#violet hull

[zwhoreo]

what if Luffy meets Reader's ex? I just read your latest fic (it's so good) and my brain started imagining that scenario but if it was reader’s ex.

I can imagine him pouting and getting touchy with you in the presence of the ex.

loved this request tyy!! had a lot of fun writing this <3

(the previous fic anon is referring to is this one!)

meeting your ex - luffy x gn!reader

angsty fluff

summary in request, Luffy gets upset and protective when he meets someone who hurt you in the past

contains: mentions of a toxic past relationship/*unspecified* relationship trauma

words: 1.5k

________________________

It’s a windy day and you’re someplace familiar. Gold sunset hits the lake, the water is orange and violet, and you’re sitting on a bench and watching children setting model sailboats made from paper or wood out into the tranquil crowd of tiny white sails. You wanted to show Luffy a beautiful place on the archipelago you grew up on, now that the ship has landed back, by pure chance, where you had first met. You were so excited when the islands peaked over the clouds and the crew agreed to stop for a couple days. Luffy is happy when you’re happy, and when there’s an island, and when there’s someplace he can play in shallow water, like there is this evening.

You close your eyes for a moment and go into a sleepy meditation, making sure you know where Luffy is before you let your mind wander, lulled by the world around you.

Luffy is jealous of the children with the little sailboats, he doesn’t quite know why but he thinks it would be so fun to push one out into the lake, something to make up for not being able to dive in himself, or go sailing right now. He thinks the sails are pretty and the little details are so interesting. So he prances over immediately when he sees a man sitting on the stone ledge over the water, about to let go of a little boat with a tiny blue hull, swaying in the water.

The man looks up at Luffy and gives him a quick smile, as Luffy crouches next to him and peers over his shoulder down at his hands.

“I like your boat. Can I touch it?” he asks and the man laughs a little and shrugs, saying sure, so it’s quickly plucked out of the water into Luffy’s arms.

“You can set it out into the lake for me, if you want,” the man says cheerfully, gesturing at their sparkling reflections.

“Really?? Awesome!” Luffy can’t believe his luck, and with his legs hanging over the edge he sets the sailboat down and makes some little splashes so it’ll drift away.

And so they talk for a few minutes, about the island they’re on and how the man grew up here, which makes Luffy excited because now he’s confirmed to himself that everyone from this island might be cool enough to be his friend.

“I like you. You’re fun,” he says happily, after finally telling the man his name and how he’s a pirate.

“Well, I liked meeting you. Heh, I was just dragged here by my girlfriend, she loves it here.” And the man gestures to a dark-haired girl sitting in the sunset nearby.

Seeing this as a perfect invitation, Luffy points at you and says happily, “that’s [name] and we’re dating and we came here together!”

Of which the man looks up and grows icier, which confuses Luffy a little.

“C’mon… let’s go say hi…” he says and takes the man’s hand, wanting to be back with you all of a sudden. That name he heard has ticked something deep in his mind that he can’t place right now.

“Yeah, guess I can.” The man lets Luffy bring him to you.

You open your eyes and think you’re seeing things for a moment. Your heart sinks in your chest when you see him, the man you were with years ago who you wanted to forget, holding Luffy’s hand.

“[Name,]” the man says simply. And you just stare ahead with a lump in your throat.

You murmur his name, you say finally, quietly, “hi.”

“Ooh, are you two friends?” Luffy looks between you curiously, not consciously picking up on anything strange yet, rolling a little on his feet from creeping nerves. And when there’s a silence in the air he makes a little anxious sound, not understanding.

“You’ve got a boyfriend now, huh?” your ex says, slightly patronizingly, a too-familiar voice that makes your skin crawl, “haha, he doesn’t really look like your type.”

Luffy doesn’t know what this means. The man seemed so nice, why isn’t he getting along with you?

“Why’re you here?” you ask coldly, glaring at your ex with a silent I want you to go away.

“[Name!] Why’re you being mean to sailboat guy??” Luffy says finally, getting frustrated with you now that you’ve seemingly ruined the fun he was having with a new friend.

“That’s my ex,” you say to him finally, looking at the ground, looking upset enough to reach Luffy’s heart.

“What? Your old boyfriend?” Luffy stares at your ex and then it clicks. “Oh…”

That’s where he’s heard the name before. There was a night early in your relationship where you had to sit Luffy down, curl up in bed with him, and talk about how you were scared to be with someone again because of the damage in your heart. You seemed so sad and vulnerable then, something Luffy doesn’t ever forget because it hurt him to see you like that. He held you and gave you words of encouragement that he loves you and he’d never, ever do anything like that to you. You cried in his arms, that got to him so badly, he hates seeing you cry. You clung to him, you were in pain.

But it was so hard for Luffy to really understand. This wasn’t concrete to him, he was upset for you but he couldn’t really grasp what relationship trauma meant, he’s been with one person, you, and that was perfect and he couldn't comprehend having a relationship be unhappy like that.

But now it’s more concrete, now that this man is standing in front of him, now that he’s watching you sink into yourself again.

Luffy rushes to your side and takes you into his arms, trying to pull you and force you to lay your head on his shoulder so you don’t have to look at your ex anymore. But Luffy is staring daggers at him, bristling in anger. He makes your ex watch as he kisses your hair and holds your hand and squeezes you around the waist, little gestures of protective affection.

He’s feeling territorial, not letting you leave his arms even though you feel like trying to run away. He wants to show your ex that you’re his and only his and, as your ex looks at him with raised eyebrows, Luffy starts talking and makes things worse.

“Why’d ya hurt [name?] Why’d ya do it??” You can’t see Luffy’s face but flecks of saliva hit your cheek because he’s spitting as he shouts.

Your ex laughs nervously, incredulously. “What do you mean?”

“Please, Luffy… let’s just go…” You’re trying to pull him away but he won’t move.

“You made [name] cry! And nobody does that!!” Luffy yells and you freeze with humiliation as your ex stares at you. You don’t look him in the eye.

“Luffy…” you beg, just wanting it all to stop, “I wanna go home…”

He lifts you up, hands on your thighs to support you as he stalks, cat-like, towards your ex, who raises his hands and laughs again.

“I’m gonna beat you up!” Luffy says, voice cold and harsh as stone.

And your ex says, “hey, relax, I’ve got a girlfriend now. You don’t need to be jealous.” And he’s still smirking which makes Luffy angrier.

“You didn’t ever deserve someone like this. You’re mean. You’re…” Luffy is gripping you so tightly that your skin is going red beneath his fingers, it feels like he’s never going to let go again. “You’re terrible and I hate you!” he shouts.

“LUFFY!” You struggle free so you can pull him by the arms away from the lake, away from the man who stands there in silence with his arms crossed, you squeeze your eyes shut so that will be the last time you ever see him again.

“I don’t like him,” Luffy mutters as he wipes his eyes and holds your hand tightly, walking so close to you that you struggle to stay on the sidewalk.

“Me either.”

The sun is almost fully set now and it’s getting a little cold. With the slightest hint of weather change you’re pulled into a caring embrace as Luffy tries desperately to shield you from anything that might make you uncomfortable or sad right now. His hands run through your hair as you walk in silence, heading back to the ship. He looks down at you, loving and protective eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

You manage a smile, leaning in for a gentle kiss.

“It’s over now, right? It’s ok,” you whisper against his cheek, “I’ve got you now, right?”

“Mmgh.” He makes a sound of appreciation as his face rests in your hair. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to hear that from someone who means it.

#luffy x reader #luffy #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #luffy fluff #luffy x reader fluff #luffy x gn!reader #luffy x reader angst #luffy angst #one piece ask blog #one piece fluff

[8o8o8o8o8]

Giving Minos depression about his work as Judge of Hell <33

cw for gore, mention of a murder

The smell of rain heralds the arrival of a Ferryman in the city of Lust. Minos looks up just in time to see the ship's hull breaches the violet clouds, making its way towards him. A full boat hold of sinners to judge. At least this isn't the Ferryman with the factory ship that makes him feel like a fisherman processing a catch.

He steps onboard, twin parasite snakes sliding off of his arms and rushing towards the hold. He suppresses faint disgust with centuries of practice. There's little to be done about the gleeful cruelty of demons.

Minos steps down into the hold.

Unmoving bodies stack upon each other, bare and cold. Disturbingly few of them are intact; he can see peeling muscles and open ribcages, broken limbs and necks and spines—

He kneels down on what little visible ground there is by the ladder. The parasites promptly drop the nearest corpse on his lap. It—They're damp, soaked through with the smell of the Ocean Styx, and a hint of gunpowder. Jarringly impeccable hands. He desperately wants it not to mean anything. He turns their face towards his.

"Annika Young." A name he has never spoken flows out of his mouth with unnatural ease. "Seventy two souls lie dead for your carelessness. Your greatest sin is your apathy towards those in your care." Annika Young does not say thing. No one does. They only ever look emptily at him. "For this, you will be sentenced to Violence."

The parasites pull her away. By the end of the day, he and they would have made neat little piles out of these people. Like meat at the market. This work is not meant for the human soul, he knows. It would be much easier to let go of his sanity and humanity, to simply be the Judge of Hell, another dutiful cog in this infernal machine.

Another corpse lands on his lap. He's stopped feeling any horror for their eternal fates, only his. How disgustingly selfish.

They look up at him. There's hundreds more (there's endless more). Now is not the time to wallow in his fate.

Minos takes in a rotten, salty breath and let out the name of the dead once more.

#ultrakill #unauthorized cooking #king minos #minos: I'm selfish for feeling bad about what I must do :( #← literally pushing his feelings aside to take care of people #ilu king you are so idiot <333

[dreamripper]

Makeup session... Makeout session? [KidxKiller OP fanfic]

Just two bros applying lipstick to each other... right?

One Piece One shot

Ship: KidxKiller

Words: 2,200~ [12 minutes]

Not a native English speaker. You WILL find mistakes. Sorry in advance!!

The sun was setting behind the horizon, and the last rays of light filtered through the small window of Kid's cabin. Little could be heard other than the sea lapping against the hull of the vessel, and the distant laughter of the rest of the crew. It was an ordinary night in the New World, aboard the Victoria Punk.

Kid reached a small, weathered chest, with gold rivets on the corners, and opened it. The metallic clink of two lipsticks and a small mirror inside interrupted the collection of monotonous sounds that enveloped his room. Killer watched in silence, sitting on the edge of his captain's bed, with his usual mask covering his features.

It was a ritual they had adopted since their tender adolescence, long before Killer decided to start hiding his face behind a mask. Repeating it, every time before going into battle, was a symbolic way of reinforcing the unwavering loyalty they had sworn to each other. Their South Blue, at that moment, felt far away, but they, despite the time, remained together.

The light of a small candle on the captain's desk reflected on his features as he turned towards his first mate with a violet lipstick in hand. He handed over the small chest to Killer who took the other lipstick inside; crimson, matching the tones of his captain's hair.

Kid sat in his chair, facing Killer. Their knees touched slightly.

“I think you should start this time,” the captain said.

Killer nodded and uncapped the lipstick he had just picked up. The lipstick was practically new, unlike the container that held it. Metallic, scratched, and somewhat dented, but at least the cap still fit snugly.

“No mask,” Kid demanded, reaching out until he took the mask with both hands, only to slowly lift it off his first mate's head, revealing a face completely unknown to many. Kid had that privilege. Kid could see his face whenever he wanted, whenever he needed, because Killer would never deny. Sometimes, remembering the face of a lifelong friend was all he needed when things seemed to lose meaning, like a breath of fresh, familiar air amid chaos.

The air seemed to get a little lighter when Kid set the mask aside. Killer's blue eyes, slightly obscured by his long blond bangs, locked with his captain's just before they moved down to focus on his lips. With his index finger, he gently lifted Kid's chin, studying the pink skin surrounding his mouth, as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“You should stop biting your lips,” the first mate said, focusing on the small wounds on them.

Kid let out a short, muffled laugh before moistening his lips with his tongue, as if that could hide, even superficially, the damage caused by his teeth. Killer then brought the lipstick to Kid's lips and began his ritual. Each stroke he made on the redhead's lips was careful, deliberate.

Kid's lips were a bit narrower than his, but defined, sharp. He hadn't realized until then, but the fine lines that ran from his nose to the corners of his lips had begun to show on Kid's face, a reflection that the years were taking their toll. Killer had noticed that they stood out especially when he smiled. Perhaps those lines had started to appear because he smiled a lot. If that was the case, Kid's beautiful smile made it all worthwhile.

Killer carefully ran his thumb along the edge of Kid's lower lip when a stroke strayed. The captain's pupils were fixed on his first mate's eyes, who was still looking at his lips with a concentrated expression. The touch of the lipstick on his lips was comfortingly familiar, but even more so was the face in front of him, the fingers lifting his chin, the thumb that had just cleaned his lip.

The proximity between them was palpable. Killer was only a few centimeters away, and he could hear his breathing, steady, calm. Killer's lips were slightly parted, focused on ensuring his work was perfect, as he finished his task with a skill that only time and the trust Kid had in him could grant. That moment was entirely theirs.

“Done,” he affirmed, moving away from his captain.

For a moment, Kid stayed in place, with his lips parted and leaning towards Killer. A whirlwind of emotions stirred in his stomach as he allowed himself, for the first time, to analyze them. A strange disappointment invaded him as the distance increased with his first mate, who was covering the lipstick again to store it in the small chest. Although Killer's warm hand was no longer on his chin, at least, their knees were still touching.

Kid picked up the small, somewhat cracked mirror from the chest, and contemplated his companion's work. Killer had done an extraordinary job. It was evident that all those years of practice had borne fruit.

“Thank you, Killer.” There was a hint of sincerity in his voice, though perhaps this time he wasn't only referring to the lipstick. “Your turn.”

Kid uncapped the violet lipstick, and Killer narrowed the distance between them again. His lips, again, slightly open, but his big blue eyes were now fixed on his. The redhead took a deep breath, as if for a moment he had forgotten how to breathe. Mimicking the same pose as his first mate, he lifted Killer’s chin slightly with one of his fingers, feeling the brush of his golden goatee on his skin.

Killer's lips were thick, fleshy, enviable; they had a strong reddish tone in the center and lightened towards the edge. They were probably the most beautiful lips Kid had the pleasure of seeing, and now that Killer concealed his face behind a mask, having them so close and accessible became a privilege.

