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the-kr8tor · 3 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)

192 notes · View notes

tickle-bugs · 1 year

Note

For the warmup prompts can you do Beetlejuice and Lydia (platonic! I do not ship them romantically in any way whatsoever) with the dialogue of “I bet I can get you to say my name.” If not, I totally understand!

So for people who haven’t seen/listened to the musical the vibe is completely different from the movie LMAO less “this is our weird uncle beetlejuice the family won’t talk to him he’s wanted by the feds and can’t come within 500 feet of the house” and more “cool but still weird cousin beetlejuice who collects strange rocks, is always in danger of being actively actively on fire, and is wayyy too into dark humor”. It’s a good show! If you like comedy musicals with a rock lean to the soundtrack, you’ll probably like it. It’s got a Little Shop of Horrors sensibility to it, I think.

If anyone tags this as ship w/ Lydia and Beetlejuice I will crawl out of your screen like the girl from the ring and gnaw on your bones I’m so serious

AU where the plot of this show doesn’t take like. A week LMAO. Basically Lydia hasn’t said BJ’s name yet but she also hasn’t decided what to do with her dad yet. So they’re at an impasse. Lydia regularly goes to hang out in her haunted attic and lament because Delia won’t go up there, thus making it safe. Beetlejuice keeps doing Say My Name-style ad pitches to get Lydia to summon him properly but he’s not very good at it.

EDIT: FORGOT THE BODY HORROR WARNING OOPS!! It’s very mild but just in case anyone needs it <;3

Full-Time Spectres

Lydia’s life is far from conventional, perfectly so, but she’s started to adapt to the strangeness in the walls of her house. She doesn’t have the one ghost she wants most of all, but she’s got three that do just fine for entertainment and scheming purposes. She’s gotten used to the cold spots, the occasional flicker of the lights, and Adam’s habit of walking through walls rather than doors--he figured out that he could and never wanted to stop.

Some things she’ll never adjust to, though, like her attic being strewn with scraps of brutalized board games.

Monopoly’s been pinned to the wall with a knife, Ludo sits perfectly still on a shelf with suspicious-looking green liquid in the shot glasses, and a chess board hovers in the air, eternally aflame. It’s a massacre and she doesn’t know where half of these things came from.

“What’s, uh…what’s happening here?” Lydia kicks the door shut behind her. The door creaks open. She kicks it closed again with a frown.

Adam looks up and squints at the door. His eyes dart around as if he can see the schematics of it and diagnose the problem from halfway across the room. Lydia allows herself a tiny smile.

“Adam’s teaching me to play checkers.” Beetlejuice beams, which is unsettling in itself.

“Well, I tried to reach him to play chess, then a few other things…it didn’t go well.” Adam pushes his glasses up his nose and surveys the board in front of them. He captures one of Beetlejuice’s pieces with a triumphant little ‘aha!’.

Beetlejuice takes a long, pensive look at the board. Very thin tendrils of smoke curl out of his ears as he tries to decide which piece to play. Adam, sweet Adam, goes to help him make an advantageous move, but Beetlejuice shushes him.

“What are you doing?” Lydia sidles over to Barbara, who fumbles with an old lamp. She sets it down before she can shatter it.

“Well, it was going to be a surprise but…” Barbara gestures excitedly to a small nook in the attic. She’s rearranged various boxes of her former belongings to build a shoddy sort of booth. A heavy, ugly floral curtain hangs precariously over the doorway.

“It’s a dark corner!” Lydia gasps sarcastically.

“No—well, yes, but it’s supposed to be a kind of mini dark room? I don’t know much about them but I know you’re always taking pictures.” Barbara shifts awkwardly.

Oh. Oh.

Lydia cradles her camera in her hands, running her thumb along the outside. The pebbled texture is a kiss to her fingertips. If she concentrated hard enough, she can remember the feeling of her mom’s warm hands over her own, showing her how to hold the camera.

“If you don’t like it—“

“You made this for me?” She whispers. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Still workin’ on it, but yes.” Barbara gestures lamely.

“You…didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing but time. Might as well use it right.” Barbara shrugs. Lydia bounces on her toes.

“I’ve still, um, gotta clear out all of our junk. Adam and I don’t need it anymore, not really, and you need room to breathe. I know it’s not much, but--”

Lydia crashes into Barbara for a hug. She’s icy to the touch, but her touch is the most comforting thing Lydia can imagine. Barbara pulls her in close, cradling the back of her head with her cool hands. There is no heartbeat in her chest, but Lydia can feel that it’s not empty.

A memory of her mother prickles at the back of her mind. She pushes it down.

“Do you want help?” Lydia pulls away and looks towards the dark room, ignoring the twinge of grief in her gut. She can see its potential around the edges.

“It’s your surprise! You can’t help with that!” Barbara gasps, affronted.

The curtain falls heavily from the hooks and thumps into the ground. A plume of dust kicks up and Lydia coughs.

“Okay. Maybe you can.” Barbara scratches her head. Together, she and Lydia hoist the heavy curtain back into precarious-looking hooks embedded in the wall. As they back away from it, silently begging it to stay in place, Beetlejuice sits up ramrod straight.

“Adam, Barbara’s throwing away your coin collection,” Beetlejuice gasps and points over Adam’s shoulder.

“What? They’re vintage!” Adam whirls around. Beetlejuice moves a bunch of pieces around, making a bunch of captures, and eats a piece for good measure. He winks at Lydia. She fondly rolls her eyes.

“You know I would never.” Barbara says. Adam deflates. She kisses his forehead. He grumbles a little but accepts it.

When Adam turns back to the board, Lydia has the express joy of watching him go through the five stages of grief in real time. He looks from Beetlejuice to the board in sheer despair.

“Why do you keep eating the pieces?” Adam puts his head in his hands.

“Because, Adam dearest, it makes you mad.” Beetlejuice pats his shoulder solemnly. Lydia snorts.

“Well, I’m officially out of games.” Adam pats his thighs and stands. He ambles over to Barbara and appraises the curtain. He puts his hands on his hips and starts muttering about supports and tracks. Lydia tries to follow along but her eyes near-instantly glaze over.

“Sooooo, Lydia.” Beetlejuice slides over to her. “Have you given my offer any more thought?”

“You still haven’t given me a convincing argument. Calling yourself ‘the worst of the best’ isn’t exactly a glowing review.” Lydia wrinkles her nose.

“These two like me!” Beetlejuice points at the Maitlands. Barbara gives a teasing ‘meh’ gesture just to see him splutter in offense. She laughs softly.

“I’ll admit, I’m coming around on him.” Adam chuckles.

“Thank you, Adam. Mwah.” Beetlejuice blows a kiss in his direction. Adam turns a little pink and goes back to working on the curtain. Barbara whispers something in his ear that makes him turn even pinker.

“They like anyone. I’ve met cardboard with stronger opinions than them.” Lydia scoffs, then turns. “No offense.”

Adam and Barbara both shrug.

“Fair point. Counteroffer: you hate your dad, I hate your dad, let’s kill him.” Beetlejuice gives his most enthusiastic jazz hands. Lydia stares at him blankly.

“Denied.” She pushes his hands out of the way.

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you suck. Your fate hinges on me and you can’t even get me to say your name. You spend all your time cheating at board games because you need me more than I need you. That’s pretty lame for a big, scary demon,” Lydia says mockingly, curling her fingers into claws. When Beetlejuice gives her the finger, she gives two right back with a smirk.

“Lydia, be nice,” Barbara chides, goosing Lydia’s side. She yelps and smacks her hand away.

Beetlejuice gasps. Lydia slowly meets his sparkling eyes.

“No.” Lydia points at him. Beetlejuice smiles slowly, wicked and full of mischief.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you--”

Lydia steps back, Beetlejuice steps forward, and all hell breaks loose. Lydia springs over a pile of Maitland junk and ducks under Adam’s arm. She shoves him into Beetlejuice’s path.

Beetlejuice simply picks Adam up and deposits him elsewhere like a Maitland mannequin. He squeaks and leaps out of the way of their chase.

The two of them circle each other around an unbuilt dining room table kit, Lydia just barely keeping out of arm’s reach. She bolts past a dilapidated spin-your-own-yarn kit and dives through Barbara’s legs to hide behind her.

Beetlejuice stops and visibly considers the consequences of doing the same. Barbara gives him a withering look. He tries to circle around her, but Lydia’s excellent at moving her around like a meat shield. Beetlejuice visibly starts scheming.

Barbara looks at Lydia, looks back at him, and slides out of the way.

“Barbara!” Lydia screeches in outrage but there’s not enough time to screech and run. He grabs her and pulls her into a bear hug.

“Thank youuuu, Babs!” Beetlejuice grins at her. She shakes her head fondly and honorably discharges herself from the battlefield.

“Hey Lydia…I bet I can get you to say my name.” He cackles evilly. Lydia hisses at him, but damn it, she’s already giggling nervously. He swoops his hands over her stomach, wiggling his fingers but not quite touching.

“B-Beetlejuice!” She squeaks and rocks up onto her toes in lieu of running.

“That’s one!” He singsongs, finally touching down on her stomach. She folds into his hands—unwise, really—and curses Beetlejuice to the high heavens and below.

“Think we should help her?” Adam leans over to Barbara. They both watch Lydia worm around in Beetlejuice’s arms, not making much of an escape attempt despite the volume of her threats.

“Nah.” Barbara moves a crate of nearly-unused embroidery hoops out of the way with tender care. The curtain collapses again. Both Maitlands sigh.

“Beetlejuice, you fucker!” Lydia growls, but quickly loses it to laughter. He’s doing this infuriating little pinchy-thing to her sides, one that makes her leap clear off the ground each time. She tosses her head back and cackles, her whole face scrunched with the force of it.

God, she hasn’t laughed like this since…well, it’s been a while. She’d forgotten that she could.

“Eh, that probably counts. One more!” Beetlejuice finds a deathly spot on her lower ribs and decides not to leave it alone.

“Beeeeeeeeeeeee--AHHH!”

“Hm, yeah. See, now we’re gonna have to start over.” Beetlejuice tasers her sides, right at that spot, and feigns disapproval. Lydia makes a noise at a pitch audible only to dogs and demons.

Crunch.

Lydia’s foot connects directly with his face in a frankly-stunning high kick. He drops her roughly. Something goes flying across the room and hits the wall with a quiet thump. Barbara gasps sharply and covers her mouth in shock.

Beetlejuice touches his nose—or rather, the space where it used to be, and a thick hush falls over the attic. Everyone’s eyes drift to the nose, now fallen among jars of the most rancid-looking kombucha on the face of the earth. It twitches plaintively.

He laughs, loud and boisterous. His lack-of-nose whistles as he does. Adam picks up the fallen nose and gags before tossing it to Lydia and wiping his hands on his shirt.

“Got your nose,” Lydia giggles weakly, depositing it into Beetlejuice’s hand.

“Nice shot.” Beetlejuice chuckles, uncomfortably nasally, and shoves his nose back into place with an awful crack. He takes a long, wheezing inhale and gives her a thumbs up.

“So…” He sidles close to her, bringing back the jazz hands.

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He sighs.

“Lydia, are you alright?” Delia’s voice curls faintly up the rickety staircase. She climbs up, but not all the way—Lydia can tell by the shuffling of her awful shoes.

Everyone freezes.

“Lydia?”

She opens her mouth to answer Delia and Beetlejuice squeezes her sides. She yelps and whirls around, but he doesn’t even have the decency to feign innocence. He just does it again, waiting for the precise moment she goes to speak.

“Y-Yeah, I’m o-okay.” Lydia wrestles with Beetlejuice’s hands, her voice shaking with barely-restrained giggles.

“Oh god, please don’t make me come up there.” Delia’s ‘whisper’ is anything but. Beetlejuice snorts.

“I’m fine! Just, uhm, doing spring cleaning.” Lydia calls back, stomping on Beetlejuice’s foot. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Okay.” A long, heavy pause from Delia.

“You can go now!” Lydia yells. Delia’s heels click quickly down the stairs, back towards the dreary living.

“You’re insufferable,” Lydia hisses at Beetlejuice, punching his shoulder. He holds his hand over his heart and gives a grand, sweeping bow. When he stands up, he smacks his head against the dagger in the wall. Lydia snickers at him.

He turns around like a penguin, never one to do things normally, and makes a delighted noise at the pierced Monopoly board. He pulls the knife out of the wall and pokes his finger with it a few too many times, fascinated with the sharpness of it.

He stretches, makes a bunch of vague measurement and aiming gestures, then lobs the knife straight upwards. It lodges into the ceiling with an enthusiastic ping! The blade warbles with the force of it.

Beetlejuice slaps the Monopoly board down on the floor and plops down in front of it. Adam bemoans the state of the attic ceiling as Barbara consoles him.

“Wanna play?” Beetlejuice snaps his fingers and the board changes, shifting into black, whites, purples, and greens. Graveyard moss creeps along the edges of the board. Monopoly components spawn into existence on the board, appearing in puffs of fog and comically-quiet wails of the damned.

“Sure.” Lydia sits opposite him. She pokes at some of the moss. It sprouts to meet her touch.

“If you get stabbed, you lose?” Beetlejuice casts a cursory glance to the still-wobbling knife. The blade shifts slightly out of the ceiling.

“Deal.” Lydia sticks her hand out to shake. Beetlejuice takes it with gusto.

“You guys wanna play?” Lydia turns to the Maitlands. Barbara and Adam look at each other, communicating in that telepathic way of theirs. Barbara grins and leads Adam over to the board to sit.

“I call thimble!” Adam reaches for it. Beetlejuice swats his hand. Adam reaches again. Beetlejuice swats him a little harder.

“You can’t have the thimble. I’m the thimble.” Beetlejuice pinches it between his fingers.

“Can I have the thimble?” Barbara leans close to Beetlejuice and looks up at him through her lashes. Lydia never would’ve guessed that a demon could blush, but sure enough, Beetlejuice’s face takes on the slightest bit of color.

“I sense that I’m being manipulated.” He narrows his eyes.

“Is it working?” Barbara smiles.

“Yep.” He slaps the thimble into her hand. She passes it to Adam. He beams. Beetlejuice rolls his eyes but his gaze lingers on them for just a bit too long.

“Well played, Babs. Well played.” Beetlejuice scoops up the racecar piece and frowns at it. Its tiny metal form melts and reconfigures into a small hearse. Satisfied, he places it right next to the cat piece—Lydia’s, of course. Barbara takes the top hat with pride.

When Beetlejuice jumps Adam for his extra get out of jail free card—of which there are a suspicious amount in Beetlejuice’s version of the game—Lydia laughs and swipes a bit of Beetlejuice’s money. Adam’s hiccupy cackles are the backdrop for Barbara robbing the bank in broad daylight, taking as many bills from the tray as her heart desires.

Lydia’s life is certainly very strange and painfully unusual, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. She can only hope that her mom will love being part of the attic’s menagerie of ghosts and ghouls as much as she does.

