#Bust Down Pendant

[glazeddiamonds]

Custom Made Photo Angel Wings Round Memory Pendant in 925 Sterling Silver

This Custom Made Photo Angel Wings Round Memory Pendant is a beautiful piece crafted in high-quality 925 sterling silver.

The pendant features delicate angel wings surrounding a customizable photo space, allowing you to cherish a loved one's image or a special moment.

Its round design symbolizes eternity and protection, while the angel wings represent guidance and love. Perfect for gifting or as a personal keepsake, this pendant holds deep sentimental value.

The sterling silver ensures durability and a timeless shine. Ideal for any occasion, it adds a personal and meaningful touch to your jewelry collection.

[gemistonediamond]

A Blohsh Pendant is a unique and captivating piece of jewelry that combines elegance with a touch of artistry.

Typically featuring intricate designs, these pendants often showcase gemstones like Moissanite, diamonds, or other precious stones, set in various metals such as gold, and silver.

The Blohsh pendant is known for its versatility, making it a perfect accessory for both casual and formal occasions.

Whether worn on a delicate chain or as a statement piece, the pendant radiates sophistication and adds a sparkling accent to any outfit.

Its timeless design ensures it remains a cherished piece for years to come, making it a must-have in any jewelry collection.

[missradiantjewels]

[hiphopbling]

Bust down chain:

10K Yellow Gold Diamond Tennis Chain 3MM Miracle Setting. Micro Pave Prong Set round cut diamonds.  Miracle setting to look like a 15 Carat Diamond Chain that would cost over $10,000. 

[eddiestightywhities]

also on ao3 HERE

.

“So, I overheard this guy in the line at the coffee shop this morning talking about name meanings—”

“Of course you did,” Eddie interjects, not unkindly.

Buck turned up with beers about a half hour ago, and has had his head in his phone for the last, what, twenty minutes? Something like that.

This is the first thing he's said since Eddie let him in and he sat his ass down on the couch in silence, looking like he needed Eddie to just allow him to.

Eddie did.

“—and I thought I'd look up ours.”

He's chewing on his bottom lip like it tastes good.

Eddie surprises himself by wondering if it does.

“I'm guessing you already know what Christopher means.”

Thinking back to when Shannon asked if he liked the name, Eddie smiles.

“Means 'Bearer of Christ', or something, right? We chose it because was Shannon's grandfather's name, though. He was Greek, and she adored him.”

Searching fingers instinctively find his pendant. It's positioned to the left, sitting right over his heart.

He misses his son like he'd miss a lung.

Buck looks up at him and smiles back, and Eddie feels glad the release he'd found dancing 'round his living room earlier isn't going to suddenly disappear down the bathroom sinkhole, along with his moustache.

“So, tell me, what does Edmundo mean, oh scholarly one?”

Buck's eyebrows try to meet his hairline.

“You don't know?”

Eddie tips his head back against the couch and scrunches his mouth up into nose.

“I have sisters, man, of course I know what it means. But that doesn't mean I don't want you to tell me.”

Buck seems somewhat happy with that.

“Well, it's a derivative of the Old English name Edmund, which is a combination of the words ēad and mund. The first part means prosperity, or riches, which is a bit of a bust, sorry man,” and he tries for a grin. It almost hits.

“But the the mund part means protector—which is pretty spot on, I reckon.”

Buck's eyelashes are kind of blonde, and kind of pretty. Eddie's thought it before, but there's just something about them in this light, in Eddie's house, on Eddie's couch.

“It's actually a real pretty name, Edmundo. Don't know if I've ever told you I think that.”

“Don't think I've ever told you your eyelashes are kind of pretty, so that makes us even, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at Buck, big and genuine, and somehow it's so easy.

Buck smiles back. Looks a little confused, or pleased, or both. Eddie's not sure, but either is okay with him.

“Um, thanks?”

Eddie bites his tongue between his teeth in a poor effort to stop his grin turning positively goofy.

Buck takes it for what it is, and bats his eyelashes at Eddie, silly, and laughs.

His whole demeanor then changes as he finally settles properly into the couch and gifts his lungs with what might be the first proper breath he's taken since he arrived.

“Anyway, Evan is the worst of the three. It means yew, like the tree? Which is—it symbolises, like, spirituality, and rebirth and shit like that. 'S not really, uh, me, you know?”

“You mean like Evan isn't really you?”

Buck bites at his red, red lip again.

Eddie decides it'd taste like cherry Chupa Chups.

“Yeah. But it's—my name.”

“Except it isn't though, it's it?” Eddie reminds him. “You're name is Buck, Buck. You decided that.”

“I don't know why he always insisted on calling me Evan. Or why I just—let him. It was kind of weird.”

Tommy.

"Called? Past tense?” Eddie flips his tongue in his mouth. Breathes a little more deliberately.

Buck looks at his phone again before he's slowly placing it down on the couch between them.

His fingers are touching the outside of Eddie's thigh, and Eddie's suddenly acutely aware that he still isn't wearing any pants.

Buck leaves his hand where it is.

“He, uh, he dumped me. Because I—”

Buck sucks in oxygen, a lot of it, and holds it in his lungs before puffing out his cheeks as he makes a show of blowing it back out again.

“I asked him to move in with me.”

Eddie was not expecting either of those statements.

"Ouch.”

Buck's fingers twitch against Eddie's skin, and Eddie feels it travel right down his leg and into his toes, which curl involuntarily into the carpet.

“You wanna talk about it?” he offers, kind of knowing Buck doesn't. He will when he's ready.

“Not really.”

Eddie licks at his lips. They taste like beer, and a little like confidence.

“How about Buck?”

Buck looks at him, perplexed.

Eddie's leg is starting to cramp a bit.

He doesn't move it.

“A Buck is another name for a stag, right?” he continues. “And the stag symbolises strength and purity—

“Don't forget fertility” Buck is looking at Eddie, and it feels like something.

Eddie snorts. “'Course, don't wanna forget fertility.”

Buck smiles the first proper Buck smile of the evening, and Eddie's feels it in his chest.

“Hey, hang on, how come you know so much about stags, Edmundo?”

“You did that project with Chris about the forest.”

Buck blinks at him.

“Dude that was, like, years ago. And, as you said, I was the one learning all about the woodland creatures and different types berries and toadstools, so how do you—”

“Because you told me,” Eddie shrugs a shoulder.

Buck blinks some more.

“And you—remembered that?” he asks.

In this moment, Eddie couldn't blink, nor look away from Buck, even if somebody were to pay him.

“I remember everything you tell me.”

It's weird but it's like the air itself is crackling as they sit here, just staring at each other.

They look at each other for what feels like a long time. Or maybe it's just a single heartbeat, Eddie can't really be sure.

He watches as Buck swallows, his Adam's apple a calling card.

Eddie isn't entirely sure of why he thinks of that.

Until he is.

When Buck moves his hand, it's to slide it fully onto Eddie's thigh to just sit there, right at home.

Eddie's suddenly blinking so much he's a little worried he might be stroking.

He doesn't mean to say, “Can you smell toast?” but finds himself saying it anyway.

Buck smile is both crooked and adorable.

“You worried you're having a stroke, old man?”

“We'd have been at the same school at the same time, Buck. I'm not that much older than you.”

“You are old and I am young and everyone and the universe knows this,” Buck claims, cocky and sure of himself once more.

Eddie licks at his lips again.

“I, uh, I think I finally believe you.”

Buck now mirrors him, licking his own lips.

Cherry Chupa Chups.

“You mean about the universe?” he's asking, like he doesn't almost always knew what Eddie means.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes.

Buck waits.

Just as Eddie is thinking he really should go put some on some sweats or something, Buck must get impatient because he replies, “I think it always wanted you to believe.”

Eddie doesn't have a clue what time it is, or whether he had dinner or not, or how he got so damn lucky.

“I'm gonna choose to believe, because you believe—and I believe in you, Buck” he says, somehow both sure and unsure of absolutely everything that is to come.

At long last, he finds he is totally okay with that.

“Anyways, I can hear it now,” he tells Buck, “and I'm listening.”

.

unedited; pls be kind!

.

edited version now found HERE on ao3 if you'd like to pop across and leave me a comment xp

[lifespectator]

Punk Nun

Power bottom nun!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: The pretty nun named Wanda ended up with you…

Warnings: no specified gender but reader is AMAB, VERY little plot, mostly smut MINORS DNI, strong language, some angst Ig but hopeful ending.

A/N: I’m back and posting this to proof that visiting Santa Monica Pier at night changes a person lol anyways sorry if it isn’t the best but hope you enjoy it. Also, art not mine so credit to the original artist.

-

Who would have thought?

"I'm eager to see what's under that habit." You eyed up the horny nun as your wish to see her nude body grew more and more with each second, along with the need to touch her.

That pretty innocent-looking nun with short strawberry blonde hair that had crossed a few glances with you on the few times you did attend church would end up in your room—sitting on the edge of your bed, looking at you with lustful eyes.

It happened too fast. You heard a knock on your door, and Wanda stood there, perplexing you. When you thought she would read the Bible to you, she pushed past you with the excuse of wanting to talk to you like you had offered last time. Things went up from there, so you just chalked it up to 'fate.'