The redhead stared at the lips he had to paint for a few seconds, with the lipstick just centimeters from Killer, but hesitating to start, as if he had suddenly forgotten how to do it.

“Are you okay, Kid?” Killer asked, breaking the silence.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Got distracted.”

“Just don’t mess it up,” and Killer flashed a smile. For a moment, Kid's heart seemed to stop.

“I never mess up. I'm a fuckin’ artist,” and Kid tried to smile with confidence, as if what was initially so ordinary for them had not suddenly become a task that threatened to kill his sanity.

Kid swallowed hard and slightly slid the lipstick over his first mate's lower lip. The way his lip moved when the lipstick left its first stroke took his breath away. Meanwhile, Killer's eyes were fixed on his, as if it didn't affect him at all. It was as if he were the only one tormented by that confusing attraction. His gaze seemed to pierce Kid, analyzing every nuance in his gestures in complete silence in a way Kid couldn't even do himself.

Suddenly, Killer's hand rested on the captain's cheek, gently sinking his fingertips into his hair. Once again, comfortingly, Killer's warmth was on his skin. Kid found himself silently begging that his hand wouldn't move away from him. Never. He needed that warmth to be part of him from that moment on.

“Relax, Kid. It's not the first time you've done this.” His voice sounded calm, reassuring.

“Yeah, I know. It's just that... I don't know what's happening to me today.” But, in reality, he did know. He had been trying to avoid it for so long that, at that moment, it seemed to have exploded and dirtied the entire room with his restlessness.

Despite Kid's belief that he could conceal any inner turmoil, presented himself as an open book to his first mate's gaze. Killer softly caressed his cheek, as his thumb traced small circles on his cheekbones, covered in tiny, subtle freckles. Kid was so anxious that Killer could feel his tension pulsating through the pores of the redhead's skin, piercing his fingers. He knew his captain even better than Kid knew himself. Nervous, Kid couldn't think clearly, and when he found himself in deep water, he always turned to Killer, his loyal right hand; but at that moment, with a slight tremor in the hand holding the lipstick, Kid didn't seem to want to turn to Killer for help.

“You don't have to put so much effort into pretending, Kid. You know I've always been there for you, right?”

Kid nodded. Killer's closeness was far more comforting than he could have imagined. The touch of Killer's fingertips on his skin sent shivers down his spine and stimulated sensations he didn’t know existed.

“I know, but sometimes things… overwhelm me," the captain confessed, his words measured.

“I understand. But you don't always have to have everything under control; sometimes it's better to let things flow.”

Kid locked eyes with Killer, wanting to find a little more information in them about what he had just said, in case he had implied something that shouldn't be overlooked. Killer's gaze was, in a sense, warm, friendly, trustworthy, but above all, confident. None of his features wavered for a single moment.

The redhead turned his gaze back to Killer's lips and slid the lipstick over them once. And again. And again. And Killer's hand continued to tangle in his hair, encircling his head, until it firmly grasped the nape of his neck. Kid tensed as he felt his first mate's grip tighten, and a stroke of the lipstick slipped out of the corners of his friend’s mouth.

“Fuck, sorry, I—"

“Need me to be clearer? Just do it.”

Kid's heart skipped a beat upon hearing that, then raced as he processed the words.

“You mean the lipstick or...?” Kid asked.

“What else could I mean?”

Killer let out a soft, almost whispered laugh, while keeping eye contact with a completely bewildered Kid. The redhead could feel the room’s atmosphere becoming heavy, and the responsibility of a decision he couldn’t undo settling upon him. However, Killer seemed so sure of what was happening that Kid doubted he truly understood the weight his words were carrying.

Kid took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, but he couldn't hold back anymore. There was no point in containing himself as long as Killer kept flashing that perfect smile. He placed a hand on his first mate's thigh and slowly moved towards him, cautiously, giving Killer time to move away if he wanted. But Killer didn't move away. He raised his other hand and brought it to his captain's face, breaking the remaining distance between them until their lips brushed.

It was barely a soft, timid touch, as if asking for mutual permission, as if that unknown path should be tread with extreme caution. But that was more than enough for something to ignite in Kid's body and spread from his lips to every corner of his being. A second kiss, this time uniting their lips perfectly, as if they had been made for each other, less shy, more daring. They matched each other so well, as if they had practiced for years, but no training was needed: both had known each other's lips for a long time.

It was Killer's tongue that first sought Kid's mouth, who was still trying to process what was happening. And although the situation was about to overwhelm the redhead, he intertwined his tongue with Killer's. Their ragged breaths began to invade the room, taking desire up a notch when Killer began to lean back on Kid's bed. The captain, trying not to break the kiss, followed him slowly, making his way between the blonde's legs and anchoring his arms on both sides of his chest.

In the midst of that chaos of clumsy breaths, shared saliva, and curious hands, Killer broke the kiss to give Kid a bite on the lip, marking his territory on the small wounds caused by the captain’s teeth. With a complicit smile, he admired Kid’s dazed face, which reflected far more emotions than he could handle. He looked at Killer with an expression of surprise, astonishment, and an unusual vulnerability in him, but one that Killer knew well.

“I think this is what I meant,” Killer said, flashing a playful smile.

Kid locked eyes with his first mate; his slightly narrowed blue eyes conveyed no regret. He wanted that to happen, probably as much as he did.

"Couldn't you be a bit more explicit?" asked the redhead, returning the smile.

"It's much more fun to see you having such a hard time."

"Oh, you bastard," laughed Kid. Killer lifted his hand and stroked his captain's chin. "We could do this a lot more often — painting our lips, I mean."

Killer let out a small laugh, running his thumb over Kid's lips. All the lipstick had been smeared over his mouth and chin, in a beautiful mixture of violet and crimson hues. His captain looked particularly attractive like that.

"Sorry for ruining your masterpiece, Killer."

"Ruining? No, it looks much better now," he replied and moistened his lips. "Although... I think there's a part that needs touching up. Allow me."

Killer wrapped his arms around Kid's neck, pulling him closer, melting into a slow, intimate kiss. The last rays of light disappeared over the horizon, and the ship sank into the night. When Kid's kisses descended from his first officer's mouth down his jaw to his neck, Killer knew that, on that ordinary night, neither of them was going to leave the cabin.

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to leave kudos here if you liked my work ♥

#one piece #killer one piece #fanfic #one piece fanfiction #oneshot #eustass kid x killer #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #op fanfic #kidkiller #kid pirates #victoria punk #dreamripperfanfiction

[teratocrat]

A single yellow dwarf, unremarkable, of about 1.0218 solar masses. And in its corona, dancing aurora-dragons, ribbons and feathers of nine-colored light, singing and reciting poetry to each other and hitching freezing rides on the asteroids and comets that swing close enough to the star to leap out onto.

One small, dense planet, frosted over with incandescent stormclouds that snow lead flakes onto the slopes of volcanoes whose calderas are choked with galena coral reefs, the bones of colonies of radiation-tolerant extremophilic microorganisms, and where sulfur-swamps coat the lazy tideless beaches of the planet's only ocean, stirred and tilled by people like lanky bundles of black ironstraw, who heap their storehouses high with xanthous dried fusegrass.

One larger, much cooler planet, the calcite gleam of its moon hidden from the surface much of the time by cloudcover. warm, shallow, mildly acidic seas of lavender mucous, tentative marshes of weeping fuschia ferns, translucent lapine blobs with probing antennae that could be eyes or ears or questing tongues, and in the middle of the deepest ocean, a massive gelatinous thing, a superorganism like a rose with its stem plunging down into the volcanic baths of an oceanic rift, a mind from whom all other minds on this planet came and to which they occasionally return, eager to share their stories.

One rocky planet, bitterly cold and with the merest wisps of atmosphere clinging to it. Lifeless, all its water burned off it by baleful solar glare, the vast horizon-spanning saltpan seafloors bone-bare under the violet sky, and its moon hanging above like a clenched fist of black basalt.

An asteroid belt, scattered diamond motes of ice and stone and clay and metals, with three dwarf planets in its embrace, and the largest of them bearing a banner of silver and midnight, a unicorn guarding some alien tree.

A planet one might almost mistake for Earth, for all its snake-necked tortoise-camels and gold-feathered tigermen, for all its gleaming pentagonal ziggurats of diamond and steel, its three space elevators anchored in the emerald forests that girdle the equator, the capital of an interplanetary empire founded at the mouth of an immense river lazily piling hundreds of tons of silt a year into delta marshes, its vast ports berthing wide, flat-bottomed barges hauling iron and salt and sand and cinnabar, barrels of fish and wine and oil and perfumes, tigerman janissaries and scholars and poets and wizards, all tallied and accounted for in the lightning thoughts of supercomputers domesticated by bureaucracy. spaceplanes like silver songbirds or leaping fish ferrying the nobility (who disdain regular shuttle flights from the tips of the space elevators as base transportation for commoners) from the surface of the planet to its moon above, or to any number of gleaming stations in high orbit.

A gas giant, pale as pearl streaked with delicate pink and green pastels, skirted by dozens of captured child-moons, many of them bearing the same unicorn banner, some of them mined for this or that rare earth element, cities buried under the shielding crust of a scant handful, and two of them habitiformed enough to support imperial hunting grounds - managed grasslands or forests full of imported game - and hunting lodges of squat domes and towering spires, mirrored labyrinthine greenhouse-gardens and treasure-vaults of platinum jewelry set with nebula-gems snatched from their condensation-nests in the gas giant's depths.

Another gas giant, the blues and purples of a ripe plum blushing from clouds of midnight-black marbled with gold, icy rings slicing through swirling lunar orbits, merchants and mercenaries and privateers gliding from port to port in their sapphire-hulled ships, out where the empire scrabbles to find purchase. hollowed-out asteroids house cylindrical farms or monasteries of fatalistic leonine faiths or the huddled bodies of wound-down murine clockwork eunuchs, commissioned to advise and amuse some tiger-empress whose phoenix standard had long since faded into obscurity by the time the founder of the unicorn-banner dynasty first rallied soldiers to his cause.

An Earth-sized ball of grey-green ice, glassy smooth surfaces broken up by cryovolcanoes pumping volatiles up from a sooty core to rain down again in miserable pattering drizzles of methane through ammonia blizzards.

An ice giant, the immense azure sphere its inward neighbor might have been were it not for the vagaries of fate as involved in early star system formation, accompanied by seventeen bitterly cold moons whose tides have woven something enormous and ponderous of thought out of the inner sea of supercritical fluids.

a dozen or more dwarf planets of packed stone and ice, swinging through the outer black clouds on vastly elliptical orbits, witnesses to tumbling nickel-iron visitors and alien probes relaying streams of blurry photography and other observations back to some unknown homeworld as they fall endlessly through interstellar space.

[cantstoptheimagines]

Truce (Jacob Holland | The Sea Beast)

Summary — You and Jacob are forced to deal with one another for the sake of your respective crews’ sanities.

Requested by anonymous — I’ve done too much simping for Jacob and we need to turn the tables. Reader is a famous sea beast hunting captain and the Inevitable is in danger and Reader goes to help them cause of the code. They saves Jacob and he’s flustered about it and develops a crush on the Reader.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Fluff with a bit of steaminess (no smut though!); some cursing; (slight) enemies to lovers; flirtatious vibes, along with some friendly teasing; sailor slang; forced proximity (aka ‘There’s Only One Bed!’); mentions of alcohol (rum); a make out session; takes place ‘Pre-Red Journey’, so they’re still hunters; pirates, pirates, pirates, baby!

Notes ➳ Word Count is 3,365. ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them). ➳ Reader’s ship is named The Golden Plague. ➳ You can find a list of ‘Nautical Terminology’ at the end of this work.

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule 

Nothing made you smile more than Jacob Holland’s personal agony.

You couldn’t stop an arrogant grin from spreading over your lips at the sight of his crestfallen face, which was perfectly clear through the lens of your spyglass. Captain Crow’s ship, The Inevitable, was struggling to stay afloat in the distance. Despite being so close to a beast your crew had been tracking for weeks on end, you had quickly given the order to follow the Hunter’s Code and help Crow instead.

His crew cheered at the sight of you, relieved to finally have some help on the rough waves. You descended the quarterdeck as your ship eased to a stop. You finally settled against the wooden rail of the main deck, opposite of Crow, who had done the same in order to hold conversation between your respective vessels. 

On his left stood his loyal first mate, Sarah Sharpe, who saluted you with the blade of her knife. Jacob Holland took up Crow’s other side with crossed arms and a scowl as he glowered at you. Next to him, you could just barely make out a small head of dark curls over The Inevitable’s railings. 

“Got yourself into more trouble, I see,” you finally said.

“Aye,” nodded Crow, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the extensive damage on his precious ship. “Got into a nasty grapple with a terrible beast.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “Wouldn’t be a Crustacean, would it? Purple?”

“The very same!” answered Sarah. “How’d you figure?”

“Been after it for almost two weeks now,” you shrugged, “but it looks like it found you first. Did it go down?”

“No,” said Crow, shaking his head. “Got away.”

“Good!” you exclaimed, grinning widely. “The bounty’s still mine for the taking then.”

Jacob finally made his presence known with a loud scoff, “‘O course that’s all you care about right now!”

“Jacob!” growled Crow. “Shut it!”

The man quickly turned away from his adoptive father, embarrassed at being called out so publicly. 

“For your information, Holland,” you grimaced, “I came to help. Hunter’s Code, and all that. Though I’m sure you were too busy wetting yourself at the sight of the Crab to remember such things.”

He glared at you... and then at Sarah when she snickered in amusement. Crow shook his head with a smirk, and then said, “Think you could give us a tow in? It’ll be hard for us to make it to the nearest port without some help.”

“I can see that,” you said, looking down at a gaping hole that had damaged The Inevitable’s wooden hull. “That violet beast brought on quite a reckoning, didn’t it?”

“Oh, that?” chuckled Sarah, shaking her head. “That isn’t from our fight with the Crustacean.”

Your eyes widened, glancing between her and the ship’s hull, “The hell is it from then?”

“The Inevitable was bilged on her anchor after the beast left,” answered Crow. “Pierced straight through the hull.”

“Bilged on her anchor?!” you laughed. “Who was bringing it up?! Holland?!”