#this...this got out of hand #rewrote it twice so it might be a bit of a mess but i think i got to mash together the concepts i was leaning between #hope u enjoy it anon!! thank u for this!!!#my fics #beetlejuice musical #ticklish!lydia #lil bit of adam at the end too but im not gonna tag it #lydia deetz #adam maitland #barbara maitland #beetlejuice #not gonna tag delia either but bless her heart #not explicitly ship but. i think adam barbara and beetlejuice hold hands sometimes idk #tried to include a couple easter eggs/references i hope ppl enjoy those hehe #also bj is just so much fun to write. funky lil freak

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

Note

I just finished reading "the soon to be father" and the sequel "A Princess Is Born" and I love reader from the summer isles and her relationship with Daemon. That said, could I have an imagine/long fic (maybe nsfw) of how they met (maybe they don't like each other at first, but as time goes by a friendship is born when they realize they have things in common), like the relationship evolved from friendship until they realized that they were in love with each other and confessed and how they +

Part 2: just like each other after the feelings are clarified and reciprocated, like boyfriends (I know that the term dating, as we know it, does not exist in this universe, but I think that you understand what I'm getting at), even the proposal (maybe him asking Ayana for help, which she gladly helps) and if you can write the wedding ceremony (maybe they have two wedding ceremonies, one with the summer isle customs and another valyrian) please?( feel free to ignore and sorry for my english

Don't worry about your english, it's fine!

Sorry I took so long. I forgot my own rule to not complicate things and went overboard with the story. I hope you still like it.

Wedding vows and translation: here

Part 2: The soon to be father

Part 3: A princess is born (I changed bits of this to match up with the story.

The Dragon Prince in the Summer Isles

Pairing: Daemon x Fem. Reader (Summer Isles)

Word count: 9.5k words

Themes : Enemies to lovers | Soft | Slow burn

Warnings: Kissing | Mild smut / penetrative sex | mentions of burn injuries | Knife use | Blood

Possible grammar errors. I tried to edit as much as possible.

Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here

If you like this, please consider giving this a reblog!

*****

When Aenar Targaryen gathered his family and their dragons and fled Valyria as advised by his daughter, Daenys, he did so only after selling off his estates and parting with the books containing all the knowledge the Freehold.

That was the price the other houses demanded in exchange for their freedom to leave, for they feared the secrets surrounding their dragons would fall into the wrong hands. Those secrets went to a watery grave when the fourteen flames erupted as one and the entire peninsula collapsed and fragmented under a storm of ash, cloud, fire, and acid. The Targaryens, much like the Velaryons and the Celtigars before them, found a new home in Westeros, on an island fortress aptly named Dragonstone.

The other kings and lords of Westeros envied Aenar and his family, as well as the Velaryons and the Celtigars. They envied them for their beauty, their wealth, their ships, and their dragons. And when Aenar’s descendants, Aegon and his sisters, set their eyes further west, to Westeros proper, and they wished to secure their hold over the entire seven kingdoms, the chance came for the other lords to sink their claws in to the Targaryen family.

It started with the dragon pit, then it was the conversion to the faith of the seven, then it was only sons inheriting the crown and not daughters. Bit by bit, the dragon lords yielded to the Westerosi, and inch by inch, their talons were clipped and their fangs cut short. Despite this, House Targaryen remained strong, with ten dragons under their command and continuing on to the present day, where Viserys, the first of his name, ruled as king, and his brother, Daemon, led as Lord Commander of the City Watch.

💫

"Otto, Daemon gave me his word that he did not try to kiss Alicent last night at the feast," said Viserys while he, Otto, and prince Daemon sat in the Small Council room. "In fact, he says, it was your daughter who tried to kiss him."

It was a blisteringly sunny day in Kings Landing. All was quiet and bright. The city had emptied itself for the afternoon, with most retiring to their homes for an afternoon of lying in and waiting out the scorching mid-day heat. Here in the council room however, things were far from indolent. Two men were seated at an ornate marble table, while another huffed and paced about. That man was Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King.

He huffed again, while the King’s brother said his piece. What Daemon said was true—that he did not kiss Alicent and that Alicent was the one to throw herself at Daemon. Why, it was Otto himself who saw it happen, and why he quickly made his presence known. It was why he called this meeting with the king and his brother. He wanted to use it to his own advantage, perhaps force Daemon out of the Gold Cloaks, the Small Council, and Viserys’ life for good. He had already succeeded by limiting Viserys’ daughter’s influence. Now all that remained was to get rid of Daemon, and then Otto could carry out his plans unchecked.

"Your grace," said Otto in the most wounded air he could muster, "Alicent is a pure and virtuous girl. She would never stoop to such a thing. Besides, she is going to be your queen. How can you even entertain such slander!"

Viserys leaned back into his chair and smiled. "I have not even asked your daughter if she wants to marry me, and even if what Daemon says is true, why should it bother me?" He closed his eyes to hide the pain from the ever-growing wound on his back. "Alicent stealing a kiss is nothing compared to my antics in the Street of Silk.”

"Ah yes, the expert ministrations of the lovely Mysaria." Daemon held up his goblet and toasted the air.

“How is she?” Viserys ignored Otto’s indignant sputtering. “I have not been to the Street of Silk since my engagement to Aemma.”

“Ageless,” Daemon smirked. “The woman is practically ageless.”

“And is she still…”

“Incredibly flexible?” Daemon cackled along with his brother. “Very much so. She even asked after you.”

“Mysaria remembered me?” Viserys looked tickled pink.

“Of course. She asked: how is your older brother? Does he still blush till he goes red in the cheeks?” said Daemon, in the best Lysene accent he could muster. Viserys buried his face in his hand and laughed.

Pretending to be utterly scandalized, Otto made himself go as red as a freshly halved beet. "Your grace!" he grumbled in mock outrage.

“What?” Viserys looked to the Hand and shrugged. “She is flexible…”

And Daemon, unable to help himself, added: “And my brother does turn a pretty shade of red when he blushes.”

The Hand’s face ballooned like a puffer fish.

Gods, save me from your theatrics, thought Viserys, while he raised his hands as a gesture of peace. "Calm yourself, my Lord Hand. I will consider the events and come up with a solution that would be agreeable to us all."

Otto, finally putting on the air of a most aggrieved father, said: "I hope so, your grace. It would not do to allow such licentious behaviour to go unchecked," He gave a pointed look to an unbothered Daemon, huffed, and added, "or unpunished."

Daemon merely sighed and rolled his eyes.

Viserys nodded in agreement and only waited till the door closed behind Lord Otto. "What really happened?" He held out his goblet, so Daemon could refill it. "The truth, now. All of it."

Daemon told him all. How, after Viserys had retired for the night, he had gone off to a corner during the feast, to enjoy his food in solitude. Alicent had followed him, and without so much as a by-your-leave, she perched herself on his lap and planted her lips on his. Otto had wandered in on them just as Daemon stood up to push Alicent off of him.

"The man took one look at me, then one at his daughter," grumbled Daemon. “Then his eyes started to gleam. Next thing I know--"

"I had summoned you here." Viserys drummed his fingers against his goblet. "I am sure you are telling the truth, brother, but I need to have peace with him. The Hightowers have a lot of influence at court and I must be careful when dealing with their family."

Daemon studied him over his wine. "Do you think it’s wise, then, to marry into their family?"

"I need a direct male heir, Daemon, to settle the succession issue. And for that, I need a new queen." Viserys rubbed his eyes and sighed, wishing the lords would allow him to name his daughter his heir. Alas, his attempts to change the succession laws were blocked at every turn.

And not being heir never bothered Daemon. If asked by the right person, Daemon would say that the very idea of wearing the crown and pandering to the grasping members of court would be enough to make him physically ill. "What about Laena Velaryon?” he suggested their closest Valyrian kin. “Lord Corlys’ oldest. You wed her while your daughter weds her brother. Vhagar and Seasmoke would be under our control then. Or ask the Celtigars, perhaps."

Viserys shook his head. "Laena’s age and temperament is better suited for you than for me, I think. Besides, Corlys says she already has her head turned by one of the Celtigar twins. And the twins have no unwed sisters for me to consider."

"Why Alicent though? Someone who is not like us?" Asked Daemon. “How about going to Essos? Perhaps asking one of the old families of Volantis?”

Viserys looked over to the Valyrian Sphinxes by the door, the overtly erotic frescoes on the walls. A bride from one of the Old Blood families of Volantis would be ideal, but the nobles…

"Alicent is willing to respect our way of wedding brother and sister, strange as it may be to her,” he said. “And the other noble houses will consider it a slight upon their honour if I rejected their daughters and chose a foreign bride. No. I will marry Alicent when the time is right."

"In the Westerosi tradition, you mean," Daemon snarled. “And not in the ways of old Valyria.”

"That was what Aegon the first agreed to during his anointing as king, to follow the ways of the Andals and the First Men." Viserys felt his heart well up with sorrow. With each passing generation, more and more of old Valyria's ways fell by the wayside. How long would it take, he thought, before their dragons finally died out and they were no different from any other family in the Seven Kingdoms? "A condition I must fulfill if I am to keep my throne. That, and by maintaining good relations with the other lords, of course."

Which of course meant keeping the peace with Lord Otto. Daemon bowed his head and sighed, then took a long, steadying breath as he came to a decision. As always, his love for his brother won out against his own pride. He tried to come up with a solution that could work for both Viserys and himself. "Perhaps if I took myself out of the picture for a little while, this whole Alicent thing would blow over."

Agreeing with his brother’s proposal, Viserys rose and crossed over to a wall, one that had the most elaborate map of the known world painted on it. "How do you fancy a journey into Essos? I’ll provide you with enough coin for the trip, and—"

Daemon cut him off with a gentle, "Viserys, you know perfectly well that I have more than enough means for such a journey.”

"I know," agreed Viserys, as he looked over the many nations spread over Essos. Where would his brother start? Where would he end? Would he even come back once he had sampled the freedoms and pleasures Essos had to offer? Oh, how Viserys wished he could travel with his brother, escape the pressures of the crown, even for a little while, even when he didn’t have a dragon to his name. "But let me do this, please."

"Viserys," Daemon began.

"Daemon," Viserys interjected before his brother could continue. "You are my baby brother and have looked after me and protected me long enough. As king and as your older brother, it is I who must look after you. Please, let me do it. I insist."

Daemon smiled fondly and relented. His brother was gentle and generous, and stubborn as a mule when it suited him. "We’ll figure something out together."

"All right," Viserys said as he rejoined his brother at the table. "Send over your travel plans, and we will work something out."

💫

Rhaenyra found her uncle in his chambers, packing for his journey.

Servants had been rushing to and fro, ensuring all of the prince’s papers were packed, his clothes neatly wrapped in tissue paper and put into trunks. His mail and armour had been polished to a high sheen. Dark Sister hung by his waist, the ruby pommel glinting like fresh blood in the fading light.

“Laenor told me you were leaving? That you may not be able to attend our wedding?” cried Rhaenyra as she took in the chaos around her. “Why?”

“This must be done,” was all Daemon said. His niece was already harbouring anger and resentment towards her father over what happened to her mother, and he did not wish to widen that divide even more by saying anything that could be misconstrued and blown out of proportion. “That is all.”

Rhaenyra sniffed and plopped onto her uncle’s bed, picking up a pillow and holding it against her chest. “Are you really going to do it? Fly off somewhere and leave me alone with these gods-awful people?”

The servants may not have said anything, but Daemon was sure they were all listening. “Come with me.” He walked out onto the balcony and gestured for his niece to do the same. The moment she did, and they were far enough, Daemon dropped the Common Tongue and spoke in High Valyrian instead.

“You need to watch what you say, even in my presence,” he warned. “These people are not like us. They’ll turn on our family the moment an opportunity presents itself.”

Rhaenyra started to protest, “But uncle--”

And Daemon cut her off. “Nyra, I need you to listen to me.”

His eyes were somber and thoughtful, something she had never seen in him before. “Alright,” she said, as she made herself comfortable on the balcony ledge.

Daemon looked back into his chambers to ensure no one was hanging around longer than they should. “Nyra, I need you to be there for your father. Now I know you are angry with him,” he cut her off as soon as she opened her mouth. “Gods knows you have every right to. What was done to your mother was unforgivable. But… it is not going to change the fact that he is your father and that he is going to need you after I am gone.”

Rhaenyra stopped to consider her uncle’s words. Her father was strong and generous and loved by all, but without someone to support him, someone in his corner, someone like his brother, her father would be left exposed to the vultures that circled him. And Gods help her, but she loved him despite it all.

When she didn’t talk back, when she didn’t argue, Daemon took it as a good sign and continued. “We have to look out for each other.” Daemon dropped to his haunches so he could look her in the eye. “Now more than ever. Rhaenyra, I have to leave for Essos. And I might be gone for quite a while.”

“How long?” Rhaenyra sniffed and mumbled a thank you when Daemon gave her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

“Months, maybe even years,” said Daemon. Until Otto got over himself, he thought. “So while I am away, I would like you to keep an eye on your father. I will write to you as often as I can. And I want you to tell me everything that goes on here.”

Something tugged at Rhaenyra’s lips. The hint of a smile, thought Daemon. “Using the secret code you taught me?” she said.

“Yes,” grinned Daemon. “But be careful. Otto has eyes everywhere.”

Her smile finally grew, her eyes lighting up like pale purple stones glinting in the light of the setting sun. “Oh alright.” Rhaenyra glanced into her uncle’s rooms. The servants were finishing up with their packing. “I will keep an eye out on father. But will you be gone the whole time?”

“I will try to come to High Tide whenever your father allows it. Until then, try and keep your nose out of trouble.”

Rhaenyra clapped both hands to her chest and gasped. “Get my nose in trouble? When have I ever done such a thing?”

“The time you nearly burned down the great hall after sneaking a young Syrax into the Red Keep and she threw dragon flame onto the drapes?”

“That was just a small accident!”

Just a small accident, thought an amused Daemon. “Or the time you, Laenor and the Celtigar twins snuck into the family Sept and switched the head on the maiden’s statue with that of that warrior’s statue? And how the Septons thought it was an ill-omen and fasted for weeks?”

Rhaenyra gaped in outrage. “They insulted our families.”

Daemon smirked. “I will miss you, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra threw her arms around her uncle and hugged him tightly. “I will miss you too, uncle.”

That hug, and the embrace Viserys gave him at their parting, kept Daemon going on many a difficult morning while he was travelling around Essos.

💫

The days bled into each other. Weeks passed. Months passed, even entire seasons.

Daemon traveled all over the free cities, breaking bread with the Magisters of Pentos, haggling with Braavosi bankers on behalf of his brother, and even receiving a warm welcome from the Old Blood of Volantis. Daemon did not linger too long in one place. Soon, he would find himself growing impatient and on the move again. He would occasionally return to Westeros, to Driftmark, to see his niece and her growing brood. Sometimes, his brother would join them.

Viserys grew weaker as the years passed. There had been wounds on his back, and they had been spreading. His fingers had become stunted, and his nails had all fallen off. He’d cut himself on the blades of the Iron Throne and not feel a thing, not until someone saw him bleeding and pointed it out. Daemon wanted to come back and help his brother, but Viserys would waive his protests and insist he continue his travels.

And so, Daemon relented to his brother’s entreaties and kept traveling until almost fourteen years had passed, and he found himself on Jhala, the main island of the Summer Isles. After dismounting on the beach and letting Caraxes fly off to hunt, Daemon found himself face-to-face with Prince Sandoq Xho, the current ruler of the Red Flower Vale. He had been dressed in a simple, sleeveless linen tunic, with a brightly coloured feather collar adorning his neck.

"Welcome, Prince Daemon!" said Sandoq, as they gripped each other’s forearms in the traditional greeting of the Summer Isles. "I trust your journey here was pleasant?"

"Very much so," The clear blue skies, bluer seas, and warm air had done wonders for Daemon's constitution. "I hope your people will not mind a dragon in their midst?"

Sandoq looked over his guest’s shoulder at the red dragon dipping into the ocean to catch fish. Insatiable curiosity won out against any sliver of fear that tried to take root in his heart. Perhaps his guest might allow him to see the great beast up close and personal. "They do not," he said, as he led the way back up the beach. "In fact, my people were making petitions to try and see him, and I had to pass an edict forbidding them."