A low moan left the nun's mouth, seeing as you removed your black shirt, exposing your bare torso to her. She looked attentively at your body. Looks like your build was eye candy for her.

"I promise to let you touch." You said as Wanda shifted her attention to you. "But for now, you're in my house, so we'll do a ritual." With that, you walked out of the room. The words that had come out of your mouth had only elevated her sensation of need between her legs.

A sin? Yes. An unforgivable one for sure. She had made her vows to the church. But it wasn't her fault. Wanda never wanted to be part of that. Before, she was a typical teen with dreams and aspirations like many others. But one day, her parents told her they had chosen her life path. Why? Because they had some dream that Wanda would become a nexus being that would destroy everything. Pure nonsense, she always thought. Her biggest regret is that she never fought against her parents' decision.

It didn't matter anymore because she was with you now, and no one could stop her.

Wanda removed her loafers before you came back into the room. Carrying a bottle of red wine, you walked towards her and gently laid the bottle on the bed. She couldn't resist having you so close and lifted her hand and ran it over your abdomen. A low gasp left your mouth at her gentle touch.

"Couldn't stop yourself, huh?" You grabbed a part of the fabric of her habit. "Help me a bit." Wanda raised her arms, letting you gently pull it off her, exposing her beautiful body that was only covered by her black panties. Only Wanda's perky tits were exposed but adorned with a silver cross pendant that hung from a matching necklace. From her face down, she was worthy of being described as a goddess.

"The real sin is having you wear this, which doesn't allow me to see such beauty." You lusted, tossing the habit away, and instead reached for her soft breast, caressing them to feel their softness, making her breathing hitched when you rubbed your thumb on her perky tit. "I will have to include this in my thesis now." You teased, squeezing her breast.

"Oh, you're a priest now?" Wanda asked in a challenging tone, pushing your hands off her bust.

Cheeky. Despite not speaking much, Wanda announced she was not as innocent as she looked.

"I ain't no Martin Luther." You grinned, lightly pushing her against the bed and crawling on top of her. "But I'll gladly be your punk monk, my dear punk nun."

You planted your lips on hers as Wanda gave you access to her mouth. She reciprocated, deepening the kiss. Her tongue was swirling with yours. It was noticeable how it wasn't her first "steamy" makeout. How her hands ran from your hair to your back demonstrated how much she wanted this as much as you did. Her soft hands made her touch unique.

You parted your lips from hers and rested them on the tip of her ear.

"I'm going to begin my ritual." A low moan escaped Wanda's mouth, shivering at the feeling of your warm breath next to her ear.

You got off Wanda and kneeled beside her on the bed, grabbing the bottle of wine and opening it quickly. You offered her the bottle first, which she grabbed without hesitation. It was her favorite, after all. The nun took a deep sip of it and handed it back.

She laid back down at your instruction, letting you do as you pleased with her now. You ran your hand through her soft abdomen, preparing to give her the unexpected.

You lifted the wine bottle and tilted it towards her, pouring some of the wine on her belly button. Wanda jolted and let out a high-pitched hiss at the feeling of the cool liquid making contact with her skin.

"It's okay, beauty. You're okay." You comforted the nun. Her glare softened once she heard your words.

When the naughty nun was relaxed again, you lowered your head into her abdomen and sucked the wine that had stained her skin. Some breathy moans left her mouth as you sucked the red wine on her skin, especially at the sensitivity of her stomach. Groans left your mouth at the feeling of her warm skin. You sucked and even licked her skin until there was no trace of any liquid ever being there.

Your hand made contact with her black panties, making your cock twitch when you felt how drenched in her arousal fluids they were. The touch of your fingers on the cotton fabric that separates you from her entrance was enough to make her moan.

"Hurry the fuck up." Wanda cried when you teased her by rubbing your fingers on the fabric.

"What would your fellow sisters say with that vocabulary of yours?" You grabbed her panties from the waist and gently pulled them off her.

"I don't know. You're the one who is said not to worry about what other people say." Wanda raised her legs to assist you in removing her panties.

You passed your fingers on the top of her exposed entrance that was glistening with her wetness. Wanda mouthed a moan. "Nice to know that you do listen to me." You remarked.

Wanda moaned as you rubbed her entrance. "Fuck." She Let out when you started rubbing her clit followed by other curse words. Shaking her legs at the sensation. Her losing control gave you ideas. Without warning, you inserted two fingers into her entrance. Her sudden gasp turned into repeated moans when you started pumping your fingers into her fast. "Just like that." She begged, feeling you increase your pace. "Cum for me, nun." You groaned, feeling her walls tighten around your fingers, followed by a loud moan of hers and then the feeling of her warm fluids coming out of her pussy, getting all over your hand and staining the bed.

You brought your hand up to you and licked off her cum, savoring the taste.

You unbuckle your belt and slide off your jeans, accompanied by your boxers. Finally, let out your hardened cock, twitching at the thought of being inside Wanda.

"Show me how much you wanted this." You lay in the bed, inviting the sex-starved nun to get on top of you. She crawled on top of you, her legs on each side of your thighs. "I'll make you lose control." She smirked, looking down at you. Her confidence in her voice piqued your curiosity and even increased your need for her. "Show, not tell." You countered, also smirking and running your hand through her legs.

Letting out a low moan when you felt her soft hand grabbed your hardened cock and gave it a few slow strokes before aligning it with her entrance. She kept looking down, breathing out moans when she rubbed your tip with her slit and slowly took your whole length. "Ahh." Similar moans and some groans came out of your and Wanda's mouths as she felt your length go deeper while you felt her wet walls around your cock. You melted at the unknown energy she had. Almost as if it was another person.

You were left in a trance as you felt her soft, warm walls surrounding your cock that you overlooked when she bent down to whisper in your ear. "Let me know if you can't handle it." You weren't able to process her words once she started rocking back and forth on your cock at a slow pace to accustom to your size.

"You're a demon in disguise, huh?" You groaned at her sensual actions. Wanda placed her hands on your chest. "Let's find out." She started moving at a faster pace, waves of pleasure going through both your bodies. Wanda whimpered as she repeatedly sank into your cock. The view it gave you was mesmerizing as the way her breasts bounced, which impulsed you into grabbing them again. Kneading and teasing her perked nipples. "Keep going." She encouraged you in a breathy voice, inviting you to do more with her.

Wanting more of her body, your hands left her breast and, out of instinct, reached for her ass and held her with a tight grip stopping her movements.

"You might hurt me," Wanda teased in a raspy voice between breaths, coming to a stop and having an idea of what you were about to do. "Too late to back out now." You stretched her bum a bit before and, with no warning, pumped your cock as deeply as possible into her needy pussy. The noises of your hips hitting hers just right were barely audible as the repeated moans were louder. You continued until another sexy idea popped into your mind.

Out of nowhere, you turned her over and pinned her down on the bed without pulling out of the pretty nun. She yelped at the sudden action and breathed a bit to regain herself. Your eyes locked with hers; she was panting, sweat rolling down her face. Despite your initial thought, she wasn't amused. "You love being deep inside me." She muttered, making you lose any sense of control you had left in you.

You began moving your hips, pushing your cock deep in Wanda as much as you could at a pace that even made the bed creak. Wanda's hands gripped your biceps tightly as you started hitting the right spot. The sound of her moans and skin-to-skin contact pushed you to increase your pace; at the same time, her nails started digging into your skin; you were too lost in the pleasure even to notice it.

The good sensation of her walls clenching on you announced what was coming, so you didn't stop. You wanted to feel every last bit of her like she did of you. Wanda let out a high-pitched moan as you felt her warm juices fall on your cock, announcing her release of pleasure that you had helped build up. You stayed there on top of her, still hard, waiting for her to regain her breath. Needless to say that you were euphoric to release as well, which led you to pull out of her gently, and after giving yourself a few strokes, you reached your high as thick ropes of your cum landed just outside Wanda's entrance and her inner thighs. You Guessed this was the closest to getting to heaven as you can get.

"Fuck.. that was.. was great." Wanda panted, looking up to see you trying to smile while you regained your breath, then gently moved off her to lay beside her. You would follow up on what she said, but she stood up and went to the bathroom. "You alright?" You asked, concerned that you might have hurt her with your roughness. But again, no response from her.

You got up and followed her into the bathroom after sliding on your boxers, where Wanda had gotten one of your towels to clean herself up. You stood there waiting for her to acknowledge you, but she did not react as if you weren't there. You sighed before taking the initiative to break the uncomfortable silence. "Hey." You spoke almost like a middle schooler talking with their crush for the first time.

The nun stopped her actions, looking down after finally acknowledging you. Wanda sighed and looked back up at the mirror in front. "It's just," She gritted her teeth. "Fuck," She muttered, letting the towel hit the floor. "I have to return to my boring life as a nun." Her words expressed impotence and frustration.

You stayed quiet, imagining Wanda's daily torment of being somewhere she didn't want. A literal place that can be a dream killer. Well, you didn't have to. Living in the same old boring town took away your will to live mentally. But it was nothing compared to what Wanda has been through.

"Maybe you don't have to, Wanda," You picked up the towel and put it around Wanda's shoulder to cover her. Your words made her look at you with curiosity and perhaps a bit of hope, which she needed at this time. "Why don't we leave this shitty place together?" You offered, as shock and confusion plastered on her face.

