#game of thrones pirate au

[something-tofightfor]

Fool's Gold 6: Storms Will Pass and I'll Remain

Pairing: Pirate Oberyn Martell x Female Reader (with a twist)

Rating: M.

Word Count: 9,954

Summary: With the pirates taken care of and the truth revealed, you and Oberyn have a lot to talk about. There's only hours to go until you reach Dorne, which means that everything's about to change ... again. Even with Oberyn's assurances, your fears get the better of you, and there's no hiding it.

Author's Note:

IT'S PEDROTOBER 2024 OBERYN MARTELL DAY!!! I couldn't let the day pass without posting.

This is a little longer than expected, but I didn't want to drag out the final hours on the ship more than necessary. I cannot wait to get to Dorne - and hope you're excited, too.

If you want to talk about this story (or any of my others) please feel free to pop into my inbox or DMs!

Chapter title comes from "The Stormchaser" by Caligula's Horse.

Fool's Gold Masterlist

You went back onto the ship’s top deck, Oberyn walking a few paces ahead of you. 

Even in the short time you’d been down in his quarters, the crew had made progress with cleaning up after the attack. 

The wood had been scrubbed free of blood, crates and barrels were stacked back into place, and the prisoners were nowhere to be found. There are no bodies either. You wondered what had been done with them - if they’d been moved back onto the other ship or simply tossed into the water, made into meals for the creatures that lurked below. 

The smell of smoke filled the air and you turned toward the source, watching as the pirates’ ship burned in the distance. “It was necessary.” He touched your arm, drawing your attention back in his direction. “They would have chased us if we’d just let them go back onboard.” 

“And now if they make it to one of the islands and are rescued, they’ll just talk about how they need to find the Blood Adder’s ship.” He nodded. “And this ship won’t be sailing anywhere anytime soon, will it?” 

“No.” You made your way to the same area you’d first spoken in, Oberyn gesturing for you to sit. “No, she’ll need some repairs, and new sails. The next time anyone sees her…” He looked up, eyes lingering on the wheel. “She’ll be a Dornish pleasure ship again.”

“That’s been true this whole time, though.” He smiled at your words, taking a seat next to you. “I understand why you didn’t tell me the truth right away, Oberyn, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t upset.” 

“I know.” He clasped his hands together, one thumb spinning the golden ring on the other. “And I am sorry for lying to you.” He paused long enough to let the apology sink in. “I thought, at first, that you knew who I was.” What? “I thought you were pretending to have no memory and that you recognized me since you knew so much about Oberyn. I assumed it was all a ruse, and because I was finally on my way home, I was … worried.” 

“I didn’t, and it wasn’t.” You bit your lip, wincing as you felt the wound on your side pull. “I thought … I thought that some things about you and this ship didn’t seem right, but I never thought you were Prince Oberyn Martell.” He smiled at that, still staring out at the horizon. “Now, it makes sense, though.” 

“How?” He angled his body toward you, eyes narrowed. “What wasn’t right?” 

“Your hands aren’t rough enough to have lived a life on the sea. You spent far too much time with me to captain the ship.” You looked down at your hands, thinking. “You and your crew are too kind, especially to a woman like me.” You pointed at the plume of smoke. “If they’d found me? There would have been no question about what my future held.” 

He didn’t disagree, but Oberyn did say your name then, reaching over to take one of your hands. He held it gently, eyes downcast to focus on where you were connected. 

“I left the drawers unlocked and the journals out, even in the beginning. But you didn’t read them. You could have at any time, but you didn’t.” He was right - and that reminder made his reaction to you not reading Oberyn’s letters much more understandable, too. He tried to tell me even when he had no reason to trust me. 

“Your promises make more sense now, too.” You held up your other hand, his ring still on your finger. “To keep me safe and to give me choices?” You wiggled your fingers, his gaze rising briefly to watch. “This has a version of the Martell sigil on it, doesn’t it?” He nodded. “Do the people in Tyrosh know that -”

“There are rumors.” He smiled, the expression smug. “The only people that truly know are Doran, Ellaria, my oldest children, the crew on this ship, and a few friends in port cities that I couldn’t avoid.” Of course. “And now you.” 

The gold glinted in the sunlight, and for the first time, you realized exactly what it meant that you were under the protection of the Dornish Prince. “You meant it. You meant that I had a choice about Perle and Oldtown. You meant that I didn’t have to go, and -”

“I did. I do.” He tightened his grip on your hand. “I will invite that Lord to Sunspear and lie to his face about finding pieces of your ship and an empty raft if remaining in Sunspear with me is what you choose. I know you’re worried about your parents, but as I said before, there are options, even though in my opinion they don’t deserve them.” 

Hearing him speak about your parents that way hurt - but not as much as you’d thought it would. Because I think the same, too. They didn’t care where they sent me as long as it meant they survived.

He was right. It wasn’t just that you’d been picked up by a pirate and had a chance at a new life in a far off land when he set you free. Oberyn had promised you a place to stay and whatever type of life you chose in Dorne, including a job. “But if you’re Oberyn Martell, that means that your … that when we get to Dorne, Ellaria will be there. And I’ll just be …” 

If he’d gone back to just a woman he was in love with, that would have been one thing. But Oberyn and Ellaria’s devotion to each other - and the lengths they’d go to prove it - was one of the best known facts in the realm. But so is the understanding that they seek others out often. That realization brought up another thing for you to consider, though. 

“Ellaria won’t like that you’re returning after so long with someone. I know you two don’t have a conventional relationship, but -”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” He moved closer, changing his grip on your hand so that he could slide his fingers between yours. “She will understand, especially when Nymeria and Obara tell her what they know.” You thought back to their surprise when they’d seen his ring on your hand, and that memory made you react almost violently. 

“Take this back.” You pulled your hand free and removed the jewelry, holding it out to him. “I have no business wearing this when we return to your home. It served its purpose, and I’m thankful, but …” But I cannot arrive in Dorne wearing a piece of your jewelry on my finger when Ellaria doesn’t. “But I won’t need it in Dorne.” 

“No, you won’t.” He took the ring back and slipped it on, flexing the digits a few times. “You must have many questions. What’s on those pages answered some things, but … there is so much I couldn’t put into written words.” 

“You were injured in the attack.” He nodded, swallowing. “How did you survive that?”

“When I was stabbed, I went overboard. I’m a good fighter, but in those moments, it was safer for me and my crew to let them think they’d won. I am a strong swimmer, even injured, and I managed to reach one of the below deck windows and climb back onto the ship.” He paused, thinking. “I hid for hours behind a stack of crates, waiting until we were underway again before I snuck out and found some of my men.” 

“I bet they were surprised.” He cocked his head to the side and winked at you. 

“Not as surprised as you might think.” That made you laugh, and when he reached over to take your hand again, you let him, curling your fingers against his. “It was much easier than you’d imagine to overtake the pirates in the darkness and take my ship back.” He nodded. “I killed the man who took this ship with the same weapon that Cersei’s lapdog thought he killed me with. And once they were all gone, the healer finally tended to my wounds.” 

“And you’ve just been sailing around since?” He nodded. “No one wanted to go home? Your whole crew just decided to -”

“A few of them did, and we let them. They were how we got word to Doran and Ellaria and my daughters that I survived. They were the proof my family needed to prepare for the news from King’s Landing and Cersei fucking Lannister.” He snarled the words out and then lowered his head, scoffing. “And we have been sailing ever since, waiting for the right time to go home and reveal to the world that I am still alive and still angry.”

“And now’s the right time.” He nodded twice. “Because of Prince Doran’s health.”

“It has worsened.” Oberyn closed his eyes. “A Martell has ruled Dorne for as long as it has existed, and that will not change. If … when my brother is no longer able to remain in power, my nephew will need guidance.” 

“So you’re going home for good.” He nodded again, his eyes still on the horizon. “Will Cersei try to kill you again?” 

“She’s got bigger problems now.” He smiled, the expression almost soft. “The Dragon Queen. Her own people rebelling against her. Losing two of her sons to death and her daughter to us.” He turned his head, meeting your eyes. “My daughters tell me that Princess Myrcella has fallen in love with Trystane, and does not want to leave Dorne.” 

“A Baratheon and a Martell? That’s quite the surprising pairing.” 

“Hmm.” He nodded, taking a deep breath before his smile turned into a smirk. “It will surprise you more to hear that Baratheon isn’t even the girl’s correct name.” 

There had been rumors that had made their way to Braavos; whispers of Cersei and her own brother together, but you’d never believed any of them. It wasn’t because you didn’t think it possible, instead it was because there’d only been the whispers - and nothing certain. 

“Oberyn, are you saying …” You moved slightly closer, head shaking back and forth. “That the rumors are truths? That the King Robert isn’t actually -”

“I am.” He cleared his throat. “And you can believe me when I say that in Dorne, we care very little what a child’s parentage is, or how it impacts their status or who anyone chooses to love … but a brother and sister passing their children off as future kings or queens under another banner?” His jaw was set. “No. Even that is not acceptable in Dorne, and even a Lannister child deserves better.” 

“But Cersei will want to attend the wedding.” You crossed your arms. “And if it’s in Dorne, then you’ll be in danger. Again.” You didn’t want to think about it; Oberyn fearing for his life in his own home just because a woman was hellbent on revenge.

“We will make those plans when the time comes.” Oberyn reached over and settled his hand on your knee. “They are still a few years away from marriage. And Cersei … she may not have that much time left.” 

You didn’t know what he meant by that. You wanted to ask, but didn’t want to overwhelm him with questions or get overwhelmed with his answers - and so you chose another route - and entirely changed the topic of conversation. “When we get to Dorne tomorrow, what … what will I do?” 

“You’ll come with me to my home. You’ll greet my brother. You’ll meet Ellaria. We’ll tell your story, and then you’ll go off and take a real bath and eat a real meal. You’ll sleep in a real bed, but still have the sounds of the sea coming in through the window, and then …” His smile grew, one of Oberyn’s hands rising so that he could cradle your cheek against his palm. “And then I will show you the place where I was raised.” 

“The palace?” He nodded, swallowing. 

“And the Water Gardens, and the orchards and the markets. All of it. I’m going to make you fall in love with Dorne.” 

“It sounds like it won’t be that difficult for you.” He grinned at your words, shrugging as he pulled his hand back and rested both atop his thighs. “Oberyn, I know … I know that you haven’t been home in a long time, and when you get there, you’ll have things to do.” You paused, looking down at your hands and then back over at him. I might as well say it; we’re both thinking it. “You and Ellaria have a lot of lost time to make up for.” 

“We do.” He said nothing else for a long time, and you watched the smile on his face as it was replaced with a frown. You hated being responsible for putting that expression there, especially when he was so excited about going home.

“I don’t want you to feel responsible for me once we get there. You don’t need to pull yourself away from your family to make me feel comfortable. I’ll just …” You looked away and out over the water, forcing a smile. “I just need a place to sleep and to know where to go for meals, and -”

“Stop.” He reached for you again, whispering your name. “I know what getting back to Sunspear means. I’ve been looking forward to it since the day I pulled myself out of the sea and back onto this ship. But me being back home doesn’t mean that every word that has come out of my mouth to you was worthless.” 

“I never said -”

“No, you didn’t. But for some reason you seem to believe that once I step foot back into Sunspear, you’ll be forgotten or that I won’t want to spend time with you.” He leaned in, locking eyes with you. “That could not be further from the truth.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that the honesty in his eyes - and the seriousness of his tone would matter when you reached Dorne. You wanted to believe that even after Oberyn got his hands back on Ellaria, there’d still be enough of a place for you in his life for what he was promising to become reality. But I can’t count on that. 

“Oberyn, I’m just trying to be realistic. You’re a Prince. You have a woman that is your wife in, as you put it, all the ways that matter. You’re going to have things to do and people to see and stories to tell. You’ll have responsibilities to the throne, even if you’re not in line to inherit. You say that you want me to fall in love with Dorne, but what happens then? I stay and rely on your kindness for the rest of my life just because I find Sunspear or the Water Gardens agreeable?” 

“Tell me what it is that you’re not saying.” He stood abruptly, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw anger in his eyes that was directed at you. “I want the truth.” He didn’t reach for you. Instead, he let his arms hang loosely by his sides, his fingers curled in toward his palms. 

“My fate in Oldtown with Perle would be to become his wife and bear his children and sit silently and take whatever abuse he deemed appropriate as my husband. I wouldn’t be happy, but I’d know that my parents and their business were alright.” You wet your lips, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “In Dorne? What is my future there? No matter how much I enjoy a place, I still need to make a living if I won’t be married off to someone that is expected to support me. And I’m afraid, Oberyn, that my staying would make it seem like I was taking advantage of your offer or trying to force something impossible. I don’t know that I could accept that.” 

That wasn’t even everything that you weren’t saying - and he knew it. “There is more.” He crossed his arms, waiting. You didn’t want to admit the depth of your worries, because it wasn’t fair to him. “I’ll stand here all night if I need to.” I know you will. 

You weren’t getting out of it, and after a few more moments of thought, you nodded, covering your face and taking a breath to steady yourself. The sooner I say it, the sooner he can set expectations. “I have become attached to you in the time since we’ve met, and I’m not sure how I’ll react when there’s more space and more people between us, Oberyn.”  Ellaria. I’m not sure how I’m going to react to seeing you with the woman you love, even though I knew it was coming. “And going to Dorne may not prove to be as perfect a solution as I hope it will be.”

“What changed?” His tone softened slightly and his posture loosened, Oberyn shifting his feet. “You were excited to go to Dorne and to see it, and now … you’re anticipating the worst before you even get there.”

“I didn’t know you were a Prince. I thought … we’d get to Sunspear and even if you were wealthy or had a large home, we’d still… cross paths occasionally after things settled. I am excited to see Dorne. I’m looking forward to it, but I also dread it because who you are? It changes everything. What you’re going back to? You’re not just returning home to a woman you love. You’re returning to Ellaria Sand, I don’t belong anywhere near -”

“You do if I say you do.” He held out his hands and you took them, letting him help you to your feet. “And I say you do. You will not be a prisoner in Dorne. You will not be expected to marry or have children or serve any man. For as long as you wish to stay, you are a guest of the Martells - my guest. And between you and me?” He leaned closer, the warmth back in his eyes. “I would be happy to have you stay for good.” 

“What do you gain from it?” You pulled free, turning away from him and shaking your head as you stepped toward the railing. “I still don’t remember everything about myself or my past. I can’t offer you coin or an army or -”

“Stop.” He reached out, gripping your upper arm. “I don’t care about any of those things.” He tightened his hold, and even though it wasn’t painful, it was still more tightly than he’d ever held you before. “Turn around and look at me.” 

You did, and were ashamed to realize that there were tears in your eyes. “Oberyn -” His fingers loosened, though he didn’t pull his hand back. 

“You are not the only one who has become attached.” He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as it moved back and forth. “The thought of you going anywhere that is not Dorne saddens me. The thought of you returning to your home and letting your parents choose your future or going to Oldtown and letting Perle do what he pleases sickens me.” He lifted his other hand and cupped your cheek with it. “You deserve better. You deserve to have what you want and who you want. I can give you that. Dorne can offer that.” Can you? 

“But why? Why would you do that for me with everything else you’ll return home to? We only met each other weeks ago. I -”

“Because I want to.” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Because you gave me a chance, even when you didn’t trust me or know who I was.” He opened his eyes and there was sadness in them. “My whole life has been one opportunity after another because of my lineage. I’ve made the most of it, and like to think that I’ve proven that I am more than the Martell name, but …” He looked down and then raised his head, meeting your eyes. “It was new to meet someone new without any of those expectations hanging over my head.”

You hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made total sense. It doesn’t change anything though. “Everyone will just think that I’m one of your -”

“Fuck what they think.” He stepped closer, the sadness in his eyes gone. “It only matters what we think and what we know. ” 

“It’s going to take some getting used to.” He nodded, and you could feel your heart racing. “But will you promise me something?”

“Of course.” He wet his lips. “Anything.” 

You didn’t doubt that he meant it, but you were unprepared for the surety in his voice and the steely look of determination he gave you. It threw you for a few seconds but when you recovered, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, holding it before you let it out slowly. 

“No matter what happens, please don’t lie to me. I know there will be things you can’t tell me about your family’s dealings and that’s to be expected with your position, but I can handle truths. They might hurt, but I need them.” He looked confused. “For example, if Ellaria is unhappy I’m in Dorne, I need to know. I don’t want to cause tension between you, so -”

“If she’s unhappy you’re in Dorne, she will tell you.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And you’re so concerned with her being displeased that you’re coming home with me, why? We have done nothing wrong.” 

“I forget just how different things are between you two sometimes.” You looked out and over the water, needing a few moments to think. “When it comes to sharing each other, anyway.” It was the truth, and even though he’d told you over and over that what was happening between you wouldn’t be a problem after going home, it was difficult for you to believe it. Even after finding out who he is. 

“I would be a fool to believe that Ellaria hasn’t found someone … or many someones to keep her busy in the time that I’ve been gone.” He shrugged, stepping next to you and turning his body so that he was facing the water. “I certainly kept myself occupied. I will not hold that against her in the same way she won’t question my behavior when it comes to you.” 

It confirmed what you’d thought about him even before learning who he really was - and the truth to the reputation of Oberyn Martell. But. “Bringing someone home is different, Oberyn. And even though we haven’t… even though it’s just been…” You struggled with your words and he saved you, turning his head and murmuring your name. 

“You want the truth from me?” You nodded. “It would be easier to explain things if we already had slept together. But I am not welcoming you to Dorne only to warm my bed, and that is different.” That set off a new flood of panic within you, and you were angry that you hadn’t thought of it at first. Of course us being together just for sex would complicate everything less. That’s what they do.

“We still have tonight.” You rushed the words out, heartbeat racing as you gripped the railing. “We can change that. We can -”

“No.” He settled his hand over yours and squeezed. “The time for that has passed.” You wondered if he meant on the ship or in totality, but couldn’t force yourself to ask. Instead, you opted for humor. 

“Oberyn Martell, turning down a lover? Are you sure it’s really you?” That made him laugh, which eased your panic slightly - but then it went elsewhere and reared back up. “If you’re not bringing me back as that, what will we tell people about who I am and why I’m with you?” 

“That depends on you.” He straightened up and then leaned against the wood, recrossing his arms. “You may want to think that over and decide what you want the story to be after you meet my family. But all we have to say is the truth: I found you in a raft, floating in the water, and I couldn’t just leave you there to die.” It was good advice, but it still didn’t answer exactly who you were or where you’d been going. You still had the token you could use if you chose to disappear, so even if you told the whole truth, you weren’t trapped. “Are you hungry? It’s getting late, and they’re making a feast to use as much of the remaining food as possible.” 

“I am.” You closed your eyes, thanking him for the distraction. “Are you?”

“Very.” He stepped away from the railing and motioned for you to take his hand. “Will you have dinner with me?” 

“Of course, Your Grace.” He rolled his eyes but linked his fingers with yours and pulled you closer, his other hand finding its way to your waist. “Oberyn, what -” 

“Ellaria is going to like you,” he whispered the words, angling his head so that he could speak them directly into your ear. “Because it seems as though you share her enthusiasm for teasing me.” That made you laugh, but it turned into a sharp inhale when he pressed his lips to your temple before pulling back, his smirk full of mischief. “I will have my hands very full between the two of you.” 

You hoped he was right. 

You hoped that when you met Ellaria Sand, you’d get along with her. You desperately hoped that she understood that even before you’d known who he was, you’d cared for Oberyn. And that he cares about me. “We’ll see. Maybe it’s going to be us that have their hands full.” Swallowing back a lump in your throat, you squeezed his hand before he could respond. “Food, Oberyn. I want to hear all about your weapons training.” 

— 

You ate with a large group of the crew and halfway through, Obara and Nymeria breezed in, both of them giddy. 

They sat with you and spent the better part of the evening telling you stories about Oberyn and their upbringing in Dorne. It was clear that despite the way things had begun for them, they’d adapted to the life he’d offered and flourished under his care - and with his love. He’d never send them away only for his own benefit.

Everyone was excited; the room was buzzing with conversation, and even though you were focused on what Oberyn and his daughters were saying, you couldn’t help listening to the others, too. They’re all so happy to be going home.

“Are we boring you?” He was leaning back in his chair, a goblet of wine dangling from between two fingers. “You seem distracted.” Oberyn went quiet, arching a brow and staring you down. It was a look that you hadn’t yet seen from him, and you could feel the heat in it, his eyes bright. 

“Of course not.” You picked up a small handful of berries and ate one of them, gesturing with your hand. “This is the most excited I’ve ever heard or seen the crew, and I’m just … it’s hard not to pay attention to them, too.” 

“They deserve long rests.” He finished the wine and set the cup down, his eyes moving away from you and over the other people in the room. “And they will get them. We all will.” He stood suddenly, clearing his throat. What is he doing? “Everyone.” He held up a hand and the room went silent almost immediately. “I want to thank you.” 

You turned in your chair to stare up at him, watching as his posture changed - shoulders back, head held high. He looked around the room, nodding, and you watched the set of his jaw change too, his lower lip jutting out slightly as his lips turned downward in thought. 

“I have kept you away from your homes and your families and your lives for far too long. I am sorry it took many months. I never intended -” He sighed. “If I didn’t want to be away this long, I can’t imagine any of you would, either.” 

There was murmur of agreement, but no one actually spoke up. It didn’t surprise you. Even though they were likely closer with him than was typical with a member of the Martell family and sailors, it was clear that he’d shifted from pretending to be Daavos to once again being Oberyn in the hours since the Dornish port had become the next destination. And they respect him. They respect his position. They don’t fear him like so many others would fear the ones they serve. 

“You have my gratitude. It has been an honor to spend so many months in such close quarters with people like yourselves who are so loyal to my -”

“For Dorne!” One of the men stood, lifting one hand to his chest and then bowing his head. And  then another man stood, adopting the same position. 

“For the Martells!” Slowly, the others joined them, rising to their feet and making their own declarations - a combination of  the two phrases you’d heard already, accompanied with a few indecipherable ones, too. Even Obara and Nymeria stood, turning their attention toward their father. He reached out and put an arm around both of them, and you could feel the pride he had in them - and what they’d accomplished.

You rose, too, curling your fingers inward before you pressed your fist to your chest. He held power over the crew - and so did his daughters, despite their origins. It impressed you. You were certain that you’d seen the arrivals of nobility in Braavos, and even though you couldn’t remember your entire life, you knew that if you’d seen anything similar, it would have stuck with you. They love him. They love him in a way that the Lannisters could never begin to imagine anyone loving them. 

His daughters were watching the room, their smiles broad. But Oberyn was eyeing you, waiting. And instead of using something that the others had said, you took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders and met Oberyn’s eyes. “Fuck Cersei Lannister.” 

That made him laugh, his head tipping back to expose his throat as his eyes closed. 

It was short lived, though, because Oberyn returned his attention to the crowd and held up his hand again, waiting until the noise had died down slightly. “What are our words?” 

“Unbowed!” The voices were a chorus, with no hesitation. “Unbent!” Oberyn and his daughters joined in, their smiles never faltering. “Unbroken!” It repeated, over and over, the volume growing as people began to bang on the tables and clap their hands together. You didn’t join in - you weren’t Dornish, and it didn’t feel right, but that didn’t seem to matter. 

Oberyn pressed kisses to the tops of his daughters heads before releasing them and beginning to move into the crowd. He circled the room slowly, thanking people one by one. When he made it back to where you stood, he stepped behind you, the heat from his body apparent even through your clothes as you both faced the entirety of the room. 