"Is such an edict even necessary?"

"The last time a dragon came here was a full generation before the doom" said Sandoq. "Your dragon will be seen as a novelty and people will not leave him alone."

And a dragon that is not allowed to live in peace turns into an angry dragon. And an angry dragon? Well, Daemon had his fill of an angry dragon once, and he wanted no one to experience such a horror. "I understand," he said as they walked over paved paths curving through thickets of lush trees and rare flowers. "I also hope I'm not imposing myself with my presence. The Iron Throne does not exactly enjoy the best relationship with the Summer Isles.”

"Not having the best of relationships would be an understatement."

Sandoq winced when he heard it, and both men stopped walking as two women approached them. "My wife, Ayana Qo," Sandoq first pointed to the older woman on the left. "And the one who just spoke is my daughter. The princess y/n."

"Princess Ayana," Daemon greeted your mother first, gripping her right forearm. "I have heard much about you from your ambassadors."

Ayana studied him and smiled. Daemon had all the characteristics of old Valyria: Silver hair, purple eyes and devastatingly handsome, the kind that would have him followed by all the eligible men and women of the islands before long. "Half-truths and embellishments, I’m sure."

"What are ambassadors, princess, if not to give half-truths and embellishments?"

The princess snorted with laughter.

"But I am more than certain that is not the case in your situation," Daemon said gallantly, his eyes edging towards you every so often.

You took him in, the soft linen clothes, the single silver braid. Daemon was a man of high birth, and it showed, not just in his appearance but in how he carried himself, very much like a dragon-riding prince and the brother of a king.

Oh, you thought you knew the type: arrogant, brash, with thoughts for no one but themselves, the type to get themselves into trouble and then not bother to apologize for all the harm they caused. “So. I hear it was you who burned our ships at the Stepstones?”

“Those ships were engaged in piracy,” Ayana countered.

“And I warned my brother not to do it,” Sandoq sighed. “Kojja was a most bull headed man when it suited him,” he looked apologetically to Daemon. “And power went to his head in the end.”

“Aba, he burned those men alive!”

“After I flew over their ships three times as a warning, princess,” Daemon was not going to stand there and let you accuse him of murdering innocent sailors. Not when he knew the crimes your uncle committed. “And your uncle sided with the Crabfeeder. They brought their fates upon their own heads.”

“Y/n,” your mother cut you off before you could snarl at Daemon again. “That is quite enough from you.”

Your mother gave you a look that said: Do not test me. Biting your tongue, you glowered and ground your teeth as Daemon walked ahead, his eyes turning to you the entire time. You were content to glare back, and he was content to chuckle, much to your annoyance.

💫

It was almost noon the next day when Daemon opened his eyes.

The sun shone through colored glass panels that served as a skylight, bathing the bed in a riot of yellows and reds and oranges. Daemon rubbed his eyes and looked around, as he had collapsed into bed the evening before without having a good look first.

There were no hearths here. The walls and floors had been paneled with rich dark wood, with slats cut cannily into the windows. They had been broad enough to let in lots of fresh and light and angled in such a way as to prevent rain from getting into the room. The bed was soft, the sheets and pillows softer. Sheer gauze drapes fluttered in the breeze. Daemon sighed contentedly, thinking he had chosen well by coming to the Red Flower Vale.

He wanted to lay there and not go anywhere, but the need for a meal forced him out of bed. Daemon made use of the glass wash basin and pitcher of water left on his bedside counter to freshen himself up. When he dressed for the day and came downstairs, only you were present in the dining room, the remnants of your mid-day meal in front of you. “Hello, princess y/n,” Daemon said in greeting.

He should not have been surprised to see you here, this was your home after all. Still, after yesterday’s reception, he was hoping to not have to deal with you on his own, not for a little while at least. “Hello,” you mumbled none too happily when he joined you at the table. Your parents had given you a thorough lecture over your behaviour towards their guest, and you hadn’t gotten over it as yet. “There’s rice and fried fish if you’re hungry.”

On Daemon’s request, a servant came forth with a heaping dish of fried fish and rice that had vegetables and a lot of spices in it. Thoroughly starved and thoroughly enticed by the mouth-watering scents, Daemon ate his meal with gusto, even going so far as to ask for a second serving. You watched as he finished off every crumb. “No reddened cheeks,” you mutter with barely disguised curiosity. “No cries for water. Interesting.”

Daemon heard and looked at his plate. The spices. Daemon was sure you had been referring to the spices. “Well,” He helped himself to some ale and smirked. “I am a Targaryen, princess y/n. We do like it hot.”

You squeaked and turned your head, your cheeks aflame. Not only had he heard you, but there was something about the way he said "hot" that got your stomach all tangled up in knots.

Seeing you all flustered tickled him, and Daemon snickered before finishing off his ale. “So tell me, princess y/n,” he leaned back into his chair and stretched out his still sore legs, licking remnants off the pads of his fingers as he did so. As the years passed, flying atop a dragon became harder, tired one out faster, and Daemon had traveled farther than most. Perhaps after this, he would go back to Westeros for good and put an end to his traveling. “What plans for me today?”

“I--” you groaned, as your parents had put you in charge of keeping the prince company. “I am to show you around the Red Flower Vale.”

Oh but the lack of enthusiasm in your voice. Daemon was sure you had been made to do this. “On your father’s orders?” he cackled. “Or your mother’s?”

You caught the glint in his eyes. Oh, but he was enjoying this, watching you groan and squirm. “Both,” you mumble and stood. “Actually.”

He rose with you and accompanied you to the door. “Where to first?”

“Our main library. Father said you might like to see it.” You did a double-take when you heard him right next to your ear. Daemon was so close, you could practically smell him: leather and lilies and not so unpleasantly of dragon. You swallowed, thinking how such an odd mixture could be so appealing. You blinked once, twice, then quickly turned away when his lips quirked upwards. “Do not read anything into it,” you mutter and step out.

“Do not flatter yourself into thinking that I am,” He retorted pleasantly enough.

That stung. “Arsehole,” you mumble and stomp over the grass.

“Like I have not heard that one before,” Daemon called after you sweetly.

When you squeaked and looked back, Daemon pretended to be looking elsewhere. His gaze turned back to you when you looked forward. Telling you not to flatter yourself was very well-timed, but he could see he had hurt your feelings, and you were already determined to not like him. Daemon groaned and wished that his brother was with him. Viserys could have found a way out for him, perhaps even chided him a little.

Daemon found himself missing his brother immensely.

💫

The next day Daemon woke up early and with purpose.

He’d have to win you over and show you that he was more than a dragon rider who burned everything in his path, and the only way to do that was by apologizing first. After going through his usual morning routine, Daemon came downstairs and found you alone again.

“My parents have gone to the beach for the boat races,” you said as he sat next to you. “They asked me to bring you with me.”

The summer boat races, something Sandoq told him about at dinner. It was something Daemon looked forward to seeing. “I would love to see it.”

“Good,” you rose and dusted off your skirt. “Let us go then.”

“Y/n.”

You stopped by the door. Daemon walked up to you but still kept a respectful distance.

“I did not mean to hurt your feeling yesterday afternoon,” he said. “I tend to speak before I think, and I am sorry.”

You sighed, for you knew an apology from your end was also necessary. Your parents, during their scolding, told you some harsh truths about your uncle and the Crabfeeder, and how Daemon was left with no choice in the end. “And I must apologize for accusing you of killing innocent men. My father told me some ugly truths about my uncle, about his sailors, tales they kept hidden from me, and now I feel their demise was well deserved.”

“Thank you,” murmured Daemon. “And how did it feel,” The rogue in him could not help itself. “To say it?”

“Like pulling teeth out of my mouth,” you found yourself smiling. “Now come. Everyone is waiting on you.”

Daemon grinned and gestured for you to lead the way.

The day was pleasantly cool, even for a summer day. The path leading up to the beach was filled with birdsong, the likes of which Daemon had never heard before. He tried to commit everything to memory, so he would have plenty to tell his niece in his next letter.

Daemon let his eyes wander for a while. The Summer Isles was often called the “the true paradise isles,” and he was starting to see why. There were rainforests as far as the eye could see. The air was always sweetened by the many flowers that bloomed all over. Birds of every size and hue could be seen in the mornings when the weather was clear. Their fallen feathers could be found everywhere, and Daemon collected many, to send Rhaenyra and her children as presents.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly, as did every other day after that. Daemon would wake up early and join you as you go about your day in the Vale.

You showed him which flowers were poisonous, and which ones could heal. Which birds made excellent feathery companions, and which ones had to be avoided like the red death. You would take him to Vale’s main library, watching in fascination as Daemon poured over all the books he could find, especially those that had even a hint of life in old Valyria. He never stopped thanking you when you took him to the only Valyrian temple at the center of the island.

Daemon had the energy and curiosity of a teenager, and the appetite of one as well. He ate all the meals given to him and left nary a crumb on his plate. He even sweet-talked the cooks to give him the recipes, in the hopes the kitchens of the Red Keep could duplicate them.

He would spend time with the archers, learning how to use the goldenheart bows the Summer Isles were famous for. He could never take a bow for himself, of course, not unless it was given as a gift, but Sandoq’s people saw no harm in him borrowing one during his stay.

Sometimes, he’d join the prince in his duties. Other times he’d join you and your friends whenever you all went fishing.

Today was such a day.

It was just the two of you, stalking along a stream, hoping to catch fish for supper. The sky had grown gloomy, and the wind had picked up. The fish seemed to be hiding, or next to impossible to catch. When it started to rain, the two of you had to give up and come running back home, laughing merrily, making it to the door just after the rain fell down in earnest.

Daemon went straight to his rooms to change into something dry. He heard the crack of thunder and the flash of lightning and walked to a window. The sky had taken the colour of slate, and wind and rain slashed against the homes of the Vale.

No, Daemon corrected himself as he slipped into a pair of comfortable breeches. These were not mere homes, they were manses. The Red Flower Vale was rich in trade and coin, and it showed, everywhere he looked. The women walked about with bright feathers and expensive jewels in their hair, the men donning feathered necklaces made of gold and silver. Some were even wealthy enough to afford Valyrian steel, rare as it was. He thought of his hosts, jovial Sandoq and graceful Ayana, and he thought of you. During his stay, Daemon found himself thinking of you more and more.

He’d think of you first thing in the morning, and when he closed his eyes at night. He’d noticed how your ears twitched when you were reading a favourite book of yours, or how you never backed down. Why, he saw plenty when you challenged your mother’s cousin Quhuru to a boat race and he lost, theatrically pronouncing to all and sundry how you cheated, because he was distracted. The sun was in his eyes, he said mournfully.

Daemon cackled when you confirmed and said yes, the sun was forever in Quhuru’s eyes.

“The cook said you might like this,” you said, interrupting his thoughts, as you came in with a bowl of soup. “It’s quite good, it has… Gods, what happened?”

It was not Daemon’s exposed back and chest that grabbed your attention, all lean and muscled and striking as it was. It was the massive pink scar going down on either side of the right of his body that did it.

He turned his head to you, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at the scarred and puckered flesh. “Yes. This.”

You left the bowl on the counter and stood there, gawking. The prince had been burned, you were almost certain of it, but what could have caused such wounds? Not his own dragon surely. You swallowed, trying to come up with something to ask, or even say.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Daemon stood where he was, and you stood where you were, both of you waiting for the other to make the first move.

In the end, you broke the silence. “What--” you said, as you finally found your tongue, “What happened?”

Daemon sighed and made his way to bed. “A dragon. That’s what.

“Balerion had died, and my brother, the king, was without a dragon. It was humiliating. People would point and look, and other dragon riders would snigger. My brother put on a brave face, but I knew how hard it was for him. The first Targaryen king without a dragon, even when there were plenty of them.” He stopped while you made yourself comfortable on the other end of the bed, to listen to him. “He tried. Gods knows he tried to bond with the other unclaimed dragons, but they all rejected him. Years passed and my brother started to grow desperate. This worsened after his daughter became a dragon rider at seven.” Daemon smiled fondly. “The youngest in my entire family’s history to do so.”

You did not interrupt as Daemon continued his tale, but you couldn’t help but notice the pride and admiration there. It sent a stab through your gut, for it reminded you of your own uncle, and how he was with you.

“Everything came to a head one morning on Dragonstone. My brother took it upon himself to ignore all warnings and headed to the far side of the island, where the wild dragons nest.”

Your hands flew to your mouth in horror. Even in the Summer Isles, tales were filled with foolish Valyrians trying to claim true wild dragons and dying horrible deaths.

“Sheep-stealer flew off, Grey Ghost proved too shy.” Daemon sighed and looked at his hands. They started to tremble when visions of the inky black horror flashed before his eyes. “That left my brother with only one other dragon. The one we all call the cannibal.

“He snapped and snarled, and yet my brother persisted. He roared and kept backing away, to warn us, and yet my brother persisted. I followed him and saw it all about to unfold before my eyes. My brother was insistent, and Cannibal was growing angry. He opened his mouth, about to breathe dragon flame. My brother kept giving orders, thinking he’d obey.” Daemon shook his head, still stunned his brother could be so blind. “I couldn’t just stand there. The moment Cannibal raised his head I lunged forward and pulled my brother out of the way.”

“And you got hit in the process.” You tried to think what it must have felt like and failed every time. To endure such a thing, the pain, and did his brother ever thank him, for what he did?

“I did,” Daemon mumbled. “I managed to drag us both into a cave, one where the beast could never enter. We were trapped for two days before someone was brave enough to come looking for us. The Maesters are still unsure of how they were able to save me.”

“And what did you tell the others?”

“Viserys wanted to tell the truth, that his foolishness nearly cost us our lives. I took the blame onto my head instead, because I did not want the others to think my brother had lost his mind and was unfit for the throne.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “And it does not bother you, that people continue to believe this?”

Daemon shook his head. “Viserys is my brother. My family. And the blood of the dragon runs thick.”

It was not just what he said, it was how he said it that created an impression on you. “You love him, don’t you?”

Daemon looked at you, the deep purple of his eyes stealing your breath away. “Yes. I do.”

💫

Your opinion of Daemon softened completely after that.

The man loved his family, and would willingly risk his life and his reputation for his family, traits Summer Islanders hold dear.

You opened up to him about your uncle, the one who died on the Stepstones.

“Kojja was not always driven by money,” you said one morning, over breakfast. “He was bigger than life to my eyes. A legend amongst our sailors. He was the first of us to sail all the way to the Port of Ibben and Asshai and come back again. The first of us to see krakens and ice dragons and unicorns, and lived to tell about it. I didn’t know--” you felt a fist squeeze around your heart. “I didn’t think he’d betray his own people to the likes of the Crabfeeder and the Triarchy.”

“Greed has a habit of felling the noblest of men,” Daemon felt for you. Kojja had been a living legend, and his fall from grace would have been hard on anyone who loved him. “And I am sorry still. The man was your uncle after all.”

You look out the window, down the path that led to the beach. Caraxes had been there, you heard his strange cries and whistles all day as he flew over the waves. The same insatiable curiosity that took over your father now found its way to you. “Perhaps I might forgive you,” you say archly. “If you’d introduce me to your dragon.”

Daemon grinned and rose, holding out a hand to you. “Come along then.”

The air seemed to grow still as the forests around you went eerily quiet, something that only ever happened if the dragon was nearby. There had never been a beast like Caraxes and the other animals kept quiet and stayed away, hiding in the darkness. You were both anxious and nervous, as the only dragons you had heard about were the ones told in songs, the ones that brought fire and ruin to all those that opposed their masters. Now, you were going to see a dragon in the flesh, something even the others had not been able to do. Caraxes would have only come to the beach if Daemon called for him, and Daemon never called him, preferring to let his dragon enjoy unencumbered freedom for once.