Jacob suddenly uncrossed his arms, pointed at you, and ordered, “Shut up, you knave!”

Sarah immediately scolded him, “Jacob! Keep quiet!” 

You, however, grinned widely when you realized that your joke had struck a nerve. Leaning further over the railing of your own ship, you continued, “Well, Holland, if I’m such a knave, I guess you don’t need my help after all.”

Crow couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, sharing an exasperated look with Sarah. This happened every single time your crews met on the waves. Whenever you or Jacob caught sight of one another, it was over. Neither of you could resist the chance to poke and prod at the other.

While it left the two of you with some sort of sick satisfaction, it left your respective crews with nothing but moans and groans of annoyance.

“Jacob,” sighed Crow, rubbing his furrowed brow tiredly, “apologize, so their crew can tow us in.”

“What?!” exclaimed Jacob, looking at him with an appalled expression. “I will not!”

“Jacob, please!” groaned Sarah. “Call a truce for once! If you don’t, they’ll leave and we’ll sink. D’you feel like sinking today? Because I don’t!”

Jacob huffed loudly. He tightly crossed his arms once more, contemplating his options. He glanced over his shoulder at The Inevitable’s crew, each of them hard at work to keep their beloved vessel from sinking.

Turning back, he almost wished The Inevitable would sink when his eyes met yours. You waved at him, wiggling your fingers playfully. With an expectant grin, you then leaned your cheek against your palm, and said, “I’m waiting, Holland.”

He closed his eyes with a dramatic sigh, only opening them when his father nudged him harshly with a sharp elbow. Kissing his teeth, he huffed once more, and muttered, “I’m... sorry...”

Your smile widened, “For?”

Sarah snorted at the sight of Jacob’s frustrated expression. He ignored her, however, in favor of sneering at you, “I’m sorry... for calling you a knave...”

“And?”

His nails were practically digging into his skin as he continued, “And... Can you help us...?”

“By?”

He gritted his teeth, “Towing... Us...”

“Into?”

“Port,” he growled, and then quietly muttered, “obviously.”

Despite his efforts, you could still make out his irritated tone. You gave him a once-over, and then licked your lips with a wild grin, “Can I help you by towing you into port...?”

In the blink of an eye, Jacob had uncrossed his arms and tightly gripped The Inevitable’s railing, leaning forward until he nearly fell overboard, “All right, now you’re just havin’ a laugh, you little—!”

“Jacob!” 

He fell silent at the sound of Crow’s voice. Looking over his shoulder, he met his father’s harsh glare. Jacob conceded, his head falling forward. He then straightened his posture, grimacing at your smug face, “Can you help us... by towing us into port... please...?”

You bit your bottom lip, tilting your head back and forth dramatically as though you were trying to decide whether or not such a favor was worth your time.

It was.

You knew that.

Jacob knew that, too. He resisted the urge to call your bluff, deciding it would probably be best for him to stew in angry silence instead, lest he face his father’s wrath. Or worse, Sarah Sharpe’s.

Finally, you paused with your head tilted to the left, slowly nodding, “Well, Holland... since you asked so nicely... why not?”

You then turned to face your own crew, and loudly exclaimed, “Drop the gangplanks! We’ve got guests aboard!”

Both crews cheered loudly. The Inevitable’s hull was quickly repaired with a makeshift patch for the journey ahead. And after Crow’s ship had been securely attached to your own so it could be towed into port, those aboard the damaged ship crossed over the gangplanks to their new, temporary vessel.

As they crossed over, you shook hands with Sarah Sharpe. You then gave Crow a pat on the shoulder when he nodded in thanks. However, you didn’t have time to greet any other crew members before you felt something — or someone, rather — become attached to your legs.

Looking down in surprise, you were greeted by the starstruck face of a young girl. Her brown eyes gazed at you with a wondrous expression, and she muttered, “Wow! You’re even more incredible in person!”

You laughed, “Why, thank you, lass! I thought I had noticed someone small over the railings.”

“I may be small,” she said, “but I’m as good as gold when it comes to—”

“Talkin’ people’s ears off,” interrupted a deep voice.

You looked up to find Jacob standing on the gangplank, arms crossed once again, waiting to come aboard. He spared you a brief glance, and then said, “Off you get, Maisie! You need to find a bunk for the night!”

She immediately let go of you, gave him a small salute, and smiled, “Yes, sir, Captain Someday!” 

As she disappeared within the crowd of chatting pirates, you chuckled, “‘Captain Someday’?” 

Jacob turned his attention to you, tilting his head and rolling his eyes, “Don’t.”

You scoffed, “Get off the gangplank so we can get moving, Holland.”

Gritting his teeth, he begrudgingly followed your demands. He watched as you hauled the gangplank back onto the main deck of your ship and held it by your side. He almost groaned in disgust when you gave him another smug grin, and said, “Welcome aboard, Holland! Enjoy your night on The Golden Plague!”

“‘The Golden Ass’ is more like it,” he muttered, turning away to join his crew. “Ow!”

He turned back in a flash when he felt the gangplank in your hands hit his side with a WHACK! He still had a fresh wound there from The Inevitable’s encounter with the Crustacean.

“Sorry,” you breathed, though he could tell that you were anything but apologetic. “My hands slipped.”

“Would you stop running a rig for once in your life?!”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, finally setting the gangplank aside. “But it’s so much fun!”

“It won’t be fun anymore when I—!”

“Avast ye!”

The two of you paused in your exchange, instead focusing on your conjoined crews. Crow and Sarah stood at the front, arms crossed and backs straight as they glowered. You could see Maisie trying her best to peep through the enormous crowd of hunters.

“That’s enough of that!” demanded Crow. “Just because you lot don’t get along doesn’t the rest of us need to suffer! Call a truce now! If not for your own peace of mind, then for our sanities!”

Your attention returned to Jacob. The two of you had moved closer to one another during your spat. You took the first step, holding out a hand with a cavalier smile, “I’ll agree to a ceasefire if you will... until we reach port, at least. Then you’re mine, Holland.”

For some reason, your words, specifically ‘mine’, set off an alarm within Jacob’s mind. He could feel warmth creeping along his neck and cheeks. His face fell into an expression of curiosity. However, it changed to one of indignation when, as he reached out to shake your hand, you quickly pulled it away before he could do so.

“Too slow,” you whispered, winking cockily, “as always!”

He frowned deeply, “Now you’re just being—!”

“Oi!”

Sarah slowly approached the two of you with a menacing look in her eyes. Shivers went down your spines at the sight of her. She was much more intimidating than Crow. 

“End this,” she commanded, pulling out her knife, “or I will.”

“Yes, Ms. Sharpe.”

She grinned when the two of you suddenly shifted from your usual arrogant attitudes to something far more demure. Jacob avoided meeting her eyes while you toed your boot into the wood of the main deck. Like children, thought Sarah, amused by your actions.

“Good,” she said. “Now, how about some rum for your guests?”

Your eyes met hers, and then you smiled at your awaiting crew, “Well? You heard the woman! Bring out the drinks!”

The crowd of hunters burst into another round of cheers as barrels upon barrels of rum were rolled onto the main deck. As soon as Sarah turned her back, however, you nudged Jacob to catch his attention, and whispered, “You’re still too slow, Holland!”

He reached out to grab your arm, only to miss as you disappeared into the celebratory group of pirates. Not one to back down from a fight, especially if it was with you, he quickly followed.

Crow and Sarah watched with amused gleams. Crow took a drink of his rum, and then said, “Still don’t understand how you can quiet them down like that. They never listen to me.”

Sarah shrugged with a cocky smile, “Perhaps you need to work on your glare.”

“I’m missing a deadlight, Sharpe!”

You weaved through the group of sleeping pirates. With so many people aboard, you were bound to run out of hammocks at some point. Extra blankets had been strewn about the main deck for those who volunteered to sleep beneath the stars. The others had filled the primary cabins to the brim.

You had allowed Maisie to take the private guest’s quarters on the other end of the ship. She had been ecstatic at the thought, claiming that she felt like ‘the most distinguished guest to ever sail on The Golden Plague’. Not to mention, it had been rather amusing when she slammed the door in Jacob’s face after sticking her tongue out at him.

A few hunters, including Sarah and Crow, had been welcomed into your personal quarters for the night. The floor, similar to the main deck, had become the temporary bed to a huddle of pirates.

Crow slept on a hammock that gently swung back and forth next to a porthole. Sarah had taken up the seat at your private desk, hat over her face and feet propped up as she leaned back in a plush chair.

You quietly stepped over Ms. Merino, nearly tripping when she rolled onto her side during her sleep. It felt like a relief when you finally reached your own bed. You unlaced your boots and quickly changed into something more comfortable. Just as your shirt had slipped onto your body, the door slowly creaked open.

“No room for me?”

You smiled to yourself, pulling back the blanket on your bed. You spared at glance at Jacob as he examined your cabin, taking in every last detail.

“Well, considering that my bed is the only spot left on the entire ship,” you said, “I suppose you could try the crow’s nest. If you’re afraid of sharing, that is.”

You listened to his indignant scoff as you took refuge in your bedsheets. Facing the wall, you closed your eyes, listening to the soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the hull of your ship. However, your peace didn’t last long.

Your bed suddenly dipped. Furrowing your brows, you looked over your shoulder, and asked, “What d’you think you’re doing?”

Jacob’s eyes were slightly hazy from the rum he had partaken in earlier. He was, however, sober enough to offer you a smirk as he removed his heavy boots. After tossing them aside, he shrugged, “I ain’t afraid ‘o sharing.” 

You grunted when the weight of him caused the bed to shift. Along with a large wave rocking the ship, you were nearly knocked into his side as he made himself comfortable next to you. Rolling onto your back, you glowered at him, “You’ll be afraid soon enough if you get too close.”

With closed eyes, Jacob chuckled tiredly. He was on his back as well, one arm bent to place a hand beneath his head. The other rested against his stomach.

“Why’s that?” he asked, finally looking over at you. “Are you afraid that you’ll like me being close?”

He nearly burst with laughter at your reaction. Your face twisted and you quickly sat up, “In your dreams, Holland!”

Jacob quickly shushed you when he heard someone else shift in their sleep. He reached out, grabbed the back of your shirt, and pulled you back onto the sheets. You glared at him again when you landed against your pillow.

“D’you ever shut up?”

He was partially leaning over you now, balancing on his hand as he looked down at you. Your imagination got the better of you when his eyes seemed to glance fleetingly at your lips. In my dreams, maybe, you thought.

Your personal sentiments might have surprised others, but you had no gripes with admitting to yourself that Jacob Holland was a handsome man. However, life on the high seas left no time for such things, so you had resorted to... well, pissing him off.

It was rather entertaining, after all. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jacob felt the same. He hated you for being so infuriatingly attractive. Especially now as he gazed down at you, looking so sweet as you lay beneath him. He failed in stopping his eyes from glancing at your lips.

“We hunters always want what we can’t have,” as Crow had always put it. “It’s the briny deep’s greatest curse.”

His father had been right, of course. Like always. Jacob wanted you, despite the fact that such a thing seemed impossible. But still, he couldn’t help it.

“Perhaps I’d shut up if you’d—! Mmph!”

The rest of your sentence was cut off. Jacob’s hand pressed against your cheek. He was barely holding himself up with the other as he shoved his lips against yours. Meanwhile, your arms quickly wrapped themselves around his shoulders and your fingers weaved into his thick, blond locks.

Your eyes closed as you pulled Jacob almost impossibly close. He grunted, falling onto his elbows when you did so. His heavy chest was flush against yours. There was hardly any room to breathe as his other hand made its way around your hips. The one on your cheek slowly shifted to the back of your neck.

His lips slowly trailed away from your own. He pressed open-mouthed kisses against your skin on his journey to your neck. You sighed at the feeling, biting your lip as you tried coming to your senses. Your eyes darted across the room when Crow shifted in his sleep.

When Jacob abruptly dug his nose against your jawline and roughly bit at the skin of your throat, you gasped, “Holland!”

At first, it seemed as though he didn’t hear you. Either that or he just didn’t care. Only when you muttered his name a second time did you receive a deep hum in return.

“Holland!” you groaned, tugging at his hair. “Considering that there are about fifteen other people in this room right now, I don’t—! Ah—!”

He chuckled at your sudden cry, which had been due to him slipping his large hand beneath your shirt and digging his nails into your side. He continued his ministrations, which still included kissing, biting, and tugging at you, as you let out another groan.

“You don’t...?” he muttered. “What is it, love?”

You almost smiled at the nickname. That is, until the realization of his mockery from your earlier interactions suddenly hit you, “Only I’m allowed to do that.”

“Suppose that means that I’m the only one who can do this then.”

Before you could question him, your mouth fell open with a whine. Jacob’s hips ground heavily against yours. He chuckled against your shoulder, only to release a deep moan when your fingers sharply dug into the space between his shoulder blades. When your head tilted back, he took the opportunity to surge forward. He harshly bit your throat once more, both of hands moving to the back of your neck in order to pull you closer.

“Holland!” you mewled. “I don’t think it’s the right time for this... especially not when your own father is asleep just across the way.”

Jacob paused at your words. He panted heavily against you, slowly pulling away. His head turned to look at the sleeping hunters around the room. You could’ve sworn he had a glare on his face as his eyes landed on Crow, who was snoring away in his hammock, unaware of the mischief his son was currently up to.

Jacob let out a deep sigh, and then he muttered, “Damn cockblocks.”

He smiled down at you when he heard you snicker in amusement. His hands moved to rest against your jawline and the pads of his thumbs gently traced over your cheekbones. Groaning with a happy grin, he allowed himself to finally return to his original position of lying next to you. This time, however, he brought you with him.

Resting on his back, Jacob’s hand went beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling. His other arm tucked you tightly into his side. His fingertips gently caressed your clothed hip, repeatedly trailing up and down.

“I take it this means you’re enjoying your stay on The Golden Plague?”

Jacob tilted his head to look at you with an amused smirk. You quietly gasped when his hand suddenly shifted to your behind.

“It’s like I said before, love,” he chuckled. “‘The Golden Ass’ is more like it.”