It was an intimate position, and though everyone’s eyes were on you, you felt no judgment from them at their Prince’s display of affection. Instead, you felt peace - leaning back into Oberyn and allowing yourself a small smile. I can’t get used to this, but there’s no harm in this one moment. He cleared his throat, inching closer.  

“Tomorrow we will be home. Tomorrow we will feel the Dornish sun and smell the Dornish air and gorge on Dornish food and wine. Tonight?” You felt his hand on your hip, his chest pressed against your back as he inhaled deeply. “All I ask is that you make sure we get there safely.” 

Everyone laughed, some shouting out their promises to him. Moments later, the attention fell away from where you stood as people returned to their food and drink. But Oberyn didn’t step away. Instead he urged you to turn around, his hand remaining in place. 

“That was an impressive show, Oberyn.” He winked at you, his lips twisting upward into a smile.

“That was nothing.” He sighed. “Let me walk you back to your room.” Gesturing to your side, he frowned. “It must be painful.” You hadn’t noticed it throughout his speech, but your side did ache. “Obara. Nym. I’ll see you in the morning?” 

Both of them nodded, Obara’s smirk directed at both you and her father, but then they turned away and toward a table where a group of sailors were laughing heartily. “Thank you. But you don’t have to. I can get there on my own.” 

“I insist.” He led you from the room and down the hall, footsteps quiet on the sleek flooring. Both of you stopped to use the commode and washroom, and then resumed your path to his quarters. “I meant what I said in there. All of them - the crew and my men - will get the rest they deserve once we’re home. They have lives and families to get back to, and I’ve stolen enough of their time.”

“They all want to be here, Oberyn. They love you.” You were getting close to the doorway, and your steps slowed, trying to drag out the time until you said goodbye. “They’re all loyal. I’m sure they’ll be happy to be back on land for longer than a few days at a time, but …” You turned to face him. “I very much doubt that any of them hold it against you that they’ve been away for as long as they have.” 

“You may be right.” He took a deep breath, looking over your shoulder at the door to his quarters. “If I was out of line in front of them with you, I apologize. I should not have … put my hands on you, at least without knowing if it would make you uncomfortable.” 

“It didn’t.” Closing your eyes, you lowered your head. “I liked it. I know that’s not how it’s going to be in Dorne, but it was nice to feel so wanted.” He stepped closer, keeping his eyes on you. 

“You really think I won’t want you in -” He was interrupted by the ship’s movement on the waves, and much like the first night you’d been in the same position, you lost your balance. You took two steps forward, both hands shooting out to steady yourself. 

He caught you, keeping you upright, but that night, he didn’t hesitate to hold you close. He said your name quietly, one hand on your elbow and the other pressed to your back. You had every reason to push him away - the fact that he was a prince, the fact that he was going home to Ellaria Sand, the fact that he’d already told you that there was no chance for sex on the ship and letting yourself get even closer was a dangerous game - but instead of that you curled your fingers in his shirt and sighed. 

“I’m not going to stop you from kissing me like I did the first night, Oberyn.” 

His eyes flashed but he didn’t keep you waiting. His hand slid up to the back of your head and angled it so that when he leaned in to press his lips to yours, the connection was perfect. The kiss didn’t linger, though, and it was Oberyn that backed away first, clearing his throat. “Goodnight. We should arrive in Dorne before midday tomorrow, so -”

“I thought you said you wanted to stay.” It was a risk, but if you were going to believe what Oberyn said to you, you needed to begin with accepting the things that he’d said before you knew who he was. Because he said nothing was changing. He said he still wants me. “Just this morning, you said you wanted to spend the night. Has that changed?” 

Questioning Oberyn - even in private - wasn’t something that you’d ever expected yourself to do, but in the darkness of the hallway, you did it anyway. All he can say is no. “Even though I lied to you for weeks?” You nodded, heart pounding as you tried to keep your breathing steady. “Even though you believe that after tomorrow, nothing will be the same between us?” 

“Especially because I know that once we’re back in Dorne, it may be some time until I see you after sundown, Oberyn.” It stung, but it was the truth. “Between Ellaria and your duties and all of the Dornish pleasure houses that have certainly missed your patronage for the last two years, I’ll have to wait my turn.” 

He blinked a few times before taking a deep breath, and then Oberyn reached around you and pushed the door open, nodding. Reluctantly, you turned away and walked in, the realization that it was the last time you’d enter for the purpose of sleeping hitting you all at once and stopping you in your tracks. 

“What’s wrong?” The sound of the door closing behind him was soft, and then his arms were around you, Oberyn’s mouth next to your ear. “Is everything alright?” 

“This is the last night I’ll… we’ll spend in this room.” You looked around, eyeing your surroundings. “I remember much of my home, but this room… this ship, and you, Oberyn…” You turned to face him again, your lower lip trembling. “I feel safe here, with you. And I know that Dorne is safe, too, and that people will help to reassure me of that.” But it scares me. “It’s not just about us being different once we’re on land, it’s everything.” 

He was frowning, his eyes searching your face, but Oberyn didn’t answer you. You wondered if you’d said the wrong thing, wondered if you’d voiced the thing that would make him regret inviting you to his home. But when his expression softened and Oberyn closed his eyes, sighing, instead of pushing you away he pulled you closer, urging you toward him. 

“I did not consider that, and I should have.” He spoke against your hair, his chest rising and falling steadily. “It will be different. It will be new. But you will not be truly alone. Even if I am not with you, or one of my daughters aren’t beside you, you’ll have everything you need. Anything you might want. I hope … I hope that one day, you will feel as at home in Dorne as I do.”

It was an offhand comment, but you understood the significance of it. You feeling that comfortable in Dorne would only happen if you were there long term, and that was only possible if you chose to stay for good. You closed your eyes and hugged him tightly, hissing out in pain as the wound on your side rubbed against your clothing. 

Oberyn immediately let you go, holding you at arm’s length and letting his eyes drop. “I need to see that.” You lifted the material without thought and Oberyn dropped to his knees, the tips of his fingers gently skating over your skin and then removing the bandage. Staring down at the crown of his head, you tried to stay still as he examined you, though it was difficult because of the pain - and because of the way your stomach bottomed out at the way he touched you. 

“Despite my best efforts, this may require an actual healer.” He glanced up, and you saw the worry in his eyes. “It is deep, and if the blade was filthy, it will need to be thoroughly cleaned.” 

“You cleaned it.” Wincing as he touched the skin just below the injury, you let out a shaky breath. “You studied poisons, and -”

“I do not think he poisoned you.” Oberyn reached for more bandages and re-covered the area, securing it with a small knot. “But I do think the blade was dirty. And while supplies on this ship are limited, they’re plentiful on land.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to the dressing, his hands on your hips. 

It was a position that you’d never have even dreamed to find yourself in - the Red Viper of Dorne on his knees in front of you - and so when he pulled away enough to look up and meet your eyes, you savored the sight of him. 

There was need in his gaze, and you didn’t try to stop yourself from lifting your hand to drag your fingers through his hair. “You should get up, Oberyn. A Prince on his knees for a commoner?” 

He stayed in place, lips splitting apart in a toothy grin. “There is nothing common about you.” That made you laugh, and a few seconds later he did stand, his hands sliding up your body so that both of them could cradle your jaw, tilting your head back. “And you will find that I enjoy being on my knees far more than the average man. Give it time.” 

You gasped, but it was a quick sound, Oberyn’s lips meeting yours again - and that kiss wasn’t slow or gentle. Despite the pain in your side, you melted into him, hands grasping at his shirt as he repositioned both of his to hold you even closer. 

With his hands on your body and mouth on yours, it was easy to forget what was coming and what would change once you arrived in Dorne. And though you knew it would only make things harder for you, you let yourself forget - let yourself kiss him back, one hand slipping under the deep neckline of his shirt, nails scraping against his chest. 

Oberyn only broke the kiss long enough to breathe and then he resumed it, urging you to draw his full lower lip between yours as he turned both of you toward the bed, the groan he let out when your lips turned into teeth dragging over that same lip long and low. 

You wondered what other sounds he made, and what sounds he’d be able to pull from you, but before you could get lost in those thoughts, he let you go, whispering your name. “Someone is feeling adventurous tonight.” You inhaled deeply, lips parted as you looked at him. I got carried away. “I wish I could let you continue.” 

“I understand.” You let out your breath, closing your eyes. “Oberyn, I’m -”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” He laughed, the hand on your hip tightening. “We should get some rest, though.Tomorrow will be a long day.” He was right, and when you moved away from him to sit on the edge of the bed to remove your boots, he began to undress, too. 

You watched him - eyed his movements in the low light, the candles casting a warm glow across his skin once he removed his shirt. His pants hung low on his hips, and when he loosened them, they dropped even lower, exposing more of his lower back. He was teasing you - tempting you, and though in the coming days, you figured the memory of his bare body would make waiting harder, you were thankful. 

You climbed into the bed first, rolling onto your uninjured side and waiting until Oberyn had joined you to speak. “Will I be watched while you’re doing whatever it is that you need to do, Oberyn?” He smiled, inching closer and carefully draping an arm over your side. “I’ve never been in a castle before, and I don’t know what to expect.” 

“My words will never do it justice,” he started, moving his hand up your arm slowly. “I can tell you that it is beautiful. I can tell you what I love about it and why, but until you see it? Until you’re there? You will never understand.” His fingers danced over your skin, the tips of them dragging along the curve of your neck before he flipped his hand over and trailed his knuckles over your jaw and then up and over your cheek. “You will only be watched if you wish to be.” 

“What does that mean?” You yawned, turning your face toward the pillow and closing your eyes. “If I wish to be?” 

“There are many people employed by House Martell in Sunspear.They attend to our needs - whatever they might be. And as my guest, someone will attend to you, too.” What? “I have a confession to make.” That got your attention, but it took a few seconds for Oberyn to continue. “I have been away from home for so long that I am … worried about what will happen when I’m back in Sunspear.” 

That admission - moreso than anything else he’d said or promised - convinced you that Oberyn truly trusted you and cared for you. You had a feeling that there were very few people who ever saw the vulnerable side of the Red Viper, and even though it would have been a great tactic to use to win you over, you were certain that he wasn’t trying to do that. He’s admitting something to me that he won’t tell anyone else. 

“What are you worried about?” He wet his lips and then squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sure they won’t expect you to -” 

“As Daavos I was free to live my life however I wanted to.” He sighed. “And in Dorne, it is much the same, but with Doran’s health, I … I’m worried that I’ll be asked to immediately return to politics and be much more involved than before. I have so much to catch up on, and I don’t want to fail after I’ve already asked so much of them.” 

“Oberyn, they’re going to give you time to adjust to being home.” You stroked his beard, shaking your head. “They have to. All of the news you’ve gotten has been secondhand or delayed. I don’t know your family, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Leaning closer, you rested your forehead against his. “They’ll give you time. They need you. And they need you at your best.” 

His uncertainty should have shattered your image of him. Coming from anyone else, it would have diminished his reputation - put doubt into your mind about just how intimidating he was, or what he was capable of. But it doesn’t. It makes me … respect him more. 

“You barely know me and you have so much faith in me. Why?” 

“Because you’re the Red Viper of Dorne.” Backing away to meet his eyes, you said his name. “Because you fought a mountain of a man to avenge your family and walked away from a fight that no one thought you’d survive…and you did it twice.” His eyes flashed and you continued. “Because you pulled me from the Narrow Sea and helped me when you had no real reason to.”  And you’re still helping me. “You haven’t given me a reason to doubt you.”

“I lied to you. I let you think I -”

“Your name and status were a lie, but everything else was the truth.” Smiling, you shrugged. “I hope, anyway.” 

“It was. It is.” He shifted closer, one of his legs rising from the bed and bending at the knee before it settled over yours. “I told you everything about myself without revealing who I was, and all of that was true.” 

“Then let yourself enjoy going home. Your family has been waiting for two years. Ellaria has been waiting for you for two years. And I’m sure she’s going to tell you the same thing I am right now.” 

“She will.” He smiled, eyes drifting closed. “The two of you together …. I’m in trouble.” 

You wondered what he meant by that. Was it possible that he thought that you and Ellaria would become friends? Did he want that to happen? And if he does, why? You’d known that Wyllam had been with other women before you. You’d understood that some of them were from Braavos, but you’d never entertained the thought of friendship with them. Even if I knew who they were, I don’t think … 

But Oberyn and Ellaria were a different story - and their relationship was also different. You weren’t naive enough to believe that spending time with Oberyn in Dorne would be time spent between just the two of you, but you’d never actually considered that he’d want you to get to know Ellaria, too. Or if she’ll want to get to know me. 

“Oberyn?” He opened his eyes, waiting to see what you’d say. “I’m … sorry that I’ve been the way I am about… where I fit in with you and in Dorne. All of this is a surprise to me, and finding out that you’re who you are only complicates it more.” 

“It is a lot to take in.” His hand moved back down your body and came to rest just below where you were injured. “I just ask you to give it a chance before you decide that you can or cannot be a part of it.” 

It was a reasonable request. And despite the way you felt about him, and the fact that you’d never dreamed of possibly sharing a man’s attention long term with others before, the truth was that you didn’t know what would be more difficult for you: only having Oberyn in your life in a small way, or not having him there at all. 

“Sleep now. You’ve had a busy day.” He leaned in, taking a short breath before brushing his lips against yours. “And tomorrow will be even busier.” 

He was right. Even though you knew your day would be less demanding than his, it was still going to be a change from the life on the ship that you’d gotten used to over the previous weeks. “Goodnight, Oberyn.” You whispered the words, inching even closer to him so that you could tuck yourself against his chest, forehead resting against the top of his shoulder. 

You didn’t know what was going to happen once you got to Dorne. There was no way to predict what you’d feel - or what Oberyn or Ellaria would feel - once you were on land and everyone had settled in. 

But you did know that if it was the last night you’d get to fall asleep next to Oberyn, you were certainly going to make the most of it. 

— 

When you woke up the following morning, he was still in bed - but his eyes were open, and he was staring at you. He looks tired. He shouldn’t, because - “Oberyn, did you sleep?”

“No.” He blinked, chuckling. “I couldn’t.” 

“Too excited?” His laugh got louder, Oberyn’s eyes closing to show off the crow’s feet at the corners. “I didn’t think it was funny, Prince Oberyn, so -”

“I am excited. But like I said, this ship? It has been home for a long while, and I will miss it.” He let out a breath and then said your name. “And I will miss these last weeks with you, too.” His words hit you hard, but you were quick to speak, rushing your own reply out before you could give yourself too long to think about what they meant. 

“As soon as you set foot on Dornish soil, none of this will matter.” Backing away, you took a deep breath. “All you’ll feel is excitement to be back home and with the people you love.” It was easier that way - to set expectations for him, but also for yourself. “You won’t have time to miss this.” You gestured to the room with one hand, smiling at him. “And speaking of that, I wonder how close we are. I should get up and get dressed, and -”

“We have time.” Oberyn leaned in, kissing your forehead. “Plenty of it.” 

“I think that’s the first actual lie you’ve told me.” Both of you laughed, and you let yourself enjoy the closeness with him for a few moments longer before sitting up, careful of your bandaged side. “I need to get into the dress Nymeria and I chose, and it might take me a while. It’s not as straightforward as Braavosi attire.” 

“I can stay and help.” He propped himself up on one elbow, arching a brow. “I am very skilled with -”

“I need to put it on, Oberyn, not take it off.” That made him laugh again, but instead of arguing with you, he sat upright and then stood, stretching before he began the process of tightening his pants and putting his boots back on. “Should … I come to the top deck once I’m dressed? Should I bring my things? I -”

“You can leave everything.” He turned to look at you over his shoulder, nodding. “Pack it together, and someone will bring it to your room later. It will be safe here, you have my word.” Thanking him, you looked up at where he stood, watching as Oberyn turned to face you again. “But yes. Get dressed. Find something to eat. I’ll be topside. My daughters will, too.” 

He didn’t say anything else before he left the room, your eyes following him until the door shut and obscured him from view. It was a strange goodbye, and unlike any of the others he’d given you, but you figured he was just distracted by the fact that he was so close to home after so long. 

As you got out of bed and carefully packed all of your things into a small satchel, you wondered if he was beginning the process of distancing himself from you in preparation for reuniting with his family. You hoped he wasn’t. You hoped that he wouldn’t. It is a possibility, though, even if it’s temporary. 

It didn’t take as long as you expected to redress yourself in what you’d chosen. Once you got the straps and ties situated properly, you let out a slow breath. More of you was exposed than you were used to, but you still felt good in it, the soft material flowing over your skin in a way that your other attire hadn’t. You wondered if you’d have the opportunity to choose more clothing in Dorne, or if the outfit was a one time thing, meant only to impress Prince Doran and the royal council upon your first meeting. I have coin. I could probably buy … Looking down, you smoothed your hands over the fabric, smiling at the way it felt against your palms. Hmm. 

You hadn’t chosen a pair of shoes to go with it, though. So before you headed to the galley to find something to eat, you went back to the room that you and Nymeria had visited and opened a trunk, digging through it. You ended up with a comfortable pair of slippers in gold, sliding your feet into them and wiggling your toes at the freedom they afforded you. I could get used to this. 

With one last look at your boots, you bit your lip and turned away from them, heading for the door.

You were hungry but too anxious to eat anything substantial, and after grabbing a stonefruit, you headed up to the main deck, stepping out and into the sunshine. Tilting your face upward, you inhaled deeply, eyes closed. 

He’d told you that you’d still be able to hear the sea from your room in the castle, but you wondered if you’d be able to smell it, too. I’ll ask him. I - Your mind went blank as you opened your eyes and saw that the largest sail had been replaced with a new one, the Martell sigil in the center of it and unmistakably visible. 

Your heart raced at the sight, and you moved one hand to cover it, pressing your palm against your chest as you stared upward. It’s really happening. He’s going home, and he’s making an entrance. Blinking twice, you lowered your eyes and scanned the deck, looking for more changes. 

Some of the crew were wearing armor, their chests and shoulders covered in what looked like reinforced leather pieces. Others had changed from the attire you’d grown accustomed to into more flowing garments, though there were a few that had kept the casual dress that you and Oberyn had also adopted. 

You saw Obara and Nymeria first, both of them leaning against the railing on the deck up and near the wheel, their backs toward you. He can’t be far. There was a flash of yellow to your right, and when you turned to look and see what it was, you gasped, mouth hanging open. Oberyn. 

He’d changed clothes, too, and you recognized the new ones immediately. The yellow coat from the wardrobe. He strode toward you, arms swinging by his sides, and all you could do was stare. The coat reached mid-calf, and was held closed by a belt that sat low on his waist. His chest was still bared, the tanned skin visible between the panels of golden material and the slightly darker underlayer. 

But what was completely new was the thick golden chain and large pendant he wore around his neck, the metal glinting in the sunlight. You realized that the formal dress was for show, and while you understood why he’d opted to wear it as you sailed back into Dorne, you wondered what Oberyn preferred. He looks comfortable. He looks… like a prince. 

He’d wet his hair down, too, combing through the tousled curls and then pushing them away from his face, but one of them wasn’t behaving like the others. Instead, it had caught the wind and was hanging over his forehead, reminding you that even though he was dressed differently, he was still the Oberyn you’d met weeks earlier. I wonder if he’ll keep it long once we dock. I wonder if he’ll shave his face, or - 

“Dornish clothing suits you.” He stopped just in front of you, eyes moving up and down the entire length of your body. “You chose well.” 

“Nymeria helped.” You used one hand to adjust your skirt. “I think she pulled this one out because it …” You eyed his robe from up close, breath catching in your throat. Oh, Nymeria. What were you thinking? The stitching on your dress matched what was on his robe - the golden threads woven into sun shapes that were broken up by tiny spears. “It matches. Oberyn, I didn’t mean to -”

“Do not apologize.” He reached for your hand, fingers curling around yours when you took it. “I would have chosen the same one for you.” His smile widened. “Come. There is something I want to show you.” 

You let him lead you up to where Nymeria and Obara stood, both of them giving you quick glances before they turned their attention back toward the horizon. Oberyn stepped behind you as you gripped the railing with both hands, his chest flush with your back. He lifted one arm and used his finger to point ahead of you. 

It took you a few seconds to see what he was focused on, and when you did, you felt your heart skip and tears well up in your eyes, even as he used his free hand to pull you backwards and toward him, his fingers splayed over your stomach.  

“There.” He rasped the word into your ear, his voice thick. “That is Dorne. We’re almost home.” 

—  

[fearmakess]

It's Helaena the mermaid in my pirate AU 🧜🏼‍♀️🌊

[abbythewritor]

Winter is coming. Chapter Six.

Description: Y/N Targaryen, the last true daughter of House Targaryen, bears the weight of her lineage on her broad shoulders. Young, fiercely determined, and often underestimated for her plus-size figure, she is forced into an unyielding marriage alliance with one of the most dangerous men across the seas: Crocodile, the ruthless warlord and cunning leader of Baroque Works. Torn from Westeros and thrust into the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, Y/N must navigate the treacherous alliances, schemes, and monstrous forces that haunt her every step. As Crocodile’s bride, her life becomes a game of survival—earning his respect while enduring his cold indifference and manipulative tendencies. However, the fire in her blood will not be dimmed. With whispers of ancient dragons and visions of the Iron Throne calling her home, Y/N begins to embrace her Targaryen birthright, proving that dragons do not cower—they conquer.As war brews across the seas and in Westeros alike, Y/N’s journey will test her body, spirit, and mind. With Crocodile as both her captor and potential ally, she will rise through betrayal, blood, and fire to claim her destiny. Winter is coming, but fire and blood will follow.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

Just to be clear: I do not own Game of Thrones or One Piece, they belong to the creators. I wrote this story on Chat GTP to help with story structure and Spelling. Y/n in this story is overweight and plus size, as I rarely see Y/n's that are bigger in fanfiction at all, so I'd thought it will be different. THIS STORY IS NOT FOR CHILDREN!!! As like Game of Thrones, it will have a lot of explicit, and graphic scenes!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The noble estate stood quiet under the waning Alabastan sun. Its once-majestic sandstone walls now seemed tainted, sullied by the decadence within. Behind closed doors, laughter and moans bled out faintly into the halls, carried by the thick, musky air of indulgence. Inside the sprawling chambers of the noble house, Viserys Targaryen sat as though he were already a king—untouchable, triumphant, and cruel.

The grand hall had been transformed into something obscene. The vast room, which had once hosted dignitaries and formal banquets, now reeked of sweat, spiced wine, and sin. Fine tapestries hung over tall windows, stifling any light or breath of fresh air, leaving only flickering firelight to dance along the tangled forms of bodies strewn across the silk-covered floors.

Viserys reclined in the center of it all, sprawled across a massive divan of deep red velvet. The thin silk sheets around him barely clung to his pale, sweat-slick skin, his lithe body half-propped up on one elbow. Golden goblets and overturned trays of fruit littered the marble floor around him.

The room writhed with movement. Naked bodies tangled together—women and men alike—gripping and gasping, oblivious to anything beyond their own pleasure. The heat of it all made the air feel heavy, suffocating.

Viserys was grinning broadly, his teeth bared in a self-satisfied sneer as a woman knelt before him, her head bobbing rhythmically between his legs. His golden hair hung damp and wild across his forehead, and the sharp lines of his face seemed almost grotesque in the dim, flickering firelight.

“Yes…” he hissed softly, tilting his head back as though basking in his imagined glory. “This is what I deserve. This is what I have earned.”