"What do you mean?" She asked, still trying to understand what you had said.

"Fuck whatever we have here. Let's leave somewhere else where we can be ourselves and leave all this behind." You said as you realized what some of her concerns could be. Also, the fact that you barely knew each other. "There is no easy way to explain, but just think about it."

Wanda said nothing but was attentive to your words. She said nothing at first, but the smile that started to creep on her face was enough to confirm that she had already made her decision, and it would be one that would change something for both.

[d1s1ntegrated]

hiii, 🧸 anon here!

i was wondering if you could write shig celebrating his s/o’s birthday hcs pretty please 🙏 it’s my birthday today & i lowkey just want love from him as my only gift hahah

thank youu ♡

happy birthday pretty babe! a fellow leo i see 🫶

and obv, absolutely i can!

shigaraki x reader!bday edition (some light nsfw ;) )

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ

shigaraki didn't typically care about birthdays. being raised by AFO meant that his birthday consisted of the same daily routine, trained to pretend it didn't even exist.

but after growing and living with the League for so long, he relearned the significance of them (mostly for toga, since she was so young. the older members wanted her to be happy as much as possible.)

your birthday, he learned, was today- and he was VERY ill-prepared.

he panicked and asked kurogiri to bring him out- explaining he NEEDED to spoil you

"tomura shigaraki, it would not be wise to be in public right now"

"i don't give shit. i'm getting them something."

scrambling, he consulted toga and spinner on what to get you. he got overwhelmed and ended up stealing a whole bunch of shit, unsure of what you'd want most.

he decided he was also going to try his damnedest to make you a cake.

quickly he faced the dilemma of not knowing how to bake. or cook at all for that matter.

"what's the difference between a dry and a liquid measure?? it's the same fucking thing!"

so with the help of a very clumsy twice and toga, you had a cake sitting on the bar top when you arrived. and a heaping of very poorly wrapped gifts.

shigaraki, sitting nervously on a barstool, biting his nails, gives you a very gentle and quiet "happy birthday"

there weren't a lot of words you could really muster the courage to say, so instead you kissed him and smiled.

he didn't protest it, but when you pulled away, he pointed at the pile and eagerly waited for you to open them

a headset was first- one that matched his.

"i knew you needed a new pair"

then a matching controller, plushies, and a switch game.

"you can use mine and we can play it together...if you want"

when you noticed the cake, you busted out in laughter and took a picture of it. but at that point, he couldn't wait any longer, and grabbed your hand.

"i have one more for you"

you were practically dragged into his bedroom, tossed onto his bed, and he shoved a small box into your hands.

in it was a little necklace, with a pendant with half of a controller on it.

he yanked at his shirt collar and pulled out a match, the other half of it, and nervously scratched at his neck as you put yours on.

"i love it" was the only thing you could say as you hugged him- for being so villainous, he really was a cheesy fuck sometimes.

once it was around your neck, he yanked you in by it and kissed you, tongue searching your mouth aggressively as he pushed you down into the mattress

"i lied. two more gifts" he whispered in your ear before wrapping you in his arms and rutting into you, making you see stars over and over again.

the cake was actually pretty good, too.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ

:D again, happy birthday 🧸!! (i wrote this fast so i could get it out asap for u <3)

[pikachic]

Hi it's me again. TMA/POKÉMON AU??? YES HELLO PARDON ME I NEED TO THROW MYSELF AT THIS OCCULUS AU YOU'VE GOT GOING ON IF YOU DONT MIND

*BUSTS DOWN THE DOOR* I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED

I’ve had this AU simmering away for a while and but haven’t posted that much about it, so thank you for the excuse to scream about my extremely self indulgent Pokémon x The Magnus Archives AU

*ahem*

Introducing:

POKÉMON OCULUS

(Here’s an illustration I did after getting your ask - Champion Jonathan and his ace Pokémon, Vigitera!)

This AU is set in the Ervenis Region, a relatively small island region off the coast of Galar. It closed its borders two years prior to the main storyline, shortly after its Champion went missing during a series of attacks in its major cities and his predecessor was found murdered. Since then, an acting Champion has been instated and the borders have been reopened, but the Champion still has not been found. Most Ervenisans believe he is dead.

However, the Ervenis Champion isn’t as dead as everyone thinks, and his disappearance is only the first in long chain of events that will shake Ervenis to its very core, orchestrated by a man who aims to rule over a ruined world governed by nothing but his own will and the fear of people and Pokémon alike, and who will stop at nothing to bring that goal into reality.

More lore under the cut!

(Some of the AU-specific names and terms might be placeholders in that I haven’t been able to come up with anything better lmao)

(Also some of the art might be a bit old)

General Lore Stuff

Jon is the Champion who went missing, and Gertrude is his murdered predecessor.

Martin is Ervenis’ Pokémon Professor

Martin being the Professor is literally perfect.

Be. Because.

All of the Pokemon Professors (except for the newest ones) are named after trees.

And Martin’s last name is BLACKWOOD. Which is an ACTUAL TREE.

(My first rough attempt at drawing Jmart in the Pokémon art style)

Also jmart are extremely married

They’re Ervenis’ favorite power couple

(Professor Blackwood for half of the main plot: *sighs.* …I miss my husband. I miss him a lot. I’ll be back.)

Their Pokémon ship name would be Londonfogshipping

Martin has a Galvantula (most likely a regional form), a Sinistea, a Frosslass, and a Togekiss

Jon, in addition to AU-specific Fakemon, has a Gardevoir and a Luxray

Jon also has a shiny Appletun on his team and Martin has a Flapple. Make of that what you will :D

Also yes there are Fakemon in this thing

I have never designed any Fakemon before except for one thirty-minute period of time from when I was ten but I’m not going to let that stop me

(Initial Fakemon sketches! Three guesses as to which characters get Sqwyrm and Manickregus and the first two don’t count)

(Also Ervenisan Yamask has another form, which evolves into Ervenisan Cofagrigus which is inspired by the Do Not Open coffin)

(I have a whole list of Fakemon designs I want to make but 90% of them aren’t fleshed out at all)

Tim and Sasha are Professors in their own right, and also Martin’s assistants/fellow researchers

Tim has a Houndoom because I saw another TMA Pokémon AU that gave him one and I really liked the idea, he also has a Ludicolo because I lost a debate with my friend who is also into both TMA and Pokémon

Sasha has a Dartrix and a Meowstic

Most of the Avatars are gym leaders

(Yippee gym leader designs!)

(Not pictured because I ran out of steam before I could draw them: Michael and Helen, who run a double Electric-type gym; Daisy, who runs a Dragon-type gym; Karolina, who runs a Ground-type gym; and Jared, who runs a Normal-type gym)

Elias is the acting Champion in Jon’s absence and the secret leader of Team Chrysalis

The current Elite Four consists of Peter, Simon, Maxwell, and Annabelle

You might have noticed that Jon and the gym leaders are all wearing (mostly) black pendants/brooches

This is part of the Ervenis’ region’s “gimmick:”

Metafestation (which is. Almost definitely a placeholder name)

Skilled trainers can use special items called Metalenses to tap into the psyches of Pokemon and Trainer to manifest the shape of their desires and the power of their emotions in reality.

You basically give the Pokémon a JoJo Stand

Each Metalens must be specially shaped and cut to suit unique trainers and Pokémon, and since using poorly made Metalenses may have disastrous consequences on its users, only a handful of people have the qualifications and legal authorization to do so

(Gerard Keay is one of these people!)

Metalenses are usually worn as pendants or brooches so they’re close to the user’s heart

For the Metafestation power-up to be strongest, the trainer and Pokémon must have a shared goal/desire and a deep bond

(This bond does not have to be a positive one. It just needs to be strong.)

These Metafestations have their own typing system, though no one’s been able to figure out exactly what it is yet.

It’s the Fears. The Fears are the typing system.

Though most users of this system aren’t aware of it, Metafestation comes from achieving a delicate balance of both desire and fear.

When I first came up with this idea, it was JUST Fear, but I felt like that was a bit dark for frickin POKÉMON so I added the desire aspect

After all, what we fear and and what we desire often go hand in hand

You desire safety because you fear its absence, you desire light because you fear the dark, you desire freedom because you fear being confined, etc.

For example, Professor Blackwood desires companionship, and fears being forgotten. Most of the Metafestations he and his Pokémon create are foggy and cold, but in a way soothing at the same time.

Though a small handful of them are spindly and laced with puppet strings and reflect his desire to wield his cunning for good.

(However, he hasn’t been able to properly use his Metalens in years. The first and only time he tried after his husband vanished, it backfired horribly, consuming both him and his Pokémon in a chilling fog and sending them spiraling into unconsciousness. It took weeks for them to recover, and Professor Blackwood bears a physical scar of the incident in the streaks of stark white in his hair.)

Of course, most people don’t have just one desire/fear. The Metalens just channels the strongest ones, and most users don’t achieve more than three separate tertiary types of power-ups.

One of the biggest exceptions is Jon.

He desires many things: Safety, love, knowledge. He also fears many things: Being manipulated and controlled, abandonment, the unknown.