Nautical Terminology ➳ Avast ye! — Phrase used to call for someone’s attention. ➳ Bilged on her anchor — Phrase used when a ship is caught on, or pierced, by its own anchor. ➳ Bounty — The reward for a deed, usually something of monetary value. ➳ Briny deep — Phrase meaning “ocean” or “sea”. ➳ Ceasefire — A discontinuance (either permanent or temporary) of hostilities between parties; another word for “truce”. ➳ Crow’s Nest — A small platform near the top of a mast, where a lookout could have a better view of the seas. ➳ Deadlight — Another word for “eye”. ➳ Gangplank — A removable board or ramp used to travel between ships or between ships and piers. ➳ Hull — The body of a ship; the watertight enclosure of a ship, which protects cargo, machinery, and accommodation spaces. ➳ Knave — A dishonorable person. ➳ Main deck — The uppermost complete deck extending from front to back. ➳ Porthole — A small exterior window in a ship. ➳ Quarterdeck — A raised deck behind the main mast, usually from which the captain commands the ship. ➳ Rum — A pirate’s favorite drink! ➳ Running (or, run) a rig — Playing tricks. ➳ Vessel — Another word for “ship” or “boat”.

#2022 #the sea beast #the sea beast imagine #the sea beast imagines #the sea beast x reader #jacob holland imagine #jacob holland imagines #jacob holland x reader #truce #requested

[zillyeh]

L'appel du L'eau

Characters: Miles, The Racketeer, The Oddsman (ancestors w/ no pages unfortunately soz) Pre Smiles Miles thing hi<3

Under the bright Alternian moons, the lower Delhon docks swayed. The trolls walking the uneasy planks grew sparser and sparser as sunrise grew closer- returning to their ships or the various other places sailors spent their time during the harsh daylight.

Rare was it that a certain pirate didn’t stay in the company of a particular jadeblood until the madame kicked him out. Rare as the weather being this nice in this season. Rare as that jadeblood choosing to be out on the docks rather than seeing clients.

His short mane of curls blew behind him at the speed he walked, striding as long as his little legs could muster. It would be a run if he didn’t want to look as desperate as he felt. The heels of his buckled boots clicked fast, his catlike eyes darting between ships until he found the one his companion had described. The Scull Kraken stood tall, proud and purple in the moonslight, the squid patterning carved into her hull shining a brilliant gold.

Amillo felt like he could burst into a desperate, desperate sprint. Domnik’s horns also shone under Alternia’s three moons, next to him the seadweller he could only assume was the “brother” he’d heard about.

“Domnik!” Milo shouted down the dock when he was just close enough. The both of them startled, the taller violet’s hand flicking to his side.

“Amillo?” Domnik asked, confused. He swatted his captain’s twitchy fingers away from his firearm.

“I thought I’d never find you before you left,” Milo said, breathless now that he’d stopped. “I was thinking about your offer. Also hello, you must be Rothan. Amillo Ariika.” Milo straightened himself, smoothing his coat before offering his hand.

The taller of the pair of highbloods eyed it with disdain. Milo faltered slightly, but he daintily switched the offer of the handshake to a loose hanging wrist- fingers to kiss if he were so inclined.

He was not.

“Amillo what are you doing here?” Domnik asked gruffly, lowering Milo’s hand with his own.

“I have been turning that offer you proposed to me around my head for nights, Dom,” he said, chin high in the air. The vertical feet between the jade and the other two trolls was almost laughable. The flowery fins of the seadweller shifted as he tilted his head.

“You’ve been proposing things to…” Rothan eyed Milo’s least frilly pair of puffy shirts and tight trousers with disdain, “Suckerfish?”

“Rottie-” The blueblood’s pale face darkened noticeably.

“Is that a problem, captain?” Amillo asked with a polite defiance.

“Milo-” Domnik attempted through gritted teeth. Rothan shut him up with a hand on his chest.

“What does my idiot brother offer you, eh? More money than your domineering lady takes from your affairs?” There was a joking tone to his voice that made Amillo’s ears twitch annoyedly. 

“Something like that.” Milo cast his sharp gaze to Domnik, uncomfortable and bracing for impact. “Perhaps I’m a bit too romantic, Domnik? To think perhaps you had more intent with me than most?”

“Will you get on with it?” Rothan interjected before Domnik could take a breath in. “What do you bother me for, jade?”

“I am coming with you,” Milo said, as if that were an obvious fact. Those five words hung heavy in the air, Rothan seemingly waiting for a punchline. He did not receive one.

That didn’t stop him from laughing.

Cruel and cartoonish, doubling himself over to hold his knees, exaggeratedly wiping a tear from his eye. Domnik chuckled uncomfortably, but Milo remained unmoved. He crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his foot as he waited for him to be finished.

“Oh that is rich- oh.” Rothan paused, something in Amillo’s eyes giving him reason to you. “You think you’re serious.”

“I am serious,” Milo said firmly, tugging on Domnik’s sleeve to pull him to his side. Domnik, for some reason, allowed this. “My matesprit said he desperately wished I could come with him, and as it so happens, I’m free tonight.”

The violet looked between Domnik and the jadeblood, some bioluminescent anger pockmarking his neck around his bud shaped fins.

“Dom- fuck’s sake, idiot get your ass back over here.”

“Maybe we hear him out?” Domnik asked sheepishly, “Rottie-”

“Captain now. I sooner throw you off this dock before I take your dainty little screwtoy out on the water.”

“Don’t talk about him like-”

“Oh so it iiis more than that, da? Of course it is. You get softer every fucking time we dock this port.” He jutted his chin out to Milo. “You think that thing can survive my ship?”

A low hiss escaped Milo, Domnik’s hand instinctively moved to stop him going further.

“Shows what you know about this port, Lilyfin.” Milo shot, looking like a child being held back by Domnik’s trunk of an arm. “You would think that someone who’s name precedes him as far as it does would look into what role the suckerfish on these docks play.” 

Milo kicked in the back one of Domnik’s knees, sending him down with a yelp. His head was just level with Amillo’s chest. The glint of his blade at Domnik’s throat was immediately preceded by the click of Rothan’s gun. Milo hardly blinked, keeping Domnik’s head in place by his horn.

“Could I survive this province were I not half as much a savage beast as you are, captain?”

“Let him go,” Rothan snarled, trigger discipline waning. Miles barked out a laugh, gripping Domnik’s horn tighter.

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? Like I have anything to lose? Like I won’t come back from it?” Milo’s skin rippled as he taunted, the undead alabaster glow sending a shiver down Rothan’s spine.

“I will shoot you in your head,” he said, a hitch to his voice that made Milo’s smile widen.

“I’ll make it his,” he said, jostling Dom around by the horn.

“Milo-”

“Quiet, Dommy.”

Rothan paused, weighing his options, but quickly came to his senses. Something in Milo’s eyes must have scared him.

"You think I'll let you on my ship one step after this?" He straightened himself, lowering his gun. "I say yes, you let him go, I shove you in with the sharks to play chew toy."

"Rottie‐?!"

"Shut up, Domnik," said both Milo and Rothan at once. 

"I would never hurt Domnik if I get what I want, captain," Milo reassured, keeping pressure on the blade at the blueblood's throat. "I can be a model addition to your crew if you let me."

"Right."

"I think we should give him a chance, Rottie," Domnik strained, trying to keep his throat unopened. Rothan swore in his upper province tongue, swinging his gun around as he spoke.

"Still, dipshit? How often does he have you on your knees that you want to bring him with us?"

"If he disarmed me, couldn't he-"

"He disarmed you because you're stupid." Rothan raised his gun again. "Get up, Domnik. Get back over here."

Dom didn't move. Amillo wouldn't let him, or perhaps he was on his side after all. Rothan let out a frustrated growl and stomped. He holstered his gun, but Milo's hand was steady.

"You actually know how to fight?" he asked exasperatedly. "Not just this little trick?"

"It's a miracle none of us got hired for your head, Lilyfin. Yes I can fight. I can shoot, run, and steer if need be." The breeze brushed Milo's hair back for him. The smell of the ocean was nothing new, but tonight it smelled like freedom. He was so close to leaving this place behind. For good. 

"I know you're down a crewmate as well," Milo continued. Rothan swore again, staring daggers through Domnik.

"How much did you fucking tell him you gulper-mouthed moron?!"

"A little- I- You know how it is when you're-"

"No I don't because I don't need to pay for port whores every time we dock!" Captain Lilyfin stomped again to exaggerate his anger. Or maybe he was just that dramatic. “I can keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh I've heard that,” Milo said, tapping on Domnik's horn. “Daylight is approaching, captain. I'm offering myself for nothing more than the ability to get away from Delhon. I want nothing more, I want nothing less.”

“Kitten,” Dom whispered, “Could you, perhaps, let the knife down a little, I'm-”

“Shut up, Dom,” Milo and Rothan said at the same time. Dom did as he was ordered. Rothan paced at the end of the dock, then stopped with a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he growled, “Persistent little he-wench… I have three conditions.”

“List them.” Milo's undead heart could be mistaken for alive at the pace his pulse was thrumming.

“Release the idiot.” Milo did so, keeping his dagger raised. Domnik scrambled to Rothan’s side. He received a hard slap across the face before the captain continued.

“Your fangs don't touch me. My crew will not be weakened by your diet either.”

“Understood, captain.” Rothan rolled his eyes. Domnik rubbed his cheek. Captain Lilyfin paced closer, enough to make Milo tense.

“I need you to prove you want this, kitten,” he sneered. “Not enough to yes yes yes me- I need a display of loyalty.”

Rothan got close enough to touch, if not for the blade in Milo's hand. He leaned down anyway, baring his sharp teeth.

“I want your finger.”

“Rotti-”

Captain Lilyfin shot his first mate a deadly look over his shoulder. Milo bristled, briefly looking back to the docks, then to the waiting black of the ocean.

“Which. One?” he asked through gritted teeth. Rothan barked out a laugh.

“Forefinger. I'll let you pick the hand.” He pinched Milo's nose, despite the threat of the dagger. “And since you so kindly brought your own blade… do it yourself.”

Domnik made some noise of protest, but Rothan shut him up with another stomp on the pier. Amillo hesitated, eying the dagger in his left hand. It would be such a small price… they can make new ones, right?

“Well, koshka? Or do you not want boarding before the sunrise?”

“Of course, captain,” Milo said with hostile grace, switching his blade to the right. The jadeblood felt the knuckle on his left hand. Bone or joint… Bone would be more difficult, but joint could take more hand with it. 

Good thing his blade was sharp.

He positioned his dagger against his forefinger, holding it in place with his teeth. 

His new captain let out a low hum, holding Domnik back by the jacket. Milo was eerily silent as he turned his head like a predator shaking its prey's neck to death. Barely a grunt of pain when steel sliced through solid. The loudest noise any part of him made was when digit hit dock. His skin rippled white again. Most unsettlingly, so did his finger, until it couldn't and lay there dead on the planks. He bled surprisingly little, but what could one expect from something undead? That wasn’t to say no blood stained the dock, his dagger, or his face, but not nearly as much green as one would think.

“Satisfied?” he snarled, sounding more like a wounded animal than a troll. Rothan still held Domnik back from him. Though, his efforts to get to him paused when he licked his own blood off his blade. All without breaking eye contact with Captain Lilyfin.

“Fucked up little thing, aren't you?” Rothan leaned down to pick up his severed digit as if it were a dull coin on the ground. “Satisfied enough. Get whatever shit you’re bringing, ninefingers.” He wiggled it at him as if to beckon him. “Unless they don’t let suckerfish keep more possessions than the frills that cover your asses.”

Milo let out a low hiss and grabbed Domnik’s arm to tug him back to his side. Without a word he sheathed his dagger, wrenching a handkerchief out of Dom’s pocket to wrap his hand with. 

“Uh, Milo-”

“Show me around the ship, won’t you, first mate Abroka?” he said with a far too wide grin and far too sweet a tone. “I am here on your offer, aren’t I? Plus, it’s almost daybreak.”

#Zilly drabbles #Smiles tag #Mr. Smiles #Racketeer tag #Oddsman tag #L'appel du L'eau #this ones kinda long lol #siiigh ninefingers siiigh

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 15, 11 avril 1897, Paris. 1. Chapeau Réjane. 2. Toquet Maud. 3. Toilette en serge. 4. Toilette en vigogne. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

1. Chapeau Réjane à 6 fr. 95. La forme ronde et coiffante est en paille de riz très souple; sur le côté, moud formé par des coques en très beau ruban de salin ; le côté opposé est orne du géranium s’élevant en aigrette. La forme se fait eu noir seulement et le ruban est noir ou mousse. Le géranium crème ou rose teinté rouge se remplace par du lilas blanc ou mauve, des bleuets nuance naturelle, des œillets, des roses ou des pavots de nuance au choix: noir, rose, rubis, mauve, vert, crème et paille. Toutes ces fleurs sont avec feuillage.

1. Réjane hat at 6 fr. 95. The round and styling shape is made of very flexible rice straw; on the side, grinds formed by shells in a very beautiful saline ribbon; the opposite side is adorned with the geranium rising in a crest. The form is made in black only and the ribbon is black or foam. The cream or pink tinted red geranium is replaced by white or mauve lilac, natural shade cornflowers, carnations, roses or poppies in shades of your choice: black, pink, ruby, mauve, green, cream and straw. All these flowers are with foliage.

—

2. Toquet Maud à 4 francs pour dames et jeunes filles. La forme gracieuse, avec fond jais, est entourée de fleurs et de gaze plissée noire. Nœud formé par des coques en très beau ruban de salin noir. Nous laissons les fleurs au choix entre des roses, pavots et œillets de nuance noire, verte, crème, jaune, rose, rubis ou mauve, des violettes blanches ou naturelles et des bleuets nuance naturelle. Aucun envoi n’est fait contre remboursement; adresser mandat-poste à M. Orsoni, 3, rue de la Sablière, Paris. Ajouter 1 fr. 50 pour frais d’emballage et de port eu gare française (pour deux chapeaux 2 fr 35.) Pour l’étranger, le supplément pour les frais d’emballage et de port est de 2 fr. 25 par chapeau, lin délai de huit jours nous est nécessaire pour la bonne exécution des commandes.

2. Toquet Maud at 4 francs for ladies and young girls. The graceful form, with a jet background, is surrounded by flowers and black pleated gauze. Knot formed by hulls in very beautiful ribbon of black saline. We leave the flowers to choose from roses, poppies and carnations in black, green, cream, yellow, pink, ruby or mauve shades, white or natural violets and natural shade cornflowers. No shipment is made COD; send money order to Mr. Orsoni, 3, rue de la Sablière, Paris. Add 1 fr. 50 for packing and postage at the French station (for two hats 2 fr 35.) For foreign countries, the supplement for packing and postage is 2 fr. 25 per hat, a period of eight days is necessary for the proper execution of orders.