The others in the room moved around him, either ignoring or worshipping him, but Viserys barely noticed. In his mind, he had already won. The alliance with Crocodile was as good as sealed. Soon, the Warlord would lend him an army—an unstoppable force that would sail across the seas to reclaim what was his.

“Dragons rule the world,” Viserys muttered to himself, a sharp grin tugging at his lips as he gripped the hair of the woman in front of him. “And I will—”

A sharp, hesitant knock at the chamber doors shattered the oppressive atmosphere.

The sounds of moans faltered slightly. Someone hissed in irritation, but no one moved to answer. Viserys’s grin faltered, his pale brows pulling together in annoyance. He glanced toward the heavy double doors, his lips curling into a snarl.

“What is it?” he barked, his voice sharp and biting.

The doors creaked open slightly, and the nobleman who owned the estate stumbled inside. He looked haggard and pale, as though he had just received news of his own funeral. His hands fidgeted nervously with the edges of his robe, his face slick with sweat.

“My lord…,” the nobleman began, his voice trembling. “Y-You have… a visitor.”

Viserys’s expression darkened. He released the woman’s hair with a shove, causing her to stumble back slightly, though she said nothing. The grin that had stretched his face only moments ago was gone, replaced with something cold and angry.

“A visitor?” Viserys repeated, his voice dangerously soft. “Do you see me entertaining visitors right now, you fool?”

The nobleman swallowed thickly, stepping further into the room. “My lord, please forgive the intrusion, but this is… not someone to ignore. He… he insists on speaking with you.”

“Tell them to leave,” Viserys snapped, waving a hand dismissively as though swatting at a fly. “I don’t care who it is. I’ve no time for peasants or debtors. Go!”

The nobleman hesitated, wringing his hands more frantically now. “My lord… it is Dracule Mihawk.”

The room fell eerily silent. The sounds of pleasure and laughter died instantly, as if someone had cut the air itself. Viserys froze mid-motion, his sneer faltering, his lips parting slightly in disbelief.

“Mihawk?” he repeated, his voice weaker now.

“Yes, my lord,” the nobleman whispered. His gaze darted nervously toward the doorway, as though he expected the man in question to step through it at any moment. “He… is waiting.”

Viserys swallowed, his throat bobbing as the name settled over him like a storm cloud. Dracule Mihawk. The name alone carried weight—enough to make even kings and admirals wary. The greatest swordsman in the world. A man whose very presence struck fear into anyone foolish enough to cross him.

And he was here. Now.

Viserys sat up sharply, the silken sheets sliding off his body as he glared at the nobleman. “Why is he here? I didn’t summon him.”

“I-I don’t know, my lord,” the nobleman stammered. “But he says it’s urgent. He… will not leave without speaking to you.”

Viserys hesitated, his mind whirring. The others in the room shifted uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances. None of them dared to move, not with that name hanging heavy in the air.

“Fine,” Viserys snapped, his voice brittle. “Send him in.”

The nobleman blanched. “Here, my lord? In…” He glanced meaningfully at the disheveled, naked bodies still sprawled across the chamber floor.

Viserys scowled, shoving himself to his feet. He grabbed a discarded robe—deep violet silk embroidered with faint golden dragons—and threw it haphazardly over his shoulders, tying it loosely around his waist. “In the sitting room. I will receive him there. Now go!”

The nobleman didn’t need to be told twice. He bowed deeply before turning and all but fleeing from the chamber.

Viserys exhaled sharply, smoothing his damp hair back from his face as he turned on the others, his eyes wild with irritation. “Get out. All of you. I want this room cleared!”

The tangled bodies scrambled into motion, hurriedly gathering clothing and slipping out through side doors as quickly as they could. The woman Viserys had been so gleefully using earlier disappeared without a word, her face blank and unreadable. Within moments, the room was empty, leaving Viserys alone in the heavy silence.

He paced for a moment, breathing deeply to calm himself before straightening his back and schooling his expression into something that might pass for dignity. Dracule Mihawk was not someone he could dismiss, no matter how much he wanted to. But Viserys was a Targaryen—a name that carried weight, even in these lands.

He will see me as a prince, Viserys thought, his lips curling faintly into a forced smile. He will respect me.

Still, as he moved toward the adjoining sitting room, his heart hammered traitorously in his chest.

Dracule Mihawk stood in the center of the sitting room like a living shadow, his figure tall and unshakable against the grand decor of the estate. His dark coat hung heavily at his shoulders, the wide brim of his hat casting a faint shadow over his sharp, piercing golden eyes. The massive, ornate black blade strapped across his back gleamed faintly, even in the dim firelight.

Viserys entered with feigned confidence, his violet robe sweeping behind him as he forced a smile onto his face. “Lord Mihawk,” he greeted, his voice carrying an edge of bravado. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

Mihawk turned his head slightly, fixing Viserys with a gaze so cold and direct that the prince felt his mouth go dry. The swordsman said nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably.

Finally, Mihawk spoke, his voice low and smooth. “Viserys Targaryen.”

The name alone felt like a judgment.

Viserys’s forced smile faltered slightly, but he held his ground. “Yes. I am he.”

Mihawk took a step closer, his movements unhurried, though his presence seemed to fill the room. “You’ve made dangerous allies, little prince.”

Viserys’s brow twitched, the insult grating against his pride. “Allies?” he scoffed. “Crocodile is no danger to me. He is—”

“Enough,” Mihawk interrupted, his voice cutting like a blade.

Viserys stiffened, the words dying on his lips. Mihawk tilted his head faintly, his golden eyes narrowing. “I came here for information. If you value your life, you will give it to me.”

Viserys swallowed hard. This was not going to be the victory he imagined.

The silence in the sitting room was stifling, thick with an oppressive weight that smothered the air. Viserys Targaryen, draped in his loose violet robe and drenched in false confidence, stared across the room at the figure standing before him. Dracule Mihawk—Hawk Eyes—was not a man to be trifled with, and for all of Viserys's bravado, he could feel his stomach churn at the sight of him.

Mihawk didn’t move. He stood with the stillness of a predator—motionless, yet every muscle seemed taut, coiled, ready to strike. His golden eyes, like those of a hunting falcon, pinned Viserys in place, stripping him of whatever dignity he thought he still possessed. The room, no matter how opulent, felt too small now.

Viserys swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I… I don’t know what you think you’ve come here for, Lord Mihawk,” he began, forcing his voice into something resembling authority. “But whatever it is, you’ll find no trouble here. I am a prince—”

“Spare me,” Mihawk interrupted, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, and Viserys instinctively stepped back, the air crackling with unspoken menace.

“Your bloodline means nothing to me,” Mihawk continued, his tone calm, almost bored. “I’ve seen kingdoms rise and crumble. The weight of your name is hollow if you cannot bear it.”

Viserys’s face twisted, his pride flaring despite the instinctive fear that coiled in his chest. “How dare you speak to me that way?” he hissed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I am Viserys Targaryen! Son of dragons! I am—”

Mihawk’s gaze sharpened, and the room seemed to grow colder. “Enough,” he said again, this time with more force. The word cut through Viserys’s rant like a sword cleaving flesh, leaving him trembling in silence.

“You speak like a boy who has seen nothing of the world,” Mihawk said softly, his voice now quiet and dangerous. “A boy who mistakes his birthright for power.”

Viserys swallowed again, his lips parting as if to respond, but Mihawk did not give him the chance. The swordsman stepped forward again, his dark coat sweeping behind him like a shadow. The massive black blade strapped to his back gleamed in the firelight, a silent reminder of who this man was—what he could do.

“You’ve made a deal with Crocodile,” Mihawk continued, his golden eyes narrowing. “And yet you parade yourself here like a fool, drinking and whoring, believing yourself victorious. Tell me—what, exactly, do you think Crocodile intends to do with you?”

Viserys flinched at the words, his confidence visibly cracking as Mihawk’s question hit home. The truth was, he didn’t know. He had been so blinded by his own imagined triumph—so drunk on the thought of an army, of reclaiming what he believed was his—that he hadn’t stopped to question Crocodile’s intentions.

“I…” Viserys started, but his voice faltered.

Mihawk tilted his head faintly, his expression as sharp and unreadable as ever. “You think he will give you an army,” Mihawk said, the faintest note of mockery threading through his voice. “You think he sees you as an equal. But you are nothing to him. A pawn. A means to an end.”

Viserys’s face paled, though he tried to hide it. “You’re lying,” he spat, though his voice lacked the strength he intended. “Why would Crocodile waste his time on me if he didn’t intend to honor the agreement?”

Mihawk’s lips quirked into a faint smirk—a cruel, knowing thing that only made Viserys’s stomach churn harder. “Crocodile wastes nothing. That is precisely why you should be afraid.”

Viserys shook his head, his golden hair sticking damply to his face as he stumbled back another step. “He needs me! My bloodline—my name—will give him legitimacy! You don’t understand!”

Mihawk sighed faintly, as though he found the entire display tiresome. “Crocodile doesn’t need anything, little prince. Least of all you.”

The words struck like a hammer. Viserys stared at Mihawk, his mouth opening slightly, but no words came.

The silence stretched unbearably until Mihawk took another step forward. This time, he tilted his head just slightly, the faint smirk on his lips disappearing into something colder. “Where is she?”

Viserys blinked, confusion mingling with his fear. “What?”

“The girl,” Mihawk said simply. “The one you sold to Crocodile. Your sister.”

Viserys’s expression darkened, his lip curling. “She is of no concern to you.”

Mihawk’s gaze hardened, the air in the room growing even colder. “I decide what concerns me.”

Viserys bristled, his pride flaring again in the face of Mihawk’s utter dismissal of his authority. “Y/N is where she belongs,” he sneered, though his voice wavered at the edges. “She serves a purpose—my purpose. Crocodile sees her value, just as I do.”

“Value?” Mihawk echoed softly, his tone dripping with disdain. “You mean you offered her up as a bargaining chip.”

“She is mine to do with as I please!” Viserys snapped, his voice rising. “She—”

He froze mid-sentence as Mihawk moved.

It was just a step—a single, measured stride—but it carried the weight of an unspoken threat that made the blood drain from Viserys’s face. Mihawk didn’t even need to unsheath his blade. The promise of violence radiated from him like heat off steel, tangible and absolute.

“You’re fortunate I do not kill you where you stand,” Mihawk said softly, his voice a low murmur that held far more menace than a shout ever could. “But your life is of no interest to me. Yet.”

Viserys’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his earlier bravado now completely shattered.

“I’ll find her myself,” Mihawk said, turning abruptly as if Viserys no longer existed. He strode toward the door, his heavy boots ringing sharply against the marble floor.

Viserys could only stare after him, his body frozen, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Mihawk didn’t look back. He didn’t need to.

As he reached the threshold, Mihawk paused, his head turning slightly to glance back over his shoulder. “You play at being a king, Viserys Targaryen,” he said, his voice carrying an edge as sharp as the blade on his back. “But men like Crocodile eat kings for breakfast. Pray you don’t choke on your own ambition before he decides you’re no longer useful.”

With that, Mihawk stepped through the doorway and disappeared into the hall, leaving only silence in his wake.

Viserys staggered back, collapsing onto the nearest divan as his legs finally gave out beneath him. His hands trembled as he wiped at the sweat beading his forehead, his breath ragged and uneven.

He gripped the edge of the goblet still sitting on the table, his knuckles white. Mihawk’s words rang in his ears, circling like vultures, stripping away what was left of his fragile pride.

Crocodile doesn’t need me…

For the first time, the truth began to sink in, and with it came the faintest shadow of terror.

Out in the hall, Mihawk’s boots clicked softly against the marble as he walked, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

The girl, he thought to himself. She’s the key to this mess.

Crocodile’s plans had already begun to unfold. And Mihawk intended to see just how far the pieces had been set on this board—and how the Targaryen girl fit into it all.

The greatest swordsman in the world had been set on a path, and the sands of Alabasta would bear witness to what came next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rainbase at night was alive with heat and flame. Fires burned high in braziers, casting wild, flickering shadows across the sandstone walls of Crocodile’s fortress. The city outside was a restless beast, filled with drunken laughter and the thrum of music carried through the streets like a pulse.

Inside the throne room, however, the world was more… intimate.

The chamber had been transformed for the occasion, though Y/N couldn’t decide if it was a celebration or a performance. The air was heavy with incense, the cloying sweetness mixed with the tang of wine and the sharp scent of fire. Oil lamps hung low from the ceiling, their light diffused through colored glass, casting red and gold hues across the room.

It was hot—not just in temperature, but in atmosphere.

The center of the chamber was cleared, save for a small troupe of dancers—maidens draped in thin silks, their forms moving sensually, languidly, as though they were part of the flames that surrounded them. The pounding of drums set a rhythm that was primal and raw. Their bare feet slapped softly against the marble floor as they spun and swayed, their bodies grinding against the air and sometimes against the guards who stood stoically, though their gazes burned with something far less composed.

Y/N sat beside Crocodile on a raised platform overlooking the ceremony, her seat slightly lower than his. A throne for him—dark, carved, sharp—and a cushioned seat for her, more ornate but no less subservient in its placement.

Her hands rested stiffly in her lap, fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her robe as she watched the scene unfold below. Her face was blank, her expression carefully composed, but inside, her stomach churned with unease.

The music, the dancing, the moans that sometimes escaped from the edges of the crowd—it all felt obscene, like something she wasn’t meant to witness. Bodies moved together in ways that were far too intimate for the public eye, maidens pressing themselves against soldiers with a sensual confidence that turned her stomach.

What kind of ceremony is this? she wondered, though she didn’t dare ask. She could feel Crocodile’s presence beside her, the heat of him despite the cool, shadowed authority he radiated. He watched the dancers below with an expression of boredom, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Y/N sat still, her spine straight, her face blank. She had learned long ago to wear such masks, to endure moments like these without faltering. But gods, she wanted to leave this place—to tear herself away from this performance of debauchery and greed.

She glanced at Crocodile from the corner of her eye, studying him carefully. He leaned back in his throne, one arm draped casually over the armrest, the golden hook on his left hand gleaming faintly in the firelight. A cigar rested between his fingers, a thin trail of smoke curling lazily into the air. His visible eye was sharp and calculating, though there was no hunger in his gaze as he observed the scene below.

“Uncomfortable?”

The word was spoken so softly that Y/N almost thought she’d imagined it. Her heart jumped as Crocodile turned his head slightly toward her, his smirk more pronounced now.

She stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze. “No, my lord.”

His chuckle was low, rumbling. “You’re a poor liar.”

Y/N said nothing, forcing her hands to unclench slightly in her lap. She couldn’t risk speaking further. A wife stays quiet. The words had been drilled into her by her brother, his threats sharp as knives against her skin.

Crocodile exhaled a slow cloud of smoke before turning his attention back to the dancers. “You’ll learn to stomach it,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “There are worse things in the world.”

Y/N wanted to argue, to tell him that this was already too much. But she stayed silent.

The music built to a crescendo then, the drums pounding louder, the dancers spinning faster. A cry of triumph rose from somewhere in the room, and the crowd—guards and servants alike—responded with cheers and clapping.

Y/N gritted her teeth, refusing to react.

Then, as if to signal the ceremony’s shift, a figure stepped forward—one of Crocodile’s guards, his dark armor glinting in the light. He carried a large wooden crate in his arms, the weight of it clearly a burden as he walked toward the raised platform where Crocodile and Y/N sat.

The crowd stilled. The music faded into an eerie silence.

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly as she watched the guard ascend the steps, his breathing heavy from the effort of carrying whatever lay within the crate. He paused at the foot of Crocodile’s throne, kneeling down as he placed the crate carefully onto the floor.

“My lord,” the guard said, his voice low and reverent. “A gift. For the lady.”

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained composed. He flicked the ash from his cigar, his gaze shifting lazily to the crate. “A gift?”

The guard nodded, his head still bowed. “Yes, sir. From a benefactor whose name we do not know. They arrived this morning.”

Y/N blinked, her unease only deepening as she stared at the crate. It was large, wooden, with faint carvings etched into its sides. She couldn’t place the symbols, but something about them felt old. Ancient.

Crocodile waved a hand, and the guard quickly moved to open the crate. The lid creaked as it was lifted away, revealing what lay inside.

The room seemed to grow quieter still.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart thundered painfully against her ribs.

Inside the crate, nestled in a bed of dark velvet, were three eggs.

Not ordinary eggs. They were large, nearly the size of a man’s head, their surfaces smooth yet textured—scales of red, black, and deep green shimmered faintly in the firelight. They looked alive somehow, as though something slumbered just beneath the shell.

The guard’s voice broke the silence. “Dragon eggs, your grace. The last three to exist.”

Y/N stared, frozen, her mind unable to process what she was seeing. Dragon eggs? She had heard the stories, of course. Every Targaryen child grew up on tales of dragons—creatures of fire and blood, beasts that had shaped the world and crowned kings. But those tales were just that—tales. Dragons were gone. Extinct.

And yet…

Her hands moved before she realized it, reaching forward as if compelled. She ignored Crocodile’s gaze on her as her fingers brushed against the surface of the middle egg—the one that glowed with faint shades of red and gold. It was warm beneath her touch.

And then she felt it.

A heartbeat.

Faint, steady, but there.

Y/N inhaled sharply, her eyes wide as her other hand reached out to touch the other two eggs. She felt it again—three heartbeats, pulsing softly, as though the eggs themselves were alive.

How?

She couldn’t speak. The words lodged in her throat, her breath quick and shallow as her mind reeled. She was connected to them somehow, as though they reached back toward her in recognition.

Crocodile watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. He leaned forward slightly, his golden hook glinting in the firelight as he regarded the eggs.

“Well,” he said softly, his voice low and measured. “It seems our little princess has found something of interest.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her hands trembled as she held the red egg in her lap, the faint pulse of its heartbeat echoing in her palms. For the first time in years, she felt something stir inside her—something fierce, something ancient.

Fire.

She could feel it in her blood, in the warmth spreading from the eggs to her very core.

Crocodile smirked, leaning back again as he took a long drag of his cigar. “Let’s see what you do with them, girl.”

The music began again, the drums pounding softly, but Y/N heard nothing.

The last dragons of the world lay in her hands. And the fire inside her burned brighter than ever.

The air in the chamber had turned suffocating, thick with heat and expectation. The pounding of drums continued—a steady rhythm, deep and primal—that seemed to reverberate through Y/N’s bones. The flames in the braziers burned low now, casting the room in long, flickering shadows that moved like creatures of their own making.

She stood at the center of it all, on a raised platform of black stone draped with silk. The dancers were gone now. The guards, however, remained. Rows of them stood silent and watchful around the chamber, their faces hidden beneath dark veils, their gleaming weapons strapped to their sides. Their eyes—dozens of them—were fixed on her.

Watching. Always watching.

Crocodile moved like a shadow just outside her periphery, circling her with slow, deliberate steps. She could hear his boots scuff faintly against the stone, the sharp click of his golden hook punctuating the sound, each step echoing in time with the relentless drumbeats. He was in no hurry. This moment, it seemed, belonged to him.

Y/N’s body trembled beneath the weight of it all. The silks she wore—those same pieces of fabric that had been tugged and adjusted to “present” her—felt as though they might dissolve under the heat of so many eyes. Her robe had already loosened slightly, the ties at her sides barely holding the thin layers in place.

The room’s tension settled over her skin like a layer of dust, clinging to her, pressing into her, making every breath feel heavier than the last. This is tradition, they had said. This is royal Alabasta.

But tradition felt like violence.

And the horrors were just beginning.

The guards said nothing. The servants said nothing. No one in the room seemed willing to acknowledge what was about to happen, though they knew. Y/N knew.

A wedding in Alabasta—a traditional union of ruler and bride—required consummation. And the consummation, as dictated by ancient rites, was not private. It was a spectacle. A display of power, of submission, of ownership. The bride was expected to be humbled before the kingdom, her body offered openly, witnessed by the court and guards who pledged their loyalty.

Y/N had learned this only moments before, whispered to her in clipped tones by one of the attendants. The realization had left her frozen—trapped—as the final ties of her fate seemed to tighten around her neck.

Crocodile stopped behind her.

She felt his presence before she heard him speak, the weight of his gaze burning into her back like the searing heat of the desert sun. He said nothing at first, but she could feel him there—studying her, considering her. The silence dragged on, and for a moment, she dared to hope that perhaps he would change his mind.

Then his hand touched her.

The large, gloved hand settled at the base of her back, where the silk ties of her robe held the fabric together. Crocodile’s touch wasn’t rough or hurried. It was calm. Methodical. As though this were nothing more than a matter of routine.

Y/N stiffened, her throat tightening as she stared straight ahead, refusing to turn, refusing to let him see the tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t show weakness. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Crocodile said nothing as his fingers began to tug at the ties, one by one, loosening them with agonizing slowness. The silk at her shoulders began to shift, slipping away to expose her skin. The air of the chamber, though warm, felt ice cold against her pudgy back and arms.

Her breathing grew shallow as she felt the fabric give way, the delicate robe hanging more loosely now. She imagined the guards watching—staring—their eyes fixed on every inch of her exposed flesh. Humiliation burned through her chest like a hot coal.

She felt disgusting. Exposed. Worthless.

The whispers of the servants earlier—their cruel words about her weight, her size—returned to her in an endless loop. “Too big.” “Like a cow.” “Unpresentable.” She hated herself for remembering. She hated herself for caring.

Crocodile’s gloved hand returned to her, this time tracing up her back—slowly, deliberately—until his fingers brushed the nape of her neck. The leather felt cool against her flushed skin. She shivered beneath his touch, though not from pleasure—only disgust, only fear.

He stepped closer then, so close that she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint tang of cigar smoke that clung to his coat. Her tears spilled silently, leaving thin, hot tracks down her cheeks. She wanted to scream. To run. To fight. But she knew she couldn’t—not here, not now.

“Is this…” she whispered shakily, her voice barely audible as it slipped from trembling lips. “…what you wanted?”

She spoke the words in Valyrian, the ancient tongue of her bloodline—a language her brother had forbidden her to speak. It felt like the smallest rebellion, a refusal to let Crocodile understand the depths of her pain.

Crocodile’s hand paused.

For a moment, the chamber seemed to hold its breath.

He understood the tone of her words, even if he didn’t know the language. His fingers traced back down her spine, stopping at the small of her back. Then, to her surprise, he spoke.

“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, though not cruel. “Even now, you have fire in you.”

Y/N’s tears continued to fall, though her face remained forward, her expression blank. She didn’t know what he meant, and she didn’t care.

Crocodile chuckled softly—a dark, low sound that sent a chill through her bones. “You think I’m here to humiliate you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “To tear you apart in front of my men. To break you.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

He stepped back then, the weight of his presence retreating, though it didn’t ease the tension in her chest.

“I don’t need to humiliate you,” he said, his tone sharper now, edged with something unreadable. “You’ll either break on your own… or you won’t.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Crocodile turned, stepping away from her as he walked back to his throne. The guards watched, their faces unreadable beneath their veils. The air in the chamber shifted—confusion rippling through the silent audience, though none dared to question their ruler.

Y/N stood frozen on the platform, her robe still loose, the silk slipping awkwardly across her shoulders. Her tears dripped silently onto the marble floor, though she refused to make a sound.

Crocodile sat down heavily in his throne, his golden hook catching the firelight once more as he regarded her with an expression she couldn’t place—curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe disappointment.

“Cover her,” he said finally, waving a hand.

A pair of servants approached hurriedly, pulling the silks back over Y/N’s shoulders, their touch quick but careful.