The two of you stood there, where grass gave way to sand. Daemon whistled, something strange and eerie, and an equally strange call answered him. “There,” he pointed to a nearby cove. “Caraxes is there.”

Sure enough, he was, standing out against the pristine white sands with his blood-red scales. As soon as he sighted Daemon Caraxes took off, flying low over the waters, landing next to his master with a soft thud. As soon as he sighted you, Caraxes snarled. “Lykirī, Caraxes. Lykirī.” he held onto the dragon’s snout, to calm him. “You are afraid of him, y/n, and he knows it. Come here, stand by his wing.”

You swallowed, but your pride got the better of you and you went towards them, staying well out of the dragon’s way. You could feel Caraxes’ eyes following you, the heat coming off of his body, like the subtle blast from a furnace. “Here,” Daemon gestured to under Caraxes’ wing, where his rib cage was. “Keep your ear there and listen.”

While he babbled to his dragon in High Valyrian, you did as Daemon asked. Caraxes’ scales were as thick as armor, each perfectly fitting in with the other. You rested your ear against them and listened. At first, there was nothing, but you kept listening. Then you heard it, a deep, steady thump, one that grew clearer as the dragon calmed down. “That is his heartbeat?”

Daemon turned to you again, his face lighting up when your own eyes lit up with awe. “Yes. If you could get something your healers use for listening in, the sound is much clearer. I could take you flying with me,” he finally let go of the dragon’s snout and came closer. “But the old boy is particularly surly this morning.”

It didn’t matter. What Daemon had just given you was nothing like anything you had ever experienced in your life. “This is still better than anything I had dreamed of.” Still overawed, you threw your arms around Daemon and hugged him. Shocked at first, Daemon eased into the embrace, and before either of you had a chance to speak or even think, his lips opened over yours.

He registered the shock in your eyes as his hands slipped neatly around your waist. What was he supposed to do after this? Let go and apologize? Pray your parents would not take umbrage to him trampling upon your honour? The Summer Islanders were free when it came to love, they both said, but still, it would be a completely different prospect since it involved their own child.

But he wanted you. Gods, but he wanted you. It was a feeling that had been building up inside him for weeks now, and now, he finally figured out what it was.

When his hands moved higher, to your hair, you hummed, your eyes closing even as your trembling lips parted for his tongue. You felt it, flicking and teasing against yours, warm and luscious as sin. Your entire body trembled, not just from the sudden stab of shock, but desire too. You wanted more than just a kiss. Daemon made it impossible to be satisfied with just a kiss. Your body melted against his, your heart thrilling at the moan that poured into your mouth.

When he pulled away, and very reluctantly at that, the both of you were struggling for breath. “That was-” Daemon ran a hair through his mussed up hair, his heart fluttering like mad, his stomach tied up in knots. “That was,” he smiled, “amazing.”

Your feelings matched his. “You are not so bad yourself.”

He chuckled. “How about, we do this the right way, y/n?”

Right way? What was he talking about?

“I really, really like you,” Daemon murmured as he took both your hands and brought them to his lips. “And I was wondering if I could court you.”

There was that shock again, confusion, surprise, and a myriad of other emotions warring in your eyes. He wanted to court you. Daemon Targaryen, prince of Westeros, wanted to court you, a princess from the Summer Isles. You felt something tug at your heart, something warm and vibrant and the sweetness of it took your breath away.

“Alright,” you laughed when he lifted you off your feet and spun you around. “You can court me.”

💫

Sandoq gave Daemon the use of a private cabin on his estates, so the two of you could have more privacy.

Your mother fluttered around you like a worried hen, clucking about, making sure everything was perfect for you, not leaving until your father had to physically pull her with him.

Oh you did not mind. Ayana was your mother, and this was how she was. Daemon did not mind it either, patiently answering her questions, reassuring her, taking her threats with easy grins and indulgent nods of the head. He watched her leave with a smile on his face, that smile growing when you pulled him to bed.

That was how it was. The two of you going about your days, getting to know each other better, you trying not roll your eyes at his antics, him trying to impress you with flowers and letters and poems. They were terrible poems, Daemon himself admitted to it, but you loved them all the same.

The nights spent in each other’s arms.

“You know, I really should thank Alicent when I go back,” Daemon mumbled to you one night. “If it was not for her throwing herself at me we would not have met.”

Your laugh was muffled by his mouth. The sweetness of his kiss left you lightheaded and weak, turned your bones to water. Your trembling fingers trailed up to his hair, a soft, throaty moaning rising from the back of your throat when he hooked an arm around your thigh, to plunge himself deeper.

Daemon, you whimpered.

Every night since that day at the beach, that was all he heard when the two of you shared pleasures. His name. Just his. Oh, but he loved it, loved hearing it. Daemon couldn’t get enough it, couldn’t get enough of you. With a moan of his own, Daemon propped himself on one elbow, to avoid crushing you. His greedy eyes devoured you as you moved beneath him, his ears drowning with the sounds of your cries and pleas. His mouth skimmed across your jaw, his body arching into yours whenever your nails raked down his back. He felt it, a wave building within him, something that had to be said with words, words he had been meaning to say for weeks now. “I love you,” each word was a fight to get out, but he did it.

Your eyes flew open with shock even as your body trembled beneath his. His eyes were fixed on yours, molten purple gleaming in the moonlight. “I love you, do you hear me?” He panted. “I love you.”

His words struck a chord, gave meaning to what you had been feeling the longest possible time. But you’d never thought you’d hear him say it first. It made you want to say it back, and you did. “I love you.”

That nearly undid him. “Again,” he said, as he thrust harder and deeper.

“I love you,” you whimpered, as your body started to draw tight like a bowstring.

“Tell me again,” his eyes, darkened by lust, never left yours. “I want to hear you say it again.”

You wanted to sob as he drove the both of you over the edge. “I love you,” you whimpered one last time before those coiled muscled snapped, and your body felt like it was splintering into a million little pieces as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, threatened to pull you under. It felt like you had to fight for air, like the very world itself had stopped spinning. Daemon heaved over you, not stopping until he buried his face in your hair, a sob tearing itself from his throat as he spilled his seed inside of you.

You felt yourself being moved as Daemon moved to his back. The rain continued to fall, a soft, soothing patter against the roof. Your chest heaved as you placed a hand against his, to feel his heartbeat hammering against his chest before slowing to a more peaceful rhythm. Daemon swallowed, as there was something else he had to say. Something that hinged on your answer.

“Marry me,” Daemon fought off the fear that gripped his heart, even as you sat up straight. “Marry me, y/n. I want to take you back to Westeros with me, as my wife.”

Your eyes went wide with shock as certain incidents over the past few days started to make sense. Daemon cloistering himself in meetings with your parents, all of them shooing you away when you tried to join in. Your father humming a traditional refrain fathers only ever sang when escorting their daughter to their husband’s home. Your mother giving you knowing looks, talking about feather capes brides wore, asking your opinion on them, what colours you personally liked best. It was for you, you realized. All of it was for you.

On a shuddering breath, you thought over his proposal. You would have to leave everything and everyone behind and live in a strange land. But you looked at Daemon, at his sure eyes, his strong arms. At the beginning, the very idea of being anywhere near him repulsed you, but now, now you couldn’t think of spending another minute away from him. Daemon would be with you, and you would not be alone. One the next steadying breath, you swallowed and came to a decision.

“Yes” you said, between laughter and tears. “My answer is yes.”

💫

It took the better part of three months to prepare, more than just for the ceremony itself but to delay everything until someone from Daemon’s family could come for the wedding. To justify his brother's absence, Daemon provided verifiable reports of instability in the Stepstones. Viserys would give a proper welcome should Sandoq or Ayana ever visit Westoros, he had promised.

In the end, his niece and her good-sister Laena came, both bearing gifts and letters from the family. One piece of information ruined Daemon’s mood surrounding the wedding.

"He’s losing sight in his right eye now?" Daemon swore as he paced about the room. "Damn it, Nyra, why didn’t you tell me?"

Rhaenyra picked up a special parcel her father insisted she give to her uncle in person. "Father forbade me from saying anything in my letters."

"He forbade you?" Daemon was unsure if he was to laugh or be angry. "And you actually listened?"

"Yes. It was a bit of a shock for me too." Rhaenyra sighed and sat on the bed. "I am sorry, uncle, for hiding this from you. It is just that you sounded so happy in your letters, and neither of us wanted to ruin it for you."

Daemon’s grimaces slowly melted into a wide grin. No matter how hard he tried, he could never stay angry at his niece—or his brother, for that matter. "The others take you both," he teased in good humour. "What is that?"

Rhaenyra grinned and broke the wax seal, cut the twine cord. When she pulled away piles of tissue paper, Daemon saw what it was, his eyes went wide in disbelief. "Is that?"

"Visenya’s wedding diadem," Rhaenyra picked up the gold and Valyrian steel tiara, one only ever worn by brides of the Freehold. "Rhaenys’ he gave to me for my wedding. This he kept aside for you, in case you ever got married. And I’m glad he did."

And it was only right, she thought, that Visenya’s diadem went to the person who wielded her sword. She held it out for her uncle, and he accepted it with great reverence, his thumb gently rubbing against the Valyrian symbols engraved into the metal. "Laena has gone off with the elders, to help them ready the temple for the ceremony," she said. "I cannot believe this is happening, you are finally getting married."

"Yes, it was a bit of a shock for me as well," Daemon agreed, his grin matching hers. "But I’m glad I asked. I truly believe y/n is the one."

"And I cannot wait to welcome her to the family. The rest feels the same. Well, our side, at any rate."

And by that, she meant the Velaryons and the Celtigars. "Let us not discuss your half-brothers," Daemon said, not wanting to mar the days ahead with talk of his nephews and the rumors that surrounded them. "They are not worth the energy, at any rate."

The next morning saw the sun shining brightly as a crowd left the Vale and traveled by boat to the center of Jhala, where the only Valyrian temple outside of Volantis remained.

The boats were all decorated with feathers that fluttered in the breeze. You traveled in the first boat, with your family and the Vale’s elders, the rest followed as the procession made its way upriver. In keeping with custom, you were dressed in a pale cream and yellow linen dress, with simple embroidery at the hem as its only adornment. Your mother carried the cape that Daemon would drape over you during the ceremony. She refused to let you see it, only ordering that you wait and see.

Your father sang out the traditional song as the boat was rowed upriver, his rich voice carrying over the water for all to hear. Daemon had no home here, his was in Westeros, and the journey to the old Valyrian temple had to serve. You felt a fist squeeze at your heart whenever you heard cracks in your father’s voice, and you tried to make the most of every last moment with your parents. Even with the swan ships, Westeros was a long way away, and they would not be able to travel for some time.

You looked ahead, finally settling on the yellow and orange banners that ran up an old and long forgotten path. Save for you and Daemon, no one had come this far since the Freehold's inception, when sons of house Velaryon married princesses from the Summer Isles as part of a peace treaty. Tribesmen had spent many backbreaking days clearing branches and old roots, and now the old path stood visible for all to see.

Quhuru was serious for once as he led the boat up the closest bank. There would be no other great ritual, a bride would simply go to her husband’s home after a goldenheart bow changed hands, and there would be a great feast afterwards, but you wanted to honour Daemon’s heritage and suggested a Valyrian ceremony as well.

The procession started again, this time winding through the narrow path in a riot of colours. Your breath caught when the temple came into view. Made entirely out of black stone that had been fused together by dragon flame, it gleamed in the sun, defying the forests that threatened to overtake it. "Over there," your father said, pointing to Laena standing near a small doorway.

As the minutes passed, your excitement grew. You didn’t even notice the diadem weighing down on your head, so excited were you for the wedding to begin. Daemon would be there, as would his niece. She would be performing the ceremony, after learning the words from her father. Your father squeezed your hand as the two of you walked ahead, your mother sniffing quietly as she followed, feather cape in hand.

On you all walked, under the stone doorway, through candle-lit corridors, making your way to a chamber cut cannily out of stone. Daemon was here, resplendent in traditional Valyrian robes. A large black statue loomed in behind him, one you were told represented the Valyrian goddess of marriage and love. There were more candles here, all in yellow and red, and incense—thin sticks filling the air with smoke that reminded you of cinnamon. His face lit up when he turned and saw you.

"Go on," your mother urged as she walked behind you. "It is time."

Daemon first accepted the cape from your mother, draping a waterfall of red, orange, and yellow over your shoulders. Sandoq then brought forth a magnificent goldenheart bow with matching arrows, for you to hand over to Daemon, a sign you were leaving your family’s protection and entering your husband’s. Laena took it off Daemon’s hands, as the rest of the ceremony had to continue.

Daemon then unsheathed a dragonglass blade and dragged it across your right palm. It stung, but you didn’t care. You smiled, taking the blade off his hands, and did the same to him, this time across his left palm. "Now join hands," said a solemn Rhaenyra.

Sandoq wrapped a yellow and orange sash over your linked hands, as blood dripped into a little bowl held by your mother. When it was full, Rhaenyra took it, mixed it with ash and embers that had been scooped up from a nearby fire, and held out the bowl to you both.

"Hen lantoti anogar, va syndroti vaedroma," she said as Daemon dipped a finger in, letting the mixture coat it before placing it over your brow. He brought it down in a straight line, to symbolize fire.

"Mero perzot gihoti, Eledroma iarza sir ," Rhaenyra continued, this time as you dipped your finger before drawing the sign of blood on Daemon’s brow. Rhaenyra then put the bowl away and picked up a goblet of wine, handing it to you first.

"Izuli ampa perzi, Prumi lanti seteksi," you drank deeply and passed the goblet to Daemon to do the same while Rhaenyra finished the vows. "Hen jeny mazilarion, Qelossa ozundesi, Sydroro ono jedo, Ry kivia mazvestraksi."

Daemon cupped your cheek with your free hand, his eyes filling with pride. You were finally his now, in the sight of both Gods and men. Your eyes communicated your feelings, of how proud you were to be his. When he leaned in to kiss you, everyone cheered.

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon smut #daemon x you #house of the dragon #HOTD #hotd x reader #asks #reader request #reader insert

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olfoartz · 2 months

Text

I’m deciding to do a “get to know me” type post, it will cover the name I want to be called, my bday, what I support and don’t, what I like, online info, and a little bit of irl me.

If anyone does wanna make silly art of my OCs / Fursonas my art tag would be Olfo Artz -will be on this post-

Am i active rn? Nah, wont be uploading for a while. Ive been drawing my OC stuff recently and no one sees it or cares for it so im just posting on insta until i draw moon again. Im working on OC lore and the world build and shit before i write the book on AO3

Requests

So I wont do sing request since I cant draw all the characters (rn) but I can do fursona requests as long as they are a cat, fox, wolf, tiger, lion (basically any wild cat and canine) and maybe even moths. Idk about insects because I can’t even draw a simple spider but I can always try.

I could try moon requests but I am very limited on what I can draw, but examples are poses, eating, food, drinking, cups, bowls, basically every object, and a few other things related to those.

Name/names, pronouns, and sexuality.