—

3. Toilette en serge. Jupe cerclée de galons mohair, plate devant et sur les hanches et plissée derrière, haute ceinture-corselet en taffetas. Boléro croisé, à revers, orné de galons, col rabattu et petite cravate écossaise, plastron de toile à l’intérieur. Manches d’une seule pièce drapées par des points et garnies de petits jockeys ornés galon mohair. Matériaux: 8 mètres serge, 0m60 taffetas.

3. Twill ensemble. Skirt encircled with mohair braid, flat in front and on the hips and pleated in the back, high corselet belt in taffeta. Double-breasted bolero, with lapels, adorned with braid, turn-down collar and small Scottish tie, canvas plastron inside. One-piece sleeves draped with points and trimmed with small jockeys adorned with mohair braid. Materials: 8 meters serge, 0m60 taffeta.

—

4. Toilette en vigogne. Jupe ronde, garnie de baguettes piquées et boutons. Corsage blouse en taffetas écossais, enserré par une ceinture drapée en satin, empiècement carré formant épaulettes garni déboutons. Manches d’une seule pièce drapées par des points, petits revers au bas, cravate nouée devant et petit col rabattu. Matériaux: 6 in. vigogne, 1 m 50 taffetas écossais. Ceinture et col en satin.

4. Vicuna ensemble. Round skirt, trimmed with stitched strips and buttons. Blouse bodice in tartan taffeta, encircled by a draped satin belt, square yoke forming shoulder pads trimmed with buttons. One-piece sleeves draped by stitching, small lapels at the bottom, tie tied in front and small turn-down collar. Materials: 6 in. vicuna, 1 m 50 Scottish taffeta. Satin waistband and collar.

#Le Petit écho de la mode #19th century #1800s #1890s #1897 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #cover #retouch #description #Forney #dress #toilette #hat #chapeau #gigot #collar #plaid #corselet

[ulysses-blues]

Find The WORD

(tag game)

Thanks for the tag @buffythevampirelover !! My words : alright, hungry, tree(s), kiss

“Alright, I got it, I’ll be here.” Evenore sighed before continuing on her way. She was already prepared for her journey with rations, a full waterskin, and a few other useful items. She didn’t believe she needed anything else but she also didn’t want to wait around with that group for longer than she needed to, the boat ride with Torin was going to be insufferable as is. _ She took the bowl, looking to find some sort of stew. Her mouth watered at the smell, she was so terribly hungry. She quickly tossed away the thought that it might be poisoned, drugged or dangerous and dug in. The broth was thick and flavourful, the potatoes and carrots were perfectly tender and the meat melted in her mouth. She hadn’t noticed she was scarfing down the food like a ravenous dog until she looked up from the quickly emptied bowl to see a snickering devil. Her cheeks grew warm once again as she wiped the corner of her lip with her thumb. The two just stared at each other for a moment. _ The rhythmic sound of waves washing over the ship’s hull filled Evenore’s ears as she stared out across the water to see the twinkling trees that bordered the island’s shore. Large sturdy trees that reminded her of the great oaks that grew around the college’s campus. Their leaves were every colour of the rainbow, some were even an odd violet or blue colour unlike anything Evenore had seen before. Between the shifting leaves that danced in the soft wind, Evenore could see a faint light shine out. What magical trees, she would think to herself, the thoughts of impending doom washing from her mind. _ I don't have the word 'kiss' yet... yet _

I'll tag @kbwritesstuff @faeriecinna @theopossuminyourgarbagecan @nettleandthorne no pressure, have fun :) Your words are : colour, honour, question, soar

#writing #creative writing #writeblr #tag game #excerpts #writing wip

[littleeyesofpallas]

[Kanto] [Johto] [Hoenn] [Sinnoh] [Unova] [Kalos] [Alola] [Galar] [Hisui] [Champs] [Paldea] [Paldea2] [Paldea3] [Teams] [Misc.]

Ya know who else I've totally neglected in this series of posts? The Battle Frontier bosses.

Anabel's name is LILA[リラ] from Lilac, hence her color scheme. That one's super straight forward.

Spencer's name was UKON[ウコン] from ukon[鬱金] the name for tumeric, a type of ginger root that is very popular traditional chinese medicine.

Noland's name was DATURA[ダツラ] from the genus of poisonous flowers in the Nightshade family, as well as other such charming common names as Devil's Trumpet, Hell's Bells, and Devil's Weed. They are all not only extremely poisonous but psychoactive

Brandon's name was JINDAI[ジンダイ] a neat pun as the common Japanese name of this cactus, jindai[神代], means "god time" as in "age of the gods/myth" in other words, "ancient," which of course lends to his role as Ruins Maniac/Pyramid King.

Tucker's name is HEATH[ヒース] which funny enough means he shares a namesake with Erika, and with Heath, aka HEATHER, Briar's ancestor that wrote the violet/scarlet book.

Greta's name is KOGOMI[コゴミ] from kogomi[屈] the Japanese name for the fiddlehead fern, used in cooking. They have a super distinctive curled shape which is where she gets her hair.

and then Lucy's name is AZAMI[アザミ] as in Azami[薊]: "thistle," appropriate for her prickly demeanor.

Technically I already did Darach's once, but I'll go over it again here. His name is KOKURAN[コクラン] as in kokuran[黒蘭], lit. "Black Orchid" and as a play on that Caitlin is actually named Cattleya[カトレア] from the Catelleya genus of orchids. His ancestor Anthe was named Sharon[シャロン] in reference to the Rose of Sharon, which is actually a common name of a few unrelated flowers, including the national flower of South Korea. (Oddly she seems to bear absolutely no relation to the Orchid theme between Kokuran and Cattleya. )

Argenta's original name was KEITO[ケイト] from keitou[鶏頭] the Japanese name for the Silver Cockscomb, which has very obvious color associations that lend to her design. Also the Silver Cockscomb's scientific name is the Celosia argenta, which is where they got her English name.

Palmer's name is KURUTSUGU[クロツグ] after kurutsugu[桄榔] the Kaong Sugar palm

Thorton's name was NEJIKI[ネジキ] from nejiki[捩木] the Japanese name of the Anyaar/Angeri(Lyonia ovalifolia). They have thee adorable little white bell flowers.

and finally for this batch, it's Dahlia who was in fact just named DAHLIA[ダリア]. For the image i picked a yellow Spider Dahlia specifically since it seemed to match her color scheme and hair

Oh and just to round out this little batch of extras, Barry's name is actually JUN[ジュン] from Junichi Masuda, game director of the core Pokemon series. It's a play on Gary's name being SHIGERU[シゲル], after Shigeru Miyamoto. But sadly it has nothing to do with his dad's name.

While I'm here...

Cheryl's name was MOMI[モミ] from momi[籾] which is a word that refers to unhulled rice specifically. Unrelated to her ancestor Wasabi's name.

Marley's name is MAI[マイ] from mai[米], which is just the word for "Rice" as a food staple, so depending on context it can implicitly mean when hulled, because the alternative would be momi, but it does also generally to the crop and even the food industry. (Ironically Mai in Hisui was actually named YONE[ヨネ] which is an alternate reading of the same kanji for "rice" [米], yet they named her Mai in English, Marley's actual Japanese name...)

Go figure, Buck's name is in fact BAKU[バク] and it's the Japanese word baku[麦] for Wheat or Barley. By sheer coincidence it is how Japanese phoneticizes "Buck" but it does not actually refer to Buck Wheat. Also he has nothing to do with his brother, nor their ancestor's names.

Mira's name is MIRU[ミル] from "Millet." It's also where her little hairtie design comes from.

and finally, Riley's name is GEN[ゲン] from genmai[玄米] the name for brown rice, which is a kind of earthier more nutritious rice.

So oddly, there is a concept in Chinese agriculture and cooking called Wu Gu[五穀]: "The Five Grains" that refers to the 5 staple crops of Chinese agriculture dating back to ancient times, and several far et cultures have their own variations on this... but despite the obvious grain theming the 5 stat specialist trainers don't actually match any specific version of the 5 Grains?? It definitely feels like that was the intended reference, yet it sort of falls apart in the specifics... maybe just a disagreement on what made fora good name or not?

Oh and as for a few other oddball ancestors...

Sabi, Mai, and Zisu I've all technically covered before in one form or another but the quick overview is that Sabi was named WASABI[ワサビ], YONE we mentioned above, and Zisu was named PERILLA[ペリーラ], after the same type of redleaf mint that Flint, aka OBA[オーバ], was named after.

Pesselle's name is KINE[キネ] from kine[杵]: "(mortar &)pestel" which is both a cute play on Millet and on her role as head of the medical division and the grinding of medicinal herbs.

and Riley's ancestor Rye is actually named HAKU[ハク] as in haku[白]"white"but sensibly a reference to hakumai[白米]:"White rice" in parallel to Gen's gen[玄] also reading literally as "Black/Dark" when referring to "brown rice."

#pokemon #pokemeta i guess #pokemon emerald #pokemon dppt #pokemon hgss #pokemon legends arceus #hisui #sinnoh #hoenn #johto #battle frontier

[ms-scarletwings]

Every Dredge Aberration (2023), Part 9

Savage Baracuda

Encyclopedia #127

Aberrant form of baracuda

Description:

It thrashes about ruinously, jaws snapping and tearing its own flesh apart. A body sundered by ravenous hatred.

Comment: It can’t go unsaid that source did a strangely phenomenal job on the art delivery with this. The description as well, since it invokes to me another disfiguring madness I’ve seen before.

How to catch: A Day-swimmer found in shallow shoals in the Stellar Basin.

Concertina Baracuda

Encyclopedia #128

Aberrant form of baracuda

Description:

Its body extends, then collapses together with each gasping breath. Nature dissected into mechanical motion.

Comment: Your childhood accordion fish paper crafts, brought through the stark filter that is reality.

How to catch: ^^^

Gazing Shark

Encyclopedia #129

Aberrant form of hammerhead

Description:

Huge bulbous eyes move about on large fleshy stalks, siphoning energy from its body. Its search is not over.

Comment: Disfigurement and intrigue aside, what makes this mutation particularly notable is its bounty- starting at base of $425 per head. Prior to the discovery of The Pale Reach, this was actually the most valuable individual aberrant available in the sea. Measuring by value per inventory slot, it still holds second place for most profitable catch in range.

How to catch: Giving one of the biggest bang for a buck, a couple of these could go a decent length towards your next ship renovation. As with other large sharks, hammerhead spawns are few and far between at oceanic depths. This species called the Stellar Basin its home. While it will be available night and day, it may be worth risking a trip or two into the fog after this beaut, for the slightly raised chance of an aberrant appearance. As with any abominable fish, bait and the fishing tools from the deep can only help in your search. Before anything else, a sturdy and spacious hull must be considered before seeking out the beasts, keeping in mind their 9 Slots of cargo requirements.

Crown of Nadir

Encyclopedia #130

Aberrant form of crow

Description:

A fractal gateway, reaching beyond the abyss. From its maw whispers a call from below.

Comment: It resembles uncomfortably the crab pot boon from one of the shrines- Mouth of the Deep. Perhaps one of these was involved in its construction. Despite this creature’s association with the water, “Nadir” is a celestial term. In the astronomical sense, it directs to a point on the sphere one stands on directly under the observer’s current location. It means below one in the sense of the lowest bottom possible, and taken from the literal Arabic, “opposite”. For pondering’s sake, if symbolic link from the name “crown of thorns” is to Jesus of Nazareth, ask yourself what more fitting a name could be given to this cosmic perversion than Crown of Nadir? I have no answer, myself.

How to catch: Must be captured by a large enough crab pot. Requires 9 squares of inventory and is only found at depths of 5 meters or shallower in the Basin.

Entangled Crab

Encyclopedia #131

Aberrant form of blue crab

Description:

Glistening purple strings sprout from solid rock, tying and untying themselves. They fall way and whither, making way for new knots.

Comment: Could barely be recognized as the crab it supposedly once was. A lovely color of sea spaghetti, at least, and this is a good thing, since the painter will be wanting one towards unlocking the royal purple pigment.

How to catch: Dwells the same depth and areas as the crown of thorns starfish, while only taking up 2 slots, making it suitable for smaller traps if checked frequently.

Imperious Lobster

Encyclopedia #132

Aberrant form of Spiny Lobster

Description:

Iridescent purple feelers recoil from the dry air. Sacs of violet fluid embedded in its carapace begin to drain.

Comment: No answers in sight as to what this fluid is, or its purpose, but there has been discovered a much better function- mixing into a stylish new coat of paint for the fisherman’s vessel.

How to catch: A pot catch that actually does not overlap with the zone of the previous two. Place traps between 5 and 50 meters in the Basin.

#dredge game #body horror #grotesque fish #aberrant fish #fish horror #primal reference #scarlet talks about things

[the-consortium]

To Duco:

Have you "asked" Diomat to train the geese on how to ambush Herik?

Bright. A red glow, streaked with veins. Drifting into yellow in the centre. A membrane, stretched out and stretched over him. Why is it bright? It's too early to get up. Only five more …. time … Minutes … Unit … Chrono … Static noise.

He growls and it's not a sound from his throat, but a rumble from something that should be around him but isn't. Why is he here? It's too bright?! The growl becomes a roar, low and spluttering. He can't see! Only red and veins and light!

The voice is cold and calm. "Blood pressure 140/200, hypotension. Duco, give him more." - "Yes, Chief Apothecary"

He knows the voices. And he's not happy.

"He's waking up, Chief Apothecary!" - "He shouldn't until his blood pressure has stabilised. Below 180/300, he's not fit to be connected." - "Tell him that, not me!"

The strange feeling that he's not whole. That parts of his body don't belong to him. He roars out his anger and wants to lash out. But his … Arms … Arms … claws … do not obey him. He feels them twitch. Several metres away.

The voice again, which he can only vaguely place a face to. Violet eyes. But that doesn't help. "Diomat. You are not in battle. You're in your crypt. It's your monthly maintenance. Diomat!"