“You may think you hate me,” Crocodile continued, his voice carrying through the hall like the final strike of a drum. “But hatred burns brighter than fear. Hold onto it, girl. It’ll keep you alive.”

The servants guided Y/N off the platform, leading her toward the exit of the chamber. Her legs trembled as she walked, but she forced herself to keep her head high, to ignore the stares, the whispers, the weight of her shame.

As she stepped through the doors, the sound of the drums began again, slow and steady.

And behind her, Crocodile’s smirk remained, though his gaze lingered on the platform where she had stood.

She will not break, he thought to himself.

And something about that… pleased him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[super-lupus]

Twilight and Game of Thrones HAHAHAHAHA

combine your first real fandom with your current one to create a terrible, terrible au

[pokeshippingweek]

POKESHIPPING WEEK 2024!

It's that time again, pokeshippers!

Last year, we announced that the format of Pokeshipping Week - one theme per day - was getting retired. We also said that we'd still put on a celebration of some kind going forward. Well, the time is here, and I'm happy to announce that we are planning a pokeshipping zine...next year!

If you'll forgive the bait-and-switch there, we have seriously talked about doing a zine, but time got away from us this summer. So, while we do hope to tackle that undertaking in 2025, for this year, we're planning what you might call an open Pokeshipping Week!

How does it work, you ask? Simple: over the years, you all have submitted a lot of potential themes for Pokeshipping Week. For every seven that got chosen each year, plenty were left behind. Well, now you can fill November 1 to 7 with art, fics, AMVs, GIFs, graphics, etc., all about our favorite Poke-couple, using any seven you'd like from the unused themes list.

Any and all contributions are welcome, and if they're tagged #pokeshipping week 2024, we'll reblog them here and on the main @pokeshipping blog. Besides Tumblr, we’ll keep our eyes out for the tag on Twitter and DeviantART for artwork, for fanfics on FF.Net and AO3, and for AMVs on YouTube (no NSFW, please).

The full list of unused themes (from years 2020 through 2023) is below the "Read More" break. Use, combine, and create as your heart desires, and we'll see you November 1!

A bad fight A day in the life  A never-ending road A ship full of shippers Alola sunset scene Amusement park Anime characters meet their game/manga counterparts Anniversary Art classes together/Drawing each other Ash and Misty in Sinnoh Ash’s hat Avatar: The Last Airbender AU Birthdays  Breakup Cameran Palace ball (as in Movie 8) Celebrating Celebrities Champions/Masters  Cheerleader Misty Childhood sweethearts Chocolate Comfort during a natural disaster Comforting each other Competition Confiding in one another Cooking disaster Costumes Criminal/Detective Crossover Crossover with game/manga-verse D&D Dealing with Team Rocket’s teasing in “A Scare in the Air” Dewpider/Araquanid Different hairstyle Disaster dates  Disney AU Double dating Elder years  Elders Ash and Misty Evolution Fairy tales/Fantasy AU Fankids Fireworks First day on the job Food Fortune-telling/foresight Game of Thrones AU Giving advice to a younger generation Grey hair Gym leader Ash/beginner Misty Halloween/horror/ghost story Hanahaki disease Handkerchief Happily Ever After/Fairy Tales Hiding Hogwarts AU Horizons Hot tub/Hot springs If Ash heard Misty’s Song If Ash or Misty weren’t from Kanto If Ash started his journey at 16 or older If Ash’s journey had ended after winning the Indigo League (in season 1) If Misty caught Lapras If one came from another region If their parents met If they didn’t meet on Ash’s first day In-universe Pokéshippers Intimacy Japanese-style confessional love letter JRPG AU (ie, Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Monster Hunter, etc.) Karaoke Ladybug and Chat Noir Last goodbyes Learning a different language Lost Pikachu Love Letter  Love triangle Lovers across the multiverse Lovestruck (if Ash acted like Brock) Meeting the parents/relatives Mewtwo Strikes Back alternate ending Misty and other Pokégirls discuss their loved ones together Misty meets Goh and Chloe Misty overcoming her fear of Bug-types Misty the coordinator Misty’s Bug-type phobia Mixtape/playlist  Mystery dungeon Nervous Ash  Never have I ever Other Pokemon games AU (Detective Pikachu/Pokemon Masters/etc) Out of their element  Overprotective Misty  Perspective of Oak Ranch Pokémon on their relationship Photo shoot Pirates Plot twist Pokemon daycare Pokémon Mystery Dungeon AU PokéNav communication/Video calling Possessed/evil Misty Pregnancy/Birth Pro-gamers Puberty Reappearance of Ash’s father and/or Misty’s parents Regency Era Romance  Return to Orange Islands Romeo and Juliet Sci-fi AU Scuba diving Secret identity/superhero AU Slow Slumber party Spies AU Stargazing Studio Ghibli AU Sunshine and Rain  Superhero AU Swimming lessons Sygna suits Tabletop RPG AU Taller (height differences)  Tauros ranchers Ash and Misty Time capsule Training together Umbrella Vacation Visiting Oak’s ranch  Water and electricity/water and fire What if Ash didn’t take Misty’s bike? Yoga together Z-ring/Mega Stone

[hayleymarriedjakurai]

DRDT (Jarei) Pirate AU

i made a little jarei pirate au post on twitter and got attached to the idea so i decided to expand on it a little more

Setting: The Kingdom of Rosas. With the Rosales being the royal family, of course. Rosas is a seaside kingdom with lots of ports. Deep forests surround the non coastal parts that lead to the border to the other kingdoms.

Very basic magic laws apply in this world, and wealthy people have easier access to magic, whether it be training, schools, or attuned items/weaponry. Everyone is born with some scale of magical energy, usually with a concentration on a type of magic that you can cast easier than the others (conjuration, divination, enchantment, etc.)

Most people wait for their attunement to come naturally (Age like 6-7). It sort of just happens, everyone having a different trigger. Most people that can afford it pay to get it triggered by some sort of official, they treat it like a coming of age sort of thing! Otherwise you gotta wait or just never get it. There’s some people, although rare, that don’t attune until very late. And most people don’t have a crazy amount of magic, it’s rare too be very strong or very weak.

People with access to conduits like wands or staffs can control their magic easier. It also helps people with weaker magic cast more difficult things.

Any fantasy race you can think of probably exists here.

Julia “J” Rosales - Was forced attuned at age 6, slightly above average magic with a concentration in transmutation. The only daughter of Queen Mariabella Rosales. The eldest child. She is currently about to be married off to a neighboring kingdom. Normally, someone would marry HER to marry into the Rosales family, but she is so uncooperative and “not worthy of the title of Queen” that her younger brother Ryan is going to become the heir instead. She will be married off and out of the way. Plus, establishing a connection with the other kingdom will be very important.

J has been miserable since birth. She had brief relief when she found out that her mother didn’t intend on her being the heir, but being told she was going to be married off was worse. She was forced to dress in the most extravagant gowns, looking like the perfect princess of the land. She was never able to do anything or go anywhere without a guard or permission from her mother. The King is not present, having left on an expedition about two years ago and has not returned. Mariabella always had more authority anyway, even before he left.

Ryan doesn’t wanna be the heir to the throne. He’s lazy and prefers to stay in his room doing various activities. He always asks for puzzles or games and then just does nothing else. J will sneak into his room so they can hang out, but it usually ends up turning into a ‘let’s talk about how ass mom is’ session.

Ryan covers for her the night she decides to leave once and for all. As sad as he is to see her go, he understands that it’s either this or her being forced to marry some random prince.

Her plan isn’t very well thought out. The ports always have pirates. Whether they’re here to trade, buy, steal, whatever- there’s always at least one pirate crew somewhere in the city. She plans to sneak onto a ship and hide below deck until they dock in another kingdom. Then she will get out and be free.

So when she leaves the castle in the dead of night with nothing but the clothes on her back and her attunement wand, she’s taken off guard when she’s caught almost immediately.

Because she climbed onto Captain Arei’s boat while they were docked and in a tavern, hid in an empty barrel, and accidentally made a crazy amount of noise when she tried to get out. Because SOMEONE put an object on the top of the barrel and she knocked it over by mistake.

So now she’s a hostage on this ship, which is now sailing out. And she’s the princess. They could hold her ransom and get a LOT of money.

Arei and her crew…

Arei Nageishi - Human. The captain herself. Ditched her own life as a miserable peasant girl and killed her sisters. Killing them actually unlocked her attunement <3. Average magic, concentration in abjuration. Ruthless captain who mainly focuses on ransacking other ships. Doesn’t really kill a lot unless they’re HUGE assholes. Loves to torture/tease captives though. Shes a decent captain and treats her crew like family, even though they bicker and insult each other a lot

Hu - Half human half nature fae. Isn’t really involved in the pirate violence, she’s moreso the caretaker of the crew during periods of rest. Plays the zither still, they do so many music nights on this ship they got so many instruments. Was born attuned bc fae blood and has a strong concentration in enchantment. She uses her instruments as a wand equivalent, and can even cast with just her voice. Her wings are similar to a butterflies, and she keeps them under her clothing because she would most certainly be killed/have them cut off to sell them somewhere in pirate world. Everyone on board knows about them.

Whit - Half elf. Attuned via ceremony at age 6. Below average magic with a concentration in illusion magic. His mother was a powerful magic user and he feels like shit having to live up to her bc he does not have her talent. Is very close to Arei, they’re besties. He’s been with her the longest out of everyone else on board. Loves egging her on when it comes to torturing captives. Loves pranking people with illusions.

Charles - Nobody really knows what he is. Nobody knows when he was attuned. He has the tiniest fucking horns on his head and a devil-like tail, but never gives a flat out answer when you ask him what he is. Thin pupils. Isn’t for the violence on board either, kind of works as the guy that focuses on the maps, the travel, and looking over the things they steal and checking for their value. Skilled in divination but cannot cast without his attuned gloves. He’s great at identifying curses or magical properties on objects. Sucks at most other magic but Whit is trying to teach him very basic illusions. Acts like he doesn’t really care about the crew + never actively participates in their shenanigans but he would literally die for them.

Veronika - Human. Attuned at age 8 after nearly accidentally killing herself. Is desperate to be bitten by any vampire-esque creature. Her dream in life is to find one and convince them to turn her. Thats why she joined the crew; so she can travel. She LOVES the life of a pirate and loves egging Whit and Arei on because they’re so entertaining! She loves bothering charles too because he’s secretive and really fun to analyze. Doesn’t have a magic concentration, so in return she uses all of them but just weaker. She uses a human bone as her attunement artifact. Don’t ask her which one, she will never stop talking.

Xander - Human. Is not attuned to magic at all. Has a deep rooted hatred for the royal crown, specifically Mariabella. He lived in a small village by the border of the kingdom, in which the entire population including his family succumbed to a terrible blight. Mariabella did nothing to aid them. He seemed to be very close to attunement on the day he became the sole survivor, but something seemed to interrupt it….

Very skilled fighter in non magical combat, spare with the others and teaches them in case they cannot use magic and need a back up. Veronika is 2nd best in hand to hand combat.

Teruko is a captain on another ship that is on a neutrality pact with Arei’s group. They just don’t rob each other when they pass each other on the water. And yes they’ve definitely all anchored and jumped on one of the boats for like a party and regretted it the next morning

Teruko’s crew consists of Eden, Nico, Rose, Ace, Levi, and later David (who is a noble pretending to be a pirate because he wants to kill Teruko but that’s another story)

[the-kr8tor]

Thank you for voting for the name Octobie! Now for the themes! I've combed through every single suggestion you gave me and categorised all of them into 12 themes.

So what I'm gonna do is post the 12 (right here) and from that 12 the 5 most top voted will move up for another poll until the top 3 wins! (Reasons/ and where I got the themes from your suggestions are listed below the poll/cut. W/ brief descriptions also)

Note: Theme names aren't finalized but the meanings will still be the same. (They'll have a cooler name once they get picked!)

Wondering why there will only be three themes? Well the third week theme is called wild card where anything goes! So if your chosen theme doesn't win you can always wait for the third week of octobie to come around and you can do whatever you want in that week as long as Hobie's in it!

Fantasy— fairy! Hobie, Dragon tamer! Hobie/Dragon rider! Hobie, Mythical creature, Sailor/Pirate! Hobie x deity! R, Time-looped historian! Hobie, fae, Mermaid. (Literally anything to do with the fantasy genre)

Halloween- Cloak Hobie, Witch R & familiar! Hobie, Witch! R and demon! Hobie, accidental summoning, pumpkin, Demon! Hobie and angel! R, death reaper! Hobie and target! R, vampire! R and human Hobie, serial killer! Hobie and detective! R, zombie! Hobie, pirates, thriller! Hobie, (anything spooky or scary!)

Eras swap/ through the decades- Modern! Hobie x 1970s! r, modern au, 1800s, different au Hobies meet and different au readers meet, aged up meet cute (they meet in their 60s), decades, (time is the main gist of it, whether it's hobie through the years or some decade specific scenario)

Music- guitar, record play, music lessons, backstage, concerts, rival bands/musicians, band practice, battle of the bands, (anything that has to do with music!)

Comfort- stray cats, nicknames, arts and crafts, london tings, hate the am (mornings), flowers, cats, snow, cozy/chilling at home, library, favourite au/trope, cottage core, (anything that wakes the butterflies in your stomach or makes you feel the ooeygoeey feeling fluff!)

Anarchy- ACAB, battle vests, protest, punk. (Anything that Hobie would be proud of doing)

Slice of life/ family life- swing date, the twins, first dance, just cozy things, cozy/chilling at home, morning/nighy routine, handsy, date day/night, meet cute, sick day, childhood friends. (Cozy or family related!)

Crossover- villains and/Vs heroes, magical girl! Hobie, tokyo ghoul au, DC Crossover, Hobie meeting batman, android! Hobie and human r, baldur's gate 3 au, hobie and mutant x-men! R, hobie and deadpool!, deadpool! Hobie, gambit! Hobie, ghost rider! hobie, spy family au, nightcrawler! Hobie (whether it's a video game, anime or a different genre of comic, that goes here!)

Medieval- royalty, royal! R and rebel! Hobie, (anything that makes you sing the game of thrones opening lol)

Villain au- black cat! Hobie, deadpool! Hobie, mystique! Hobie, prowler! Hobie x villain! r (evil! Hobie? Evil! Hobie! Or any au pertaining to villainy!)

Movie mashup- scream killer! Hobie and caller! R, freaky friday/body swap, rom-com, will they/won't they?, swan lake au, mad hatter! Hobie, phantom of the opera au, the greatest showman au, avatar au, (general movie au or theatre au)

Runway ready- patches, runway, hair, piercings, braids, dress up/ fashion show, draw in your style. (Fashun!)

[oddmawd]

THE ART OF QUEEN SACRIFICE - A Dark Doflamingo Romance

SUMMARY: In chess, a player commits “queen sacrifice” by intentionally giving up their queen to gain a significant strategic or material advantage upon the board. But life is not a game of chess, and such strategies are easier prescribed than practiced — a lesson the princess of Mary Geoise will personally learn when she offers her hand in marriage to the infamous pirate warlord Doflamingo in order to spare her beloved kingdom from his wrath. [Pirate!Doflamingo x Princess!OC. Unnamed/undescribed OC for x-reader fans.] [Pirate AU. Yes, a pirate AU for One Piece. It makes sense in context, promise.]

TAGS & CONTENT WARNINGS

AO3 Link - This fic is hosted in its entirety exclusively on AO3

FANDOM: One Piece

PAIRINGS: Doflamingo x OC (can be read as Doffy x Reader)

RATING: E(xplicit)

WORD COUNT: 8 chapters total, 75k+ words

GENRE: Dark Romance

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Stalking, Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation, Intrigue, Corruption, Chess, Chess Metaphors, Strategy & Tactics, Yandere, Yandere Donquixote Doflamingo, Pirates, Princes & Princesses, Eventual S m u t, Romance, Dark Fantasy, Non-Linear Narrative, Fairy tale vibes, Cis Female Reader, Cis Female OC

WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence, s m u t in chapters 6-8, Doflamingo is a manipulative bastard

CHAPTER 1 - EXCERPT

The princess of Mary Geoise stood upon the balcony to watch her beloved kingdom burn.

She dressed plainly for the occasion. No finery, no frills, no fuss. That night she wore but a simple gown and plain shoes, bare of all regalia but the bauble she never took from around her pretty neck. She clutched this necklace in her shaking hands for comfort. Most days she hid it beneath her clothes, tucked under modest necklines and away from the prying eyes of her maids and watching father, but the time for such caution had passed.

They were almost at the end, now. Her father could levy no punishments graver than what awaited her come dawn.

“My lady.”

The third and newly appointed general of her father’s armies — for their enemies had slain the first and his replacement alike — bowed upon the flagstones at her feet. Distant fire reflected in the depths of his worried eyes. The princess could not remember his name, though she recalled the black tattoos upon his hands well enough. She bade him stand with a nod, gaze returning to the tableau of destruction playing out before her. Fire had not yet touched the noble quarter, but sparks rose to the stars at the city’s edge, spreading inward through the other districts in a sullen, rust-red ring.

“What news?” she asked with the taste of ash upon her tongue.

“Our blockade has fallen. Pirate forces breached the city walls.”

She closed her eyes. “How many?”

“A-all of them.” The general swallowed. “The Pirate Warlord sent them all.”

From his rightful place atop the conquered throne, her weary father murmured, “Don’t…don’t call him that.”

The wan-faced king sat slumped, mouth slick with wine, fingers clasped around the neck of the seventh bottle he’d downed since news broke of the pirates reaching his kingdom’s shore. He did not look like a king that night. Tonight, he was just a man, the dignity of his station crumbling in the face of imminent defeat.

And like a diamond that had lost its luster, he was ignored. “Pirate ships block the harbor,” said the general. He answered to her, now — a princess in name but the kingdom’s queen in practice.  Especially after the secrets that had recently come to light. “There can be no escape. Not anymore.”

He needn’t have said it. The princess already knew. A game of Monarchic Chess sat behind her, half complete, tiles of the board arranged in the shape of her kingdom, the game of this attack splayed out upon them in perfect, miniature detail. But although the game was not yet finished, she could already predict the outcome. The number of ships, the element of surprise, the pirate warlord’s tactics…her forces were outgunned, and with no warning to aid them, they were outmaneuvered, too. The blockade had been naught but a desperate, last-ditch effort to repel his forces, her final attempt to save them — to save not only herself and the monarchy, but to save the people she had vowed to protect. Her people were the ones who truly mattered in this scenario. She had known her efforts would fail from the outset, and that she acted on their behalf in vain, but hope compelled her try for one last chance at victory.

A chance now slipping through her fingers, as impossible to grasp as hope itself.

“Thank you, General.” She turned from him, and from her father, and returned her attention to the kingdom she had failed. “You are dismissed.”

But he did not leave. Instead he said: “There’s more.”

Bitter laughter charred her throat. “What more could there possibly be?”

“Messengers from the Pirate Warlord — from the enemy.” He corrected himself with a sideways glance at her father. “They came to tell us citizens have been taken hostage.”

Her blood ran cold. “How many?”

“Hundreds. Our operatives have confirmed it. They are gathered in groups, held at gunpoint.”

She considered this for a time. “And the Warlord’s demands in return for their safe release?”

“He…” The general looked as stunned as she felt. “He hasn’t made any.”

“So far,” the princess murmured. “There is still time yet.”

And so she waited. The general left. In his absence, advisors slinked from their hiding places in the shadows of the throne room to stand about like carrion, black-cloaked and beady-eyed, waiting for the corpse to pick clean with their sharp beaks. They wrung their hands, watching her. Whispered in her father’s ear, though he was too drunk to heed them. Many though they numbered, and brilliant in their own right, they were no help to the princess. They never had been, she ruefully mused. She alone had been their savior for many years, unknowing all the while, fighting their battles for them atop the Monarchic Chessboard. But now, even with eyes at last open to the truth, she was helpless to deliver them from this hell on earth.

It was over. It was well and truly over.

High in her tower above the city, the princess’s eyes burned as she gazed at the burning kingdom, lids heavy and thick in their struggle to remain open. So many sleepless nights. So many games played. So many tears spilled that evening, and in the many evenings before the Pirate Warlord attacked her borders outright. But all had been for naught, and now he marched upon her shores. Her enemy, her foe, her villain — he would be here soon. Soon, she would look the devil in the eye, and fall.

Unable to resist, she allowed her tired eyes to close. Smoke and ash rose from the burning city. Wind caressed her cheeks, her throat, even her hands as they clutched the necklace she loved so much. But the cold comfort of the jewel on her palm could not guard against the distant screams of her people as they were menaced by the pirates who had laid her father’s armies to waste. There could be no comfort for the princess as the noose prepared to pull tight around her throat. There could be no stopping the ring of fire sweeping toward her.

Closing her eyes was an insult to the citizens she had failed to protect. They did not have the luxury of awaiting their fate from the impersonal height of a palace tower. 

Thus, she opened them again to stare into the heart of her burning, beloved capital…but to her surprise, the image before her did not match the horrors in her head. The fiery horizon had not moved. The ring of fire had not closed. No, it somehow held steady, a constant halo of destruction that had moved not an inch deeper into the capital city and the palace waiting at its heart. The onslaught had been held at bay by…she knew not what. Had the invasion halted? But why?

What was the pirate warlord waiting for?

Her hands left the stone parapet along the balcony as she whirled to face the throne room.

“You there,” she asked, but the advisors scattered like crows under the stone of her gaze. She turned instead to the guard at the door. “Where is the general?”

“I can find him, Princess,” the guard said, scrambling. “I can — ”

He vanished through the huge oak doors. She returned her stare to the line of fire. Her knees ached from standing on the cold flagstones for hours on end. The princess had not moved since they received word of the unified pirate army’s invasion of the capital, but she refused to sink into despair alongside her wilting father. The bauble in her hand gave her strength. Oh, that beloved pink jewel she wore on its delicate chain — it gave her courage even when weariness clawed her eyes and dug sharp teeth into her psyche. She rolled it through her fingers, weighing it on her palm and giving the sparkling gem the smallest kiss when she thought no one was looking. The diamond held more than mere glitter or monetary value. It held the very core of her dreams in its facets, glinting back at her with a thousand possibilities and all the lives she might have lived had the unthinkable not occurred.

But the unthinkable had occurred. The war had been lost. The pirates had won. She would never be able to tell the person who had given her the gem how much his words had haunted her since their parting. She would never be able to tell him she wanted to reconsider the offer she had rejected. She would never be able to take his hand and say yes as she so longed to. That possibility had gone dark the moment the fires lit. If only she had met him in some other life, perhaps — 

The door opened, and the general said: “He has stopped advancing, Princess.”

She spun in a tangle of skirts. Once again the general knelt upon the stones behind her. Her father moaned atop the throne, but she hardly heard his cry of despair.

“Have our forces rallied?” she asked, but there was no hope in her heart. “I did not think they would be capable — ”

“No. They are not capable.” He passed a tattooed hand over his weary face. “He could press forward again at any time. He has the forces to destroy us in an instant.” But here he paused. “And yet.”

“And yet he has not.” Her hands fisted, fingernails scraping soft skin. “Why has that monster — ?” She shook her head. “He is just a man.”

“Princess?” asked her general.

“Never mind.” She dropped her hands and turned, head held high, tired eyes unyielding as they dragged her scattered advisors from the shadows. “Tell me again. Tell me everything you know about him.”

“We have told you everything already, Princess,” they whispered.

“Then tell me again,” demanded the princess, “about the Pirate Warlord Doflamingo.”

READ THE REST OF CHAPTER 1 ON AO3. CLICK HERE!