When he was a child, something happened to him that scarred his psyche in such a way that he could channel all of his desires and fears.

It’s what makes him such a potent conduit for the power-up system, and what makes him a prime target for:

Team Chrysalis

Team Chrysalis is a criminal organization/sort of cult disguised as something innocent: The Magnus Institute, the region’s main research institution that Professor Blackwood works at

The AU’s main plot gets kicked off when Professor Blackwood finds evidence that his husband, the missing Champion, is still alive

If this were a real game, the main story on the side of doing the gym challenge would be helping Professor Blackwood look for clues about Jon’s whereabouts and about The Magnus Institute’s hidden goals

Professor Blackwood also figures out that it’s very likely that Elias had a hand in Jon’s disappearance

(Professor Blackwood for the other half of the main plot: *slams down the Do Not Open coffin in front of Elias* It’s a coffin. There’s a name engraved on it. “WHORE!” IT’S EMPTY!! *grabs Elias by the collar* AND YOU’RE GOING IN IT!!!)

The Elite Four are also part of Team Chrysalis and fully on board with its plan

Though Annabelle might have her own machinations going on

Team Chrysalis plans to reshape the world as they see fit by summoning a Legendary Pokémon that’s a warped physical manifestation of the fears and desires of all living creatures, and simultaneously embodies and feeds on those fears and desires

(It’s basically all the Fears mashed into one eldritch monstrosity)

(I’m mildly worried this sounds too similar to some existing legendaries but at the same time I’m just spitballing and having fun here)

To summon this Legendary, they need a lynchpin capable of channeling all of those fears and desires

This lynchpin is Jon because of course it is.

Team Chrysalis’ whole plan actually only serves to grant Elias immortality and make him king of a ruined world but shhh none of the team members know that

I have zero idea what the Legendary would look like, I just have the fact I want it to have “Pan” in its name

The climax of the story comes when Team Chrysalis starts their ritual and the end of the world. In order to stop them, their Vessel and the Legendary must be defeated.

You are challenged by The Archivist!

The Really Self Indulgent Part

I started working on this at the same time that my friend was watching through XY for the first time

So at some point when coming up with all of the story stuff my brain went “what if I stuck Ash Ketchum into the story?”

So Ash is there now. For some reason lol

He’s 19 now and is just doing his thing and traveling the world

As usual, he takes on the player’s role, challenging gyms and helping Professor Blackwood in his investigation and eventually helping him take on Team Chrysalis

(I made this shitpost in like. Less than an hour lmao)

Ash is so done with these evil team leaders trying to destroy the world

Greninja is also there because tHIS IS MY AU AND I DO WHAT I WANT *MANIACAL LAUGHTER*

And I think that’s it for an overview of Pokémon Oculus!

I have a bunch more stuff for this AU, mostly spitballs and WIP writing snippets, and I do plan on making more art and Fakemon designs eventually (especially now that I’m getting better at emulating the Pokémon art style)

Thank you for reading this far, and feel free to ask me anything about this AU! :D

[matthewswifeyy]

After awhile you went quiet, and I got mean 4

Summary: Exgirlfriend!reader lives with S4!rafe. She constantly has to watch rafe treat someone better and it finally gets to her

Part 1 part 2 Part 3 part 5

Rafes pov

I was enjoying my drink when I heard footsteps behind me and a voice calling my name. I put glass down and look behind me. I see topper walking up behind me. I roll my eyes and turn back to my drink.

Of course she went to him.

“Yo what the fuck is up with you huh” he said patting my shoulder.

“Nothing” I said shrugging his hand off me.

“Nothing huh. So you’re just kicking Y/n out for no reason.” He said sitting down next to me.

“There was a reason alright” I told him leaning back in my chair.

“I know you two have been arguing rafe but come on. You know she has no where and no one to go to.”

“That’s a lie.” I scoffed.

“Rafe are you kidding me.”

“What topper.” I said turning my head my towards him.

“This is Y/n we are talking about here. Not some random.”

“I know topper.” I said before calling the bartender over. “Get me another one”

“And you don’t care about how she’s doing after that at all.”

“She out of my hands” I said as the bartender placed another full glass of whiskey in front of me.

“I give up at this point. Will you at least try and talk to her about it. Whether you wanna make things right or not.”

“Will it get you to leave me alone about it.” I looked at him.

“Yes”

“Then fine i will talk to her. Tell her to meet me at my place tomorrow at 3.” I said before downing my drink and walking towards my car.

I really did want to talk to her. I just had to seem like I didn’t care to topper because of his big mouth.

I miss what I had with Y/n. I really do. Now I feel like I’m a complete idiot for kicking her out because of Sofia just for me to break up with her not even 10 minutes after she left.

I started my car and drove home.

Readers pov

I was sitting in the guest bed reading my book until there was a knock on the door.

“Come in” I said placing my book on the night stand next to the bed while topper busted into the room.

“He said he will talk to you tomorrow at his place at 3” he said quickly.

“Topper are you serious. I said I wanted to know what was going on with him. I don’t want to make things right with him!” I said to him.

“Oh” he said quietly before leaving.

I groaned and threw my head back into the pillows.

———

I was now getting ready to go on a date with a guy I met at the island club. His name was Jackson. I’ve seen him around before but I’ve never talked to him.

I’m extremely excited to say the least. All these years it been rafe. I’m glad it someone new.

I finished my hair, outfit, and makeup and it was now time for jewelry. I picked out a beautiful pair of small gold hoops. I now looked at my necklace options. I stared at the gold necklace with a small heart pendant that rafe got me many years ago.

I sighed as I picked it up. I bit my lip as I continued to stare at it contemplating putting it on.

Fuck it

I undid the clasp and brought it around my neck. I clasped it and brought my hands down to my side. I looked at myself in the mirror as I continued to chew at my lip.

I turned away from the mirror and grabbed my purse from off the bed. I walked out of the guest room and into the living room.

“Where are you going” topper said from the kitchen.

“A date.”

“With who?” He questioned.

“Jackson Moore.” I said proudly.

“You’re joking right. That douche.” Topper said as he tilted his head at me.

“What he seems nice.” I said as a knocked came from the front door.

I walked towards the door to open it to Jackson.

“Hey”

“Hi” I said with a smile.

“You uh ready to go.”

“Yeah” I say nodding my head.

I walked out the door and closed it behind me. I follow behind Jackson to his car. He opened the door for me and gestured me to get in.

I smiled at him before getting in. He closed the door and walked in front of the car and got in the car.

After about a 5 minute drive we had arrived to the island club. Jackson got out of the car while I gathered my stuff. I waited for the door to open but it never did. I looked out the window and saw Jackson waiting for me.

What the fuck is wrong with this guy

I opened the door and got out. Closing the door before walking over to Jackson.

“Sorry couldn’t find my purse.” I lied to save myself from the embarrassment.

“It’s okay” he said before wrapping his arm around my waist as he lead us toward the entrance.

“Table for Moore.” Jackson told the host.

“Okay right this way.” The host lead us to a table in the back corner of the island club. Jackson pulls my chair out and sits in his seat.

“Thank you” I said quietly.

Our date was going great. We ordered our food and talked. We currently were sitting in a comfortable silence waiting for the bill.

“I have a question Y/n” Jackson said breaking the silence.

“What’s up”

“I know that you and rafe aren’t on the best terms but I was wondering if you would want to go with me to his party tomorrow night.” He asked me.

“Um sure. You won’t have to pick me up though. All of my stuff is at his place still so I’ll probably get ready there if that’s okay with you.”

“Oh that’s okay.” He said as the host dropped the bill of at the table.

As he signed the bill as I grabbed my purse. I took one last sip of my wine before standing up. Jackson came up behind and put his hand on the small of my back.

“Shall we go, my lady.” Jackson joked.

That was something rafe would always say whenever we finished our dates.

“Yeah” I said with a fake laugh.

We walked to the car and saw rafe sitting at the bar. He turned around and locked eyes with mine. I quickly looked away.

Rafes pov

Jackson Moore.

He’s been on my shit list since 8th grade. He always has been going after everything I do.

I’m not surprised he’s with her. He probably only likes her because I dated her.

I was finishing my drink when I heard my phone ping.

Y/n:I’m coming to your place at 8 instead of 3.

Rafe:why

Y/n:I’m going to your party with Jackson. I have to get ready there because all of my stuff is there. We can talk then.

Rafe: k

I sighed and shoved my phone in my pocket before leaving the island club.

————————————————————————

Taglist: @tincanhat @maybankslover @esposamultifandom

[glazeddiamondsalibaba]

Exquisite lab-grown D colorless VVS diamonds set in sterling silver. A bold, iced-out Jesus face Moissanite Pendant with brilliant shine.

[glazeddiamonds]

Custom Full Iced Out 3D Benjamin Franklin Moissanite Diamond Pendant in 925 Silver

This Benjamin Franklin Pendant is a timeless tribute to one of America's founding fathers. Featuring a detailed engraving of Franklin’s portrait, it captures his wisdom and iconic features. Crafted with precision, the pendant exudes a sense of history and intellect. Ideal for those who admire Franklin's contributions to science, politics, and philosophy, this piece adds a classic touch to any jewelry collection. Made with high-quality materials, it serves as both a stylish accessory and a conversation starter.

