pulls his shaking limbs into a ball. His back rests against the bed, his face turned towards the open window. The room is warm, summer sunlight streaming through the glass, but he shakes like it’s the depth of winter. He shakes until his organs rattle inside him, until the copious amounts of coffee he’s consumed come back and end up spewed across the floor. Tears stream freely down his face, his empty stomach turning at the sour smell that permeates the room.

There are hands on his shoulders. For a moment, he thinks someone has come to take him away. But then a cloth is pressed to his cheek, a glass of water lifted to his lips, and his eyes meet Inej’s.

Behind her, Matthias and Nina check over Wylan. They reapply his bandages, check his pulse, monitor his breathing, check his ribs.

Through all the poking and prodding, Wylan doesn’t wake. His body is still as glass, silent as Reaper’s Barge.

It’s been sixty-three hours, and he can’t do this any more.

The hot air has seeped through his skin, pressing in the spaces between his muscles and his bones. His chest feels like an empty, gaping cavern where his lungs should be. The chair beside the bed has long since been empty. Instead, he is sprawled on the floor, his gangly limbs spread across the floorboards. Above him is the cracked, yellowing plaster of the ceiling. There’s a split near the middle, caused by the intersection of two cracks, and he can see through the blackness of the roof space creeping through. If he closes his eyes and listens hard, he swears he can hear the crack growing. It snakes through plaster, and they’ll have to fix it because one of these days it might break and it might crash on top of him while he’s in bed. The idea isn’t entirely unappealing right now.

He hears it- craaaaaaaaaack, craaaaaaaack - shifting around the ceiling. The room is silent enough for him to hear.

He needs to get out of here.

His mind is blank. He feels his body move. He sees his hands grab his coat from the chair and blindly checks the pocket. A small wad of kruge sits there. There’s some more in the inner pockets.

The Dregs part for him as he heads out of the room and down the stairs. If he were more alert, perhaps he’d notice their widened eyes or the way they whisper behind their hands. As if happens through, Jesper’s brain is little more than a smoking pile of embers. He can only be vaguely glad Kaz is not here, though he doesn’t remember why, and then all but run out the front door and into the bizarre hellscape that is the Barrel.

He doesn’t stop, not even to soak it in. He’s been cooped up inside for too long, and part of him wants to just stand and appreciate the cool night air against his flushed skin, to breathe in something other than stale coffee grounds and sweat. But he can’t. His mind is moving faster than his body can keep up with, forcing him to keep chasing whatever it is his mind is seeing. So he keeps going, footsteps uneven on the crooked cobblestones. He trips and sways and feels himself lurching into other people again and again, but it doesn’t matter. If they say something to him, to harass or apologise, he doesn’t hear. He just keeps going, shaky step by shaky step.

He is, at least, aware enough to avoid the Crow Club. Because if Kaz isn’t at the Slat he will be there, and the very idea of the Bastard just makes Jesper move faster. Right now, Kaz is linked with the one part of his brain telling him to stop and go back. So no, he won’t be going to the Crow Club.

He doesn’t know where he is when he stops. It’s the Barrel, he knows that much. It’s a whirlwind of reds and yellows and greens and blues, and it's sort of familiar. Perhaps he’s played here, once or twice. The important part is that it’s far enough from the Slat and Kaz and… everything else.

Inside, there’s a large table as soon as he goes in, crowded with patrons young and old, natives and tourists, shouting and jostling and clapping each other on the back. A large roar erupts from the table, enough to blow Jesper’s eardrums out. It reverberates around his bones and his skin and dulls his frayed nerves. For the first time, he feels warm, flushed. A Zemini summer’s day, bursting with cherry blossoms and honeysuckle and sweet-smelling sunflowers. The feeling courses through him, a powerful midday wind, and it beats away the unending hopelessness and replaces it with something else. Something that tricks him into thinking anything is possible. That luck exists and that it favours him.

“Got room for another?” he asks above the din. The men turn to look at him, sceptical, but then he waves his stack in the air and he’s clapped on the back like they’ve known him all his life.

“Deal this young man in!” one of them calls, and for a second, Jesper’s mind aligns itself. Questions sprout up one after the other, what are you doing here, why aren’t you with him, get out of here! They shock him like cold water against his skin, and for a second he rises, just a fraction off his chair.

He rises and almost turns. Almost. But then the wheel spins, the patrons cheer, and he’s done for. The buzzing in his mind turns to gold, and all that exists is this room. There’s no past, nothing is waiting for him outside. There’s no future, no bad news waiting for him when he steps outside. All there is is him and the cards and the exhilarating rise and plunge he feels every time the wheel is spun. When the cards are thrown his way, he can’t even feel his fingers pick them up.

Vaguely, he knows he’s doing himself far more harm than good.

But it’s been sixty-three hours and he can finally breathe.

#six of crows #six of crows fanfic #wesper fanfiction #wesper ff #wylan van eck #jesper fahey

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