[syndrossi]

An ask for when you are needing a break (or procrastinating) from writing! Who are your favorite 3(ish) characters from Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, or from the books? Only include Jon, Rhaegar and Daemon if you give me your favorite SIX characters, as that's clearly cheating. Are there any you like more/differently in the books vs. the tv shows? Or special characterizations you prefer for characters that don't have much screentime *cough* Rhaegar *cough*.

You're making me choose THREE(ish) only from all the books/shows???? That's so cruel! I should be allowed to choose three from each era!

Okay, okay, setting aside my three very obvious favorites (Daemon, Jon, Rhaegar)...

In no particular order:

Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa (bonus Jocelyn). What? Is this cheating? I don't care! Baelon in particular I find so compelling. We see so little of him in F&B, but what we do see is him utterly disconsolate after Aemon's death. Grown man collapsing in his mother's arms, sobbing from the pain after murdering thousands of pirates in revenge. Look, my literary type is very easy to spot, and it's "has the power and drive to burn the world for daring to hurt the ones I love." Especially because, by all accounts, Baelon isn't the murder-kill type normally. He's the joyful, playful one--the Silver Fool. I also have a huge soft spot for second sons. Aemon and Alyssa are our tragic "died too young" members of this group, with vastly differing personalities. I have a huge soft spot for quiet, soft types as well (your Aemons, Rhaegars, even Neds and Jons if you squint). Alyssa is the opposite: bombastic, her joy greater than even Baelon's. Her and Daemon being similar in personality means I feel like I would have loved her? How much did Rhaenys love her wild aunt Alyssa? I'll bet it was a lot.

Rhaena (Aenys's daughter). I was MESMERIZED reading about her life in F&B. This woman LIVED. She gave ZERO FUCKS. She was constantly threatening to feed men to her dragon, with good reason! She had favorites in every holdfast! She survived marriage to Maegor! When her mother died in childbirth, here was the speech she gave Rogar Baratheon: Her blood is on your hands. Her blood is on your cock. May you die screaming. […] She gave you one son, that should have been enough. Save my wife, you should have said, but what are wives to men like you? Hear this, my lord. Do not think to wed again. Take care of the whelps my mother gave you, my half-brother and half-sister. See that they want for nothing. Do that, and I will let you be. If I should hear even a whisper of your taking some other poor maid to wife, I will make another Harrenhal of Storm's End, with you and her inside it. Like...damn.

Sad bois Aegon III and Viserys II. Look, Aegon III breaks my heart for everything he endured. You would think that the Dance would have been the end of it but the intrigues after were awful too.

Baela. She faced Sunfyre on tiny little Moondancer and they won. (In the sense of Sunfyre dying, but poor Moondancer also died in the attempt.) She was 100% her mother's and father's daughter, like damn.

Hm, I'm stuck in F&B right now, oh well.

Rhea Royce has climbed her way into my heart as I've progressed in the AUs, especially Regnal. Her canon counterpart had to put up with Daemon being his utter worst in an attempt to get his brother to annul the marriage, and tbh I feel like she barely cared? Like, she was busy trying to rule Runestone, let that arrogant brat prance about and make a fool of himself, she had work to do. She also successfully supported little Jeyne Arryn when her male relatives kept trying to usurp her on account of being more qualified (read: male). I am so curious what she would have done as queen consort.

...I haven't even made it out of the Dance and could keep going. You'll have to send me another ask sometime for post-Dance and AGOT-era. 😂

[something-tofightfor]

Fool's Gold 7: No Fear To Follow The Way Forward

Pairing: Pirate Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand

Rating: M - for language.

Word Count: 7,967

Summary: Your ship arrives in Dorne, and you get your first taste of Sunspear ... and everything that comes with being a guest of the Martells. Meeting Doran is one thing, but how will you react to seeing Ellaria Sand for the first time?

Even though you knew it was coming, separating from Oberyn for the first time in weeks is much, much harder on you than you anticipated.

Author's Note:

My birthday gift to you this year is a new chapter. I've been so excited for them to get to Dorne, and now that they've arrived, the story will really kick into gear. Oberyn and Ellaria do interact romantically in this chapter, so if that's not what you're looking for, this is your warning.

Thank you for your patience with this one, I'm so excited for you to see what happens next.

If you want to talk about this story (or any of my others) please feel free to pop into my inbox or DMs!

Chapter title comes from "The Ascent" by Caligula's Horse.

Fool's Gold Masterlist

Things around you moved quickly as you approached the Dornish shoreline, but Oberyn stayed steady beside you. He gripped the railing with both hands, the ends of his curls moved by the sea breeze as he talked more about his home. 

You absorbed every word of it, wanting to memorize the way he sounded when he spoke to you and you alone - when you had his attention and his focus and he was including you in something special. Because no matter what he says, as soon as we dock, that changes. 

“We’ll leave everything here when we arrive.” He sighed, moving one hand to cover yours. “Someone will unload all of it and bring it into the palace. We’ll be going straight to see Doran, so there won’t be time to put anything away.” What? 

“Why? Why do I need to -” His fingers tightened, and Oberyn murmured your name. “I’ll be meeting your brother right away?” 

“You will.” He sighed. “He’ll want to see me immediately, and I have no wish to hide you away just to explain how we met later.” 

It made sense. Greeting the man who would be offering you shelter - even temporarily - before doing anything else was not only polite, it would likely go a long way toward gaining you favor with the elder Dornishman. “Do I look presentable, Oberyn?” Angling yourself so that you could face him, you pressed your lips together as you thought. “Nymeria said these clothes were made by the same person who sews things for your family, and -”

“They look as though they were made for you.” He reached out with the hand not holding yours and ran it down your arm and then back up before cupping your cheek with his large palm. “Are you comfortable in that? It’s very different from your clothes.” You nodded, fighting the urge to lean into his touch. “I hope to see you in more like it …and for a very long time.” 

The ember of hope you held in your chest burned brighter at those words, and as the two of you eyed each other, you let yourself believe that his feelings wouldn’t change entirely, no matter who or what was waiting onshore. 

“I’m scared.” He rubbed his thumb over your cheek, nodding. “And I can’t make any promises to you right now, but … I’ll give Dorne a chance, Oberyn. Even if you’re otherwise occupied and I have to explore it myself, I -”

“You will not have to explore it yourself.” His smile widened, Oberyn’s chest rising and falling as he took deep breaths. “I promised to make you fall in love with Dorne, and yes, you could do that on your own, but I do not want you to.”

Smiling at his words, you turned your head and pressed a kiss to his palm, closing your eyes. I have to trust him. Oberyn moved his hands a few moments later, but he reached for you and pulled you close, winding his arms around you as you both turned to face the railing again. 

You estimated maybe another hour before you were ashore, and even though the thought terrified you, you wondered what it would be like. You wondered how you’d make it from the docks into the palace. You wondered if you’d be separated from Oberyn for the trip and then reunited just before going in to see Doran. I bet he travels in with his daughters. 

“How will they get you from the docks to your brother without anyone seeing you?”

“Easily.” He turned his head so that he could speak into your ear. “No one expects me, so we’ll just walk off of the ship and into a waiting carriage. We sent word to Doran that we’d be arriving today, so one is already there. From there, we’ll just …” He shrugged. “You don’t have to worry about it. Just stay close.” 

Until I can’t anymore. You wondered if Ellaria would be waiting at the docks, but figured that she wouldn’t, because it would cause a stir. And they’re trying to keep him being back a secret for now, so she has no reason to be there. “Will there be a feast?” 

“Yes, of course.” He tightened his hold on you. “To celebrate my safe return and to welcome you.” 

“Oberyn, that makes no sense.” You used both hands to ease his arms loose before turning around so that you could face him, the railing at your back. “No one knows I’m with you. And even if they did, I’m not … it’s not like I’m from a noble house or will be visiting because I have something to offer Dorne.” 

“My brother does know.” He settled his hands on your hips, narrowing his eyes briefly. “I wrote about you in the raven I sent to Doran. He knows I’m not coming back alone.” If Doran knows, then Ellaria must know. And if Ellaria knows, I’m … Seven Hells, this is too much. “It will all be fine. Trust me. Please. I would not lead you into something dangerous.” 

You believed him. 

You believed that Oberyn’s return to Sunspear and Dorne would be the focus of the celebration and attention. You believed that his certainty over the situation was enough to get you through it. And I believe it will give me enough of a chance to make a real decision about where I want to go. “That changes things.” He nodded, the smile returning to his lips. “What am I supposed to tell your brother about myself?”

“Whatever you wish.” He pushed his lower lip out and into a pout, never breaking eye contact. “But I think it would be a good idea to tell him the truth, or mostly the truth. We can tell whatever story we want to others, but Doran?” Oberyn cocked his head to the side. “Doran knowing would be a good thing.” 

That made sense to you. He’d be more likely to help you if you were truthful, though he’d understand why you needed to say something different to anyone else you met. Especially if I choose to stay and forego my wedding. “Alright, Oberyn.” You reached up and pushed your fingers through his curls, smiling as he closed his eyes and hummed at your touch. “Day by day.” 

“Day by day.” He leaned in, still smiling. “And if I have my way, we’ll have many more days together.” 

Your heartbeat quickened, and even though part of you was still thinking of everything to come - Ellaria and Doran and Perle and choosing your own future and what you ended up feeling about Dorne - you were focused on Oberyn as he closed the distance, lips trailing against your chin and then up, pressing to your mouth and staying there. 

You figured it would be the last time he kissed you for a long while, and since he’d been the one to initiate it, you encouraged it. You sighed and inched closer, fingers curling into his hair and the ones on the other hand sliding over the leather of his belt to settle at his waist. 

When you parted your lips, he was ready, his doing the same before the tip of his tongue poked through and met yours. You didn’t hesitate, deepening the kiss with a slight tug to his hair to re-angle his head. Oberyn responded in kind, his fingers grasping the thin material of the dress over your hip ans crushing it against his palm. 

But what surprised you was when he reached for the hand you had on his side, linking your fingers together and bringing both hands up between your bodies, pressing yours against his chest - just above his steadily beating heart. Oh, Oberyn. 

— 

The carriage ride to the palace was uneventful, though you could feel Oberyn’s emotions churning in the enclosed space. He held your hand tightly, fingers linked with yours and his thumb sweeping absently over your knuckle, his touch grounding. As you rode away from the docks, you wondered if it was meant to soothe you - or to comfort him.

Nymeria and Obara talked among themselves, but he he kept silent, his head turned toward the small slits in the curtains that shielded you from the bustling city streets. You stayed quiet, too, watching him intently, but it wasn’t until you got your first glimpse of the palace from inside the city walls that you admitted to yourself that despite your fears, you were excited to be in Dorne. 

It’s a chance for me to start over. “We’re here.” Oberyn finally spoke as the cart came to a stop. “We’re home.” He squeezed your hand twice before he let go, and you watched as he inhaled deeply, eyes closing. 

Someone opened the doors and Oberyn stood first, exiting and then turning back to face the doorway, one hand extended. Obara and Nymeria looked between themselves and then stood, one after the other as their father helped them while they stepped down. When you were the only one left, you bit down on the inside of your lip and then took a steadying breath, sliding across the seat before you stood, too, and reached for the door frame. 

“Let me.” He extended his hand again - palm up - and waited for you to take it. When his fingers closed around yours, you released your breath and nodded, stepping out of the carriage and toward him. “Welcome to Sunspear.” He smiled, lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles. “I hope you are very happy here.” 

You didn’t have a chance to respond before a small group of men dressed in yellow robes with brown and gold accents appeared in front of where you stood. They were armed, though none of them were wielding their weapons, and you heard both of Oberyn’s daughters laugh quietly from behind you. 

“When I heard that you survived, Prince Oberyn,” a voice spoke from behind the armed men, and your head swiveled at the sound of it. Who is this? “I could not believe my ears.” You watched as a large man stepped through the gathered guards, his bald head and broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure. “And now, seeing you? I cannot believe my eyes.” 

“Areo.” Oberyn smiled, letting go of your hand and holding both of his out. “Believe it. Cersei Lannister will need to try a lot harder than she did to succeed at killing me.” 

The larger man laughed, his smile wide, and when he gestured for the other men to relax, they all did. “Your brother sent me to make sure it was truly -”

“Of course he did.” Oberyn nodded and crossed his arms, his tone amused. “It is me. And I see that nothing has changed here.”

“Very little.” Areo agreed, his eyes moving from Oberyn to Nymeria and Obara and then to you, where they lingered. “In Dorne, at least. But it seems … it seems that perhaps something has changed with you.” You listened as Oberyn promised an explanation when he was in front of Doran, focused on the way that even after being gone for so long, he still commanded the respect of the men you assumed were Doran’s personal guard. 

You didn’t speak, though, shaking your head to clear it as Areo began to lead the four of you down a long, torch-lit hallway and deeper into the palace. The armed men fell in behind and around you, but kept their distance, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the tall hallway. You attempted to walk a step or two behind Oberyn, but he didn’t let you, slowing his footsteps down so that he could walk beside you and then putting one hand on the center of your lower back, the heat of his palm comforting. 

“You walk beside me.” He leaned over, murmuring the words before kissing the space just in front of your ear. “Never behind me.” 

When you reached the upper levels of the palace and the torchlight was replaced with natural light streaming through the windows and archways, you realized that even though you were nervous, you weren’t as terrified as you thought you’d be. I’ve done nothing wrong. I can leave whenever I want to. He saved my life and brought me back to land, and … that’s it. Anything else that might happen is … unknown.

You passed more than a few members of the Sunspear staff that stopped in their tracks at the sight of Oberyn Martell strutting down the center of the wide hallways, and it made your chest ache. They look surprised. They look surprised and happy, and it’s because he’s alive. “The Prince is in his sitting room.” Areo stopped you in front of a large set of doors, turning to face you as some of his men moved out of the way and two others reached for the handles, ready to open them when directed. “He is expecting you.” 

Oberyn nodded, his hand still in place, and when the doors creaked open, you gasped at the sight of the opulent room behind them. And you were speechless again when you stepped inside, your gaze rising as you took in the high archways and golden ceilings, the room nicer than any place you’d ever been before. There was too much to look at, and you knew that even if you had hours to spend in the room, there would be something new to see. Maybe I’ll get the chance. 

“We’ve returned, Prince Doran. And I’ve brought you something important.” Areo spoke, and for the first time, you noticed that there was a man sitting on one of the plush couches in the center of the room. That must be … 

He resembled Oberyn slightly - the men had the same dark hair and eyes, but Doran’s body was frail where Oberyn’s was strong, and even from a distance you could see how tired the older Prince looked. When he made eye contact with you, you bowed your head and stayed quiet, but as your escort began to speak again, Oberyn cut him off and moved closer, his hand slipping from your body as he stepped forward. 

“Doran.” You watched as Oberyn neared his brother, the second man using the arm of the couch to push upward and into a standing position. Oberyn helped him rise fully, and you brought a hand up to your mouth and covered it as the two men hugged. Doran’s grip looked anything but frail as he embraced his brother, and even though you could hear that the two of them were speaking to each other, you couldn’t make any words out. 

He’s waited so long. They both have. Oberyn was smiling when they separated, and you watched as he helped his brother to sit back down. When Doran was comfortable, his attention returned to you, his head cocked to the side. “And who is this that you’ve brought to meet me, Oberyn? Please, come closer.” 

You only looked at Oberyn briefly before you stepped forward, lowering your head again and curtsying as you introduced yourself, though the motion was clumsy as you’d never done it before. “Prince Oberyn rescued me at sea, my lord. My ship sank, and he was kind enough to bring me on board the Sand Snake and offer to return me to land.” You straightened up and fought the urge to cross your arms over your chest as your gaze flicked back to Oberyn, who was nodding slowly. “He invited me to stay at Sunspear for a short time, and -”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Doran spoke your name, gesturing for you to come closer. “Please sit.” You did as he asked, lowering yourself to sit on a couch across from where Oberyn still stood. “And I’m sure there will be plenty of time for us to speak about who you are and where you’ve come from, but for right now…” He trailed off, linking his fingers together and placing his hands on his lap. “Let me welcome you to Dorne.” You smiled - the expression genuine - as you thanked him. “Sit, Oberyn.” He did, and when Doran finally looked past you and at Nymeria and Obara, you looked, too. “Will you be staying?” 

“No.” Obara, shook her head, her arms crossed loosely. “We wanted to bring him back to you, but we’re going to go and find Tyene. Is she home yet?”

“She is.” Doran’s smile grew. “I believe she’s actually with Ellaria right now.” You caught Oberyn’s sharp intake of breath at the mention of her name, and for the first time since you’d docked, your mood changed. “Ellaria wanted to be here when you arrived, Oberyn, but I said no.” What? Why? “I wanted a few minutes with you, and if she had been in this room,” he laughed, both brows rising. “It would not have happened.” 

“You know me so well.” Oberyn’s grin was wide, and when he reached up to run his fingers through his hair, the expression didn’t change. “I’d like to settle our guest in the quarters near mine.” Doran’s head tilted to the side, but he didn’t interrupt. “She has nothing except a few personal belongings, so she’ll need clothes. And -”

“Can she not speak for herself?” Doran repositioned himself on the couch, turning his attention back toward you. “Hmm?”

“I… yes.” You nodded, looking down at your knees and then back at the prince. “Prince Oberyn was kind enough to let me wear this, but aside from a ruined dress and the clothes the ship’s crew gave me, I have nothing. I don’t need much, and I can pay for -”

“You’ll pay for nothing.” Doran pressed his hand to the center of his chest. “You’re a guest of my brother’s, and that means you are a guest of the Martells. And in Dorne, we take care of our guests.” He turned his head and called for someone - a young woman stepping forward to stand next to the couch. “Prepare a bath, and find clothes. Bring food from the kitchens to the empty suites in the royal wing.” She agreed with a single nod, and when she was gone, Doran said your name again. “By the time we’ve finished speaking here, your rooms will be ready.” 

“Thank you.” You lowered your head again. “Thank you, Prince Doran.” 

“Of course.” He sighed. “Oberyn, I want to give you time to adjust to being back home, but unfortunately I cannot offer you too much of it. There are things we need to discuss urgently.” 

“I know.” He hummed in agreement, and when you looked back up, you saw that he was leaning comfortably against the arm of the couch, chin propped up on his knuckles. “I just need -” 

“Where is he?” The sound of a door bursting open followed by the impatient voice of a woman pulled your attention from the princes, and moments later, you got your first glimpse of Ellaria Sand. “Where is Oberyn?” 

She hurried across the large room, the skirt of her dress flowing behind her, and though two more guards entered with her, they made no attempt to stop her. She’s beautiful. You stayed put, watching as Oberyn rose from his seat and headed for her, stride purposeful. 

They met in the open space between the door and the couches, and there was no hesitation before he wrapped his arms around her, pulling the woman close and ducking his head down so that he could press his cheek to the top of her head. Neither of them spoke, and after nearly a minute, she backed away enough to look up at him, eyes wide. There were tears running down her cheeks, and you could see that his eyes were shining, too, Oberyn’s hands moving to settle at her waist. 

Watching them felt like an intrusion. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, even as he leaned in and kissed her, Ellaria’s choked sob audible despite the distance. Her fingers curled against the front of his robe, and as the kiss deepend, she didn’t let go. One of his hands crawled up her back and stopped at her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he tightened his hold. When she broke the kiss, gasping in a breath, you saw that he was tearful, too, both of his cheeks damp.

“I’ve missed you, lover.” She spoke quietly but you could hear it - and you heard him answer just as clearly, the words I have missed you more leaving his lips as he kissed her again. You finally looked away then, turning your head toward the far windows and taking a deep breath, reminding yourself to breathe. I knew this was coming. I knew that when they saw each other, this would be the result. 

“That is enough for today. Go, Oberyn.” Doran spoke up, his voice kind. “Enjoy yourself. There will be a feast the day after tomorrow to celebrate your homecoming, and then we can speak.” Two days? They’re going to organize a feast in two days? 

You tried to control your breathing, focusing on the trees and sky that you could see through the windows in an attempt to slow your racing heart. This is harder than I thought it would be. When you felt a hand on your shoulder, you gasped in shock, head whipping back around as you looked up to find Oberyn beside you. He breathed out your name and held out his other hand, waiting for you to take it. What is he… 

When you stood, he didn’t let go of you right away, instead staring into your eyes as he tightened his grip. “While you are here, treat Sunspear as your home.” Your lips parted, but you couldn’t find words. Why is he here with me? “Do not be afraid to ask for anything you want or need.” You nodded, still unable to speak, and when Oberyn released your hand and brought both of his up to cradle your face between them, you inhaled sharply. Not in front of Ellaria. Not … this isn’t… “I will see you very soon.” 

“Not too soon, though.” You finally spoke, chest constricting at the weakness you heard in your words. “Oberyn, I -” 

“Remember what I promised you.” He slowly swiped his thumbs over your cheeks, leaning in to press a lingering kiss against your forehead before backing away and locking eyes with you. “Nothing changes.” You nodded and then watched as he stepped backwards, his hands dropping to his sides. Oberyn gave you a long look before turning away and striding back toward Ellaria. 

When you looked directly at her, you found her staring at you, her head tilted to one side and her brow furrowed, almost like she was confused. Maybe she didn’t know I was coming. She expected him to be here alone. Just before Oberyn reached her, she straightened her head and shoulders, chest rising and falling as she took a deep breath. 

He blocked her with his body, and then they both headed for the door, her fingers threaded with his, and both guards - along with Nymeria and Obara - following behind. 

Once the door shut behind them, you gasped and felt your knees wobble, forcing you to sit back down on the couch and bury your face in your hands. 

“My brother is many things.” Doran’s voice startled you, and when you looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open in surprise, he actually laughed. A Prince is laughing at me. This day could not get worse. “My apologies.” He held up a hand, the smile still on his face. “As I was saying, my brother is many things depending on his mood.” Yes, he is. “But one part of him that has never wavered is his purpose.” 

“I’m sorry?” You were confused and sat up straight, unsure where Doran was going .”I don’t understand.” 

“Everything my brother does is purposeful, and it has been that way since we were children.” He shook his head. “And that means that what just happened between you was …” He trailed off as you frowned, thinking. There has to be a reason he approached me before they left. The way he touched me, that kiss, the promise, he… “Tell me the full story of how you met Oberyn.” 

“I…” You coughed, clearing your throat. “When we first met, he introduced himself as Daavos… a pirate known as the Blood Adder. He found me floating in a raft in the Narrow Sea after my ship was destroyed, and offered to bring me to land the next time they stopped somewhere.” 

“A pirate? And you trusted him?”

“I had no choice.” You looked down at your hands and then brought one of them up to your face, remembering the damage that the sun had done to your skin. “I would have died otherwise. He rescued me and the healer and crew of his ship took care of me. It … took a few days, but we made a plan to go to Tyrosh and see … if anyone knew anything about what had happened to my ship.”

“And you stopped in Tyrosh. That’s where his girls were.” You nodded, clasping your hands together. “But you are here with him now. Are you back on your way to your original destination?” His questions left things open for you to tell half truths - the way you and Oberyn had discussed. There was an opportunity for you to make the choice to abandon your past for good, and choose whatever future you wanted. But I don’t want to lie to the man who is giving me shelter, and … 

“I don’t know yet.” You looked down, shaking your head slowly. “I haven’t decided, I …” 

“Are you in trouble? Were you running from something?” He leaned closer, and you heard a sharp intake of breath, glancing up in time to see Doran pressing a hand to his upper chest. Oberyn said his health was poor, is he alright? “Does Oberyn know?” 