[the-kr8tor]

Like Ships that Pass in the Night

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 10.4k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW violence, TW blood, CW death.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 12 >>> CHAPTER 13

You can't believe it, cannot process what just happened mere moments ago or that's what you feel like. In truth, it's been a week, a long agonizing week of scratching at your door, biting the restraints and screaming their names.

A few days ago you were sitting down on a crate with Hobie's gentle hold atop your shoulder. You remember how he gave you a reassuring smile as Miguel sits down in front of you. His large form makes the wood creak when he shifts his weight, eyes boring into you like he's trying to find something amiss with your face. Or just simply trying to recognize it.

After a brief introduction of his ‘I'm your godfather’ schtick, he takes out your necklace, still shiny and gold. It swings in his hand as he hands it to Hobie, he never let you near Miguel as he promised. You just wish Miguel kept his word.

So much for the word of a gentleman.

You still remember how Hobie looks at the pendant, all wide eyes and full of recognition. If you had the time you would've asked him. But it's too late now.

His warm hands help you put on the necklace as Miguel watches like a hawk. Eyes never leaving yours. You can still feel how clammy Hobie's hands were, how it quivered atop your clavicle.

With the soft click of the necklace locking into place, and with it feeling foreign on your skin, Miguel strung together his words– “duchess” “killed at sea” “a navy captain father” “a kind midwife saving and taking you in” And “pirates.” Those words didn't make much sense back then as you stared at him in disbelief.

You feel Hobie's gentle squeeze on your skin, it still lingers right there, where the rope is currently burning while you try to wiggle out of it.

You should've stayed on your island.

The names 'Hazelside' and 'Peregrine' stood out in your foggy thoughts. You've heard them a few times in your life. Through newspapers, pamphlets and books dating centuries back.

You've heard of them but they haven't heard of you.

Crying out his name, you knock your shoulder harshly and desperately on the hard door.

Tears streaming down your face, Miguel takes a piece of paper, showing it to you, a simple white letter in a familiar handwriting you haven't seen in years.

Then the dam breaks.

All you could really remember after the short conversation was when they both lunged at each other. Teeth bared, claws out, knuckles hitting flesh. You can't even recall what made them tick, what made them so angry at each other that they both drew blood.

Not theirs, yours.

Crimson seeps from your leg and nose. You took a bullet for Miguel accidentally when Hobie fired his gun at him. Too angry, too eager to protect you, he didn't notice you trying to mitigate the situation with you squeezing yourself in between them. Too fast, too quick for him to react. Miguel tried to punch Hobie in retaliation, but it was at the exact same time you keeled over in pain. He hits his fist right on your face and you go blind for a second.

The scream you let out broke both men's hearts.

Their contorted faces of anguish and guilt are still plastered in your foggy mind.

As both men rush over to you, Miguel's crew bust the doors open, taking Hobie by the arms, dragging him away from you. He kicks and screams to let you go, grey eyes almost black, nails scratching angry marks on the strangers’ arms. And as you lay bleeding on the floor, the dead fish smell entering your broken nose, you still try to reach after him, hoping it's enough to tell him that you forgave him. You fall unconscious with Miguel's large hands squeezing tightly around your wound, voice barking orders at his men.

And all you can think about is them, the crew and Hobie.

With desperation like a cornered animal, you gnaw at your bonds. The hemp sticks to your teeth, not enough to cut it, the taste making you gag. The tight bandage around your leg aches, throbbing pain making you groan. Your nose has stopped bleeding, now you feel the swelling, like you have a cold.

The ship rocks softly, waves crashing on the sides of the large ship. With tearful and red eyes, you roam them around the small room. You have a brief vision of your cabin back at the revenge, back when you didn't know anything about your family's legacy. All you knew is that you needed to find them, even if they aren't real, even if they didn't want you. And now that you know all the answers to those things, you can't stop crying, not of happiness. There's no relief, only dread. If Miguel, your godfather is willing to tie you up and send your friends to the gallows then you're terrified of what you'll find when you reach the shores of the capital.

A rhythmic knock echoes out into the quiet. You stand up with great effort to greet the so-called gentleman. Miguel stands before you, shoulders slouched, hazel eyes staring at you with remorse. And you stare back with your reddening eyes, eyebrows knitted together in anger. He has kept you here for days, feeding you three meals a day. You ask about them and he just answers two words every time you do– “they're alright,” he says, and you think– “for now.”

“How are they?” You ask, voice hoarse.

“They're alright.” He says, gesturing for you to sit down, with reluctance, you don't obey. Dragging the small chair in front of you, giving you enough space. He sits on it, the eyebags under his eyes and gaunt face makes you think about them, and whether they look as tired as him.

“Will you untie me now?”

“You won't kick me again?” You get the flashback of kicking him hard on his chest the first time you woke up in the cabin.

“No.” You lie.

“Then no.” He closed his eyes tightly, like there's a migraine just behind his eyes. “I'm trying really hard here, Y/N— just…why don't you believe me?”

“Because you imprisoned my friends, because you tied me up and locked me in—”

“You were attacking people—”

“Because you attacked my friends!” You hope your scream can be heard below deck so they know that you're still fighting.

“He attacked me first—”

“Bullshit.”

“You had a concussion, you wouldn't have remembered it.”

“Oh I wonder why?” There's vile venom in your words.

Miguel swallows thickly. “If I untie you now, will you listen to me?”

“Perhaps.” Your scowl deepens.

“Christ, you're so much like your father.” Your jaw clenches at his words. “I'm gonna untie you, promise me you won't kick back?”

“No promises.”

“I'm gonna regret this.” He says under his breath, getting up, he swiftly and carefully unties you. The heavy rope falls on the ground and you clench your fists.

Miguel backs away, hands up in surrender. “There, can you please sit down?”

“No.”

“Alright, I'll sit down then.” With a groan and creak, he talks once again. Your nerves bubble up. “I've sent words to Jessica, she's coming to the capital to greet you and tell you the truth.”

“What makes you think I'll believe her?”

“Because she's your mother. And she sent you a letter.” There's a pang in your heart when you see her familiar handwriting on the paper once again. He hands it to you, snatching it away, you don't even read the letter. “Please, I'm telling the truth—”

“If I come with you without a fight will you let them go?” Your sudden words surprises him.

“They're wanted criminals, Y/N.” You give him the staredown of the century. He sighs. “The most I can do is keep them out of the gallows. After that they'll go to prison.”

“Where they will rot? No, you have to promise me you'll let them go, completely. Or I'll kick and scream and bite until you bleed.” You shake from sheer anger. “If you loved my so-called family then the least you could do is honour their daughter’s wishes.”

The tension hangs in the air. And you wish you had your dagger to cut it, and him.

“I don't beg, Miguel. I will do that and more just to get back to them, that I can promise you.” You say through your bared teeth.

He nods, “I'll see what I can do–”

“No, you'll do it or you won't have a little duchess to bring home.” You inhale sharply. “Then you've failed them.”

With a nod, he agrees, turning his back to you. Before you could lunge at him, he swivels back. “Do you want to talk to them?” For a moment you thought he's talking about your parents. “Prove to you that I mean well. That I'm telling the truth.”

You look at him with confusion. Giving in means giving up, but you can't resist the temptation of seeing them well. “Yes.”

—

You walk further down the steps. Shadows dance along the wooden walls, the ship rocks and creaks, the only sound you can hear. Miguel guides you, an oil lamp in his hand while his right hand woman, Lyla, walks behind you.

Your wrists aren't bound but you feel like it is when your hand grips the letter tightly. Not restricting you is his way of proving himself, which you hope he'll soon regret.

As the three of you arrive at the doors, two men guard it, rifles strapped to their back, knives on their waists. They nod to Miguel, sparing you a curious glance on your way inside.

In the large room there sits a large cell, steel enclosing around the people you most care about.

Miguel steps back, “Five minutes.” The crew scrambles towards you once their eyes land towards your stiff form, their hands gripping the metal, voices softly calling your name.

Hobie doesn't do the same, he stays in the corner, watching you, skimming his eyes over to your injury.

“Ten,” you say, eyes never leaving their forms, fingers inching closer towards the set of keys on his waist. You face him and Lyla, making their attention turn to you. “Ten or I won't cooperate.”

“Feisty.” Lyla says, hands on her hips, your reflection bouncing off her glasses.

Miguel just stares at you, observing your face. You take the opportunity to stand toe to toe with him, neck craning up to glare at said man.

“Ten.” You stubbornly utter.

He sighs, relenting. “Fine, ten, no more, no less.” as he turns away, you hide your hand behind you.

When the door shuts behind the two, you run towards them, limping and still aching, but you still sprint.

Finally reaching them, you kneel, relief washes over them as they hold your hands through the bars.

“Fuck! Thank fuck!” Yuri grips your arm, exhaustion on her face.

Gwen holds your shoulder, balling her fist on your shirt. “You alright?” she asks while Pav and Miles take turns in hugging you even with the metal bars preventing them.

“I'm alright,” you wait for Hobie to move towards you but he just watches. Looking at him, he senses your eyes, you repeat your words to reassure him. “I'm alright.”