I mainly like being called Olfo as it’s the name I put in all my usernames but I also have the names of Snow and Alpha. I used to mainly use Alpha -it was only used as a name not a role- but I don’t use it anymore (unless someone wants to) because the rude kids in my grade found out about it and kept calling me that. They know I’m a furry as well so it made it worse 😭 some people call me Snow Alpha which is cute and a lot of adults im friends with call me Snowy or snow ball which I find funny

For pronouns and sexuality -w- I use she/him and I’m straight (possibly bi) and asexual :,]

Bday

March 7th

Do and don’t support

I support ALL LGBTQ+. No, that does not mean I support Zoophiles, Pedophiles, and anyone like that as they are not apart of any community.

I support all fandoms except the ones involving the 2 things i just mentioned.

I do NOT support the pro-life stuff. I am pro-abortion.

I am fine with the anime community as long as you don’t like lolis. I dotn support people who age up characters so that their ships work or so that they can draw their character how they want unless said character is already an adult.

I do support therians and people who do Quadrobics ^w^

Online Information

This one might be long QwQ

All my online names have Olfo in them.

I have Twitter but I DON’T use it. Ima list the apps I use and the names I have on them

Instagram: olfo_artz

Here: olfoartz

MinecraftPE: OlfoShadow

MinecraftJAVA: OlfoArt(s or z I forgot)

Steam: olfo_steam

Clash of clans: Olfo #LR9U0PJ2P or O if 0 doesn’t work -rarely play-

Wildcraft: zAlphaYT and my alt is zAlphaAlt

Deviantart: OlfoArtz

Roblox: JJneeder-Olfo_Artz

|| I do play Bloodline hero but idk how to find my information ||

YouTube: olfo_YT-olfo_artz with my wolf fursona as PFP

Pinterest: Olfo_Artz -I dont upload-

Discord: realolfo_artz and alt is olfo_artz

Brawl Stars: Olfo #RR8C992YQ

Kitty Cat Resort: Olfo with black cat PFP

Wolf Online: I also dont know how to find my info for this game

Wolf Online 2: I am not in a guild -yet- and I mainly use a White wolf named Olfo

Sky: If anyone wants to be friend on Sky you can always DM me and I can send Invite

I do INFACT play Genshin Impact but I don’t use my account rn because of low storage

Do and Don’t like

For Animals ide say it goes from Koalas, Wolves, Cats -of any kind- and any type of wild canines including foxes.

For games I like Open world ones mostly. I like any with animals in it even if they can only be pets.

A little about the apps I use / me

I draw wolves, cats, foxes, and characters I like if I can find a way to draw them. You’re probably gonna see a resemblance in my drawings no matter the species. (Specifically the top of the head)

Some communities im in:

Furry, sing, FNAF, Quadrobics, art, gaming, LEGO movie and the community itself, Bobs Burgers, and Pokemon.

I love / have a SHIT tone of stuffed toys and I will continue to buy them. They are all stuffed animals -w- my aunts boyfriend doesn’t want me to even have toys because he thinks I’m to old and that toys are stupid so I have to keep them in a bin in my closet. I have little figures of wolves, lionking characters, MHA MC Deku and some wolf stuff.

I do paint, crazy. But I hate painting so it’s rare.

I use IbisPaint for my drawings :}

I am indeed still in high school so if you have beef with me just remember you are beefing with a child 💀

I do traditional and digital drawing.

I read fan fics of the shows I like and when doing so I specifically look for angst / drama hehehehe. I do NOT read smut. Imo smut ruins the story, anyone who reads books just for the smut are in fact PORN ADDICTS.

MUSIC‼️‼️‼️‼️🤤🤤🤤🤤 here are some people / Bans I listens to :>

Twenty One Pilots

Boy With Uke

My Chemical Romance

Pierce The veil

CG5 -fnaf songs-

Imagine Dragons

Two Door Cinema Club

Nessa Barrett

BlackLite District

Billie Eilish

AURORA

HAYD

YungBlud

I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Madilyn Mei

Sam Tinnesz

Songs from the show “Bobs Burgers”

Darren Rita

Olivia Rodrigo

Queen

Elvis Presley

Vacations

The Hoosiers

Zack Callison

MXMTOON

Tally Hall

Ricky Montgomery

Sub Urban

Tame Impala

Eminem

ThxSoMuch

Vundabar

Dawko

XXXTENTACION

Oliver Tree

That’s all -w- I can answer any questions in comments and add them to the list. Also if anyone listen to any of those artist PLEASE recommend me some songs or artists QwQ I need more

#about myself #Olfo Artz #get to know me #get to know the blogger #get to know the person behind the blog #get to know the artist

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Note

I'm Indian and I feel like Illyrian culture is portrayed so similar to South Asian and Middle Eastern culture...and with all that when SJM portrays them as 'savages' it feels so....stereotypical and racist to me like-

The only POC subgroup within the NC and they are called 'savages' and all live in poverty and cannot be changed like-that just screams racism to me but sometimes I feel like I'm exaggerating or am looking too deeply into it.Like I was wondering what everyone else's opinion is on this.

I truly feel like some of SJM's portrayals are so- stereotyped.Like she pulls cultures from the actual world-puts them into her fantasy novel in such a way that it looks awfully racist.

But then it might just be me :/

Please don't feel as if your opinion is invalid; your opinion is always valued. Many people have expressed similar views. If you check the anti sjm tag, you can see a lot of people are not happy with her works, not just for the representation of POC, but LGBT representation, treatment of mentally ill characters, treatment of women - the list goes on.

Illyrians have brown skin and are savages. They're almost primitive with little magic and live in tents. The two most powerful Illyrians aren't like the rest - they're good and don't hold any of the values of the others. Mutilating a female's wings so she can't leave when wings are meant to be valued at all costs is an allegory to FGM. They won't change. They're just there to die in wars. Yeah, it's a pretty disgusting creation from SJM.

"The gift of a violent, warmongering people."

Obviously, that's all they are with no variance. The only two that are different are the most powerful two who are the good guys. There's no difference between how they celebrate Winter Solstice, any holy days, their food/culture etc.

Mor in ACOMAF says the whole place should be burnt to the ground - and then people ship her and Emerie together. I've seen a post that said Emorie would just be Pocahontas/John Smith.

When Feyre first goes to Velaris, she's given "Night Court attire" which is then never really seen again (except Amren wears a similar style but nobody else does).

My high-waisted peach pants were loose and billowing, gathered at the ankles with velvet cuffs of bright gold. The long sleeves of the matching top were made of gossamer, also gathered at the wrists, and the top itself hung just to my navel, revealing a sliver of skin as I walked. Comfortable, easy to move in—to run. Feminine. Exotic.

Which to me is as if she just wanted the aesthetic of an "exotic" culture then forgot about it/didn't bother actually developing it.

There's lots to be said about her various characterisations - and lots has been said. For example Helion being canonically bisexual but also falling into the bisexuals want to sleep with everyone trope. Or how Tarquin, a young black man, is treated as a stepping stone for Feyre to train; she flirts with him to get what she wants and steals the Book of Breathing from his court.

Another thing, is when they're discussing Rhys being high king

Azriel stepped forward, shadows trailing from his shoulders. “Kallias, Tarquin, and Helion might be willing to kneel. Thesan will kneel if the others do.”

3 out of 4 of those names who would be willing to kneel to supreme overlord Rhys are MOC which makes me feel very icky. Tarquin and Helion are both black and Thesan's mother is from Xian (which is likely another place that she's taken snippets from other cultures to suit the aesthetic she wants then will promptly forget about) and is brown skinned with "up-tilted eyes".

It's all very, very gross and there are definitely elements of racism ingrained to it. Other people have delved into it in a lot more detail - and have explained it far more eloquently than I can. Please know that your opinion is valid. If you are made uncomfortable and upset from the portrayals, do not push them aside. There is a reason why it is making you uncomfortable and that is because they are racist stereotypes.

#anon asks #anti sjm

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nattyontherun · 21 days

Text

More On To Oblivion:

hi-ho, can't sleep so since i've posted the fic already, short as it is right now, i thought hey! lemme just do some explaining for why the fuck it's the way it is?? that way i make my job less hard with the writer-y bits!

(i can't sleep so i'm talking,,,, shhh i didn't say that)

On the Rating:

thinking of changing that, actually . next chapter, so ch3, will be more of the same - build up for the plot at large which is, ngl, a wee bit more complicated than i thought it would be in writing ch1. i don't have a hard and fast, bullet pointed skeleton for every chapter but i've got a very generalized outline of things i want happening... and the fic being rated for Teens feels lacking. no it absolutely is lacking.

would it be disingenuous to leave it at T until the plot changes up enough to warrant a level up? or should i change the rating now and leave everyone to wonder at my justification as the fic (very slowly, UGH) progresses? questions, questions and no answers in sight as yet.

the cast!

unlike in HF where we really did just have like, two MAIN main characters in shisui and sasuke, to oblivion has an ensemble cast🙏 the taggings are listed in order of both how much of the character we'll see in-fic and how much we'll focus on them. where HF was all about growth and healing with minimal outside interference, this fic is... well it has a plot🥹

in one of those oneshots i wrote after HF, there's this scene where shisui rants up a storm at sasuke about konoha, how rotten it can get yk? just, having to live in the village knowing that the truth of your family's murder has been suppressed to keep the peace - when the "peace" used to justify that extermination didn't even last more than a handful of years. this fic directly confronts that. actually, it's specifically because every single character engages in the village whether as the leader, in kks' case, or as proponents to its growth and success post-war, its kind of a necessity that everybody has an opinion about what goes on yk?

i feel like ppl who came into the fic expecting romance and fucking are gonna be disappointed by that sjshsjshshsh there's gonna be SOME of that, but very minimally, and right at the end lmao. fic subscribes to the idea that there is no room for personal growth within self and relationships in an environment in perpetual turmoil lmao

the polycule 💃

it's still happened lmaooooo, like i just get crazier about the idea the more i sit with it! though, i forgot to say in the AN, and i'm too much of a sleepy cat to go back and edit it in, but i meant to mention that kakashisasu(???!!!ship name???!!!) isn't gonna be like a right angle. like... the dots connect in all directions despite how things are playing out rn! 🙏

i will say, however, that development for each relationship on a personal, one on one level, is different between each pairing because yk, they enter the story in different stages of their lives with different agendas and opinions abt each other. kkss are halfway in love already, but kkshs probably need to fight it out for another several dozen chapters before they can even stand to look each other in the eye without wanting to kill smth and that's not even touching shsasu who haven't!! even!! met up yet!!! (gawd what did i get myself into?? lmao😭)

the timeline

woof. the timeline! WOOF! HF had the benefit of sticking incredibly close to just one stream of happenings in a very linear format,,,, to oblivion? not so much. the past, whether it's ten years ago, during the fourth war or even just prior to the fic happening is AS important to the story as the story itself, unfolding. if i decided to tell this fic in a linear fashion, a, it would be very boring and retrace too much of canon and b, it would be very LONG. like staggeringly long, enough that i'd probably tire of writing the fic long before i even reached where we are right now in the fic - there is SO MUCH yet to uncover

what i will say is that canon largely stays the same except for some staple fanons of mine, some seen in HF, and others very specifically for this AU. for the obvs staples, there's madara is final baddie and no VOTE2 so no losing arms for either of my babies - god forbid. the major deviation from HF is that i've reduced how debilitating Ssk's mental health issues (if you will) can be in presenting themselves, though we do have some of it cropping up within the fic if you're the type who reads very line by line. there's also, ofc, the fact that shisui has been ALIVE for all this time - but i'll save all the explaining for that to shisui when the time is appropriate.

but yes, it's because the past matters SO MUCH for how this fic develops that i really saw no other way to progress with it than mixing everything up. and i do mean EVERYTHING. what i will say is that there are certain periods where we can kinda cluster scenes together to form an idea of how all this shit is happening only Now.

war/between canon era: so far we only got one scene from here, from ch2

pre-tribunal, post-war - a LOT of scenes fall here, so it's broken up even further into two periods: 1. while sasuke is incarcerated post 4th war and 2. after he's left incarceration but before the tribunal (ch1 has a LOT of afterward scenes, in particular)

pre-massacre: these scenes will tend to be more kkshs focused so happy hunting for when there's more of them!

pre-trial, present day after shisui appears: this is the main storyline and will be the easiest to follow, go figure!

pre-trial, immediately post-tribunal: i've only written perhaps a scene or two(?) from this period, i don't see it cropping up as much as the others because it's only there specifically for relationship and character building. i'm squeezing a lot of post-canon pre-fic character development in to explain away why some of our faves may be acting a wee ooc, and i can't begin to explain how consequential the tribunal is, personally and politically for all of team seven oh lawd😭

i can't stress enough that i drafted much of the bedrock of this fic immediately after HF,,,, but while my intention (heh, hehe) (translate what the characters before "to oblivion" stand for, okay, its funny i swear!) remains the same as what it was then, my focus has become more... hm, exacting. sharpened.

writing is an inherently personal affair, i think. to write is to put meaning to the thoughts that swim around your head, whether that's by poetry or prose, through the guise of imagery or character work. i write fic because i like writing fic, and wanna be able to read work that satisfies me personally. i've got an itch in my brain and to oblivion has become, essentially, an outlet for my thought process. so if there's anything you find in it that speaks of a very particular kinda way of thinking, shall we say, keep poking at it. i very much am having a conversation with you.

and that's a wrap, i have a shift in seven hours and i desperately need sleep sjsjsshhsshsh

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #hearthfire verse #to oblivion #uchiha sasuke #hatake kakashi #uchiha shisui #uzumaki naruto #and everyone else i tagged in fic that i can't quite remember rn #meta about fic?#fic-splanation!#i just wanted to write smth up okay #thinking thots means more gets wrote #this fic has nuance #and tries for anarchy #will i succeed in my agenda of making everybody cry?#more than likely!#you did not just read that mwa mwa #or did you?

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izzymeadows · 1 year

Text

A lesson on vocabulary for kids

I started doing this because i was sick of seeing people accusing others (including me) of committing heinous crimes for enjoying fictional stuff, but i actually think it is important to take all this into account, because not knowing what a word actually means can lead to dangerous misleading. If you don't know what grooming is, for example, you can think you're safe when you're, in fact, being groomed.

Some of these terms are fandom ones, and others are used in fandom but not exclusively.

This is a long list and i'm sure there's a lot i forgot, so anyone can feel free to add more.

-Fetish: a sexual interest on something that isn't sexual in itself or a body part that is not a sexual organ.

-Fetishizing: stripping something or someone of every dimension except the sexual one. Turning it/them into a sexual object.

-What is not fetishizing: acknowledging or enjoying the (possible) sexual aspect of a fictional relationship.

-Pedophilia: sexual attraction towards prepubescent children. Said children need to be real (not drawings) and actually prepubescent (ie a teen actor portraying a prepubescent character is still a teen, not prepubescent). The person feeling said attraction needs to be at least 5 years older than the object of said attraction.

-What is not pedophilia: enjoying a fictional ship, whatever the ages and/or age gap between the characters themselves or between the characters and the shipper.

-What is also not pedophilia: acknowledging teens can have a sexual drive, feel sexual attraction and/or have sex. Regardless of your age. Also liking that said teen sex drive/attraction/action is depicted in a story with fictional characters or depicting it yourself.

-What is also not pedophilia: CSA and CSEM. Pedophilia in itself is not abuse because it is not action. Of course it's still dangerous because it can drive to harmful action.

-CSA: child sexual abuse. Again, for something to be CSA, both the child and the abuser need to be real. Portraying it in fiction is not actual abuse. It can, however, trigger people and it should always be properly tagged. Somebody choosing to depict it in fiction isn't bad, but it's a really hard topic to read or see, and it's important that people can choose if they want to read or see it.

-CSEM: child sexual exploitation material. A better name for what is usually called child porn, because it takes the attention from the sexual enjoyment porn usually implies and puts it on the children exploitation and abuse.