“He knows what I know.” You took a deep breath. “And I’m not in trouble, but right now? Yes. I am … avoiding going to Oldtown.” He blinked a few times, but didn’t speak, so you went on. “I come from Braavos, and my parents arranged a wedding with a Lord in Oldtown. I was on my way to King’s Landing to meet his men to begin our journey there when my ship was attacked. Ob- Prince Oberyn found me days later, and we have been sailing together ever since.” 

Doran took a few moments to watch you carefully, his eyes searching your face. What is he looking for? “When did you find out that his name was not Daavos?”

“Yesterday.” You brought a hand up to your mouth and sighed. “I’d already agreed to come home with him before I knew. I just thought we were coming to Dorne, but …” 

“You didn’t know he was a Martell when you agreed to come to Dorne?” You shook your head again as Doran frowned. “Does he know about your marriage?”

“Yes.” You glanced up, following the patterns in the high ceiling as you took a few deep breaths. “But he didn’t until we were in Tyrosh, and neither did I.” You met Doran’s eyes again and smiled at the confused look on his face. “When my ship sank, I hit my head on something in the water. I knew nothing about myself or my history when your brother rescued me. My memories have been coming back slowly, and then in Tyrosh, we found someone to help more of them come back quickly.” 

You spent the next few minutes retelling your story as completely as you could, and explaining how Oberyn had been patient and helpful with you the entire time you’d known him. You wondered what Doran thought of you and your situation, and of his brother’s willingness to deviate - even for a few days - from his journey home, just to help a stranger. I hope he doesn’t think I’m trying to take advantage of anything. 

“What a pair you two make.” His smile widened during the silence after you’d finished speaking. “If and when the time comes, we will help you get to Oldtown, but until then, you are welcome here.” He sighed. “Is there anyone you need to write to? Our ravens are at your disposal. Your Lord in Oldtown? Your family?” He is not my Lord.

“I …” I don’t know. I don’t … if I write to them, they’ll know I’m alive and in Dorne, and … “I haven’t… I -”

“You do not need to make a decision right now.” He smiled, the expression making him seem much younger. “You are here. You are safe. You and Oberyn seem to have things to talk about.” 

“I doubt I’ll be seeing much of him now that we’re here.” You bit down on the inside of your lip. “He and Ellaria have a lot of catching up to do, and he’s told me that the two of you also have many things to -”

“If he offered you a place to stay here, he means to spend time with you.” Doran’s smile - and his eyes - were kind, and his tone was almost gentle. “Were you aware of … him as he was before?” He’s asking if I know about Oberyn’s reputation. 

“Yes.” That made you laugh, and you rolled your eyes before you spoke again. “Even in Essos we are very aware of Prince Oberyn Martell. Ellaria, too, and the love they -”

“Hmm.” Doran cocked his head to the side, still watching you. “He spoke of a promise before he left. Is that … what did he promise you?” It was the most invasive question he’d asked, but you were still happy to answer. 

“He promised to keep me safe and to help me remember my life. He said that I was his responsibility since he’d rescued me, and …” You looked down, closing your eyes briefly as Oberyn’s voice replayed in your mind. “And that as long as I was in Dorne, I wouldn’t be alone.”

“And you won’t be.” Doran clapped his hands together, the sound drawing your attention - and the attention of someone standing near the doors that you hadn’t noticed before. “Unless you wish to be. Morra will take you to your rooms. Your bath should be ready by now.” He leaned back in his seat, his eyes on you. “I welcome you to Dorne. I hope you enjoy it here, even if it is much different from your home.” 

“Prince Oberyn tells me that I’m going to love it.” 

“You will.” He cleared his throat. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” The woman - Morra - gestured for you to stand and so you did, lowering your head once again to Doran.

“Thank you, Prince Doran. I don’t know how yet, but I will repay your kindness.” 

“That isn’t necessary.” He smiled again, head shaking back and forth. “At least not in the way you’re thinking.” I don’t know what that means. “Please, settle in. We will speak soon.” 

Without saying anything else, you followed Morra toward the door and then out of the room. She led you through a maze of hallways, forcing you to pass multiple people. Each of them stopped to stare at you, and you thought you heard a few whispers - most of them Oberyn’s name - while you walked. But Morra stayed quiet until you reached another set of double doors, where she turned to face you. 

“This is where you will stay, my Lady.” 

“I’m not -” You stopped yourself, pressing your lips together. It’s not worth it. 

“Someone will be in to help you with your bath, and to bring you something to eat once you’ve finished. Is there anything else you need right now?”

“No, I think … no. There’s nothing else.” She reached for the door handle and pulled one of them open. You thanked her and stepped past, entering the space for the first time as she shut the door behind you. 

It was larger than you imagined it would be - a wide bed on one side of it, and a smaller set of furniture in the center, including tables and chairs just as plush as the ones in the sitting room had been. Everything was decorated in warm tones - reds and golds and yellows with tiny hints of deeper, darker colors to balance things out. There was a long table along one side of the room, and on it was an assortment of things - cups and goblets, pitchers and bottles that you assumed contained various drinks. 

But the most stunning part of the room was the far wall - which wasn’t really a wall at all. Gauzy curtains had been pulled to the side of a large archway to let sunlight in, and without speaking, you crossed toward it. It led out onto a small balcony, and when you reached the railing, you gasped. It’s beautiful. 

You could see some of the grounds beneath you - twisting pathways and lush green trees, along with golden-topped towers and roofs. You could see over the wall of the palace and into the city - a network of buildings that you had no doubt you’d get lost in if given the chance. And beyond that, you could see the sea, the water sparkling in the distance. 

I cannot imagine growing up here. 

“Your bath is through here.” A voice came from inside of the main room, and when you turned toward the sound, you saw a younger woman waiting along the wall with the long table. “There is also a private commode and a basin to wash your face and hands, and -”

“Is there a mistake?” You stepped closer to her, brows knit. “This is too much. This is -”

“There is no mistake. The Prince requested these rooms for you.” She bit her lip and you watched as she clasped her hands together, saying your name slowly. “Is … is it true that Prince Oberyn is back? There are rumors, and one of the guards said they saw him, but…” 

“It is.” There was no reason for you to deny it; if there was going to be a welcome feast, everyone would know soon enough. “Prince Oberyn is alive and he is here, in Dorne.” Her eyes lit up, and when she lifted one hand to her mouth to cover it, your confusion changed to curiosity. Does she wonder just because it’s Oberyn, or is there something more to it? “I’m sure you’ll see him soon yourself.” 

She gestured for you to follow her through the doorway, and you did. You found yourself in another - smaller - room, with yet another open window. But in that one, a massive golden tub took up the center of it.The air was fragrant, and despite how overwhelmed your felt, you closed your eyes and inhaled deeply. It smells so clean. “What is that scent?” Taking another breath, you turned to face the girl. “Fruit, but -”

“Dornish oranges.” She smiled. “Among other things.” She held out a hand toward the tub and then stepped toward it. “I can help you with your bath, if you’d prefer it.”

“What is your name?” You trailed your fingers along the surface of the water, sighing at the warmth. 

“Helia.” She bowed her head. “And I’ll be with you while you’re here, for whatever you need.” I have an attendant? “Would you like me to help you undress?” 

“No. Thank you.” She didn’t look surprised, but you continued anyway. “I’m used to doing this by myself, and it feels … strange to have someone offering to help me.” She gave you an almost shy smile, but nodded. 

“I will come back later, then.” She pointed. “There is food over there, along with wine and water. Do you have any requests for dinner? I can see if the kitchens have whatever you’d like, so it’s ready when you’ve finished here.” What? 

“I… no. I’ll… what everyone else is having is fine for me.” You rubbed your arms, shaking your head back and forth. “Helia, my things … they were supposed to be brought from the ship, and -” 

“I’ll ask for them.” She lowered her head again. “I’ll know more when I come back.” 

“Am I allowed to leave these rooms?” You had no reason to believe that you weren’t, but a sudden wave of panic coursed through you. “Am I allowed to see the palace?”

“Of course you are.” She smiled, gesturing to the door. “You are not a prisoner, you’re a guest. But I would advise you not to leave alone the first time.” She cocked her head to the side and then winked at you. “There are many hallways in the palace, and it is easy to get lost if you do not know your way.” 

“That makes sense.” You closed your eyes and sighed. “Maybe … tomorrow you can show me around?” She nodded. “Thank you, Helia.” 

“Of course.” She stepped backwards. “I will bring some new clothes for you to put on after your bath. There is a robe and cloths to dry yourself, but -”

“Helia.” You raised your hand, gesturing toward the door. “I’ve got it. Thank you.” She bowed and then turned away from you, exiting into the bedroom. You waited until you heard the sound of the door closing behind her before you collapsed onto one of the benches and put your face in your hands. 

You were overwhelmed by everything you’d experienced. Who wouldn’t be? It was strange to be off of the ship, but even stranger to be away from Oberyn. You knew that he was close; he’d requested you stay in the same area of the palace as him, but you had no way of knowing just how close. Maybe that’s for the best. 

Glancing up, you bit at your lip and then stood, moving back to the doorway and undoing the curtain to close it. It gave you more privacy, and even though you didn’t think anyone would barge in, it made you feel better. 

It was a shame to change out of the dress you’d chosen so soon, but the scent - and the knowledge of the warmth of the water - overrode your disappointment. And I can wear it again if I want. 

Minutes later, the dress was hanging over the back of one of the plush chairs and you were chin-deep in the fragrant water, groaning at the warmth and comfort it provided. The tub was larger than the one on Tyrosh, and you took advantage of the fact that you could stretch your legs out inside of it. 

Doran knew the truth. Ellaria knew you were in Dorne. Oberyn was back where he belonged, and it seemed that his people were thrilled by his presence, even though only a few had actually seen him. And truth be told, you were much closer to Oldtown than you would have been if you’d taken the Roseroad. 

But your parents likely thought you were dead. Perle had - at the very least - gotten word that your ship hadn’t made it to King’s Landing. As you sunk beneath the surface of the water with your eyes squeezed shut, you tried to figure out how you felt about those facts. I feel… nothing. 

When you surfaced again, you gripped the edges of the tub with both hands, heart pounding. “I feel nothing.” 

Oberyn was right - your parents had traded your life and your hand for security in their business. They’d placed all of their faith in the understanding that your marriage to Perle would result in riches for them, without even giving you the chance to speak up for yourself or deny the match because of your feelings about it. 

Perle didn’t care for you any more than he cared for any of the other women he’d been with; all he cared about was having someone to warm his bed and to call his wife. The anger and abuse you’d endure was inconsequential to him, so long as you bore his heirs and behaved in public. 

You asking for - and Wyllam finding the token for you - was proof that you hadn’t meant to go through with the wedding. Or if you had, it had ensured you a way out at any time, so long as you could make it to a port city. And if Oberyn didn’t know what the symbol meant after years at sea, Perle wouldn’t, either. 

There was no way you could ever go back to Braavos, at least while your parents lived. And if you sent a raven to them to let them know you’d survived the shipwreck, they would expect you to go to Oldtown to fulfill the marriage pact. 

That left you with three options: going to Oldtown on your own, heading to Planky Town and seeking out the network that Carn and Naria had told you about, or staying in Dorne for good. Those had been your options for weeks, but since you were actually in Dorne, you needed to start seriously considering which you’d choose. 

You’d only been in Sunspear for a short time, and had seen almost nothing, but a small part of you understood why Oberyn loved it so much. It was different from Braavos - much warmer and sunnier, the air clean and fragrant, but in a good way. And the palace was beautiful, as were the rooms you’d been given to stay in; the bathing room larger than the bedroom you’d had at home. But he’s a prince, so of course he’d be used to this. 

You settled back into the water and took a few deep breaths, closing your eyes as you tilted your head back to rest it on the small pillow. Doran is right. I don’t need to choose anything today. 

Sighing, you repeated that to yourself, over and over. I should enjoy this while it lasts. 

 — 

Hours later, you’d finished your bath and had started to settle into your room. Someone had delivered your things from the ship, and when Helia brought a cart of food to your room, she’d also brought people to empty and clean out your bathtub, along with a healer to take a look at the wound Oberyn had bandaged for you. 

Along with your items, a trunk with clothing options had been delivered to you - with a promise that within a few days, a tailor would visit you to take measurements and talk over the sewing of new clothing, made to your specifications. And you hadn’t dressed in the Dornish dress again, either - instead, you kept the silky bathrobe on and tied tightly at your waist, the material swishing around your legs as you explored the room.

It was overwhelming, but no matter how many times you’d declined, none of the people you’d spoken to had taken no for an answer. This is how things are here, I suppose. 

By the time the light began to change, and the shadows started to lengthen, you’d hung up your tattered dress in the wardrobe, along with the outfit you’d worn for most of the time on the ship. Both had been washed and smelled clean, which was a welcome surprise. 

But even more surprising was how comfortable the bed was, and that the position it was in allowed you to lay with your head on the pillows while looking out onto the balcony. You wondered who else had stayed in the room, and who would stay there after you. You wondered why it had been chosen for you, and if after some time had passed, you’d be expected to move to a different area of the palace - or to another place entirely. I may not be here that long. 

As the skies darkened, you got up, lit the lanterns and poured yourself a goblet of wine before carrying it outside and leaning against the edge of the railing. There was faint music coming from somewhere, and you thought you heard the sound of laughter and people talking, too, but you couldn’t tell if they came from the palace grounds themselves or beyond the wall and from the city. It doesn’t matter. You smiled as you lifted the glass to your lips, tipping it to take a long sip. 

You nearly moaned at the taste of it, and understood immediately why Oberyn was such a fan of Dornish wine. Even what you’d tasted on the ship paled in comparison to what you drank that night. I’ll have to tell him. It made you smile, but the smile disappeared when your thoughts lingered on him - and the fact that you didn’t know when you’d see him again. 

It wasn’t even that he was with Ellaria at that moment. It stung, sure, because you’d seen the adoration on his face the moment he’d laid eyes on her, and heard the emotion in his voice when he spoke to her. No one had ever looked at or spoken to you like that, and though you knew it was unlikely to happen, especially if you stayed in Dorne, part of you craved a love like they had. I certainly won’t find that in Oldtown. 

You thought of Wyllam, and wondered what might have been between you if you’d been given a real chance. You’d certainly enjoyed each other in a physical way, and had been friendly, too. But in love with each other? 

You hadn’t lied to Oberyn when you’d said you hadn’t been able to think that way while in Braavos. Neither of you had ever voiced those kinds of feelings out loud, because you knew that it was foolish to dream about what could have been. But he cared enough to help me escape. You lowered your head and looked down, fingers tightening on the stem of your goblet. He cared about me. 

Suddenly overcome with the day - and the previous few weeks - you turned away from the railing and went back inside, finishing your wine and then changing into a nightdress before climbing into bed. You left the lanterns lit, figuring that they’d burn down on their own while you slept. It was early, but you didn’t think you’d sleep well; as comfortable as the bed was, the lack of rocking was noticeable, as was the absence of the sound of the sea. He said I’d be able to hear it. 

Turning onto your side, you looked out the window, thinking. Maybe there are other parts of the palace where it’s louder. Yawning, you pressed your face against the pillow to stifle the sound, and to your surprise, felt yourself drifting off. Maybe I will sleep tonight. 

You weren’t sure what woke you, but when you opened your eyes, you stayed motionless, trying to keep your breathing even. Someone is in the room. It was still dark out, and though the candles had burned down low, they were still lit, casting soft light into most of the open space. But who… and why? 

“I know you are awake.” For the first time since arriving in Dorne, you felt actual fear, the pounding of your heart loud in your ears. Why is she here? “Sit up. We have many things to say to each other.” 

Slowly, you sat straight up, keeping the blanket bunched up in front of your body. She was standing at the foot of the bed, arms hanging loosely at her sides and her long, dark hair tied back. “Hello, Ellaria.” Straightening your shoulders, you nodded as you met her gaze. “You’re right. We should talk.” 

—

[fearmakess]

happy Halloween! 🎃🏴‍☠️💎

[abbythewritor]

Winter is coming. Chapter 5.

Description: Y/N Targaryen, the last true daughter of House Targaryen, bears the weight of her lineage on her broad shoulders. Young, fiercely determined, and often underestimated for her plus-size figure, she is forced into an unyielding marriage alliance with one of the most dangerous men across the seas: Crocodile, the ruthless warlord and cunning leader of Baroque Works. Torn from Westeros and thrust into the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, Y/N must navigate the treacherous alliances, schemes, and monstrous forces that haunt her every step. As Crocodile’s bride, her life becomes a game of survival—earning his respect while enduring his cold indifference and manipulative tendencies. However, the fire in her blood will not be dimmed. With whispers of ancient dragons and visions of the Iron Throne calling her home, Y/N begins to embrace her Targaryen birthright, proving that dragons do not cower—they conquer.As war brews across the seas and in Westeros alike, Y/N’s journey will test her body, spirit, and mind. With Crocodile as both her captor and potential ally, she will rise through betrayal, blood, and fire to claim her destiny. Winter is coming, but fire and blood will follow.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

Just to be clear: I do not own Game of Thrones or One Piece, they belong to the creators. I wrote this story on Chat GTP as to help with story structure and Spelling. Y/n in this story is overweight and plus size, as I rarely see Y/n's that are bigger in fanfiction at all, so I'd thought it will be different. THIS STORY IS NOT FOR CHILDREN!!! As like Game of Thrones, it will have a lot of explicit, and graphic scenes!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!!!!

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The interior of Crocodile’s fortress was as cold and unwelcoming as its exterior promised. The air was still, the temperature markedly cooler within the stone walls, though it lacked the comfort of relief. The chill wasn’t soothing—it was oppressive, like stepping into a crypt. Echoes of their footsteps bounced off high, vaulted ceilings that loomed in shadow, the torchlight casting flickering shapes that danced along walls carved with faint, swirling patterns of sandstorms and serpents.

Robin led the way, her strides calm and deliberate, the sound of her heels steady against the marble floor. Y/N followed just behind her, her hands clasped tightly to keep from trembling. The grand hall stretched on endlessly, every inch of it carved to intimidate. It was not beautiful—there was no warmth, no lavishness. It was a space meant to remind anyone who entered it who owned it.

Crocodile.

They rounded a final corner, and the path opened into a massive chamber, the throne room. Y/N’s breath hitched ever so slightly as her gaze lifted.

The chamber was cavernous, lit only by tall braziers that lined the walls, their fire crackling softly. The ceiling rose high into darkness, and shadows played tricks on the eyes, making the space seem infinite. At the far end of the room, elevated on a dais of smooth dark stone, stood Crocodile’s throne—though “throne” was hardly the right word. It was carved from sandstone, stark and jagged, its design resembling the shifting patterns of a desert dune frozen in place. Behind it, large tapestries hung, each one bearing an emblem of a crocodile coiled in the heart of a swirling sandstorm.

And seated there, like a phantom risen from the sands, was him.

Crocodile leaned back lazily in his chair, the thick fur collar of his coat framing his sharp features like a mane. His legs were crossed at the knee, a cigar balanced between his gloved fingers, its ember glowing faintly. The golden hook on his left arm glinted cruelly in the torchlight, resting casually against the arm of the chair, as though it, too, were waiting.

He exhaled a slow cloud of smoke, the faint curl of his lips twisting into a smirk as his single visible eye fixed on Y/N.

This is him, Y/N thought as she stood frozen at the threshold of the room. She had seen him before—briefly, from a distance—but seeing Crocodile here, in his own domain, was something else entirely. He radiated power, the kind of power that was quiet and lethal, the kind that made the air heavier and the room feel colder.

“Welcome to Rainbase,” Crocodile said, his deep voice breaking the silence. His tone was smooth, mocking, like a man who already knew the answers to the questions you hadn’t yet asked.

Robin stepped aside, her role as escort complete, and turned her gaze toward Y/N, wordlessly prompting her to step forward.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to move, her steps slow and deliberate as she walked across the vast chamber. The hem of her robe dragged against the cold marble, the sound faint but echoing in the oppressive stillness. She could feel Crocodile’s gaze on her, measuring her with each step.

She stopped at the base of the dais, her head tilting up slightly to meet his eye. She would not bow. She would not kneel. Not to him.

Crocodile’s smirk deepened, the scar across his face twisting faintly. He tapped the ash of his cigar onto the floor carelessly, the embers falling like dying sparks. “You’re quieter than I expected,” he said. “Most people talk too much when they’re nervous.”

Y/N swallowed the sharp retort that rose to her lips and forced herself to remain steady. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her defiance. “Is that so?” He leaned forward slightly, his golden hook catching the firelight as it shifted. “A bold answer. You’re not afraid of me, then?”

“Should I be?” Y/N countered, the words escaping her mouth before she could stop them. Her voice sounded stronger than she felt, but she would not let him see her falter.

For a long moment, Crocodile simply stared at her, his smirk fading into something quieter, sharper. The air in the room seemed to still, the crackle of the flames growing fainter. Then he chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling, though there was no warmth in it.

Robin, standing quietly to the side, tilted her head slightly as though intrigued by the exchange, but she said nothing.

Crocodile leaned back again, flicking his cigar dismissively as smoke curled around his face. “You’re not what I expected.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly. “And what exactly did you expect?”

“A pawn,” he replied smoothly. “Your brother offered you like one, after all. A piece on his board—something to bargain away for a chance at my favor.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at the mention of her brother, but she said nothing, waiting.

“But you’re no pawn,” Crocodile continued, his voice lowering slightly. “At least, not yet. You’ve got fire in you, girl. I can see it.”

Y/N clenched her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. “What do you want from me?”

Crocodile tilted his head slightly, as though considering her question. “Want?” he repeated, his voice softening into a mockery of curiosity. “That depends on you. You’re here now, in my city, in my palace. Whether you’re worth keeping depends on what you can offer me.”

“I’m not a prize,” Y/N said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension.

Crocodile’s smirk returned, slow and predatory. “Good.” He tapped his hook against the stone arm of his chair, the sound metallic and deliberate. “If you were, this would be over already.”

Robin spoke then, breaking her silence as she turned toward Crocodile. “Shall I show her to her chambers?”

Crocodile didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply watching her, as though daring her to speak further. Finally, he gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand. “Do what you want. I’ll decide what to do with her soon enough.”

Robin nodded once before gesturing for Y/N to follow. Y/N hesitated, her gaze lingering on Crocodile for a moment longer, though he seemed already disinterested, leaning back into his chair and taking another slow drag of his cigar.

He’s testing me, Y/N thought as she turned to follow Robin. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the hall, mingling with the faint hiss of fire and the soft click of Robin’s heels. He wants to see if I’ll break.

But she wouldn’t.

As they left the throne room, the heavy doors closing behind them with a resounding thud, Y/N exhaled slowly. Her mind raced, replaying every word Crocodile had said.

Robin glanced at her as they walked. “You did well.”

Y/N frowned slightly, her voice low. “What do you mean?”

Robin smiled faintly, though it wasn’t unkind. “You didn’t crumble. Most do.”

Y/N said nothing, her gaze fixed ahead as they walked deeper into the fortress. The halls were dimly lit, the air cool and silent, but her mind burned with a single, unshakable thought.

I won’t crumble. I won’t break.

Whatever Crocodile wanted, whatever game he intended to play, Y/N would face it. And if she was to be a piece on this board, then she would be the one to decide how to move.

For now, the lion had seen the girl. But the fire he thought he could tame still burned.

And Y/N would make sure he never forgot that.