When you lock eyes with him you get reminded of the same man who told you about his pain. You feel tears brimming in your eyes again.

“I thought they were torturing you up there.” Gwen's voice is as hoarse as yours.

“We heard the screams, Y/N,” Miles stares at your bandaged leg. “Did they hurt you?”

“I'm fine, just aching is all.” You answer, trying to act brave.

“When we get out of this cage I'm gonna kick O'Hara’s ass.” James kicks the nearest metal bar.

“He's been at it for days, trying to break it.” Pav leans his head on the cold steel. “I'm glad you're fine, Y/N. I don't think we can handle another one.” Another death.

“We've been kicked in the balls, set on fire and dumped in the sea to put it bluntly.” Yuri sighs. “We can't catch a bloody break eh, wifey? So much for our honeymoon.” she jokes, earning the first smile you've made since setting foot on the ship.

Gwen gives everyone a look, they move away from the bars, giving you two some privacy. She scooches closer to you.

“Can you talk to him? Hobie's been fighting the guards since we got here, he'd yell at them relentlessly. He's worse whenever you scream, his knuckles are raw from punching the bars. We're all worried about him. This is the first time he's been this quiet since—.” There's fatigue under her blue eyes, you feel guilty. “And you know Hobie, his silence is so much scarier than when he yells.”

You nod, eyes avoiding said man in the corner. “Just promise me you'll sleep.”

“Do I look that bad?” Gwen jokes, “I think I've never looked this great in years. Even Miles thinks so.”

“Miles always thinks you're gorgeous. Even if you wear a jester costume I think he'd fall all over you.”

“Duly noted.” She cracks a small smile.

“I’m really sorry about this.” Your voice trembles. “For bringing you all into this. I'm stupid for even thinking the plan would work.”

“Hey,” she holds your hands that's wrapped around the iron bars. “We all agreed to it, we knew what would happen if it failed and yet we chose to do this. Honestly, this is probably the best case scenario, we all lived so there's that.” Patting your bicep, she whispers. “Give me the key you nicked and we'll call it even.”

You almost laughed. “You're good,” Looking behind you to check if there's no wandering eyes, you slyly hand it to her through the cell. Gwen takes it swiftly before anyone notices. “Get out of here before we dock. There's a chance during dinner where there's no one on the deck. I don't hear any footsteps up there so I can guarantee that you have a five minute window after the dinner bell rings and before they change shifts.”

Gwen nods proudly. “And there's a dinghy that's improperly tied to the ship. Perfect, you're a proper pirate now, Y/N.” squeezing your hand, Gwen looks like she has something to say but she stops herself. “Thank you.”

“Get everyone out, please. And tell them I'm sorry.”

“I will.” And with her parting words she walks away, sitting next to Miles, whispering plans.

After a second and a deep breath, you stand up shakily, using the steel as leverage. Hobie thinks you'd begin to leave the room, but you sit down as close as you can to his side of the cell.

“Hobie.” You call his name like you haven't been screaming it for the past week. Like you don't long for him. “Can you please come here?” He doesn't look your way even though it physically pains him to do so. “Or I'll spill all your secrets you told me back at the island.” You wouldn't but you had to try.

He stands up, face unreadable, trudging the floors to cross the small distance. Crouching down, you can see the split skin on his knuckles. Angry circular blisters, gashes that still drip blood from not granting himself time to heal. So you gingerly take his hands, wishing that with your mere touch alone could heal him.

His eyes are tightly closed, hands limp in your hold. “I shot you.” You can barely recognize his voice at how broken and rough it is.

“Accidentally, I barely feel it anymore.”

“You're limping because of me.” His tone broken, shoulders slumped.

“It'll heal. I will heal.” You swallow thickly. “Please open your eyes and look at me. I forgive you, you didn't mean it.” He could kill you and you'll still forgive him.

With trepidation, he opens his eyes, lifting his head to look at you. “Did he break your nose?”

“Yes, the surgeon set it back though. I kicked Miguel after, just so you know. Like a fucking horse.”

He chuckles, “That's my girl.” His comment sends your heart alight.

“Are they feeding you all?” You change the subject or you'll burst from what he said. “Giving you water?”

“Treated like royalty, love. Even got our own blankets. I have to give it to O’Hara, he knows how to treat prisoners right.”

“I got him to let you go but I still don't trust him.”

Hobie's eyes go wide. “He wouldn't agree to that, what did you do to make him?” He scooches closer to you despite the metal separation.

You give him an apologetic look, “Nothing, I just convinced him.”

“Don't bullshit me, Y/N. What did you promise him?” He doesn't raise his voice, but you can see the whirlpool in his grey eyes.

“That he can take me home without fussing. That's all.”

“It's not just ‘that’s all,’ love. It's him taking you where we can't follow. I promised you back on that bloody boat and I intend to fuckin' keep it.”

“The letter's real, Hobie. I'm fucking nobility for some fucked up reason.”

“What if it's forged? Or he made your mother write it?”

“I know her hand, and nobody can force her to do anything. I may not know Miguel but I know Jess. He's telling the truth.”

“You haven't even read the letter. How would you know?” You forgot that he knows you more than you know yourself.

“Christ, sometimes I forget that you're quite perceptive.” You feel his stern yet familiar eyes on you as you look at your still intertwined hands. “Can you do me a favour and read it for me?” Lifting up your gaze, Hobie looks at you like he did on that fishing boat– all grief and love. But you suppose they're the same.

“Why?” Why do you trust me enough to read it for you? He thinks.

“Because I trust you.” Because I want you to see it and tell me it's all fake so we can make our escape together. Because I love you and that's all I can do to show how much I do.

You thought all of it but you don't say it outloud lest he won't be able to let you go in the long run. And he has to, because it's better to separate than to cling to each other amidst all the things preventing you to do so. Because if he just asks you to stay just like when he did in the governor's gates, you'd say yes in a heartbeat.

“I almost lost it when I saw my name written in her hand, I don't think I can survive seeing the rest.” Slipping the paper between the bars, he looks at you for permission. With a nod, he opens the wax seal with trepidation.

You watch as his eyes read the page, and you wait with clenched fists.

“She says she's sorry.” Hobie can't lie to your face. “And that Miguel's tellin' the truth. That he's been looking for you ever since you went missin’ even after everyone told him that you were already dead.” A tear slips down your cheek. “He was close to your parents, a duchess and a navy captain.” He paused to wipe the tears flowing. “She wrote ‘This is my way of giving you a better life, a better chance. So please stop running, my little tomato.’”

You chuckle at the childhood nickname, it quickly changes into a sob. Hobie wraps his arms around your torso as best as he can. Large hand splayed atop your head, lips softly pressing on your temple.

“It's real, innit?”

“It's real.”

“Little tomato?” He asks, rubbing soft circles on your shoulder blades.

“My favourite were cherry tomatoes.” You sniff, hands enclosed on his sides, gripping his shirt.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Hobie whispers, “I know a recipe with it.”

The thought sounds so far away for you, a dream where everything is better, where nothing bad happens.

“Cook it for me?” You lean away to his dismay.

“I bet you have servants for that.”

“I don't want them, just you.” He nods, an arrow piercing his heart the moment you said those words. “We'll meet again, in this life or the next.”

He shakes his head as the door creaks open. “No, Y/N—”

Taking his hands quickly, you kiss his broken skin, hoping it's enough for a goodbye. “Don't follow me, please.” He could only stare at you with a horrified expression.

“Time to go, Y/N.” Miguel's voice cuts through the space.

Grinning at Hobie, you let him memorize the sight. “Be safe, all of you.” Miguel helps you stand up. Etching their faces into your mind, locking it away, you leave the letter to Hobie and the key to their freedom.

—

Walking up to the deck, the cloudy sky greets you, puffs of smoke belching out of houses makes your broken nose sting. The horses running along cobbled stones and intense yelling from sailors rings in your ears. But you're relieved knowing they're not locked in a cell anymore.

After hearing the alarm bells last night, the splash of the dinghy falling into the waters and Miguel cursing Hobie's name, you know they got out. You're glad that they didn't turn heel and tried to bring you with them, grateful that Gwen convinced him to let you go. Yet, why is there a pang in your chest whenever you think about it?

You hear Miguel call your name, hand reaching out to help you walk down the stairs of the ship. A carriage waits for you at the end. Two thoroughbred horses strapped to it, footmen opening the door, side eyeing your disheveled form. You forgot that you're still wearing the same clothes you wore on your last day on the people's revenge. You must smell heavenly, you thought.

Miguel's men have their weapons at the ready, everyone at the docks scratches their heads at why someone like you is heavily protected.

On wobbly feet, you make your way down without taking Miguel's help.

And as you lift one foot up on the carriage, you see in your peripheral a familiar man peeking out from an alley. You can recognize those eyes anywhere.

With a subtle shake of your head, you slyly mouth a ‘don’t’. Hobie hides under the shadows, and you wish you could just run after him.

With downcast eyes, you get on the carriage.

Miguel follows suit then Lyla who yawns in her seat. You jump at the door closing. As the horses start their pace, you roam your eyes at the plush interior. All smooth velvet and embroidered walls.

“Can I close the windows?” Miguel asks, fingers already curled around the curtains. You nod tiredly. The thick curtains whoosh close, and you can't help but worry about them. “We're gonna take a detour before we meet your uncle and aunt.”