Nothing makes sense right now. His roar takes shape. He tears his eyes open. And sees … grey. Static. Those are not his eyes. "Squad! To me! Defensive square!"

"Damn it, Diomat, shut up! Duco, give him twelve more units. I need to check his dorsal connective ports, there's an infection somewhere."

His squad! He senses they're there. Turns round, looking for them. Freezes. His reflection. In the glass surface of a tank. Human remains in the tank. Foetal curled up. His remains. The reflection … His face bones. He looks through the eyes of a Servoskull. He stares. At his remains. At the reflection. Servoskull. He's in a servoskull? His consciousness?

"Life signs stabilised, Chief Apothecary." - "Good. Diomat? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He turns - the servoskull - around on itself. The fixed, lidless gaze wanders from the glass tank to his hull, which is trapped in a nest of cables and tubes and on which several Hereteks are working.

Finally, he answers. With the vox unit on his sarcophagus. Static crackling, then the familiar drone again. "Chief Apothecary. I understand you" - "Good. Your usual procedures." - "Yes, indeed."

He is silent again. Where is the squad? He needs someone to watch his back. He trusts Fabius in a way. But not completely. Nobody should be stupid enough to do that.

Something flashes briefly in a dark corner. Eyes. He still has to teach them not to look into the light so that their eyes don't reflect. Still - they're doing quite well. Diomat feels Duco's grin even before he has turned the servoskull back towards the Night Lord.

Well, for the Squad, Curze's methods are clearly more suitable than the Sons of Fulgrim's approach.

Diomat rumbles a sigh.

#warhammer #fabius bile #roleplay #Diomat #I decided Astartes have way higher blood pressure thah baseline humans

[justforbooks]

The writer-activist Wendy Mitchell, who has died aged 68, won hearts and minds by advocating for living positively with dementia. She was determined to remind people that those living with the disease are not “sufferers” and that there is “a beginning, a middle and an end to the disease – with so much life to be lived in between”. She held strong beliefs that people should have the right to choose their own death, and campaigned for assisted dying laws in Britain – one of the subjects of her final book.

Wendy wrote three bestsellers, Somebody I Used to Know (2018), What I Wish People Knew About Dementia (2022) and One Last Thing: How to Live with the End in Mind (2023) – I was fortunate enough to be her ghostwriter on all of them. They were translated into dozens of languages, and her advocacy work won her honorary doctorates from Bradford and Hull Universities, and a British Empire Medal last year.

When I met Wendy in 2016, she was writing a daily blog, Which Me Am I Today? ,which she had started simply to document her day-to-day life, though it soon had tens of thousands of followers. After her diagnosis of young-onset vascular dementia and Alzheimer’s disease in July 2014, Wendy was shocked at the lack of information and support available to those newly diagnosed.

In Somebody I Used to Know, she wrote about her own depression at the diagnosis, until she realised: “I was still the same person I had been the day before my diagnosis.” She threw herself into academic and medical research, speaking to doctors, nurses and other professionals. What I Wish People Knew About Dementia chronicled how the disease affects different parts of daily life, aside from memory, including taste, smell, hearing, gait and vision.

Her tips, such as draping a scarf over a flat-screen television to avoid it looking like a hole in the wall, or sticking photographs of clothes on wardrobe doors as a reminder of what is inside, made all the difference to those who were newly diagnosed.

Wendy enjoyed finding ways to outwit dementia. As she wrote in her final blog post: “Yes, dementia is a bummer, but oh what a life I’ve had playing games with this adversary of mine to try and stay one step ahead.”

Born in Wakefield, West Yorkshire, to Violet and Ken Draper, Wendy described growing up in their pub in her first memoir. She went to school in Pontefract and was a keen sportswoman, excelling at tennis and running – after her diagnosis, she swapped running for fell-walking in the Lake District. She described the Lakes as her “paradise” and Friars Crag as her favourite place to sit.

Wendy raised her two daughters, Sarah and Gemma, alone after her divorce from their father in the early 1980s (although she continued to use her married name). For many years she earned her living as a cleaner, until she started working in administrative roles within the NHS, gaining promotion to become a non-clinical team leader. Eventually she was forced to retire from her job as a rota manager at Leeds general infirmary, and later campaigned for workplaces to support those newly diagnosed with dementia to continue working: “We don’t lose all our skills overnight just because of our diagnosis,” she said.

In early retirement Wendy discovered other skills, including writing, and enjoyed her “trundles” around the village of Walkington, in the East Riding of Yorkshire, where she lived, capturing local wildlife with her trusted Nikon camera. She revelled in the fact that villagers unaware at first of her diagnosis described her as “the lady with the camera”.

She met many dementia advocates, and was inspired to take up campaigning when she heard Agnes Houston talk at a women and dementia event in York. Wendy became a guiding light to others, a regular contributor at Innovations in Dementia and York Minds and Voices, part of the DEEP UK Network of Dementia Voices.

She gathered her own formidable team of friends living with dementia, who produced video content chatting about the issues they encountered and nicknamed themselves “the Four Amigos”. She advised on the BBC TV series Casualty and the movie Still Alice (2014), and received a mention from the Hollywood actor Julianne Moore in her Bafta acceptance speech.

Wendy raised tens of thousands of pounds for Dementia UK with her annual “wacky challenges”, as she called them, daredevil stunts that included walking across hot coals, skydiving, wingwalking and, last autumn, a swim in Derwentwater after she was forced to abandon her abseil down the Leadenhall building in London (the “Cheesegrater”) due to technical issues (theirs, not hers). She insisted that she was fearless after her diagnosis, having already faced the worst.

Wendy was a force of nature, but dementia made her life harder and harder. She ended her life by voluntarily stopping eating and drinking (VSED), a subject she discussed in One Last Thing. In her last blog post, written in advance, in which she announced her death, she said: “Adapting to this life with dementia is over, but I don’t consider dementia has won, as that would be negative … it’s me calling time on my dementia – checkmate – before it plays its final move.”

She also pleaded for people to campaign for assisted dying laws in her memory.

Reviewing Somebody I Used To Know for the Sunday Times in 2018, Jackie Annesley wrote: “The world could do with more Wendys.” I couldn’t agree more, but there was only one wonderful Wendy, taking people by the hand and showing them how to live a good life with the disease in tow, or indeed how to talk about the end of life so they can instead focus on living.

Wendy is survived by her daughters.

🔔 Wendy Patricia Mitchell, writer and campaigner, born 31 January 1956; died 22 February 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Wendy Mitchell #in memoriam

[amalthiaph]

an unsolicited review of ghost files

It took me a while to catch up with everything Ghoul Boys and it's partly because of my busy work schedule and partly because I got nightmares from watching Unsolved Supernatural too much. So it actually took me a lot of courage to watch Ghost Files and I DON'T REGRET ANY OF IT.

I read in an article that this is somewhat the "Taylor's Version" of Unsolved Supernatural, and I agree. It's really an UPGRADE of what was already there like

the episodes are longer

they have more equipment (SLS cam, honeytone, ovlius) in addition to the spirit box, audio recorder, and maglite

their solo investigations are longer and there's this new thing where Shane hides the walkie talkie for Ryan to find

Yeah those are the only ones that I can remember at the moment.

The locations are (in my opinion) a lot scarier than those they've been to. And in the case of Waverly Hills Sanatorium and the Whaley House, they were able to gather more evidences. Now, speaking of evidences, Ghost Files scared me waaay more than Unsolved Supernatural ever did. There are actually times when I look away from the screen because I was really terrified. 1. In Waverly Hills, Shane mentioned he heard footsteps and when they reviewed it, there's actually something behind him. And istg, this, for me, is the scariest thing I've ever seen on any of their shows.

2. St. Ignatius has to be the one that's evidence-rich, and it would've been scarier if only the ovilus didn't call them nerds. On the other hand, the scream in the nun's quarters terrified me. And don't get me started with the puppet. I hated that. I also got creeped out by the fact that it really changed position after Shane left it. 3. I had a hard time deciding on whether or not I'll watch the Hull House episode because devil babies is where I draw the line. However, like Ryan does in every solo investigations, I had to be bigger than my fear. So I decided to watch it anyway. And why didn't Shane immediately realized it when the ovilus goes "DEVIL".

4. I had made a separate blog about Whaley House, and I think it's really wise how they returned to it given how they lack equipment the first time they were there. And voila, it is really, really haunted. I am really terrified of how the answers to the estes method was picked up by the audio recorder. And man, when they started to talk to Violet, I am amazed on how, as soon as they opened the spirit box, she went "VIOLET". And again, Violet deserves better.

5. On Hobo Hill, I had mixed feelings. I will make a separate blog for that. For the ghost they caught in the SLS, I have to admit I was amazed by that. Also, when the figure somehow stretched its arms, that was when Ryan said he felt something touch his head, and I do think that was one of the most solid evidence they had ever captured.

I didn't write anything about Alcatraz because I really didn't find it scary at all. I just enjoyed the episode because of how marvelous the place is. I am an architecture graduate and my thesis was that of a prison, so that episode was truly an eye candy for me. I will be writing a Part 2 to this one where I'll be reviewing the funniest moments or moments I enjoyed the most (although it's pretty obvious it's when the ovilus roasted them and called them nerds).

#watcher #watcher entertainment #ghost files #ghost files watcher #ryan bergara #shane madej #buzzfeed unsolved #boogara #shaniac

[bohemian-nights]

An Impossible Truth

Word Count: ~6,062

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Nettles

Warnings ⚠️: Spoilers for Fire & Blood; Age gap relationship; Minor smut

Description: “Thank the Gods you are not married then.”His tone was not unkind, but it was firm. Something in it made her turn away from her hearth’s blaze. His violet gaze reflected the light from the fire. Casting dark shadows across his face though not malevolent. Heat. Fire. Not rage.

AN: This story takes place from 135 AC onward following the events of the Dance. I’ve also aged up Nettles a smidge and basically kept Daemon’s show age for reasons.

Part 1: The Visitor, Part 3: Spring, Part 4: Birth, Chapter 5: Life

————————————🐑—————————————

135 AC-Mountains of Moon

What is a life well lived? Ironically, tis a question we can spend a lifetime trying to find the answers to. At the end of it, we might still be without a proper answer. A self-fulfilling prophecy. A question. An impossibility. One and the same. Perhaps the answer is to remain unknown. Or mayhaps we are to give it our own meaning. Our own little truth. Our little impossibility. 

What are human beings if not impossible? Out of billions of stars, we find ourselves on earth. Breathing this air, in this body, tending to the garden that sustains us. Living out our lives and the intricacies in them. For what reason we do not know. Mayhaps it is best this way. We are mortals after all. All that is known itself is an impossibility to our very eyes. A dream of the Gods, it appears. 

Fate is often interwoven into this very concept. There are some things that are out of our understanding. We have free will perhaps, but everything that is happening has happened. What is meant to be will be. There is no stopping our fate. We can not escape it, for it is like quicksand.  The more we try to run the further we sink. 

Our destinies are predetermined, by guides beyond us. Older than the Gods themselves. Built into the fabric of everything. An impossible truth. The nature of these kinds of truths are often the hardest to wrap our minds around. The mind of a creature merely made from flesh, blood, and bone. 

Or maybe. Just maybe, tis our own will that sets events into motion. We give ourselves too little credit. We may be mortals, but the impossible is in us to make a possibility as well. It is our own will and the will of others that makes the world turn.

It was her own will that led Nettles to claim Sheepstealer all those moons ago. A small bastard girl from Hull penniless and nearly friendless. A girl of ten and nine of less than low birth and uncertain stock claiming a wild dragon upon Dragonstone. The ancient seat of House Targaryen. An impossible feat. 

Nettles did not take much stock into the wants of fickle Gods or something more than that. She could not. For where would she have gotten if she had?  To follow in her late mother’s footsteps? To take her place in the house where she had been raised? Giving her body over and over until she no longer recognized herself? Until she had nothing left to give.

Gods forbid to condemn any child she might birth to a wretched existence. She could not live that life. She could not live with herself if she did.  It would be the desolation of her spirit. Better dead than to go through life without her soul. She had no choice, but to take matters into her own hands. 

Growing up on Driftmarks shores it was hard not to hear the stories of the old freehold. Even the uneducated among them, the smallfolk of Driftmark, Kings Landing, and Dragonstone knew the tales of old Valyria. While the Velaryons were not dragonriders, they came from old Valyria. They were just as Valyrian as their Targaryen cousins. The same blood ran through their veins. They had surely intermarried enough for them to be near inseparable, especially in the last generation. 

Valyria was gone, but its legacy lingered on in the Velaryon’s, the Celitgar’s, and most of all with the Targaryen’s and their dragon. The last known dragon lords of an ancient and prideful race.  However, it was not the dragonlords of the ruined freehold or even their descendant's families that interested the young lowborn girl. No, it was the very first dragon riders that captured Nettles attention. 

So it was told the Valyrians had come from humble means. Simple sheepherders. They held no noble blood yet they had tamed great beasts of smoke and fire. Bringing to heel such creatures that no man thought possible to claim to create a civilization that stretched most of Essos. Reaching as far as the edge of Westeros. Only a force of nature brought on by their own hubris, such as the Doom, could bring Valyria to its knees, crushing it, but it was not power that Nettles sought. 

If she were to recollect her early years, there was not much if anything to note. Nothing grand or worth mentioning that she would like to detail. Her mother had been a dockside whore who had died before she could set her face to memory though she had been told she had inherited it. The first ten years of her life were spent in the whorehouse. Half of her heritage remained unknown to her. She could be the daughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon or of a fisherman for all she knew, but her origins or lack of it would not stop her. 

She was born as a bastard child of no one and nothing. She would always be Nettles, but  claiming Sheepstealer was her rebirth. Her liberation from a dreary existence. An impossible feat and yet she had done it. Perhaps not so impossible after all. The first dragonriders were decidedly not their descendants. If they could tame dragons why not she? They had controlled destiny as would she. 

Nettles had made her own fate. Had sacrificed to do so much as had the first Valyrians. Not with sorcery as they had. With her own cunning and patience. We all make sacrifices that we can bear in order to head to where we need to. Hers had been a gamble, but one ending in triumph. 