The chambers Robin led her to were unlike anything Y/N had ever seen. They were vast and cold—much like the rest of Crocodile’s fortress—designed more for intimidation than comfort. The walls were stone, carved with swirling patterns of sandstorms, though they offered no warmth or beauty. A massive arched window framed the desert outside, the dunes stretching on endlessly beneath the dying light. It wasn’t a prison, not yet, but it felt like one.

Robin paused just inside the door, turning slightly toward Y/N. “These are your quarters for now,” she said simply, her voice calm and measured. “You’ll be expected to prepare yourself. Sir Crocodile will summon you again when he sees fit.”

Y/N’s throat felt dry, but she managed a nod, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling back on Robin. “And what does that mean?” she asked quietly.

Robin’s lips curled faintly, though there was no humor in her smile. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

She turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the stone. The door shut behind her with a finality that made Y/N’s stomach sink. She exhaled slowly, scanning the chambers once more. A wide bed, covered in fine silks and dark fabrics, sat near the center of the room. An ornate wardrobe, a standing mirror, and a bathing basin had all been set along the far walls. A low table was laden with water and dates—enough to sustain, but not to comfort.

Y/N moved toward the window, her fingertips brushing against the cold stone as she looked out at the desert. The sun was sinking lower now, staining the dunes red and orange as if the earth itself bled. She wrapped her arms around herself, the wind outside howling faintly like a ghost calling her name.

What am I doing here?

She didn’t have long to dwell on the thought. The door creaked open again, and a group of women entered—Crocodile’s servants, judging by their identical pale linen robes and headscarves. They carried bundles of cloth, basins of water, and small boxes that jingled softly with whatever was inside.

The maids moved with silent precision, their eyes barely flicking toward Y/N as they set down their burdens. It wasn’t until one of them gestured toward her that Y/N realized their intent.

They were here to dress her.

“No,” she said firmly, stepping back instinctively. “I can manage on my own.”

Her refusal didn’t seem to matter. The women advanced with practiced efficiency, reaching for the ties of her robe without asking. Y/N flinched at their hands—small, quick, and impersonal—as they began pulling at her clothing as though she were a doll in need of repair.

“Stop it!” she hissed, trying to twist away. “I said I can do it myself!”

But they didn’t stop. The women spoke to each other in hushed tones, their words flowing smoothly in the Alabastan tongue—words that Y/N recognized, though they clearly assumed she couldn’t understand.

“Too big.”

“This won’t fit.”

“Why did he want her? She’s like a cow.”

The words hit her harder than she expected, each one a sharp blade that sliced through whatever shred of dignity she still held. Y/N froze, her face heating as they tugged and prodded at her, the Alabastan words swirling around her like gnats, stinging her over and over.

“The fabric won’t tie at the waist. It’s useless.”

“She’s so round—how do we make this look presentable?”

The sharp sound of laughter escaped one of them, though it was quickly hushed by the others. Y/N clenched her jaw tightly, her fists curling at her sides as she forced herself to stay silent. She wanted to scream at them, to tell them she understood every cruel word, but what would it accomplish? Nothing would make them stop. Nothing would make this moment hurt less.

She felt raw—exposed in ways she had never been before—as they struggled to wrap the fabrics around her body. The fine silk tugged awkwardly against her form, refusing to sit the way they wanted it to. The women muttered their frustration, occasionally pausing to pull tighter or tug harder, as though she were an object they could reshape with enough force.

I’m not an object, Y/N thought bitterly, tears pricking her eyes. I’m not—

“Enough!” a voice cut through the room sharply, startling everyone.

The maids froze, their hands hovering mid-air as they turned toward the door. Robin stood there, her dark eyes narrowed behind her red-tinted glasses. Her tone was quiet but edged with an authority that demanded obedience. “Leave us.”

The women exchanged hesitant glances before stepping back. They gathered their fabrics and boxes in hurried silence, retreating toward the door like shadows fleeing from the light. The door closed behind them with a dull thud, and for a long moment, the room was silent again.

Y/N stood there, her shoulders trembling slightly, her body still half-wrapped in fabric that hung awkwardly from her frame. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet Robin’s eyes.

Robin stepped forward, her movements softer now, though she didn’t speak immediately. She regarded Y/N carefully, her gaze lingering on the faint red marks left on her arms where the maids had pulled too tightly.

“Did you understand what they said?” Robin asked finally, her voice low.

Y/N swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. “Yes.”

Robin tilted her head slightly, something unreadable flickering across her expression. “And yet you didn’t stop them.”

“What good would it have done?” Y/N shot back, her voice quieter than she intended. She finally lifted her gaze to meet Robin’s, her eyes glassy but determined. “They’re not the first people to look at me that way. To talk about me that way.”

Robin regarded her for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said finally.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the words. “What?”

Robin stepped closer, her voice calm but certain. “They wanted to break you, even if they didn’t know it. But you didn’t let them. You’re still standing.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fists uncurling as she forced herself to relax. “What does it matter?” she muttered. “They still think I’m useless. That I’m…” She hesitated, her voice cracking faintly. “…ugly.”

Robin tilted her head, her gaze sharp but not unkind. “They’re wrong.”

Y/N looked up sharply, meeting her gaze again. Robin’s expression held no mockery, no lies—only quiet honesty.

“They’re wrong,” Robin repeated. “Sir Crocodile didn’t summon you here because of what they see. He doesn’t care about appearances. He cares about what’s inside—a will that refuses to bend, fire that refuses to burn out. You think you’re weak, but you’re here. You survived your brother. You survived this day. And you’ll survive what comes next.”

Y/N stared at her, the words settling over her like a heavy blanket. She wasn’t sure whether Robin’s intent was to comfort her or simply to prepare her for what lay ahead. Either way, it worked.

She straightened her back slightly, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand as she steadied herself. “Why do you care?”

Robin smiled faintly, though it was small and fleeting. “I don’t,” she replied softly. “But I admire people who survive.”

With that, she turned toward the door, pausing briefly to glance back. “Dress yourself however you see fit. You don’t need their approval.”

She left the room then, the door clicking shut behind her.

Y/N stood there alone, the silence settling once more, though it no longer felt as suffocating as before. She looked down at the discarded fabrics on the bed, her fingers brushing against the soft silk.

Robin’s words echoed in her mind. “You survived your brother. You survived this day.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her gaze hardening as she picked up the fabrics and began wrapping them herself, letting the material fall however it would.

If Crocodile wanted fire, then she would show him fire.

Only fire.

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The Marine base bustled with its usual sounds of shouting voices, clashing steel, and the thuds of boots against the packed dirt. Morning drills were in full swing, recruits sprinting across the field as they carried weighted packs, their breath sharp and labored in the crisp morning air.

Vice Admiral Garp stood atop a raised platform overlooking the training yard, arms crossed over his broad chest as his sharp eyes surveyed the scene below. His coat hung loosely over his shoulders, the billowing Marine insignia catching the wind as he grinned at the sight before him.

“Look at ‘em go!” he barked with a laugh, his voice carrying over the clamor of the courtyard. “Good! That’s how you build strength! You hear me, Koby? I don’t want to see you slow down!”

Koby, panting heavily, stumbled slightly under the weight of the pack strapped to his back. His face was red, his glasses fogged from exertion, but he pushed himself forward, his small frame a blur of determination as he struggled to keep up with the others. “Yes, sir! I won’t slow down!”

Garp’s grin widened, the deep lines of his face crinkling with satisfaction as he watched the young recruit. “Good kid,” he muttered to himself, though loud enough for Bogard—his ever-silent companion—to hear. “The brat’s got fire. I like that.”

Bogard nodded faintly, as he always did, though his gaze remained distant and watchful.

For a moment, Garp allowed himself the luxury of feeling pride. He’d seen too many men lose their edge—lose their fire—over the years, but Koby? Koby had something that reminded Garp of an earlier, hungrier time. Maybe the kid wasn’t strong yet, but he was honest and willing to fight through the pain.

Garp exhaled contentedly, though the moment of peace didn’t last. A sudden voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Vice Admiral Garp, sir!”

A Marine jogged up the stairs to the platform, breathing heavily as he stopped in front of the Vice Admiral and snapped to attention with a sharp salute. He held a tightly folded newspaper in one hand, its edges smudged faintly with ink.

“What is it?” Garp asked, his tone gruff but curious.

“Urgent news, sir,” the Marine replied, holding the newspaper out to him. “It’s about Alabasta—and the Warlord Crocodile.”

At the mention of Crocodile’s name, Garp’s grin faded ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing as he snatched the paper from the Marine’s hand. “Crocodile, huh?”

Bogard turned his head slightly, watching as Garp unfolded the paper with a flick of his wrist. The bold headline immediately caught his eye, the black ink stark against the off-white page.

CROCODILE FORGES MARRIAGE ALLIANCE WITH TARGARYEN PRINCESS IN ALABASTA.

The subheading detailed the rumors of the arranged marriage and Crocodile’s intentions, hinting at the power a union with a Targaryen could bring. Garp’s brow furrowed as he read the words, his face darkening with every line.

“Married?” he muttered, the disbelief in his tone almost comical. “That sand bastard’s getting married?”

The Marine standing at attention shifted nervously, unsure whether the Vice Admiral’s reaction was amusement or anger. “Yes, sir. The reports confirm it. Crocodile visited a noble estate in northern Alabasta days ago. A princess of the Targaryen bloodline is involved, and sources say she’s been summoned to Rainbase.”

Garp snorted loudly, his lip curling with distaste as he crumpled the edge of the paper slightly. “Targaryen? That’s one of those ancient noble families, isn’t it? Dragons, thrones, all that nonsense.”

Bogard nodded, stepping closer to glance at the paper. “Yes. Old blood, powerful name. The Targaryens ruled far-off lands in ages past. Their legacy is tied to fire and conquest, or so the stories go.”

Garp scoffed, his fist tightening around the newspaper as he scanned the page again. “So Crocodile’s playing noble now? What’s his angle?” His voice grew darker, the edge of authority returning as his mind worked through the implications. “That bastard doesn’t make moves unless he sees a way to win. If he’s marrying a Targaryen, it’s not for love.”

“No, sir,” Bogard said quietly, his tone grave. “It’s for power.”

Garp lowered the paper, his sharp eyes flicking toward the distant horizon as if he could see all the way to Alabasta from where he stood. “Damn pirates,” he muttered, his voice thick with disdain. “They’re all the same. Give ‘em a drop of power, and they start acting like kings.”

The Marine shifted nervously under Garp’s gaze. “Sir, if this alliance is true, it could mean trouble for Alabasta. Crocodile already controls so much of the region—this could solidify his hold completely.”

Garp was silent for a moment, his jaw tight as he considered the weight of those words. He didn’t care about titles or noble houses, but power—real power—was something that could reshape entire kingdoms. If Crocodile thought he could forge an alliance with ancient royal blood, it wouldn’t stop at marriage. It wouldn’t stop with Alabasta.

“What do we know about the girl?” Garp asked abruptly, his tone clipped.

The Marine shook his head. “Very little, sir. Her name isn’t listed in the report—only that she is connected to the Targaryen bloodline and that her brother arranged the meeting.”

“Her brother, huh?” Garp snorted again, though there was no humor in it. “Selling his sister off to a pirate. What a fine family.”

Bogard’s expression remained unchanged, though he spoke quietly. “If Crocodile succeeds in this alliance, it could put him beyond our reach. Alabasta’s people would rally under his banner, believing him to be legitimate.”

Garp’s scowl deepened, the edges of the paper crumpling further in his hands. He hated politics. He hated the games men like Crocodile played—games where innocent people were pawns, traded and discarded to satisfy the ambitions of powerful men.

But most of all, he hated the way pirates slithered into power, masquerading as something greater than they were.

“Keep your ears open,” Garp ordered suddenly, his voice firm. “I want updates on Crocodile’s movements—everything. Where he’s been, where he’s going, who he’s dealing with. If this girl is important enough to tie herself to him, I want to know why.”

“Yes, sir!” the Marine replied quickly, saluting before turning and hurrying off the platform.

Garp watched him go, his gaze lingering on the recruits below as they continued their drills, their movements sharp and coordinated. Koby was still pushing himself, his face a mask of determination as he ran alongside the others.

Garp sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to Bogard. “Damn fools are going to tear the world apart chasing power.”

Bogard inclined his head faintly. “It’s already happening, sir.”

Garp grunted in response, turning his gaze back toward the distant horizon. Somewhere out there, Crocodile was playing king in his desert fortress, and some poor girl—a Targaryen princess, no less—was being dragged into his plans.

The bastard won’t get away with it, Garp thought, his jaw tightening.

Whatever Crocodile was planning, Garp would be watching.

And if the Warlord thought he could solidify his grip on Alabasta without the Marines noticing… he was sorely mistaken.

“Crocodile,” Garp muttered under his breath, the name like a curse. “You’re gonna choke on that ambition of yours one day.”

The wind carried his words out over the courtyard, lost amidst the shouts of Marines training below—unheard by all but Bogard, who stood silent at his side, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt as if waiting for the storm to come.

The quiet clatter of boots on the polished floors echoed softly through the Marine base's corridors as Garp and Bogard walked side by side. The usual din of the base—recruits training, commanders barking orders, and weapons being hauled—faded to a dull murmur as they moved into the quieter, administrative wing. Despite his usual boisterous demeanor, Garp was silent, his heavy brows furrowed in thought.

Bogard remained at his side, ever silent, a shadow who needed no words. He could tell Garp was thinking—thinking hard. That alone was enough to set an ominous undertone to the day.

Garp’s fingers drummed against his arm absentmindedly as he walked, his sharp eyes narrowing toward nothing in particular. The newspaper still sat crumpled under his arm, the words about Crocodile’s rumored alliance and arranged marriage clinging to his mind like oil.

Crocodile, a Targaryen princess, Alabasta, he thought grimly. None of this sat well with him. A man like Crocodile didn’t marry for romance—he didn’t need a marriage. Which meant this wasn’t about the girl. It was about power. An alliance that could tighten his hold on Alabasta and solidify his influence on the Grand Line.

It was dangerous. Dangerous for the Marines. Dangerous for the world.

And yet Garp didn’t have the information he needed—not yet. If there was a scheme, Crocodile had hidden its roots well, and Garp had no interest in wasting time untangling a web of whispers. If he wanted answers, he would need an inside source. Someone who walked the thin line between the law and the lawless.

Someone who already knew the world of the Warlords.

Garp stopped suddenly, his shoulders straightening as a thought struck him like a hammer. He turned sharply toward Bogard, his eyes gleaming with a clarity that hadn’t been there moments before.

“I know just the bastard for this job,” Garp said.

Bogard raised a brow faintly, a silent question.

Garp’s grin returned—not his usual, jovial one, but something sharper and darker. “Dracule Mihawk.”

Bogard’s brow furrowed further. “The Warlord?”

“Who else?” Garp muttered, resuming his pace and striding quickly toward his office. “The greatest swordsman in the world. One of Crocodile’s ‘equals,’ at least in title. If anyone can sniff out what’s happening in Alabasta and get close to the princess’s brother, it’s him.”

“Do you think he’ll agree?” Bogard asked, his tone calm but cautious.

Garp chuckled darkly. “We’re not gonna ask him nicely.”

They reached Garp’s office—a cluttered space that barely reflected the rank of the man who owned it. Maps were strewn across the desk, half-empty bowls of rice crackers sat amid piles of papers, and the walls were plastered with faded Marine notices and bounty posters.

Garp stomped toward the desk and dropped heavily into his chair, grabbing the transponder snail on the corner of the desk. The snail, shaped like a miniature black mollusk, blinked lazily as Garp adjusted the receiver and began to dial.

Bogard folded his arms, stepping to the side as Garp leaned forward, the edges of his mouth curling into a faint smirk.

The snail rang once. Twice. Three times.

Then, with a faint click, the transponder snail’s features shifted—its small eyes narrowing, its mouth curling into a smooth, indifferent line. A voice followed, low and faintly amused, as though it couldn’t be bothered with the world’s affairs.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Dracule Mihawk’s voice drawled through the line. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Vice Admiral Garp?”

The snail perfectly mimicked Mihawk’s expression—detached and calm.

Garp leaned back in his chair, his grin widening slightly. “Mihawk! You’re a hard man to track down, you know that?”

“I don’t make it easy,” Mihawk replied smoothly. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t exchange pleasantries. What do you want?”

Garp’s smile thinned, his tone turning serious. “I need information, Mihawk. About Alabasta. About Crocodile.”

There was a pause on the line, though Mihawk’s expression didn’t change. “Crocodile?” he repeated, a faint edge of interest in his voice.

“You heard me,” Garp said, his grin disappearing entirely now. “Rumors say he’s forging an alliance—marrying a Targaryen princess.” He glanced at the crumpled newspaper on his desk and tapped it pointedly. “You’ve got the freedom to move where you want. And I need you to move to Alabasta.”

Another pause, though this one felt longer. Mihawk was thinking.

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do there?” Mihawk asked finally, his tone carrying faint boredom. “I’m not a dog you can command, Garp.”

“Don’t need you to be,” Garp shot back. “I need you to look into her brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen,” Bogard interjected softly from where he stood.

“Yeah, him,” Garp grunted, nodding. “Find out what he’s scheming. He’s the one who arranged this whole damn mess. I want to know what Crocodile’s really after. And if there’s something bigger coming, I want to know before the powder keg goes off.”

The snail’s eyes narrowed faintly, Mihawk’s silence stretching as though he were weighing his options. When he finally spoke, his tone carried that faint smirk of amusement again. “Why would I involve myself in your affairs? Crocodile’s ambitions are of no concern to me.”

“Because you’re curious,” Garp said, leaning forward, his voice edged with challenge. “You’re not the kind of man to ignore a storm on the horizon, Mihawk. And you know as well as I do—if Crocodile’s pulling strings, it won’t stop with Alabasta. Whatever he’s after, it’s gonna shake the seas. And you don’t strike me as someone who likes being caught off guard.”

The snail’s expression twitched ever so slightly, the faintest sign that Mihawk was, indeed, listening.

Garp pressed on. “You head to Alabasta. Keep an eye on Viserys, on Crocodile—hell, even on the girl. Find out what they’re planning. I don’t care how you do it. You get me the information I need, and you can go back to drinking wine in whatever castle you’re haunting these days.”

A beat of silence. Then Mihawk’s voice returned, cool and unbothered as ever. “And what do I get in return for playing your errand boy?”

Garp’s grin returned, sharp and wolfish. “You’ll have my word to stay out of your hair for a while.”

The snail blinked slowly, Mihawk’s faint hum of amusement echoing through the receiver. “A tempting offer.”

“Take it or leave it,” Garp said simply.

Another pause. Then, finally, Mihawk replied. “Very well, Vice Admiral. I’ll look into your little conspiracy. I’ve been meaning to stretch my legs anyway.”

“Good,” Garp said, satisfied. “I knew you were smarter than you looked.”

Mihawk ignored the jab entirely. “I’ll contact you if I learn anything worth sharing. Don’t waste my time.”

With that, the transponder snail let out a final click, its features returning to a neutral, blank stare as the call ended.

Garp leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath as he folded his hands behind his head. “Mihawk won’t disappoint,” he muttered, though whether it was to Bogard or himself wasn’t clear.

Bogard nodded once, his expression unreadable. “He’ll find what we need.”

Garp stared at the crumpled newspaper again, his jaw tightening as his thoughts turned back to Crocodile, to Alabasta, and to the Targaryen name that carried far too much weight for comfort.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice low and dangerous. “And when he does, we’ll be ready.”

The sound of training exercises outside echoed faintly through the walls, but in Garp’s office, the tension sat thick and heavy, as though the first gusts of an oncoming storm had already begun to blow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[demigoddessqueens]

Master List 10

Tieflings 💕

Types of hugs

SFW REQUESTS/WRITING

Dragon Age - a fainting Hawke //

House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones - aemond + touch/massage prompt //

Delicious in Dungeon 🍱/Dungeon Meshi 🥘 - soft Laios headcanons //

Fallout - ghoul meme // i REALLY like him //

Ultraman rising - kenji sato fluff //

Dune - nsfw & romance // incorrect quotes //

Monkey Man - “Whispered Corners” fic //

The Arcana ✨- waking up with the main 6 // pirate Julian - heartbreak // massage headcanons // julian birthday headcanons //

Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss - taking care of you // Lucifer SFW Alphabet // valentines 💘 with Lucifer // Lucifer + s/o with depression // massage headcanons //

Marvel

Spiderman 2099/Miguel O’Hara - massage headcanons

Critical Role 🎲

Vox Machina - special rock // poison?! // Vax 💔 oneshot // feeble mind spell // Percy rescues kidnapped reader // time ⏰ traveler reader // sit in my lap?// Vax + pregnant!reader //

Music 🎶 - Lunch ft the girls //

Dark Au - Orin!reader

Mighty Nein - Beau + sibling!reader // Mollymauk w/ reader // Caleb song angst // fjord song oneshot //

Crown Keepers -

Bell’s Hells - the “I love you” prompt //

Castlevania 🌙- massage headcanons // surprise kiss Dracula // do’s and dont’s - Alucard, Isaac //

Castlevania Nocturne 🌙 🦇 - massage headcanons // richter + pregnant!reader // shy kisses // “from bottom of your heart” + bg3

Assassin’s Creed - being Aveline’s sibling // shay for valentines 💘 // stealing Haytham’s coat // love languages // Basim + reader // Ezio + artist!reader // Haytham and Shay + former!Assassin // friends to lovers w/ Ezio // massage headcanons // shay + reader // Basim angst // Basim + fluff // Hytham in love // protective of pregnant!reader // Ezio modern au // basim angst oneshot // Connor with Latina!reader // Ezio birthday 🎂 headcanons // local hawk population //

Codexmonthly - February “ship” —> Shay story // Edward 🏴‍☠️ story // Altair & Maria //

March “artefact”

April “vault”

May “modern”

Mermay 🌊🧜‍♂️ - mermaid!Desmond //

“Shadows” prompt

June “mentor”

Baldur’s Gate - astarion + drunk!tav/reader // Halsin and letters // smile from your heart // sick 🤒 TLC headcanons // massage headcanons // interlink pinkies // astarion & his opposite // deep kisses // forehead kiss // secret 🤫 dating Astarion // how lucky to be with you //

Bat 🦇 Astarion Week - day 1 // day 2 // day3 // day 4 // day 5 //

Blood of Zeus ⚡️ - massage headcanons // musical mortal // Ares and handsy lover // Dad Apollo ☀️// Hermes being a dad //

Genshin Impact - neuvillette massage //

Star ⭐️ Wars 💫 - sequel quad + saving sibling // sibling with depression // nightmare headcanons // coming out non-binary //

The Bad Batch - crosshair headcanon //

NSFW REQUESTS/WRITING

Hazbin Hotel - Lucifer alphabet //

Challengers - art + patrick nsfw headcanons //

Critical 🎲 Role - service top + mighty 9 //

[mischievouslittlecreature]

What's Next for Tommy and Lucy

Since I am done working on Love Me Where I'm Most Ruined for the moment, here's an incomplete list of some of the AU ideas I've got for stories with Lucy and Tommy that I hope to work on soon! Feel free to let me know which ones you're most interested/excited about!

Spinoff to @evita-shelby's Look Both Ways and Venor series, when Tommy goes to find Lucy at the fairgrounds

Game of Thrones AU

The Hunger Games AU (Yes, this is still happening even if I am almost over a year late)

Modern AU

AU where Lucy poses as a man and becomes a tunneler and meets Tommy during WWI

AU where Lucy is married to Matthew and doesn't meet Tommy until the events of season 5

Lucy x Ghost!Tommy

Death!Lucy x Tommy

Pirate AU

Lucy gets TB alongside Ruby during season 6

[moniquill]

Dear GRRM: Git Gud, Scrub.