Your head perks up at the words. “What?”

“She had a concussion, Miguel, she forgot.” Lyla states a fact next to you, voice flat and disinterested. “Punched her too hard, you big man.” She whispers.

“They're your distant relatives. The ones who inherited the estate after—after everything. They'll be the one taking you in.”

“Are they the ones who asked for me to be found?”

“No, it was just me.” He says forlornly.

“Do they know I'm alive?”

“I've sent word to them. They'd be there to greet you.”

“Are they kind?” There's crescent shapes on your palms again.

“I'm sure they'd be glad to have you.” He tries to smile but fails to make you feel better.

“That's not what I asked, Miguel.” You say with a glare.

“They're a bit…. eccentric but nothing bad, I'm sure.” He rolls his tensed shoulders. “I've only met them once during the will reading.”

“What did they leave you?” You ask, the carriage hits a bump on the road, rattling the three of you inside.

“Nothing too important.”

“Come on, at least tell me something about them.” You insist while Lyla actual listens in.

“Kind, they were kind.” You feel your heart in your throat. “We've known eachother since we were children. Your father and I came from a smaller noble house near your mother's land. ” Miguel shifts his weight, like talking about them is heavy on his chest. “We used to play together on this one spot of land where none of our families owned. We joked that it was ours, just for the three of us where we were all equals.” He chuckles softly. “I guess that's where your mother fell for your father. She was the only child, only heir.”

You smile, imagining the three of them playing even though you have no idea what your parents looked like. “I don't have anyone directly related to her?”

“No, sorry. Your uncle is her cousin thrice removed. His father inherited the estate first before him but it was brief, he was only the duke for a year and a half.” Miguel rubs his weary eyes. “Your father didn't have any direct relatives either. His land belongs to the crown now.”

“My father, he was in the navy?”

“A captain, we were promoted at the same time.”

“About the pirates that killed them—”

“You remember that?”

“I guess so. My mind's all cloudy but I remember bits and pieces.” You take a peek behind the closed curtains. It seems you're outside of the main city, fewer houses are sprawled on the green grass, hundreds of trees covering behind the buildings.

“I'm sorry for punching you.” Miguel leans on his knees, elbows propped up, voice gentle as he addresses you. “I truly didn't mean for any of this to happen. It wasn't in the plan.”

“What was your plan then?” You scoff. “How did you keep finding me?”

“I have enough money to bribe people, and unsurprisingly, they're all willing to talk about a girl who might've stolen from them.” His eyes are full of endearment. And you look at him with a smirk. “My only plan was to find you and get you home safe. I owe your parents that.”

“You loved them that much? To spend years trying to find a girl you've never even met?”

“Yes, because they'd do the same. Because they've done the same for me.” The carriage stops, the horses outside huff, hooves kicking on the dirt. “I have known you before I've even met you. I was the first person they ever told and they trusted me enough to make me your godfather even though you were barely the size of a peach. So yes, I would spend the rest of my life trying to find you just to bring you home, just to bring you to her home where you belong.”

“Well, do I, Miguel? Do you think I belong there?”

“In time yes. Because they did too.”

“But it doesn't mean I should too. What if I don't?” What if this isn't your place? What if you sacrificed everything with Hobie just to end up not belonging? What if this isn't what you truly wished for?

“I'd personally take you wherever you want. Whenever you want, and all you need to do is ask me and I shall obey. Just please give it some time.” He sniffs. “I'll be damned if I never tried to bring you home, they'd fucking haunt me if I didn't try.”

“I need your word, O’Hara.”

“You have my word, Y/N.”

You nod solemnly. He then knocks at the carriage door, the footman opens it in a second, laying down the steps for you.

“She's out by the willow tree.” Miguel takes his jacket off, handing it to you swiftly. “We'll be here waiting for you.” When you don't take it, he puts it back on his lap.

You leave the warm carriage, wounded leg heavy under your weight. The cool breeze whips at your cheeks, making you shiver in your bare bones clothes. But you're too stubborn to turn back and ask for Miguel's jacket.

Your eyes scan the ancient graveyard. A gothic chapel sits in the middle, all stone and jagged metal, stained glass of saints watch from their window sills. A gargoyle looks down at you, mouth agape, tongue lolling to the side, ears pointed and alert at the new visitor.

How appropriate, you think as you cross the metal gates.

Soft grass and graveyard soil crunch underneath your footsteps. You can feel the frost under your threadbare sole. Crows caw on top of graves, the names barely legible, years etched out by the elements.

Walking the pathway to the foot of the small hill, you see her waiting for her. Your eyes water, jaw tightly clenched. You suddenly feel dizzy.

“You gonna keep me waiting?” She yells above the wind. The branches of the large tree sways in the breeze.

“I have a weak leg. Always so impatient.” You reminisce of the old days where she would wait for you outside the cabin after you went out to play.

“What are you? Fifty? Why do you have a weak leg?”

You trudge up the small hill, hands on your thighs, heaving slightly. The moment you reach her, you have the urge to run.

“You better not run this time.” Jess jokes, “can you look at me, tomato?”

Slowly raising your head, a deep frown on your lips, hands clenching the sides of your trousers. You meet with her eyes, eyes that you grew up with, and a face that barely changed.

“You look how I remember.” Whispering, you choke on your words.

“And you grew up, not so little anymore huh?” Her brown eyes are soft, hand reaching towards you before changing her mind. “I'd like to say you look great but you look absolutely terrible. Like you've been grinded down to a pulp and fed to a bear.”

“And you look fantastic.”

She raises a neat brow, her hair is just like how you remembered it, down to every curl and twist. “Are you trying to guilt me?”

“I might be.” You can't help the tear that's falling down your cheek. “I missed you. I should've let you explain first before running—”

Jessica pulls you in abruptly, hand atop your head, cradling you like she used to. She shushes you like a mother to her babe. Rocking you softly in her arms that you're oh so familiar with.

“Missed you too, god, I thought you were gone forever.” She inhales your unfamiliar scent, you feel her tears drip to the crown of your head. “I should've ran after you quicker,” kissing your temple, you finally embrace her back. “I've always told you that you were too fast for your own good.”

You laugh in between tears. “Can you please explain everything to me? Please, mum.”

She holds your face in both hands, you don't miss the gold band around her ring finger. “Mom? Oh I missed you saying that.” Pecking your wet cheeks, you close your eyes, savoring the rare moment. “Come sit with me? If you could permit me, your grace?”

You laugh hard for the first time since you got shot. “Call me that again and I'll run.”

“I'm so sorry, your grace,” you giggle as she wipes your tears. “How disrespectful of me.”

“Stop!”

“Oh my love.” She takes a good long look at you. “I'm glad you're here, you did incredibly well for yourself.”

“I was taught well.” She beams at you, warm hands still holding you close.

“Are you hungry? I made your favourites.” Jess gestures towards the blanket behind her. A basket lays on top of it, the leaves from the willow tree fall slowly like snowflakes.

You nod, feeling like a child once again.

—

“It's crudely done.” Jessica says while peeking under your bandages. “Please don't tell me you did this or I might've failed as a teacher.”

You shake your head, mouth full of bread. “No, a surgeon did.”

“Don't talk with your mouth full.” You chew quietly. “Miguel should get his money back because a dolphin would've done it better.”

“A dolphin? They don't have thumbs.”

“It was the first animal that popped up in my mind.” She chuckles, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.

“So, are you happy with him?” You pick at your nails.

She picks up on what you meant immediately. Smiling to herself, face falling on her shoulder as she looks at you. “Very, he's a good man.”

“That's fantastic.” You're genuinely happy for her. But there's a cinch in your heart. “Where is he now?”

“Hiding in our inn, I think he's afraid of you after hearing you joined a pirate crew.”

“I guess he's not that good then.” You joke.

“Are you happy with yours?”

“The pie? Yeah it's good.”

“Not the fucking pie, sweetheart. Your pirate captain.” You almost choke.

“How in the fuck—?”

“Language.” She laughs. “Miguel keeps me updated on your exploits, sometimes. And I know you, you've got that lovelorn look on you.” You scrunch up your face. “Of all the pirate captains in the world you chose the red spider. I heard he's one of the good ones. How in the world did that happen?”

“You know Hobie?”

“Ohh” she whistles, “first name basis huh?”

You suddenly miss him. “Well we're friends, of course I call him by his name.”

“Sure, sure. No, I don't know him personally.” She rolls her eyes at you. “Can you tell me who shot my girl?”

You inhale deeply, “ah that, uh, he did.” You try to save his reputation when she scowls. “Accidentally! It was an accident.”

“He's not looking too good in my books right now.”

You laugh softly. Cleaning your hands on your trousers, you clear your throat as it starts to close up from your upcoming question.

“How did you really find me?” You don't avoid her eyes, bravely staring at her.

“It's a long story, my love.”

“We have plenty of time. Tell me then, tell me the story.” You tilt your head down to meet her eyes. “Did you know them?”