Sheepstealer was a wild creature not unlike herself. Over the years Nettles had caught glimpses of him when he went to graze upon the sheep of Driftmark. He was a solitary lone figure dotting the sky who did not bother unless bothered. A skinny brown thing for a skinny brown girl. Perhaps that is what had drawn her to him and he to her. Dragons choose their riders just as they choose them.

Stowing away on a small fishing boat to Dragonstone has been easy enough. Jacaerys Velaryon wanted riders for his mother's war. Dragonseeds. She had observed the others' attempts. Their lack of care for the poor creature. Their lack of attention. Dragonseed or not, Nettles had nothing to lose from her own attempt.

It did not take much to coax sheep away from their flock. Nettles was small and fast enough to where the boy no older than ten name days who watched her chosen flock had only noticed the sheep’s absence after she departed. Thinking it was Sheepstealer. She was not proud of it, but the lambs would go missing with it without her help. It was better than the alternative she told herself. 

“You’re a clever girl.” Nettles had not been as discreet as she thought. The boy's grandsire noticed. The old shepherd may have been half blind, but nothing escaped him. “None of the others have thought of it. Poor souls. They might still be with us if they had.” He gifted her with a warm half-gummy smile. There was no more sneaking around after that. Bless him. 

Sheepstealer came to her heel. Her mind wandered to him from time to time. She sent a prayer to the Gods that he and his grandson had made it through the worst of the war and the winter unscathed. Kindness to those who are seldom used to being on the receiving end of it can be its own inconceivable feat. 

Nettles' relationship with Daemon was another seemingly improbable affair. A prince of House  Targaryen. The Rogue Prince. The husband and uncle of the Black Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. Or rather a would-be queen. Sins of the body. Of the flesh.  An affair of the heart. Is a sin a sin if it is born from love? Was it a sin in any way? 

Their first meeting had been a sour one. Daemon had apologized a thousand times over for it now. “I was an arrogant ass, my sweet girl.” They had laughed about it a thousand times more. Jacaerys wanted to show off his collection of dragonriders to his queenly mother and stepfather. He had done so not a day after she had claimed Sheepstealer.

“No wonder that ugly thing did not try to kick you off.”  A sneer graced his pale face as the prince consort spoke pointing at Sheepstealer. “He is your twin.” He and the queen exchanged chortles. Both narrowed their eyes at Nettles. Making a show of their inspection, but there was something else beneath Daemon Targaryen’s smirk that was not present in his wife’s acerbic glare.

No other words were exchanged for a fortnight between herself and the Targaryen prince. Instead, he took to staring at her. His violet gaze watching her around Dragonstone.  Always finding her. Like a predator following its prey. He would not turn away when she met his stare. only let out the same laugh he had during their first and only meeting. The man looked at her as if she were an oddity. A mystery he wanted the answer to. She supposed she was in a way,  but she knew that look all too well.

For her part, Nettles had tried to keep her distance from him. Avoiding running into him as best as she could. His stories were infamous. Daemon Targaryen was well known to frequent the Street of Silk. Well known to take girls into his bed far younger than herself. His favorites had been silver-haired Valyrian beauties from Essos or even dragonseeds from Westeros, but he was not too picky. As long as they were young enough the prince did not complain. 

These days the prince seemed less than enamored with his wife. He and Rhaenyra no longer shared a bed. There wasn’t a need. His voice remained in the queen’s ear. His position was secure. He was closer to the crown than ever. He Had styled himself the realm’s protector. He would want his fun and his wife did not seem willing to stop him. As long as whatever girl he chose remained only abed warmer she’d say nothing. Nettles knew the games they would play. Nettles wouldn't fall victim to them.

A surprise attack by the Triarchy on Driftmark had changed everything. Viserys the ship had been intercepted. The boy lost. His Spicetown had gone up in flames. Women, children, and men, all butchered like dogs. Their homes were sacked. Lives rummaged and trampled on without a care. Their lives were cut down too short. 

Even High Tide, Lord Corlys great seat, had not been spared. Nettles had few fond memories of the place, but it was home. The only home she had known and it was gone. Jacerys Velaryon was added to the list of casualties. He was a charitable boy. Thoughtful. Brave and dead before his time.

She had been angry. So very angry. At the world. At herself. At the Queen who let others fight her battles and later cower and hide when the dead was done and tragedy left in the wake. At Daemon Targaryen who stood back and watched with his eyes that shined with fire. Fire blood. He embodied his house words in truth and she resented him for it. 

He seemed the least bothered. They were all disposable to him.  It had not occurred to her until then, but this war might very well kill her. She could go to her grave as Jace, but no one would be there to mourn her as the crown prince. For who among Valyrians and noblemen would mourn a brown bastard girl? A nobody who came from nothing. A foreigner among them. An oddity. 

It had been her grief and anguish that had led her to fall into his bed. With such ease. “You would not care if we all were dead if it meant you remained as protector of the realm.” A title she had long thought not worth its salt. Certainly, the man before her remained undeserving of it.

She did not remember much of what she or he had said after that. Only vaguely of his lips brushing against hers. Their tongues entangled as he led her back into the safety of his chambers. Nettles' memory only returned to her in full when she found herself as naked as her name day underneath him. 

Brushing away her tears with the pads of his fingers as he rocked within her. Doing so with surprising gentleness. Only stopping when they both had reached their peaks. With him spilling his seed inside of her. He wouldn’t let her leave his bed nor did she want to that night. It was the first time she ever wanted to be touched or touch another. It was more than what physically happened. Far more than that. It had been a balm to her soul. 

For a few hours. A brief few hours, she felt more alive, more human than she had ever known.  Her existence wasn’t some mundane thing to dread. She felt wanted. Actually wanted. Not even Sheepstealer made her feel so. The feeling of being seen by another human being is incomparable and they had seen one another. It was only when the morning light came when he was exhausted by their exertions, did she manage to slip out from his bed chambers. Out from his hold. 

The guilt ate at her. Daemon Targaryen was a married man and he was far too enamored with her. She had seen the way he looked. How he gazed down at her during their amorous intimacies. She had seen that look before and what it led to for girls like her.

Nettles could not forget how his eyes trailed her around the castle. Even when he was in the company of another. He would always follow her. It was not as malevolent as she first thought. She knew that then. It was more than just fucking. Lust surely played her role, but it was more than that.

He had touched her as one would a lover. He did not hold back his kisses. His hot mouth always found its way back to her. His caresses. Cradling her face. His petting. He had at one point reached a hand down to her center. At the sparks spreading out from her core  Nettles accidentally grazed the scars at the base of his neck to entangle her hands within his silver strands. An intimacy. One which she was surely not permitted to,  but he had not minded it. “I’m here sweet girl.” The first time she had been given a nickname. 

“My sweet girl.” One said with reverence. Repeating it over and over as he thrust in and out her wetness with his length. “My good sweet girl.” As if he himself was shocked by his own affections. He had most certainly not meant to voice them, but something had overtaken them. Something she wanted no parts in when clarity had returned. 

Moontea was delivered to her room that morning. From Lady Baela she would find out. The girl  ambushed her on her way to Sheepstealer. She did not know how a highborn unmarried girl happened to have it within her possession, but she was grateful for it. “I’m afraid my father can be a forgetful man.” Her face most surely would’ve turned red from embarrassment if she were a few shades lighter, but the Targaryen girl only took her hand in hers, giving it a sisterly squeeze and a warm smile. “I am more observant than most Nettles. A gift from my mother.” 

The fortnight and a half that followed had put her on edge. Apart from Lady Baela’s company and occasionally Ser Alyn and Addam she had little reprieve. Dealing with the stress of the war on top of the new predicament in which she found herself. 

Daemon’s advances persisted. Watching her. Waiting for her. Nettles had fortified her resolve in their wake. She would not allow herself to be used and discarded. Not in the way of the girls who worked in the houses by the docks. In the way of her mother. Least of all not within Dragonstone’s walls. 

The queen looked the other way at her husband's nightly activities, but they were just that. He carried on with no real affairs. No real threats to her place by his side. If he were to take a mistress it would not be a low-born girl who lacked the grace that Daemon was used to. 

When they had taken Kings Landing by the end of the moon Daemon had taken his old mistress to his bed. The Lady Mysaria. The queen did not seem to object to the arrangement. Nettles thought the matter was done with. He had found a permanent bed warmer. One more suited to his breeding. 

Though Mysaria was no longer as young and bony as she once was, she was a Valyrian and that was what mattered. The prince had no need for her, but his eyes never stopped following her as did another’s. While she did not see the second, she paid the first no mind. He would forget her in time. 

He did not, as she would not be sitting within her little cottage that had turned into theirs. Sharing her bed with him in the Mountains of the Moon at the end of winter if he had.  However, back in 130 AC, her second avoidance had worked until he insisted on taking her with him. To hunt down Aemond and end his terror in the Riverlands. To Maidenpool. 

Daemon could have taken Ulf White or Hugh Hammer. It would’ve made more sense too. Their dragons were larger than Sheepstealer and they were proud men. Better to keep an eye on them. Better to separate them, but he insisted upon her. His wife thought nothing of it. Giving him leave of her. She would not be missed in the capital. She wouldn’t be missed anywhere. 

He wouldn’t leave her side. Doted upon her despite her rejections. Vexing her. She was capable of the task. She wouldn’t confront him if she did find the one-eyed prince. Even Lord Mooton had suggested they split up, but Daemon would not budge. Only a dark look would take over his face that would hold any man’s tongue, but she was not a man.

She snapped at him. Tried to go off on her own. Had made it to mount Sheepstealer before he pulled her off the dragon, kicking and screaming like a wild woman. “I would never forgive myself.” The eyes are the window to the soul. Nothing can hide from them. His violet orbs told a world of truth. Nettles the skinny brown girl, the daughter of a dockside whore, would be missed somewhere. It had been a fortnight of resistance before her resolve broke. 

He had long since stopped calling Nettles. Only Netty. Sometimes “sweet girl,” but never her given. He had given her the key that unlocked the door to their adjoining. She slipped into his bed again with ease. They were less discreet than they had been on Dragonstone. Freer. Not caring for servant's gossip. Not caring if anyone heard them as they succumbed to ecstasy within the walls of his chamber. 

If they did not hear them they most certainly saw the proof of their ravishment of each other when they drew their evening baths. Bruises, scratches, and love bites littered their bodies. His chamber had become theirs. The days were long, but the nights were theirs. Entirely their own. They had found their own little piece of the seven heavens in them for near on six moons. 

Until a set of pale eyes set within an unnaturally placid face cast their gaze towards them. Nothing eluded the White Worm's sight. A bitter queen's orders meant to do away with her head. A desperate woman on the verge of losing everything. Grasping at power and pointing a finger at threats real or imagined. It would be easy enough to place blame on the unknown. The foreigner. The outsider. Expected even. No one would care. Nettles' death warrant was signed in black ink. Spelled plainly for all to see. 

She had committed no crime other than forgetting her place. She was a lowborn girl. A brown lowborn bastard girl from murky origins. How could she be a dragonseed? Whatever she was, whoever she came from, her blood was unclear. She had claimed Sheepstealer using some trick or another. Not from her own wit that could be sure. She was a bastard. That’s all anyone would ever see her as. Nettles. Plain old Nettles from Driftmark was nothing more than a common girl who had gotten ahead of herself. 

Nettles recalled the girls by the docks. Tossed aside when the men had their fun and fill. They had only dallied with the sons of House Velaryon. Never Prince’s. She had flown too close and let her emotions get the best of her. She had been weak and foolish herself. Exposed her under belly and now she had done herself in. How could she be so foolish? Pretty words and sweet touches never amounted to much. She had forgotten that. 

 She was nothing and no one and certainly not befitting of a Prince of the House Targaryen. The queen’s husband. She was not worthy of him and she’d lose her life for it. His wife called him. As much as he had enjoyed her, she was nothing. He would let them do away with her. 

Prince he may be. Targaryen he may have been, but he was hers as she was his. There was more to life than being a Targaryen or this war for who sat upon a metal chair. Dark Sister was unsheathed. No man, even sixty men, wanted to stare down at the end of Daemon Targaryen’s blade. The queen's letter was thrown into the fire, but it was not the end of it. 

He would not give up on his pursuit of his nephew. Queen or no queen. Nor would he risk his Netty. “I have to do some good sweet girl. Some good for all of you.” He would not take her with him, though she begged him to. Going after Aemond most surely suicide, but Daemon refused. It was his own mission and he intended to see it through. 

A declaration of love spilled from his lips along with his spend inside of her. That mattered not for it had long since taken root.  It was all too late. Nettles wanted more time, but it had been too late. A promise. A tearful goodbye. She slit a lambs throat with Dark Sister, climbed upon Sheepstealer, and flew into the unknown with Caraxes scream playing over  in her head 

It would haunt her. It had. It had pained her to part from him. Her babes birth and short life five moons later had added to that agony. Her sorrow. She was not Daemon Targaryen’s wife, but she mourned him all the same as a grieving widow. Even if she did not have the right to. She mourned him.  That was then. Now was the matter of new curiosity.

Daemon's reappearance was perplexing. An impossibility, but not wholly so. Forces outside their control had separated them and saved them all the same. If anyone could have survived leaping off Vhagar after driving Dark Sister into the back of his nephew's skull, and plummeting into strange waters below, it would be him. For he had want to. 

His dragon was lost. one of the endless casualties of the bloodshed. Part of him was gone and lost forever. More than part of him had forgotten who even he was. What he was, but he had survived. He was alive. Still breathing, but he wandered. 

He had wandered until he reached a motherhouse. Collapsed on their doorstep. An irony. One which led to Nettles descending into a round of laughter when he recalled the story. A man with the restlessness of the Gods of Old Valyria taken in by the followers of the Faith. The septa’s took him to a septry after he recovered enough to be moved again. From there he stayed. Until her attempt at escape in the past. It had awoken something in both of them. Called like to like. 

Nettles had conceded that perhaps there were Gods who have some control over our fate. Even if Daemon insisted that it was just his will, he had to see that there was more to it than that. For here they were at the end of winter. Together. He had survived his own death. For her. She did not think it too presumptuous to say so. He had, after all, trekked halfway across a continent plagued by sickness during the last storm of the winter for her. He could have waited till spring, but he had not. 

Still, she did not let her curiosity escape her. It had been five years since they parted. There were many curiosities to be answered. Events that could have changed everything had they been acted upon. Nettles tried not to be at war with herself, but her imagination was always good for that. The Gods had saved him and brought him to her, but for what purpose? 