-What is not CSEM: drawings or fiction writings of fictional children or teens in sexual situations. In order to consider something CSEM there have to be real children being actually abused, which means no drawing or fiction writing ever can be considered CSEM. Then again, they can also trigger people and should also be properly tagged.

-Grooming: setting the stage for abusing someone. The predator builds trust by giving gifts and/or favours, and then alienates the victim from their social circle and especially their caretakers, if they have them, to then build a relationship based on dependency. While it's use is mostly referring to sexual abuse of children, there are a lot of other situations of grooming.

-What is not grooming: an adult befriending a child.

-What is also not grooming: an adult acknowledging that teens can have sexual drive.

-Incest: romantic and/or sexual relationships between relatives. Like most topics mentioned here, it can trigger people and it should be properly tagged.

-What is not incest: romantic and/or sexual relationships between people who are not relatives. Yes, this includes the Asian concept of "sworn brothers", which doesn't mean the people or characters see each other as actual brothers, and any kind of friends, even if they themselves say they're like family.

-Anti/Anti-shipper: a person who thinks if you like dark topics in fiction, that makes you a bad person in real life (especially related to pairings and very especially when said dark topics are sexual) and will do anything in their power to make you "pay for it", including harassment, death threats, doxxing and petitions to kill yourself among other things. They also usually organize themselves and their friend groups are dangerously similar to cults.

-What is not an anti: somebody who doesn't like dark topics in fiction. Or somebody who thinks some things like incest or big age gaps pairings shouldn't be shipped. That is just having opinions.

-Pro-shipper: a person who thinks what you like in fiction doesn't effect your ethics as a person. This doesn't mean all pro-shippers are good people. There are infinite ways of being an asshole.

-What is not a pro-shipper: somebody who ships "problematic" pairings. That can be a pro-shipper, but not necessarily.

-Good-looking, pretty, handsome, beautiful: adjectives used to describe somebody who is pleasant to look at.

-What is not good-looking, pretty, handsome, beautiful: adjectives used to say you're sexually attracted to somebody.

-Minor: a real person who is not legally an adult. This means they aren't legally responsible of themselves and their actions and decisions. The usual age of majority is 18, but it's not the same in all countries or regions (for example, 16 in Scotland or 19 in South Korea).

-What is not a minor: a fictional character under 18. This is because "minor" is a legal term and that means it applies to actual people. A character can be a minor in their own universe, of course, but no real world law applies to fictional characters.

-What is also not a minor: a person under the age of sexual consent. In this case, it's in the "this is not what the word means" sense, because in most places the age of consent is a minor age (between 13 and 16 in most of the world).

Other interesting data for you kids

-Telling people to "get help" because they ship the "wrong ships" is stupid. A lot of the time these people already have help. In fact, psychologists agree that writing, reading, drawing etc, dark fiction is an excellent and healthy coping method.

-The proshipper idea isn't that fiction doesn't effect reality. Fiction does effect reality. That's why women, poc, queer people etc, insist in the importance of representation in fiction. What we say is that that effect isn't 1:1. What we say is that reading a work of fiction depicting some kind of abuse won't turn anybody into an abuser. It's exactly the same as saying that videogames don't make people violent. It's the same principle and it's been proved beyond any doubt.

-"Problematic" fiction is only dangerous if you can't separate fiction from reality. And if you can't separate fiction from reality, you are not fit to read fiction unsupervised. There can be different reasons for you to not be able to separate fiction from reality, it's not something to be ashamed of. But it means you need help in that regard, if you want to engage with fiction.

-If anti groups had actually good intentions about fiction, they would make campaigns against a lot of books and famous authors that do depict the stuff they say is so harmful and makes you so dangerous. They mostly don't. They only make hate campaigns against fanartists and authors with a small audience, whose works will reach thousands of times less people than, say, Nabokov's Lolita, and who don't have an army of attorneys to sue anybody who slanders them. They always target weaker people. And that's because what they actually want is not to help or protect anybody. What they actually want is just a power trip.

-Yes, accusing anybody of pedophilia, grooming or any other kind of abuse over the fiction they consume or create is slander. And yes, it's a crime.

-On the same note, sending death threats, doxxing, asking people to kill themselves, and other stuff antis usually do, are crimes too. And this doesn't depend on the victim's moral compass. Laws never say "this is illegal unless you think your victim deserves it".

-Not everybody has exactly the same morals. Some people think it's okay to have sex with multiple people at the same time, some people don't. Some people think it's okay to write a rape fantasy between fictional characters, some people don't. As long as you don't hurt real people, you're entitled to your opinions.

-If you open a fic that's properly tagged with warnings, read it and get upset, you brought it upon yourself. It's not the author of the fic who hurt you. It was you who stepped over your own boundaries. You have no right to attack the author when you disrespected yourself.

-Wanting fiction that doesn't cater to your exact needs and wants to disappear is ridiculous. And a waste of time and energy, because it's just not gonna happen.

-If you're unable to curate your own internet experience, that doesn't mean the rest of internet users need to adjust to you. It means you shouldn't be using internet unsupervised.

-Social networks are not safe spaces for kids. Internet itself is not a safe space for kids. There is a reason why most social networks have a minimum age to be allowed to have an account, and it's because they are not safe for kids. They might look like they are because most of them ban sexual content, but they're still dangerous because sexual content itself was not the danger to begin with. Really, if you don't know how to keep yourself safe in internet, either get somebody to do it for you, or don't use internet. For your own safety.

#internet #fandom #fandom vocabulary

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runaway-dreamers · 1 year

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🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

My name is Mango! Come in for a bit and rest.

All of my works are fanmade content. Please refer to @/partycoffin and their website for any Original Content dealing with Welcome Home.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Hello there, reader! Take a seat here while I prepare you a cup of something magical. Weariness will untangle itself from you at the very first sip. This is my little cafe tucked into quiet corners and found between large imposing buildings. Here I set aside the heaviness of living, and indulge in the lovingly crafted delights of right now and today.

Should you have something to say, I will listen.

Should you have nothing to say, I will be here just outside your bubble.

Find comfort in knowing that I will just simply be here.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

My writing means something to me. It's how I connect with the ever changing, ever expanding, world that encompasses me. Writing allows me to remember and catalouge all those I have met, and all those I will meet. Writing, to me, has always been like breathing. It's the way I set about making sense of what is and isn't in this world. There was a period of time where I lost that connection. Where I forgot how to breathe. I drowned. I was buried alive. And I sprung to life each time, but only when I remembered how to breathe.

And as I am learning know that this means appreciating all the little things in my orbit.

This blog is about writing for the comfort of myself and others. Let's set the limits of those comforts, yes?

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

The do:

Yes Y/N, Self Shipping

Yes Cutesy Fluff

Yes Angst

Yes Comfort

Yes, I Can Try to Tackle Heavy Subjects (If I feel I can handle it well)

Yes Non-Romantic Age-gap

Yes LGBTQ+ Friendly

Yes Affection/Kissing/Hugging/Some Tension

The don't:

No Incest

No Rape

No Sex

No Hard Substance Abuse (Weed + Mushrooms are safe)

No Physical/Mental/Emotional Abuse

No Glorification of Problematic Shipping and/or Scenarios

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

My tag for my doodles: espresso-doodles

My tag for my writing: espresso-musings

Ko-fi/mochatipjar

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Comfort characters:

Wally Darling from Partycoffin's Welcome Home Project

Howdy Pillar from Partycoffin's Welcome Home Project

[Stay tuned...]

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

💜 Masterlist: Also on my A03 Ginger_Lemon_Tea

💜 Enjoy Right Now, Today [Chapter One, Chapter Two]

This is something I wrote mainly for myself, feel free to read.

💜 The Everyday Life of Wally Darling [Fic Request One, Fic Request Two, Fic Request Two cont., Fic Request two fin.]

This is a collection of all my requests for Wally Darling.

#espresso-doodles #espresso-musings #enjoy right now today #the everyday life of wally darling #espresso-speaks

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xviruserrorx · 10 months

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[Image Description: A black banner outlined in a red blood splatter with the text, Whumpmas In July 2023 in red text. Underneath is two separate strings of Christmas light with alternating yellow, red, and green bulbs]

-> Day 13 - "Share some of your favorite whump tags"

Let's see if your new to the whump community here's a list I would recommend of how to navigate some whump stuff (pertaining to AO3 of course) @whumpmasinjuly-archive

Whump: This one is self explanatory, if an author considers there work whump then they'll tag it.

Hurt/comfort: I always search for this tag first and foremost in any fandom I read for. There are variations on this tag too for example, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, and then there is usually character pertaining tags like, Hurt [character name], or Crying [Character Name] etc but also

Context: some tags double in meaning or none at all and by this I mean there's some things that are hard to tag or might lead somewhere else. For example if your tagging a QPR you can't it's the untaggable QPR pretty much, if your using Crying [Character Name] it may lead you into some kink Fics, the age regression/age play/de-aging tags are a bit of mess because of some discrepancies with the community and general confusion (which I think should be cleared up a bit so everyone has their comfort place), the tickling tag will most likely lead you to kink as well as the sneezing tag (if you didn't know much about kink well buddy now you do)

Tropes: Find tropes that you love and search for them by themselves. Even you can put key words in the general search because some authors may choose not to tag something or forgot to tag it and you may be looking for that exact fic.

Character: I put this because if you looking for whump for a specific character (especially if their not the main character or mostly whumped character) categorizing by the characters first and foremost will save you a good bit of time. Then from their you can add more tags.

Also I'd like to mention that tagging differentiates between every fandom, author, as well as when the fic was written and posted... One example I can think of is really specific extensive tagging was not very common back in the day. (I mean like 10-ish years ago) What was common was to tag the fandom, the characters, maybe the ship (if you find an older fic on ao3 and it just has certain characters tagged and you read it, I might be likely it's a ship fic but like I said it just wasn't tagged much sometimes) and sometimes the type of fic (ex. Fluff, Smut {lemon, lime, etc the citrus Scale}, Whump, typically the big main genres fanfic is divided in) and you were golden XD.

On the topic of how tagging has changed I think it's also good to mention how some tags have evolved and aren't used much in fandom anymore... Fandom itself has grown up I will say, some years ago we were all teenagers going through stuff but now we're young/older adults still going through stuff but, hey, we've grown up though! Some tags are not used much anymore (the citrus Scale... I mean I still use it and some people do still too just not as common) but when it comes to the whump community.

Woobie/Woobification: This was pretty much the poor little meow meow of then, the only difference was well... A few things actually. I remember (good old memories) that some people did not like this tag/concept because some people said the characters were always written OOC (out of character) amongst other stereotypes I won't go into.

OOC: I'm only listing this by association to the one above. Again, completely up for the readers and authors interpretation. (On a personal note, I've never liked this tag because it just leaves authors open to criticism that they're most likely not asking for) see an author will write something and be happy with it and then a reader may come and say "this character wouldn't say that you need to tag this OOC" but the author may not agree because they think the character would say that and down the rabbit hole of fandom discourse we go 😅... Not everyone will like every fic, and not everyone will agree with another's interpretation of something but remember Don't Like; Don't Read (good old fandom rules 👍) don't harass your fanfic authors please.