So this article showed up on my facebook feed: https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/article/2024/jul/17/game-of-thrones-writers-dismay-as-he-is-frozen-out-of-glasgow-sci-fi-event-worldcon

‘Frozen out’

No, you whiny manchild, you didn’t fill out the application correctly. You don’t get to bypass the very simple process just because you’re Big Famous. 

“despite his keenness to be involved” “ I am not on any programming. It is not for lack of trying, though”

If you were keen to be involved, you’d have logged into planorama like everyone else.

I made a post about my panel pitches back in april: https://www.tumblr.com/moniquill/747207445292761088/without-telling-you-what-panels-im-pitching-for

These are the panels I’m going to be on - online only, I’m not going to glasgow in person.

Indigenous Futurisms in Conversation

Saturday, August 10, 2024, 5:30 PM GMT

If the future is indigenous, what forms might it take? How do indigenous writers draw from their diverse traditions, languages, myths, music, and art to challenge colonial storytelling? What concerns are shared across indigenous futurisms and how do they diverge? This panel brings different imaginations of indigenous futures into conversation, emphasizing diversity while opening the possibility for building bridges between communities.

Everything We Love (a Little or a Lot) About Fanfiction

Saturday, August 10, 2024, 10:00

What do we love about fanfic?  The ships! Alternate realities! Adult topics! Fix-it fic! X-reader! More adventures! Why does an original procedural have gay pirates as a main trope? And why did action-adventure sci-fi spawn the coffee shop AU? Do we just always want something else? Or ever more of a very good thing? Join this panel as we get our squee on.

The Myth of the Wilderness

Sunday, August 11, 2024, 4:00 PM GMT+1

Is the wilderness a myth? Indigenous groups say the land weeps without people; people who care for it properly, that is. How do writers of the fantastic use wilderness settings? Is the wild a friend or foe? Are wild places their own characters, or only mirrors to human strengths and weaknesses?

Appropriation Versus Inspiration

Sunday, August 11, 2024, 11:30 PM GMT+1

Writers often find inspiration outside the familiar. How do we draw influence from other cultures without appropriating their history and identity?

I’ll be posting links here on my tumblr, when they’re live. 

[nessataleweaver]

FIC: You and I are like the ink staining all the other pages (Game of Thrones, Jon/Sansa)

RATING: Explicit (m/f sex); step-incest; possible dubious consent; underage sex

SUMMARY: (modern AU) Step-siblings Jon and Sansa have been in denial about their mutual attraction for a long time. When the Stark-Tully kids head out to the Halloween carnival, Jon is the only one willing to go through the ‘lame’ Ghost tunnel with Sansa. But they don’t know it’s been re-purposed from a Tunnel of Love, that’s been given an extra kick via magic...

PROMPT: For jonsa-halloween for their 2024 event, using the October 30th prompt ‘Magic’. 

NOTE: I originally had this idea for ‘curse’, but that would have involved Joffrey being stupid and vengeful, and I don’t really want to give his royal skidmark any page time, so I switched tracks somewhat.  While doing so, I realised I was actually writing a prequel to one of my stories from the 2020 event, ‘What you are in the dark’. So to clarify: this is a modern AU, where the Starks are a blended family.  Jon and Arya are Ned’s children, while Robb, Sansa and Bran are Catelyn’s kids.  Rickon is theirs, and is still a toddler. Theon, Robb, Jon and Sansa are all in high school. Arya and Bran are thirteen and twelve.

Can also be read on AO3

ONE YEAR EARLIER

“Agatha... what are those symbols you’re painting?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

“Well, from here they look like several examples of ‘surrender to your desires’, ‘increase affection’, and ‘increase libido’.”

“So why did you ask?”

(sigh) “Agatha, I was asking with the sub-text “Why in Hecate’s name are you painting magic symbols inside our carnival attraction, which we will be exposing many members of the public to?” Do you want us to get sued? Or called in by the Misuse of Magic Office?”

“Don’t be silly!  It’s not mind-altering or anything, it’s just giving things a little... push.  This is going to be a ‘Tunnel of Love’, so the couples that go through it will come out feeling lovey-dovey and horny.  Just think about the Yelp reviews we’ll get!”

“And what about people who aren’t couples, who are just going through it for laughs? Or people who are going on this because they get sick on other rides, and who’s significant others are on the coaster?  Or tweenage girls going through with their besties because it’s so romantic?”

(eyeroll) “It’s like you think I’m stupid or something. All the boats are floating on water, so the customers won’t be around any of the symbols long enough for anything to happen inside the ride. If anything, their partners will have a good time when they get home, or they get to discover the joys of masturbation. Honestly, the worst that will happen is that a few of the security guards might bust some couples fucking in the parking lot because they don’t want to wait to get home.  So what?”

(deeper sigh) “If something goes wrong, I’m throwing you off the flying carpet.”

“Fine, Miss Scaredy-cat!  And when we get asked to hire it out all over the North, I get all the bragging rights!”

ONE MONTH EARLIER

“Agatha, did you hire out our Tunnel of Love to a Halloween carnival?”

“Yep!  Their Ghost train got derailed somewhere in the Neck, and they’re paying us triple the usual hire fee plus ten per cent of the gate!  It’s easy to re-decorate – the whole tunnel looks like a cave anyway.  We put Halloween costumes on all the dummies, add in a few fake coffins and bubbling cauldrons and maybe put in a mad scientist lab or zombie graveyard to replace the masqued ballroom?  We hang fake spider-webs and black drop-cloths from the ceiling with ghost outlines, and instead of the love songs we play spooky sound effects over the sound system.  We haven’t painted the spare set of boats yet, so we make them black and use stencils for skulls and bones over that. Hey, if we keep them that way maybe we can add a pirate cave option?”

PRESENT DAY - LAST FRIDAY BEFORE HALLOWEEN

“Sheesh, Sansa, you’re such a scaredy-cat. We wait any longer to hit the really good rides, we’ll be stuck in line for ages.  All the college students will hit the carnival soon – trust me, I know.”

“I’m not scared, Arya,” Sansa told her step-sister.  “I just get motion-sick easily, remember?  I ride the roller-coaster, the Hurricane and the Zipper within an hour, and I’ll be bringing up dinner with a vengeance.  Just go without me.”

Arya made an expressive face.  “I forgot about all those meds you had to take for our family honeymoon.  But seriously, what was the point of getting to leave Rickon and the parentals at home if not to go on all the rides?”

Jon ruffled her hair affectionately. “You can still go on all the rides.  At least the ones you’re tall enough for.”

Arya scowled and hit her older brother in the side. “I haven’t had my growth spurt yet! That’s why Sansa found me these platform combat boots.”

Jon smiled, not even feeling Arya’s punch.  While Sansa had corralled Arya and Bran through the shooting games and stashing Arya’s armful of prizes in the car, Theon had split a joint with him and Robb.  As a result, Jon was feeling as chilled as a capybara.

“Robb and Theon are coming back now,” Sansa pointed down the midway.  “Robb loves those rides, too.  If he hesitates, tell him it’ll be a sibling bonding moment – that always gets him.”

Bran snickered. “Sansa, the mastermind.  But seriously, Theon loves the arcade but hates admitting it.  I’ll ask him to go through it with me and that’ll leave Robb for you.”

Sansa grinned.  “That leaves Jon to go through the haunted house with me.”

“No it doesn’t!  I want to go through the haunted house too!” Arya protested.

“And me!” Bran added.  “What about the mirror maze, or the Ghost Tunnel?  I think you’re the only ones who wanted those.”

“Um, maybe not the maze,” Jon mumbled.  “Reminds me of my ex.”

“The one who shot you with an arrow or the one who’s now running that cult?” Sansa asked.

“Dany,” Jon replied. He hadn’t even told his best friend Sam, or Robb, that his narcissistic to the point of God-complex girlfriend had once hired out the entire mirror maze for an hour so she could make him fuck her while she watched their reflections in about ten different mirrors. There were reasons he’d stayed with her as long as he had - almost all of them sexual.

“Ghost Tunnel then?” Sansa asked brightly.

“Sure,” Jon said agreeably. “It hasn’t been here before, so I’m up for the new experience.”

Leaving their younger siblings in Robb and Theon’s sometimes-capable hands, Jon and Sansa headed across the fairgrounds.

Sansa looked up at the night sky, and smiled.  “I love full moons, and this one’s special, did you know?”

“Wasn’t Bran talking about this at breakfast the other day?” Jon asked.  “It’s a blue moon, yeah? The second in a month?”

“Exactly.  It’s very good for charging spells and ceremonies.”

“You don’t talk much about your magic studies,” Jon remarked curiously. “Even when I helped you study for the botany section.”

“It tends to upset Mother.  I inherited the talent from her, but she’s so devoted to the Seven she always refused to do anything with it.  At least she’s never tried to keep me from it.  Though I think it’s partly because Uncle Brynden and Aunt Lysa had a discussion – the kind with a capital D - with her about it when I was younger.”

“So you’re not doing any of those spells or ceremonies?”

Sansa shook her head. “My mentor’s doing something tomorrow, but as a solo practitioner I’m not at the stage yet where it would be useful for me. At my level, without a circle or coven, I might even do myself some damage.”

Arriving at the head of the line, Sansa and Jon tore some tickets off their pre-bought roll, and handed them over to the attendant, dressed in what looked like a Shakespeare heroine costume with a fake vampire bite dribbling down her throat and pale sparkly face paint.

“A water ride? I haven’t seen one of those in a Ghost tunnel before,” Sansa remarked, as Jon handed her into the boat.  She stashed her messenger bag in a cage underneath the prow, before she settled into the seat.

The boat’s shape forced them to sit very close together and it took several attempts to find a comfortable position, Jon having to put his arm around Sansa as they headed off into the dark.

A lifelong connoisseur of haunted attractions, Sansa murmured comments to Jon as they slowly floated along.

“Glow in the dark paint usually looks a bit tacky, but these ghosts are painted really well.”

“Oooh, that’s a lovely effect on those floating candelabra!  Maybe there’s some actual magic being used here?”

 “I wonder why there are no scare actors?  There should have been at least one by now if this ride has them.”

 “Can you hear a crackle? You think there’s a set-piece up ahead with lightning effects?”

Just as Jon muttered his agreement, they rounded the curve and saw a large alcove holding what looked to be Frankenstein’s laboratory, complete with a semi-covered body on a lab table, and even a pseudo-skylight above showing lightning constantly flashing.  Their boat settled to a halt, either to change passengers at the beginning or to let them admire the showpiece, when a particularly large thunderclap made them jump.

Then the already dim lighting went out, leaving them in pitch darkness.

“What the hell?”

Silver runes glowed at several points along the wall, and Sansa exclaimed, “So they are using real magic!”

A soothing voice echoed through the darkness. “We are currently experiencing a power failure, and are working to restore the lights and movement of the boats.  In the meantime, we are providing an alternative soundtrack.”

Piano music echoed in the tunnel, and Jon absently identified, “Tchaikovsky. Kind of romantic for a haunted tunnel.”

“Still better than the creepy sound effects, given the situation,” Sansa murmured.

Sansa wasn’t sure how long they floated in the dark, before she found herself snuggling closer to Jon.  His arm tightened around her in response.

“Cold?” he asked quietly.

“Not exactly.”

Actually, she was feeling quite warm. Sansa opened up her zippered hoodie and pulled her sweater out from the waistband of her short skirt. She turned her head sideways to bury her face in Jon’s neck.  He smelled really good, and Sansa absently pressed her thighs together, enjoying the sensation.

Jon rested his head on top of Sansa’s, as his hand curved around her hip, his thumb at just the right angle to dip under the hem of her sweater to stroke her soft skin just above the waistband of her skirt. It felt really good, holding her close; her slim form fit perfectly into the angles of his own. He felt her lips on the sensitive skin on his throat, and bit back a groan as his cock stirred. Now was probably a bad time to remember all the times he’d fisted his cock to thoughts of his lovely step-sister. Even if those pretty tits of hers were pressed softly against his chest, and he was fairly sure that he could feel her hardened nipples through her sweater and his shirt.

Sansa could admit to herself, here in the dark, that her panties were wet and her breasts ached with need.  That she wanted to be even closer to Jon.  She wanted to feel his bare skin against hers, and to wrap her arms and legs around him. Her heart pounding, Sansa let her hand drift along the contours of his torso and down, until she could feel the hard bulge between his legs.  She sighed as she curved her hand around it, then gasped as she felt Jon’s lips against her ear.

“Let me,” Jon murmured, his voice almost soundless as he brought his free hand down to cover the fingers rubbing at him through his jeans.  He moved them aside just enough to undo the button and zip, and groaned in relief as he parted the slit in his boxers to free his erection.  Had Theon added something to that joint?  He was so horny he was pretty sure he could hammer nails with his dick.

Jon couldn’t see Sansa’s fingers gently, tentatively wrap around his rampant cock, gingerly fisting and stroking him, but it was really working for him. The hand he’d latched around her hip slid up and under her sweater, until he could feel the lace of her bra.  He ran his fingertips along the curve of her breast until he found the hem of the cup, gently tugging until her now-exposed breast fell into his palm, where his fingers could rub and flick at her nipple. She was half-way in his lap, her knee hooked over his thigh, and Jon used it as a guide for his other hand, gliding his fingers along her inner thigh until he found her mound.

Sansa whimpered as he stroked and rubbed her pussy through the soaking wet fabric of her underwear, but he wanted more.  Jon pulled and fumbled until he felt her bare folds, and expertly found her clit.  Sansa moaned, and Jon’s cock all but jumped in her grip in response.

Sansa’s head was spinning, and in the dark she was blind to everything but Jon.  His touch on her breast and between her legs, and the hot throbbing rod of muscle in her hand.  She felt so good, and she loved it.  Why had no one ever told her she could feel so good? She moved her hips against Jon’s hand, and his thick fingers slid in her slick folds until one slipped right inside her. She felt herself squeeze down on him in reaction.

“More. Jon, I want more,” she whispered.  Another finger pushed it’s way inside her, and they both wriggled and curved, and when Jon touched a certain spot Sansa slammed her hand over her mouth as she shivered and writhed through her first climax.

Jon had never fucked a virgin before, but Sansa was so tight around his fingers he was sure he was about to.  She was so wet she was dripping onto his hand, and he wouldn’t have any issues working his dick into Sansa’s cunt even though he was on the larger side and she was so tight.

“You need to sit on my lap,” he murmured.  It took some manoeuvring, untangling their legs by feel, but both Jon’s hands latched on Sansa’s hips, and he pulled her body flush to his with her knees bracketing his hips. His cock rubbed against her soaked underwear, and Sansa sighed and rocked her pelvis to increase the friction.  Jon could already feel the pressure building along his spine; he needed to move quickly. “Sansa? If I lift you up, can you put me in the right place?”

Sansa reached down and gripped his cock in answer. He felt her pull her underwear aside with one hand as the tip of cock brushed against her folds. As it notched into her opening, Jon eased Sansa down, groaning as he sank into her tight, slick cunt.

Was it her delectable pussy that felt so good, or was it because he’d never fucked raw before? Either way, Jon was pretty sure he was having the best sex of his life.

 “Your thing is inside me!” Sansa whimpered.  “It’s so big, I’m so full.”

“Are you hurting?” Jon rumbled softly in her ear.

“Mmmph, ah!  It feels really good, though,” Sansa gasped. She wriggled and squirmed, not sure whether she was trying to get Jon deeper inside her or find a position that didn’t feel like she was going to burst.  She pushed her sweater up to her armpits, and wrenched at the front hooks of her bra.  As Jon’s grip on her hips urged her to rock back and forth, Sansa slid her arms around his neck and rubbed her bare breasts against the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“Lean back a little,” Jon ordered.

Sansa arched her back, mourning the loss of stimulation to her breasts, but Jon somehow shifted his hips, changing the angle of his hardness and Sansa yelped as he rubbed against the place inside his fingers had found earlier, making her feel like a lightning-bolt, sizzling and ready to strike. He did it again and again, and Sansa felt herself explode.

“That’s it, sweetheart, clench down hard on my cock,” Jon growled in her ear, and Sansa convulsed, her inner muscles trying to squeeze the delicious intrusion that already stretched her open without remorse.

Jon moved his hands to her tits, just the right size to fill his hands, and clutched them as his own climax slammed into him.

“Ah!  I can feel your hot stuff coming out, it’s squirting inside me,” moaned Sansa.

Thing? Hot stuff?  In the fragment of his mind that wasn’t drowning in pleasure, Jon wondered just what version of The Talk his stepmother had given the girl taking his dick like she was made for it. At least he could cum inside her without reservation; having helped Sansa study for her herbalist lessons, he knew she was licensed to brew moon tea.

Sansa pressed her forehead against Jon’s as she gasped for breath, and his tight grip on her breasts softened, gently cradling them in his big hands.

The rattling of chains broke their silence, and the boat jerked.  Sansa sat bolt upright as the boat started to move.

“Fuck, we’re moving! You need to get off me!” Jon yelped.

Sansa nearly fell out to the boat, trying to disentangle herself from Jon and sit back down while shifting her panties back into place.  At the same time, Jon was cursing beside her; Sansa caught a glimpse of his still-hard cock as he pushed it back into his jeans, and a swift after-shock of need ran through her. The dim light grew brighter, and Sansa gave up fumbling with her bra to yank her sweater down, hurriedly zipping up her hoodie, glad she’d borrowed it from Jon earlier in the evening and it was thus two sizes too big.

Their boat cruised through a curtain of strings of moss, and bumped into the dock.  Blinking away after-images of the bright carnival lights, Sansa ignored the ride attendant’s droning voice.

Looking down at the bottom of the boat, Sansa’s eyes widened in horror at the obvious stains surrounding Jon’s fly. His leather jacket wasn’t long enough to cover them.

“Hang on, I need my bag!” she exclaimed.  Bending forward, half-over Jon’s lap, Sansa groped for her messenger bag with one hand.  With the other, she passed her fingertips, faintly glowing river-blue, over Jon’s crotch while she whispered a key-phrase.

Jon had to help her out of the boat, too – her legs could barely hold her up.

Jon’s fingers circled her wrist, as he led her away from the ride, the attendant’s smirk not hidden by the fangs of his B-movie Dracula costume.

“There’s bathrooms under the stairs to the grandstand, hardly anyone should be there until it’s time for the fireworks,” Jon told her.  “Meet you outside once we’ve both cleaned up.”

Keeping his body turned away from the man at urinals, Jon shut himself into the farthest cubicle with a sigh of relief.  What in the seven hells had Sansa been playing at, fondling his crotch like that in front of that vampire jerkass?

Jon grabbed a fistful of toilet tissue and looked down to assess the damage.  In the bright light of the bathroom, he could see no tell-tale stains. Looking in the direction of the ladies’ room, Jon sent a mental apology to Sansa.  She’d been using her favorite cleaning spell; if he’d been paying attention to her words instead of her touch he’d have recognised it.  She’d certainly used it on Arya and Bran to help them avoid Catelyn’s wrath enough times.

In the only available stall in the ladies’ room, Sansa hung her messenger bag and hoodie on the hook on the back of the door.  Reaching underneath her sweater, she pulled the cups of her bra back into place but couldn’t quite fasten it.  With a sigh of exasperation, Sansa pulled off her sweater, static electricity making her hair crackle, and shrugged out of her bra.

Standing topless in the small concrete-walled building, Sansa felt her nipples harden again from the chilly air as she inspected her bra.  She’d somehow managed to pop the stitching that kept the hooks in place.  It would be quite uncomfortable if she tried to wear it now and she was sure to lose at least one set of hook-and-eyes. Folding the garment carefully, Sansa slipped it into the laptop sleeve of her messenger bag. Sitting down on the toilet, Sansa needed three lots of tissue to clean Jon’s spend from between her legs, and two castings of the ‘neaten-up’ spell to make her sodden panties wearable again.

Dragging her sweater back over her head, Sansa inhaled sharply as she tugged it into place over her hips.  The soft wool felt so good against her still-sensitized breasts, and the place between her legs ached with longing.  Even though she was sore down there from being forced wide open, she missed the fullness.  Shrugging on the hoodie, she left it open. After washing her hands at the communal sinks, Sansa settled the strap of her messenger bag in a cross-body position between her breasts.  Looking at her reflection, Sansa could see her hard nipples ever so slightly distorting the surface of her sweater, her unencumbered breasts framed by Jon’s hoodie at the sides and the bag-strap pulling the wool flat between them and taut across them. How easy would it be, for Jon to slide his hand under the hem of her sweater and feel her bare breasts?

Sansa smiled at her reflection as she smoothed the static from her hair.

When they met outside the bathrooms, Jon and Sansa were almost as immaculate as when they went into the Ghost tunnel. Maybe Jon’s curls were a little wilder, and Sansa’s lips were so red it looked like she’d been drinking the smoothie van’s ‘Bloody Brew’.  But so what?

Jon’s eyes traced along the curves of his step-sister’s breasts, which he was certain were bare beneath the jack-o-lantern patterned sweater.  He had to fight the urge to drop to his knees and bury his face between her thighs.  He’d come inside her fifteen minutes ago, and all he could think of was getting Sansa somewhere private enough that he could see her naked before driving balls-deep inside her.

Sansa licked her lips as her gaze flickered from his eyes to his crotch and back, and Jon knew without a doubt that she wanted the exact same thing.

“We could say that you’re not feeling well.  Theon can fit everyone else into his Rover, and we can take the car and find somewhere to park on the way home.”

Sansa shook her head, her face regretful.  “If I’m sick, Robb would insist on taking me home himself.  We’ll have to wait.”

“How long?” Jon asked, his voice gravelly with need.

“I’ll get Theon to invite Robb to stay over, so we can drive Bran and Arya home. Once they’re in bed, come to my room.  I can close the curtains around my four-poster so no one can see in even if they open the door.”

“Keep the curtains open to the window,” Jon ran his eyes slowly, deliberately over her breasts, tracing every covered curve with his gaze.  “I want to see you naked by moonlight.”

Sansa moved closer, until he could feel the heat of her body against the bare skin of his hand.

“Same here.”

ONE WEEK LATER

“I have to admit, Agatha, that ghost caves idea made us a mint.  Maybe we should look into leveling up the spooky decorations, and offering it as a permanent alternative option?  Could be in more demand than the Tunnel of Love for things like school carnivals.”

“Ha!”

“Agatha, what are you doing?”

“I’m doing the ‘Agatha was right and she’s telling you so!’ dance.”

“Well, could you please point your booty that way,” (point) “before you shake it?” (mutter) “Like I don’t see enough of your ass during sky-clad ceremonies.” (paper rustling) “The switch from romance to spooky takes, what, a day? And that’s mostly covered during set-up anyway.  The only thing I don’t have a cost breakdown for is the spell-paint and spell-removal.”

(full-body pause) “Spell-removal?”

“Yeah, what did it cost to erase the lovey-dovey and horny spells?  And what will it cost to re-apply them for the Tunnel of Love?  It’s not like that shit works off decals.”

(silence)

“Agatha... you did remember to remove the lovey-dovey and horny spells, right?”

“Um...”

“RIGHT?”

DISCLAIMER: Neither Kathryn Hahn or Elizabeth Olsen were fan-cast in this fic. Aubrey Plaza maybe.

Title comes from the song ‘Counterpane’ by The Birthday Massacre; mostly because I didn’t like the original title, and I was listening to the song during final edits.