“What would you have done if I had been married.” She asked the question a week after they had been reunited. After she had cleared their plates from dinner. The storm was well in swing. There was not much to do, but talk, check on the animals she kept in a nearby barn, and visit Sheepstealer. Nettles did not mind it. 

“I would have built a cottage besides yours, been your neighbor, and offered your husband my hand in friendship.” Daemon’s face had transformed with an impish grin. The man before her was one thing if not presumptuous with offering friendship. Nettles supposed it came with the territory of being the Rogue Prince of House Targaryen. Her metaphorical husband would not like that very much, but he would more than likely grumble in silence. For who would challenge Daemon Targaryen?

She wondered if he would’ve taken matters into his own hands. Nettles knew how he had gained his second bride and what was purported to be how he gained his third. Valyrian brides. What he had always wanted for his first had been anything, but Valyrian as herself. Though the Lady Rhea Rhoyce was more than an appropriate match.

A lady from the Vale and at the time of their wedding the heir to the ancient and noble seat of Runestone. A seat that she had inherited. All of them Valyrian and non-Valyrian alike had been more suited to him than she.  Nettles tried not to doubt, but her own doubt, the doubt of a girl who had been born under turmoil, couldn’t be helped. “You are yourself.” He had reassured her a thousand times over since they met. She was something new altogether. More than welcome though if not entirely expected. 

“What if I had a child as well?” She hadn’t had the chance to take him to their son's grave. The snows were too high to safely make the trek a little ways out to where he lay. The terrain leading to the burial was too narrow for even Sheepstealer to fly through. 

Nettles was relieved that they would not have to bring the dragon. Daemon was not unkind to him, but she could tell it stung him. He had not been born Caraxes as he reminded her. “I have lived without a dragon before, sweet girl.” For the first half of his life. That still did not make the loss less so. The bond between dragon and rider could only be separated by death. Learning to live without a part of you would always be an open wound. 

She hadn’t had the heart to tell him about the boy either. Nettles had suspected that she might have been pregnant as had one of the maids that helped her from time to time at Maidenpool, perhaps even daemon himself, but she had no real way of knowing. Her belly hadn’t set in until she had parted from him and she had never had morning sickness. Only general fatigue which she had blamed on hunting down the one-eyed prince. The same stress that had likely killed their babe.

“They would be your children, Netty.” He grabbed her arm then. Pulling her into his lap and brushing some of the memories that dotted her mind with the touch. “I’d love them all the same.” His lined face had gone soft as he gave her a small smile. One which she did not return. Her mind found its way back to that silver-haired babe. 

“Tis a sin to covet after another man’s wife.” Nettles had no other defense. So she Whispered it under her breath not intending for him to comment on it. She took her mug in hand from where it rested to take a sip of her tea. Setting her sight towards the fire. 

“Thank the Gods you are not married then.”His tone was not unkind, but it was firm. Something in it made her turn away from her hearth’s blaze. His violet gaze reflected the light from the fire. Casting dark shadows across his face though not malevolent. Heat. Fire. Not rage. Ardor. 

That’s what it was. It left no room for argument. It left no room for doubting his meaning. His intentions. She wondered just how far those intentions would take them. Living together was one thing, but marriage was another. 

“I will not leave Netty unless you tell me to.” He had repeated those words once a day since he arrived. He knew that she could be as skittish as Sheepstealer. Slow to trust as was he. Oddly enough they had trusted each other with less resistance than they would normally put up. Seeing the other for what they were and recognizing a kindred spirit. 

It was, for this reason, she was unlikely to tell him to leave despite her apprehension. They both knew that. His being here was very well on her terms, but those terms were dictated by an impartial judge. Much fairer than solely logic. A benevolent benefactor. Daemon Targaryen should be glad of it. 

The snow’s cleared by the second week of Daemon’s return. Clear enough at least for them to venture to their son's grave. Try as she might, Nettles could never quite get the words out. I lost a child. Our child. Our son. A gloomy mood hung over him like a rain cloud before a storm. 

With a mood so low, no words were needed. They passed some young boys on the narrow  path who asked about Sheepstealer, more concerned with their beloved fire-breathing friend than the strange silver-haired man that was with their Danu, a nickname they had so graciously bestowed upon Nettles. A brief moment of levity. They remained otherwise undisturbed. 

Most of the trek was made hand in hand in silence. Netty only broke it when they reached the little burial marked by a tree surrounded by stones. “He looked like you.” It was all she could croak out as she sat down to rearrange the stones. 

“He didn’t have one drop of me apart from his nose. The rest was all you.” Nettles closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at him. If she did she’d remember and imagine. A world that could not and would never exist. 

Silence fell over them once more. Daemon seemed at a loss for words. She could hear the crunching of his boots against the snow as he reached for her. “Netty.” His voice was thick and quiet. Like he had come across a frightened bird he did not wish to scare away.  At the brush of his hand against her coils she burst into bone-shattering sobs. Her prince had to carry her home. Pulling her off the ground and taking on most of her weight. 

She was numb by the time they got back to their little cottage. In a daze, until she saw the little wooden toy dragon left on the kitchen table that Daemon had been fiddling with earlier. A small token. A gift from Baela’s daughter to her grandsire. Little Laena. “She’s a sweet babe.” His violet orbs had lit up when he had told her about his time with his eldest daughter and her family on Driftmark. “She has Rhaena’s temperament and looks more so than her mothers.” That small little dragon. A gentle reminder of all the life Daemon had lived before her. What Nettles would never have with him.

Companionship. That is the relationship they would have. He had three wives. Two of his own choosing. He would not want a fourth. There was no need for another. He had four living children. Two daughters and two sons. One of which was a king. Daemon was done. He had his legacy. He merely wanted to spend the rest of his days with her. There was no room for a family with her. He had all of that. 

They could’ve had that. Almost had. She didn't know how to brew moon tea properly. Only vaguely recalling what the older girls used to prevent their pregnancies. A botched job that led to her little almost miracle. There wouldn’t be another accident. He wouldn’t give her another. She wasn’t meant to be a mother. She’d have to make peace with that. 

Nettles couldn’t move. She could only stare at the toy. It taunted her. Daemon followed her line of sight. With a sigh, he picked her up bridal style to carry her to their room. He shushed her when she apologized. “It’s not your fault Netty.”  

Her prince wordlessly removed her outer layers to leave her in her undergarments. Tucking her into bed with a kiss on her forehead like one would a child. Meaning to leave her and more likely ponder over everything she sprung at him, but she grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave me.” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a squeak. Her red-rimmed dark eyes finally met his violet ones. He nodded his silver head with a sigh. She’d worn him out. He looked every bit of his years as he went to change and join her, but to that, she too protested. Something in her had broke.  “I need you.”

Daemon was always the one with trouble sleeping. He was too restless. Had been that way since he was a boy after his mother had passed on. When they were at Maidenpool it was the most rest he had gotten in years oddly enough. Issa ōños. My light he called her from time to time. Light through the dark. Nettles needed him now. 

He may not be her light. He had too many stains upon him for that, but he was her safe harbor and she needed him. He had saved her Maidenpool. He had come here for her. Survived for her. His Netty. Done the impossible for her. Daemon would make good on his promise. 

Their coupling was not frantic. Nor was it hollow. The years apart had not cooled their ardor for one another. It was how it had been that first time back on Dragonstone. Easy as breathing and surprisingly tender.  Unhurried. 

The sounds of their lovemaking overtook the room. Moans of each other’s names. Netty. I love you. Sweet girl. My prince. Quickly swallowed by their tongues or drowned out by the sounds of her wetness. For a man on the cusp of his fifth decade, her prince had surprising endurance. Nettles could not recall when he spilled his seed after her peak, only that he did not leave her as they both came down from their highs. A warm pleasure-soaked heap of limbs that clung to each other on their bed only to renew their affections tenfold. They would savor each other that night. A winter-long silence ended with new life and a whispered vow eagerly accepted to usher in spring. 

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Thank you @oh-no-another-idea for the tag! <3

Rules: Search your WIP for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt

Soft tagging: @megarywrites @blue-kyber @emelkae @romances-not-tragedies @theprissythumbelina and OPEN TAG should anyone wish to join in ^^

Will be taking them from 3 of my WIPs: Home, And They Were Roommates (ATWR), and The Revenged (TR).

Red (Home)

“Is he going to survive?” She asked again. She stared at him, her large hazel eyes boring hopefully into his. Ka’il wasn’t an expert on humans but he felt she couldn’t have been much older than Miriel. “If he lives through the night and we can keep infection away, probably.” Determination entered her eyes. The same look Miriel got when she wanted to help, wanted to do tell the world she would do what seemed impossible. “Then he will make it through the night.” Ka’il smiled at her. His first smile since before Laitae broke into his world. “Anyone would with you near, little one.” He couldn’t resist ruffling her wild red-blonde hair. She glared at him and smoothed out her hair. “I’m twelve,” She pointed out. “Oh, practically an adult. No wonder you were a good apprentice.” Ka’il said, half-jokingly. The girl beamed at him.

Orange & Yellow (TR)

“My father had her built just last year after our last ship became too damaged to float. The plan is that after this trip is over, she will be mine.” Nahuel looked at the ship with pride. A pride Shuntala felt was deserved as she took in the frigate in front of them. Natural medium wood shone through a thick coating that protected it from the dangers of the sea, a swirling line of orange and pink painted flowers decorated the top of the hull and curled around bright yellow lettering that gleamed on her aft. The Rising Sun’s rays danced and reached for the flowers circling them.

Green Emerald (TR)

She moved her attention from the fingers lightly touching her wrist to his emerald eyes. She relaxed a little. “Now,” he muttered to himself as he pocketed the salve. Shuntala looked back at her arm as he slowly unwrapped it. Stitches lined her cut. An angry redness partly ringed it. She flinched as he gingerly touched it. “Sorry,” He said. “I’ll have to talk Saavin into coming back.” Shuntala looked back at his eyes as he concentrated on re-wrapping her arm then looked to his ears. What she realized should have been elongated was cut off, thick scars marking the end.

Blue (ATWR)

Once again Takashti found himself in the girls’ room. It hadn’t been his prerogative but resisting a fresh changed Jayme— now wearing pastel blue and sequined sandals— was like flying a kite in a hurricane. Not even Nim said anything as she rolled her eyes as he was dragged into their domain. “You’ve been acting strange, Jayme.” Nim suddenly said as they watched Cris yeet some large and rather ugly character off the stage. “Sheik remains undefeated!” Cris cried out as she held her hands up. “Which one of you losers want to try their hand?” “I’m not acting strangely,” Jayme replied. He grinned at Nim. “Jayme is acting like Jayme. It’s Takashti’s turn!”

Indigo Cobalt (TR)

Shuntala sipped on the water and examined the sword. The rich, cobalt blue hilt looked more like it belonged to an aristocrat than a pirate. Then, perhaps, this Wulf had murdered the Lord or Duke who had commissioned it? She sat the half-empty cup down and picked up the sword. She unsheathed it part way and turned it, eyes wide as she watched the blade catch the light. Nahuel had basic sword knowledge, so she hadn’t been taught much but she could tell that it was taken care of. She noticed some letters hidden just below the hilt. She squinted, making them out. HRH AW? She stared at the letters, eyebrows creased. Was that a maker? A title?

Violet (ATWR)

Takashti was nearly ready for sleep by the time Jayme came in and crashed half onto his bed, face buried in his violet comforter. “Rough day?” Takashti asked as he tossed his laundry into the light green basket by the bathroom door. Jayme moaned. “Did you get her highness settled down?” Jayme moaned again. “Did you tell her about your brother?” Jayme turned his head so he could look at Takashti. “It wasn’t the right time.” Takashti rolled his eyes. “If we all waited for the right time to share bad news we’d still be waiting for an official statement on The Titanic.”

#roy g biv tag game #tag games #wip: the revenged #wip: home #wip: atwr #oc: jayme #oc: takashti #oc: shuntala #oc: nim #oc: cris #oc: ka'il #oc: aurea #oc: nahuel #I can always count on atwr giving me a violet #(it's Jayme's favorite color and his favorite flower)

[lazuli-bloom]

Screams of the crew rang out in the night air, drowned out by the torrential rain and waves crashing against the splintering vessel. Another bombardment of fiery orange cannonballs struck the hull of the ship, rocking the ship to and sending several grumps into the violet waves below. Captain Pommet cried out orders to fire back at their assailant only for it to r strike the ship with its tail, cracking the battered planks and allowing the ocean to pour in.

Sneed chanced a look away from the chaos of his crew fighting back this monstrous attack and towards the island in the distance. Snaktooth Island, the island rumored to be Grumpbeard's current hiding spot, and island for Sneed to confront the grump who stole everything from him. Enacting his revenge way almost within reach.

Another barrage hitting the ship snapped the captain back to the matter at hand. He grit his teeth and ordered another round of shots. Miss after miss, as the cannonballs shot at the beast below the waves, until finally a hit. The small cheer among the crew still standing was short lived as the monster charged the ship with more force than ever before.

Sneed called for another volley, but the command died in his throat. The beast rose from the sea, briefly illuminated by the distant strikes of lightning. The serpent glared the captain dead in the eye before slamming it's upper body against the bow, dipping the end below the water for a moment. Sneed and his crew clung to what scraps of wood remained nailed to ship. Soaked with rain, several more grumps lost their grip and fell to the ocean.

A deep roar bellowed out from the leviathan as it dove under the waves once more. Sneed's claws dug into the waterlogged wood, then he let out a breath. He ordered the last of his crew into the canoes for their retreat. The beast continued to knock against the ship, but no more shots coming from the pirate, it shifted its attention to the grumps already in the sea.

Captain Pommet and his crew seized advantage of the opportunity, fleeing the sinking ship and the poor souls trapped by the serpent. The journey back to the mainland would be long and push the grumps to their limits, but it was a better option then staying.

Sneed took one last look to the island sinking below the horizon. If a monster such as that makes its home on Snaktooth Island, then may whatever gods be out there have mercy on Grumpbeard's soul.

#bugsnax #bugsnax oc #sneed pommet #blue razzby art #blue razzby writing #I'm really proud of this one #it took forever to paint but I love it #plus i was able to finally use a story idea related to grumpbeard that i've had for a while