And then some authors just hate tagging with a passion (me, it's me, I'm authors) so will only tag what will come to them at the time, or some of us have trouble tagging due to language barrier or health problems. Again don't harass your beloved authors who write your bed time stories, if you think something should be tagged to prevent harm or just so everyone knows for public knowledge, ask the author nicely to tag, a lot of the times the author will (not saying all the time) but a majority of us will. And just have fun.

~~~ VirusError🌸

Wij 2022 Masterlist | Wij 2023 Masterlist [Prev <- • -> Next]

#whumpmasinjuly2023 #wij23day13 #long post #kinda sorta im tagging it anyways

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moonstrider9904 · 2 years

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Saleucami

Chapter 10 of Moonwalker: The Batch

{series masterlist} {next chapter} {previous chapter}

{join my taglist!} {crossposted to Wattpad} {crossposted to AO3}

Crosshair x Fem!OC, Hunter x Fem!OC

Chapter summary: While on Saleucami, Sarah deals with the loss of Crosshair whilst acknowledging formerly neglected feelings for Hunter.

Warnings/tags: Mature (minors still not allowed). Angsty, lots of moping, lots of angst in regards to Crosshair, romantic tension, mutual pining, yearning, and I believe that's it, but let me know if there's something I forgot to tag!

A/N: Longer chapter today but I promise it's good!! I'm excited because this is where Sarah and Hunter's arc officially begins, but fear not because there will still be lots of Crosshair x Sarah in future chapters too :3 I'm happy to have been out of my writer's block to post this on time!

Word count: 7.1k

Songs: Breeze by takeo and Spencer Hunt

Hunter

The landing on Saleucami had proven a big jump from Kamino, what with the firm land, the sun shining, and the plant life and farm lands as far as the eye could see. It truly felt to Hunter as if they'd left the rainy planet behind, or rather, forced it behind, and he still hadn't made his peace with that.

He felt especially conflicted anytime he laid eyes on Sarah, who had failed to put an optimistic front as much as his brothers and Omega. She was trying, though. It was just that losing Crosshair had taken more of a toll on her than the others.

Hunter hated the feeling he got, the way his hands fisted when he thought about her missing someone else—and yet, he too desperately missed his brother, even if it was a fact he’d refuse to admit.

Hunter knew how hard it was for Sarah to so much as think of returning to Kamino before she met them. He and the Batch had helped her overcome that, and yet, it seemed as if history had repeated itself for her. Though she said she was fine, Hunter knew it was to not cause conflict with the others over any difference in opinions they may have on the sharpshooter, which was still a topic left to be discussed.

Nobody had spoken Crosshair’s name in the whole voyage.

But Hunter couldn’t linger on that as well.

He felt responsible.

He knew the others would hold him responsible too, or at least, he felt that way.

It was far easier to focus on Sarah, though that didn’t come without its difficulties. He thought about how much he could decipher from the young woman, able to read her like a book; Hunter also knew her well enough to know she was trying to move forward, and she was trying desperately.

It pained Hunter to see her so upset almost as much as it always pained him to see her running off with Crosshair, and he felt awful about that. He wanted to help her, but he didn't want to take advantage of her, and for the whole trip to Saleucami he'd kept his distance from her. What comforted Hunter was knowing that she hadn't been alone; Echo had been there for her for the entirety of the trip.

Watching them, Hunter could only wonder what those two were like in the first days of the war when they met. He wondered what Fives was like—he had to have been amazing if he’d caught Sarah’s heart, as was Crosshair.

Meanwhile, Hunter merely aspired to be that way as well.

But in the real world, he still felt like he had to do something, so when Tech landed the ship and everyone started getting out of the Havoc Marauder, Hunter caught up to Sarah and gently placed a hand on her shoulder before she exited.

"Hunter," she said softly.

He was about to speak, but stopped as he looked into her eyes. Those fantastic eyes, which always gleamed with specs of so many colors it seemed like looking into nebulae, were dimmer, the colorful flecs now pale ghosts of what they usually were.

Sarah tried to appear okay by raising her eyebrows, appearing in a good mood, and she could probably fool the others, but she would never be able to fool Hunter. He knew her gestures, her mannerisms. Memorizing her was all he could do since he met her.

Seeing her expression, he was compelled for a moment to wrap his arms around her, to keep her in the safety of his arms, to protect her, even though he knew she’d protect herself.

The more Hunter lingered on the thought, the closer he felt to pulling her to him. She was so small that her head would rest over his chest, and he'd be able to take in her sweet scent while enveloping her body completely with his.

But he stopped himself from doing that.

"Sarah..." Hunter began. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Sarah's lips curved, but barely. "I will be."

From outside, the sound of a giggle caught their attention. They both looked at the sight of Omega skipping around and occasionally brushing her fingers on the dirt, a marvel for a kid who'd only ever known the plain durasteel of Tipoca City.

And despite the care and responsibility Hunter felt towards Omega, his attention landed on Sarah again when he heard her chuckle softly.

"At least she lights up the mood around here," Sarah said.

Hunter's gaze traveled back to Omega, who was still delighting in the novelty of something as simple as dirt. A dull ache clenched at Hunter’s chest; the kid had waltzed herself into their lives just as Crosshair had been torn out of them. Looking at her prance around and at Sarah observing the kid, he wondered if she’d come to the same realization. He wondered if Sarah would resent Omega.

Sarah was a being of light and magic, at least that’s how Hunter saw her. She’d never resent a child, but he feared that, for all he’d ever wanted her to love him back, she would wind up resenting him instead.

Whatever Sarah thought, all he could understand at the moment was how much he wanted those two to be safe.

Hunter followed Sarah out of the ship to regroup with the others and he led the way between the plant fields over to Cut's place. They would soon be greeted by Cut and his wife Suu; the two familiar faces were a sight for Hunter's sore eyes, and he was finally able to feel something besides uncertainty since leaving Kamino.

The warmth of a family, the familiarity of those close to him. How long had he reprimanded those two very basic needs, neglected them from himself?

Inside the hut, Hunter noticed the beautiful pink-skinned Twi’lek observing Sarah quietly, smiling when she reached out to hand her newest guest a beverage.

"Right," Hunter broke the silence. "Echo, Sarah, Omega, these are Cut and Suu."

"Pleasure to meet you," Echo said as Sarah nodded, managing a polite smile.

"The pleasure's ours," Suu replied at Echo, but her gaze remained on Sarah most of the time.

Hunter figured Sarah's eyes had caught her attention, the way they did to anyone. He could see how Suu eyed Sarah with interest, even happiness, with her usual welcoming warmth.

She'd also eye Hunter from time to time, and she'd switch back and forth between the two.

Unfortunately, Suu's ease was not reflected by her husband, who eyed the squad with heavy eyes.

"Where's Crosshair?" Cut spoke the words everyone in the squad had been dreading to hear.

And just like that, any hope in Sarah's eyes vanished.

Hunter spoke up, hurrying to get past the subject before Sarah felt any worse.

"Things became complicated when the war ended," Hunter answered.

Cut could only nod. "Yeah, Rex told us about that. Real shame what happened to all our brothers."

Both Echo and Sarah snapped their gazes to Cut at the mention of the clone captain.

"You know Rex?" Sarah asked.

"He's a good friend of ours," Cut said with a melancholic smile. “He and I go way back, wound up wounded here and then helped protect my family. He’s a good man.”

"When was he here?" Echo asked, also eager to know anything about Rex, of any indicator of his well-being.

The smile faded from Cut’s features. "He came by yesterday."

Sarah and Echo exchanged looks, both visibly disappointed to have missed Rex by so little time. But as Hunter observed Sarah, he'd noticed a small change in her. He could even sense she didn't feel as dim as when Crosshair was mentioned, as if being reminded of Rex had motivated her in some way.

Everyone fell silent once more as the weight of the current events settled on them. Desperately needing a ray of light, the sound of Cut and Suu's two kids filled the room as they ran up to their mom telling them about the ship outside their place, making Wrecker happily get up and spread his arms wide.

"Shaaeah! Jek!"

Both kids looked at Wrecker, eyes wide with happiness.

"Uncle Wrecker!" They cried out in unison as they tackled Wrecker's huge figure.

At that moment, Hunter stole a glance of Sarah, who was looking at the kids with a serene smile, while Omega looked at the kids in confusion. It wasn't long before Shaaeah and Jek looked over at the new child’s face as well.

"Who are you?" Jek asked.

Omega was initially shy around them, but a soft pat on her back from Sarah encouraged her to take just one step forward and timidly introduce herself to the kids, who then offered to play outside. Omega looked at Hunter, unsure of what to do. In turn, Hunter found himself smiling at the kid and giving her a nod, more of encouragement than approval, and Omega's big brown eyes lit up as she ran outside with Shaaeah and Jek.

Hunter watched as they patiently taught Omega to play catch. Soon, Omega was trying to keep up with their play like any normal kid would—like any normal kid deserved.

It warmed Hunter's heart to see Omega around other children, rather than to be ordered around at the Kaminoan medical facility by scientists. With all his thoughts, it took Hunter by surprise, even with his heightened senses, when he noticed everyone had been staring at him as he looked after Omega, which caught him only slightly off guard.

However, he was able to notice when Sarah let out a soft chuckle, which made him feel more at ease.

"You have a nice place here," Sarah told Suu.

"Thank you,” Suu happily replied to her. “Would you like me to show you around?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to cause trouble," Sarah nearly shied away.

"It's not trouble," Suu chuckled. "Come, I'll even prepare tea."

"Tea sounds amazing," Sarah smiled, and she looked back at Hunter before going with Suu. "Do you want to come?"

Hunter gently shook his head at her. "I'll watch over the kids."

"Alright," Sarah whispered, smiling softly at him, and Hunter had to reprimand the sudden need to kiss her.

It only became a bit easier for him to do that when he noticed Suu looking at them over Sarah's shoulder, with a raised brow and a small smile.

And as Sarah found her way towards Suu, Hunter could also feel the rest of his squad looking at him, but he'd choose to ignore their teasing for now.

As if that was even his choice when it came to his brothers.

Hunter finally turned around, glaring defensively at them. "What?"

"YOU LIKE—" Wrecker began yelling, but Hunter shot him a look. Wrecker gave him a mischievous look and opted to whisper. "You like Sarah!"

Hunter did his best to appear unbothered. “No.”

"Hunter, you have to admit you're not one to hide it," Echo said.

"It's not that," Hunter continued to deny. "She's been through a lot recently and I just want to make sure she's fine. I'm protecting her, that's all."

"I wouldn't be completely against it," Echo admitted after a few tense seconds of silence.

"Meaning?" Hunter looked up at him.

"You said it yourself, she's been through a lot recently,” Echo continued. “And if things continue down the same route, I'd much rather have her move on as soon as possible."

"Move on?" Hunter questioned.

"Oh, come on, it doesn't take a genius like myself to know she has feelings towards Crosshair," Tech intervened. “I am convinced something happened between them on Kaller; they gave multiple signs of it when we were on Kamino. I…”

Hunter looked over at Tech, knowing trailing off wasn’t proper of him.

“Spit it out,” Hunter prompted.

“I saw them alone in a room holding hands,” Tech said, hesitantly. “They looked like they were going to kiss.”

Hunter didn’t know what he’d expected to hear—he only felt dumber each second for trying to think otherwise.

"Which means she'll still be in pain so long as Crosshair keeps hunting us down," Echo finished.

"My point exactly,” Hunter said, doubt flooding his tone.

"So you can honestly say that you have no attraction towards her whatsoever?" Echo raised a brow.

Against his will, Hunter hesitated. He hated lying to his brothers, and he most definitely wanted to hold Sarah in his arms someday as more than his comrade, but now wasn't the time for that. Hunter couldn't overwhelm her with that.

He also knew he could trust Echo. He’d proven himself to that squad multiple times since his arrival, even before he was officially part of the squad. Hunter had given Echo the spot of right hand man more times than he could count.

A spot that was previously exclusive to Crosshair.

Too many thoughts raced through Hunter’s mind. Not wanting to replace Crosshair, not wanting to accept he wasn’t there, not wanting to overwhelm Sarah, not wanting to jump into Crosshair’s place, take advantage…

"That's right,” Hunter finally answered.

"Oh, come on," Wrecker insisted. "What's not to like about her?"

"Is her voice too beautiful?" Tech followed. "Are her eyes too captivating? Is her hair too silky? Or perhaps is her laughter too magical for you?"

"I'm beginning to think you like her," Hunter grimaced. "You know what, conversation over."

Hunter went to stand at the doorway and did as he told Sarah, watching over the children as they played. In the meantime, the rest of the group scattered to mind their own business, except for Cut, who walked up to him.

"So..." Cut shyly began, hoping he could provide a more neutral, mature point of view to Hunter’s worries. "You and Sarah?"

"No—!" Hunter replied, almost too loudly and startled. He then sighed, attempting to calm himself down. "No, it's not like that. She's part of the squad, and in any case, she was with..."

He stopped himself before mentioning Crosshair again, but he didn’t know if it was because Sarah wouldn't appreciate him talking about her and Crosshair behind her back, or because it still pained him to acknowledge the fact that she chose Crosshair instead of him from the beginning.

Sighing again, Hunter looked out at the horizon. "It doesn't matter."

"Uh-huh," Cut said, obviously seeing right through Hunter. "How'd you come across her?"

"She's an old friend of Rex," Hunter answered. "She went with us to rescue Echo, and after that they both joined us."

"I see," Cut said, also gazing at the sight of the children playing. "And what about the kid?"

Hunter looked Cut in the eyes as though to prepare him for the long story he had before him, and he decided to just ground himself and let Cut in on all the details of the previous days.

Sarah

Cut and Hunter surprised Suu and Sarah when they suddenly walked into one of the bedrooms, making Sarah nearly choke on the delightful berry infusion Suu had kindly prepared for her.

And she couldn’t help the way her eyes wandered when she saw Hunter donning civilian clothes rather than his usual military gear. Sarah froze—had she never seen him in anything that wasn’t part of his armor?

The outfit had a green shirt, a color that looked surprisingly good on Hunter, with short sleeves that emphasized his strong forearms and hands, a sight deeply intimate in the absence of his gloves. Sarah noticed the scars on his fingers due to his own blade, and as her gaze traveled upward, she made out a couple of veins marking themselves on his forearms, only making him appear stronger.

“We’re heading into town,” Cut spoke, breaking Sarah’s trance. “Do you need us to get anything?”

“No, honey,” Suu replied. “We’ve got everything we need, Sarah’s helping me pack.”

Cut nodded at his wife and headed out the door. Before Hunter followed, Sarah noticed him looking at her, his gaze lingering. She directed a smile at him, reassuring in its nature, making him feel comfortable enough to leave with Cut.

By that point, Suu had already shown Sarah most of the house and told her a few stories of when Rex had gone to visit in the past. It was truly a lovely little place, where a family could live a cozy life, and even if they were going to leave it, Sarah knew they would find a new home where they could leave that same quiet, peaceful life.

She felt happy for them, and only slightly yearned to have what they had.

On occasion, Sarah glanced out the window of the room they were in and saw Omega playing with Shaeeah and Jek, tossing a ball at each other, tripping, laughing. It was a sight to warm hearts all over, and yet, Sarah found hers squeezing as a pang of pain suddenly hit her.

“Hey,” she broke the silence. “Do you mind if I get some air?”

“Go ahead,” Suu told her. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

Sarah nodded politely and left the room, making her way to the house’s backyard. When she arrived, all she could do was stand and stare at the landscape, not knowing what to do. All she could do was think.

Memories swarmed before her eyes of the things she’d seen during the war, the times she’d thought of what she’d do when it was over. But a much heavier thought lingered within her, as she repeated to herself relentlessly that every single one of those plans, given recent events, had changed, as though to completely vanish into the air.

Only then did she deign to admit to herself how much she missed Crosshair.

She felt her eyes tearing up. If Crosshair were still there, and she were sad about any other reason, he’d be walking out that door right about now. He’d approach her quietly, uttering a quick Hey or a Problem?, and she’d either rant her heart out or say nothing.

Either way, Crosshair would know what to do. He’d know how to comfort her, he’d be there for her.

But he wasn’t.

And the worst part was that he hadn’t even chosen that. He’d been torn away from her.

Time passed and Sarah remained standing there, her mind locked on everything that was going on. She’d lost track of how long she’d been out there when the sound of the door opening and closing made her quickly turn around to find Suu walking towards her, her eyes sympathetic as ever.

“They’re back,” said Suu.

Sarah tried not to linger on the fact that she’d been out there mourning for longer than she would have liked, and forced herself to be back at reality.

“That’s a relief,” she said. “What news do they bring?”

Suu gently shook her head, doubtful. “Something about chain codes, registration protocols. Apparently, getting off the planet is going to be difficult. My husband is a deserter, if he’s discovered, everything is lost.”

Sympathy now shone in Sarah’s eyes too. “Damned Empire is making everything harder than it should be. But look, Cut’s smart, and so are you, and we’re here to help. We’ll make sure you get on that transport.”

Suu smiled with gratitude; now it was her turn to help Sarah. “You seem sad.”

Sarah’s features softened as she exhaled the lingering tension. “Everything that’s happened these past few days has been awful. I think the only good thing in all of it is Omega arriving to us.”

“You miss Crosshair,” Suu said.

Sarah gave a sad smile to keep herself from crying. “I take it you met him.”

Suu chuckled. “You should have seen him with the kids. They love him. Of course, he’d never live that down with his brothers. And for all his brooding, he was never a bad man. He has Cut’s utmost respect, and mine too.”

A tear fell from Sarah’s eye. Since Kamino, she’d felt like there would be a bitter resentment towards Crosshair, even if it had all happened against his will. To hear Suu talking so greatly of him gave her the comfort she desperately needed.

But the sadness remained there, and it wouldn’t leave anytime soon. Sarah looked up at Suu, the longing returning to her gaze as she looked at the beautiful mother of two.

“Seeing what you have with Cut,” Sarah began. “Your house, your kids, the fact that you’ve been able to stay away from the war for so long… I want that. And before the clones turned on the Jedi, we’d anticipated the war would be over soon. I saw myself having all of this.”

“You saw yourself with Crosshair?”

Sarah struggled to keep the tears inside. “Yes.”

Suu’s eyes met Sarah’s; somehow, her gaze was telling her it was okay to cry, to feel. Instead, Sarah took a deep, centering breath, and continued.

“But I don’t think that’s going to happen anymore,” she finished.

“Maybe not with Crosshair,” Suu said, her tone soft.

Sarah tilted her head in inquiry at what she’d said, and Suu gave her a gentle smile as if they’d known each other for life.

“You deserve to have what you want,” Suu began. “If a quiet life with a home and someone to love is what you want, you should have that. I don’t blame you for wanting it after seeing all the horrors of war, and trust me, it’s still possible for you to have it.”

“I thought I could have it once,” Sarah answered. “With a clone named Fives. But he passed, and then Cross came along and I allowed myself to feel that again.”

Sarah chuckled to stifle her own sob. “And behold what’s happened.”

Suu gently shook her head, though still smiling. “We must not shut ourselves from the possibility of new people coming into our lives because of previous hardships, Sarah. And if you just open your eyes, just a bit, and you look around…”

Her words caught Sarah’s attention, and she finally looked Suu in the eyes.

“You could find someone who already sees you,” Suu finished.

It didn’t take long for the gears to turn in Sarah’s head and a face appeared in her mind.

“Hunter?” She spoke, very softly.

Sarah almost wanted to accept the idea. She’d noticed him looking at her before. She’d seen Hunter doing it whenever she was with Crosshair, whenever they ran off to snipe from some tower or cliff.

She’d noticed how Hunter would look sad every time.

And it wasn’t like Sarah didn’t find him attractive. Hunter was protective by nature, brave, undeniably handsome, strong, smart, and unbelievably kind. He was the whole package.

But with everything that had happened, the way everything was just so messed up in every way, Sarah found herself shaking her head.

“It’s too soon,” she spoke.

“It is,” Suu rested her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “And you do need time, but if and when you feel ready again, you might want to know that you have quite the man who’s already crazy about you.”

Sarah looked over at the house, knowing Hunter was inside. She felt guilty for even thinking about Hunter that way, with Crosshair’s parting being so recent.

And she didn’t want to let that be permanent either. One way or another, she wanted to get Crosshair back even if she had to venture out on her own one day.

But her marks burned as Suu spoke, and Sarah knew better than to ignore them.

Things had taken a negative turn too quickly. Little Omega had come too close to getting hurt when an innocent attempt to retrieve a ball over the fence led to a close encounter with a Nexu, one Hunter and Suu had barely managed to rescue her from.

In his worry, Hunter had not only raised his voice, but he’d also become more distant from everyone. He did that whenever he was deep in thought, and while Omega hid away on the ship, the house seemed eerily quiet when preparations to get the family on the shuttle off world became more imminent.

Sarah went outside of the house to the yard where she’d stood with Suu earlier to find Hunter brooding, arms crossed, watching the landscape as the wind lifted some of his curls.

He turned around when he heard Sarah walking up to him, smiling softly at her.

“She’s fine, Hunter,” Sarah broke the silence in an effort to reassure him. “And I’m sure she’s not mad at you, just… don’t be so quick to scold her next time.”

“Next time,” Hunter said, disheartened.

“She’s a child,” Sarah answered. “If it’s not a scrape on the knee, it’ll be us worried she’s disappeared when really she was just hiding in the basement.”

“She really could have been hurt,” Hunter continued. “Look, Sarah…”

She looked at him intently, with her beautiful nebulae eyes resting on him, visibly making it harder for Hunter to speak.

“I’ve been thinking a lot since we arrived, and what just happened only confirms it,” he began. “Omega doesn’t need a group of soldiers, she needs a family.”

“That’s good,” Sarah answered. “I think we all need that change in mindset.”

“She needs to stay with Cut and Suu.”

Sarah felt herself going cold, not having expected Hunter to go there so quickly. Her eyes widened at him, evidently in disbelief.

“Were you planning on checking with the others?” Sarah asked him.

“Is there a counterargument? Sarah, we can’t provide for a kid,” he said. “She should be playing with kids her age, the biggest risk for her should be getting low grades in school, not getting shot. Cut said it clearly, she is not a soldier.”

“Neither are we,” Sarah replied. “Whatever we were loyal to disbanded. We’re running from the army, and if we settle down and do what Cut and Suu did, we’ll be able to provide for her one day, and ourselves.”

Hunter’s features softened briefly. “Is that what you’d want?”

Sarah sighed. “Yes. I have a terrible feeling about the Empire, things will not be looking up anytime soon. And if we have to run away and save our necks, we might as well do that.”

Silence fell between them while Hunter remained deep in thought, and Sarah hesitated to speak the next words.

“I’ve wanted that for years, Hunter,” she admitted. “A house, a family, a child. No wars, no weapons.”

Hunter paced away from her a bit as he thought, and then he turned to face her again. Sarah watched him, bewildered at his sheer beauty in the golden sunlight of Saleucami, and her thoughts began to spiral onto what Suu had told her earlier.

“Then stay with her,” Hunter said.

Sarah’s thoughts were broken as she once more couldn’t believe what Hunter was saying.

“What?” She asked. “You want me to stay with Omega? With Cut and Suu?”

“It’s the only way I can guarantee your safety,” Hunter said. “Yours and Omega’s. You go with them, get started. The rest of us will find credits, resources…”

“You’ll find Crosshair,” Sarah said.

But Hunter fell silent again when she spoke his name, and Sarah rubbed her face in tension, knowing she had to change the subject.

“Look, if that’s what you’re thinking, then let’s just all stay together,” she said. “Fuck the transport, we all leave in the Marauder, settle down in a distant planet. Tech and I will work out a way to track Crosshair down, and then we find him, we get him, and forget this nightmare once and for all.”

“Sarah, it won’t be simple,” Hunter answered. “We’re wanted, settling down won’t be easy for us to do, and if we all stay together, we’ll only put Cut and Suu in danger.”

Sarah’s heart only sank because she knew Hunter was right.

“Then why push me away too?” She asked. “You know I can stick up for myself, so why are you so concerned about my safety?”

“I can’t let you get hurt,” Hunter replied. “You’ve been in too much pain since Kamino, you don’t deserve all this loss.”

“Well tough luck, Hunter, I’m as much a part of this squad as you are, as Crosshair,” Sarah said firmly.

But Hunter’s eyes saddened. “I can’t promise you we’ll find him, I can’t even promise you he’ll want to come with us if we do. The only way I can protect you from that is if you stay with Omega.”

He walked up to her, barely inches away from her as he desperately held himself back from taking her into his arms. Sarah noticed the way he struggled, but her mind was too clouded by thoughts for her to even know which line of thought to begin with. Ultimately, she realized what staying with Omega would imply, and she forced her tears inside, but not without making her voice tremble with dismay.

“I cannot lose all of you too,” Sarah spoke.

“Sarah…” Hunter said, clearly pained. “I can’t lose you either…”

“Then why?” She asked again, unclear as to why Hunter would try to get her to leave.

Her mind racing, she tried to settle on an answer. Maybe it pained him too much to hear her insisting on going back for Crosshair. Maybe he was terrified they’d all be hunted down soon enough, terrified of the Empire realizing they should have ordered her to be executed too.

Hunter stepped closer, his warmth radiating onto her as he beckoned for her to look at him in the eyes.

“Please,” he said.

Her heart sank when she realized she wouldn’t change Hunter’s mind, she wouldn’t even understand him. Everything was uncertain, everything was cause to fear, and if Hunter wanted her away from him for whatever reason, she felt she had to respect it.

If only she hadn’t listened so closely to Suu’s words.

Sarah took a step back, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’ll stay,” she whispered, not trusting her voice enough to sound sane.

“Sarah—” Hunter was about to reach out for her.

But she turned around and left. At that point, she would do anything to numb the pain, even if the effort was futile.

The sun went down on Saleucami, and the hour to head for the transport off world was nearing. With everything packed, all that was left was for Omega to meet them at the station with the chain codes, six of them encoded and brand new.

Sarah couldn’t bring herself to look at Hunter.

The town felt dark and hostile, with the shadow of the Empire veiling it, making it a phantom of the lively place it must have been once. Sarah had heard Cut and Hunter mention a few changes they’d seen, but Sarah never imagined it like that. There were clone troopers marching in groups every few blocks, inspecting people, so much that it didn’t even feel like the war had ended.

What called out to her the most was that every trooper’s armor was identical, all of it white, stripped of colors or markings they would have added to represent their GAR division.

It was as if all the individuality had been taken from them.

When they got in line for the transport and she heard a chain code announcement in the background, Sarah noticed the strange vibe she got from the man in the hologram. She felt her usual premonition, and as she looked at the hologram, Crosshair came to mind.

But before she could ponder further on it, the line continued to advance, rendering them closer to the chain code revision. It would have been a real danger to not have them handy, but by act of the universe, Omega showed up just in time carrying the chain codes, her eyes sparkling with joy at the prospect of having succeeded in her first solo mission.

“I’m here!” She said proudly as she looked up at Hunter. “But I have six codes, what do we want the other two for?”

Sarah’s heart sank; Cut shot a pained look over at Hunter, who didn’t look any happier.

Sarah rested her hand on Omega’s shoulder, kneeling down to be more at her height.

“Omega, honey…” She spoke. “You and I are staying with Cut and Suu.”

The smile faded from Omega’s eyes, and she looked over at Hunter as though hoping Sarah was telling a lie.

“What does she mean?” Omega asked him.

Cut and Hunter exchanged a look before the latter released the luggage he was carrying to position himself in front of Omega and Sarah, kneeling down as well while Cut and the others advanced in the line.

“She’s telling the truth, Omega,” Hunter admitted, though not without heartbreak. “I want you and Sarah to stay with Cut and Suu.”

Omega looked up at Sarah, pleading for help even though Sarah couldn’t find any words within her.

“Was it because of what I did?” Omega asked. “I promise I won’t try anything like that again, just don’t get rid of us.”

“It’s not that, Omega,” Sarah comforted the child. “And no one thinks you did anything wrong. Hunter’s just looking out for your safety.”

Sarah knew Hunter was giving her a grateful look, but she still didn’t bring herself to look at him.

“Hunter, I want to stay with you,” Omega said. “And I’m pretty sure so does Sarah.”

“You both deserve a family, a life,” Hunter said, beckoning Sarah to look at him. “You’ve had to face loss again with us, Sarah. I can’t guarantee I can fix that for you, but by this I’ll be saving you the risk of going through it again.”

“By making me lose all of you,” Sarah shook her head. “It’s worse.”

“Hunter…” Omega caught the sergeant’s attention. “You’re my family.”

“Quit holding up the line!” A trooper yelled from the outpost, pressuring them to move forward, and as though on cue, blaster fire could now be heard from deep within the impound dock, courtesy of the remainder of the batch.

“You have to go,” Hunter said to them.

Sarah’s eyes glistened with the tears she refused to shed. Gently, she pat Omega on the shoulder, willing her to walk forward even if she seemed just as devastated as Sarah.

With Omega gone, Sarah looked at Hunter. She was about to walk away too, but Hunter reached out for her hand, stopping her. She looked at him, eyes wide with hope.

Hunter struggled. In his eyes, it seemed like a million words flashed by him, but he sighed and, defeated, gave Sarah a heartbroken look.

“Take care, alright?” He said.

Sarah knew that wasn’t everything Hunter wanted to say or do. He was close to her, far closer than he’d ever been. His eyes were on her lips, his thumb brushed the back of her palm. His features had softened the way she’d never seen; in the dim light, Sarah could even make out the way Hunter’s pupils had dilated.

Whatever he wanted to do, Hunter had to give up on it when a trooper went to escort Sarah over to where Cut and Suu were. She looked over her shoulder, forced to watch him as he stood there, drowning in the tragedy of his own unspoken words.

And then he was on his way to the impound dock.

It would probably be the last time she saw him.

Blaster fire continued to echo in the air while everyone went on as if nothing were happening.

Sarah and Suu met gazes. The chain codes were almost done being scanned; only two more to be authorized and they’d be on their way to a more peaceful life. But looking at Suu, Sarah recognized in her eyes that she didn’t want her and Omega to come along.

It wasn’t that Suu wasn’t happy to help, it was that even she knew it wasn’t right for them to separate.

Sarah wanted to remain with Hunter.

She wanted to remain with her squad. With Echo, her best friend in the entire galaxy. With Wrecker, with Tech, with little Omega learning by their side.

She wanted to keep the hope of getting Crosshair back.

“Chain codes are valid, you may head to the transport,” the trooper behind the counter said.

Sarah and Omega looked at each other as the blaster fire became vivid in the background. They were both thinking the same thing, and Sarah looked back up at Suu, who already knew what they’d decided.

“He needs you,” Suu said, placing her hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

Sarah reciprocated the touch and looked at Suu and Cut together.

“Thank you,” she said.

Cut nodded, and Sarah turned around and ran off into the streets with Omega following closely behind, making their way to the impound lot.

Sarah prayed it wasn’t too late; at the entrance, she found a trooper guarding who was ready to aim and fire at her, but Sarah outmaneuvered him and took over his blaster, setting it to stun and firing the bolt at him, buying them time.

“Stay behind me,” Sarah told Omega, who obliged.

It was a firefight inside the impound lot. Wrecker and Echo worked on the clamp holding the Marauder down, while Tech and Hunter tried to keep the waves of clone troopers at bay.

It seemed like Hunter was getting cornered; he’d even tripped and fallen, and hope seemed lost, but it didn’t escape Sarah’s eye.

“Get to the ship!” Sarah called at Omega, who quickly ran to safety while Sarah ran up behind the trooper cornering Hunter and, just before he shot him, she stunned the clone and got rid of the threat.

Sarah now stood in front of Hunter, blaster in hand, panting after all her running, after her fear of not having arrived in time.

And in turn, Hunter looked at her with disbelief, but still, gratitude and relief remained dominant in his brown eyes.

He reacted quickly and shot a trooper who’d tried to sneak up on Sarah, and while she stunned the few remaining troopers headed her way, Hunter covered for her while she and the rest got on the Marauder once it was ready to fly.

He was the last one on the ship; he’d successfully protected them all.

Sarah waited until the ship was out in space to fully relax. After making sure Omega was seated comfortably in one of the passenger seats, Sarah walked into the central room of the Marauder, where Hunter sat in front of one of the large holopanels, its faint blue light shining on him, giving him a cold glow not unlike moonlight.

He noticed Sarah’s presence and stood up to greet her, his eyes filled with apology, with regret.

“I…” He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t justify trying to push her away, or trying to do the same with Omega. “Sarah, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You’re scared,” Sarah approached him, stopping when she was barely inches away from him. “You’ve spent your entire life worrying about your men. I know you have good intentions, Hunter. I know all you ever want to do is protect.”

Hunter looked away from her. “If I knew how to protect everyone, we wouldn’t have lost Crosshair.”

“What happened with Crosshair was out of your control,” she said. “Out of all of ours.”

Hunter looked up at her again, relieved that, at least, she didn’t hold that against him.

“But no more pushing us away,” Sarah continued. “We’re not going to survive if we split up, Hunter.”

He felt his own heart rejoicing at how close she was, at having her there in front of him when he was certain he wouldn’t see her again. The one thing he’d realized in saying goodbye to her was how he wouldn’t bear to be without her, even if she loved someone else.

Sarah looked gently at him. She, too, looked beautiful in the pale light of the holopanels, and there was little Hunter could do to continue resisting her. One of his hands traveled up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently brushing her skin, over the marks on her cheekbone.

Sarah leaned into his warmth, finding comfort in it, until she felt his hands traveling down to her waist, pulling her in for a delicate embrace. She felt his body perfectly enveloping hers; she could feel his heat and his muscles through the fabric of the civilian clothes, something she could never feel through armor. Her head rested on his chest, her hands on his abdomen, and she felt Hunter fully wrap his arms around her back, holding her as if she was the galaxy’s rarest treasure.

In his embrace, he contradicted his former will to let her go.

They both knew, at that moment, it would always be impossible for him to do that.

Sarah pulled back, with his hands still resting at her waist, and hers on his forearms. They looked at one another, both unable to speak, their gazes flickering from their lips to their eyes and back, Sarah felt her entire chest vibrate, her heart leaping, her skin and marks burning.

Hunter got closer; it was as if they were dancing, tempting each other, taunting to see if they would or would not do what was obvious, or if Hunter would speak the words he had failed to tell her at the docks. Their foreheads brushed in more softness than tension, but Sarah backed away before she did something she wasn’t sure of.

She felt her heart screaming at her as soon as she stepped back.

But despite that, Sarah managed a tender smile at Hunter, her cheeks reddening at what had just happened.

“You, um,” she stuttered. “You should probably talk to Omega.”

“Right,” Hunter answered, just a tad too quickly.

Sarah walked back into the cockpit and went past Omega, ruffling her curls before gesturing over at Hunter. The girl gave Sarah a smile and she pranced over to the central compartment to meet up with Hunter.

She looked over at Hunter as he and Omega talked, her heart melting at how soft he looked in front of the child.

He almost seemed like her father.

Shortly, the vision returned to Sarah, of a quiet life in a little house, with a husband and a child. Her gaze trailed downwards; there was uncertainty, but by all means, there was hope.

And all the while, her marks hadn’t ceased to burn.

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