“She couldn't even name you.” She whispers sadly. Your breath staggers at the thought. “I didn't know them. I was just out on a job, it was supposed to be just another job. They told us pirates boarded the ship, to make us do what we were told.” her face is serious, eyes meeting yours. Shock hits you before you quickly hide it. “Your mother just gave birth to you when I entered her room. She was left unguarded, her ladies fled and left her on her birthing bed.” You feel your lips wobble. “She just looked…terrified, and you looked so tiny—I couldn't— I couldn't do it.”

“Do what?” The story of her finding you alone in the woods breaks apart.

“Do what our captain asked us to do.”

There's an unpleasant recurring name that pops in your mind. “Who was your captain? Was it Mathias Bradshaw?”

With her bewildered nod, anger bubbles in your ribcage.

The word liar etches in your mind, not for the woman in front of you, no, you know when she lies, you know her tells. It's for the man waiting down below the hill.

Jess continues. “Your mother sensed my terror, so she took me by the collar while my gun was raised to her head, gripping me tightly until I promised to protect you.”

Miguel told you it was pirates that killed them. Liar, liar, liar.

But you remember how he recalled his side of the story— he woke up to the news of the shipwreck. The messenger told him it was because of pirates. No one survived, not even the ship. The cogs in your head turn, you wonder if he's also been lied to. You trust Jess more than him, you need answers.

“You said you were a midwife. Not navy.” Jessica sees the fire in your eyes.

“I was before I joined, then I became their medic. What did O’hara tell you?”

You shake your head, “the same thing.” You lied. “Then what happened?”

“I faked your death by throwing a blanket off the ship. But in truth I already hid you inside a crate. You were quiet, like you knew what was happening.” She reaches for your hand. “When no one was looking I took you back to our ship. Then I fled when no one was looking. I was…young, Y/N, and powerless to do anything. I was just a medic who wanted to do something right because I knew what we were doing wasn't.”

Squeezing her hand three times, you look for any lies in her eyes. Just like you thought, you find none.

Jess lays her head on your shoulder, half hugging you, unaware of the flames burning inside you.

“Who commanded Mathias to kill them?” You whisper.

“I don't know, I was just a grunt.” She says truthfully. “Another gun for his troop.”

“You were more than that to me.” You softly say against her hair. “You're my mother, and I'm lucky enough that you have a heart to uproot your life, to raise a child you didn't know.”

After a moment, she leans away, staring at the side of your face. “He told you something different didn't he?”

“He did.” You say with bared teeth, watching the afternoon sun on the horizon, clouds hiding its light, bathing the city below with muddled orange.

She scoffs, “O’hara still can't believe it. I've told him the story, even showed him my navy badge. He still can't fathom it.”

“He knows?” You move your head quickly to look at her.

“He does, but I highly doubt he's the one who organized it all. He was still just a captain then, recently promoted, still green around the edges. He couldn't have commanded Mathias to do it when he's his senior.”

“Who do you think it was?”

“Someone much more powerful than Mathias.” She looks below the hill where Miguel waits inside the carriage. “I think he investigated it when he was a proper admiral, when he had enough power to rifle through confidential papers. And that got him kicked out. Honourable discharge, my ass.”

“Do you think I should ask him directly?”

“Don't, my only advice to you is to not do anything.”

“What?” You can't believe the words she said.

“Listen, Miguel's life mission was to find you, and mine is to give you the life you deserve. We both want what's best for you.” She plucks a fallen leaf off your shoulder. “He's been at it since they died. I didn't even know someone was looking for you until he showed up at my doorstep. When he explained everything to me I just knew you had to come with him.”

“That was when I ran.”

“Yes. I told him the story and the conspiracy against your family but he couldn't believe it until you showed up. He recognized you and the necklace.” She flicks her brown eyes at the golden chain around your neck. “It was your mother's.”

“You told me when you found me on the forest floor I was clutching it.”

“I did, in truth, she gave it to you before she said her goodbyes. Before Mathias came into the room.” Jess has tears in her eyes. “They loved you so much, Y/N. For their sake, don't do anything brave.” She grabs your shoulders. “Revenge isn't the answer.”

“I know, but it helps.” You seethe at the new information. “I need to bring the people down that plucked me out of their grasp. Or I'll be doing them a disservice.”

You sound like him. Now you fully understand why he stays near the flames.

You ask her the most important question, it has your heart wrenching at your throat. “D-didn't you love me? Why, after thirteen years of taking care of me, why did you want to get rid of me?”

Tears flow out Jessica's eyes, hands sliding up to cradle your face. “Of course I loved you. That's why I wanted to give you the life you deserved.”

“I was happy enough in our cabin. It was enough for me, mum.” You hold her wrist, the gold on her finger marks a life you never knew she had without you. “It was enough.”

“My love—”

“I should go back, they've been waiting for a long time.” You stand up, legs shaking. “And I think it's best for you to go back too.”

“You're staying with them?”

“Yes, isn't this the life you wanted me to have?”

With an exhale, she lets you go. “Be careful.” She looks up at you with soft eyes, worry etched in her face.

Your skin is bathed in the dark orange of the sky, eyes reflecting grief and fury. The chapel looms over you, all stone and metal, all death and life. She barely recognizes you in this light.

“No promises. I love you, mum. I hope you know that.” Jessica's reply got stuck in her throat.

As you head down the hill, you count the crows watching you. Three perched on graves, black eyes blinking at your form. Five flies overhead, feathered shadows casting above you.

There's crunching behind the building, the sound of familiar footfalls hiding behind it. You gather it's your exhaustion playing tricks on you.

You reach the gates, a man on a horse gallops away the moment Miguel gets his letter.

“Who was that?” You ask like you didn't leave your heart behind.

“A messenger.” Miguel skims through the letter. “Your uncle wants to meet you in the palace.” He clicks his tongue. “Asshole.” He says under his breath.

“Let's meet him then. I've always wanted to go to the palace.” Maybe you'll get some answers there.

Miguel looks at you with surprise, as fast as it came, it fades back into his usual frown.

Lyla peeks from the carriage, eyes still half asleep. “Not looking like that you're not.”

—

The ride to the fancy Inn was long and silent, the road less bumpy once you enter the heart of the city. The palace can be seen in your bedroom window. All white and gilded gold, glinting in the sunset, imposingly beautiful.

The room they gave you is all velvet and wood, cherubs painted on the ceiling, thick carpet under your bare feet, a bed that you've never thought was able to be made as big as the one you're standing over.

You're freshly cleaned, you've scrubbed yourself free of any dirt and blood. Nothing left of the past months but the scars on your skin. In the dark robe, you drip water everywhere, drenching your undergarments and the carpet that must've been worth hundreds. You don't care as you stare at your well worn shoes in front of you. Its leather is tattered and beaten, covered in dirt and iron. Compared to the nicer shoes sitting right next to it, it's worth nothing, but to you it was yours and that's worth more than anything.

“Knock knock.” Lyla barges in, dressed in cashmere and taffeta. “You're not dressed yet? Don't like the colour? I told Miguel purple won't cut it.” She heads over to the wardrobe, taking the purple dress in her arms. “Do you need help? It's a bit tricky.”

“Who are you to Miguel?”

“Ah! I heard you were a curious one.” She claps her hands. “An assistant, I guess. See, I'm the reason why he found you so fast after the whole Cambridge fiasco.”

“That was two years ago.” You recall the last time he found you before you accidentally boarded the revenge.

“Mm-hmm, I'm a tracker you see.” She helps you dress with your approval. “He almost gave up until I stumbled upon him. Hired on the spot I was.”

“Stumbled?” You say, drowning in fabric. “Or followed a desperate man and hounded him?”

She giggles, “I keep forgetting you also know how to hustle. Don't tell Miguel and I won't tell him what you did to his key?” Smoothing out the skirt, she turns you towards the floor length mirror.

“Is this blackmail?” You don't recognize yourself.

“Nope,” Lyla pops the letter ‘p’ “just telling you. Also I liked the red spider. He's quite famous to us common folk, y'know.” She guides you towards the vanity, sitting you down on the plush seat. “May I do your hair?”

“Fine, just don't make it look weird.”

“Thank you, your grace.” You roll your eyes at her teasing tone. “Don't worry, I'm very good with hair, I won't make a fool out of you.” She looks at you through the mirror in front, hands atop your shoulders. “I think he's quite loved in these parts. The crown, on the other hand, hates his guts.”

She expertly handles your hair. “I can see why though. He's been a thorn on their pompous asses for years. I bet if he walked on the common side of the city he'd be left alone by the people. But the moment he walks on the richer side, AKA where we are right now, he'd be arrested the moment he set foot.”

“So the people would be at his side then?” You take note.

“Yep, after all the gold they got from him I think it's only appropriate that they love the guy and his crew.” She puts rouge on your lips, and silver thread in your hair. “There! I'm done, damn, I'm good aren't I?”

The bodice is in rich velvet and dark purple, swirling silver daisies patterned on the fabric, ribbons tying it all together. The skirt falls around your legs like waterfalls, deep violets dotting along the hem. It's beautiful and finely crafted from every stitch to its lace sleeves. The way she did your hair ties it all together.

You can admit, you do look good. Smiling, you thank her.

“Hmm,” She pats the sleeve of your dress, shaking her head. “I think red would suit you better.” The words struck you like a lightning bolt. “Maybe next time, for now, put on your shoes because we'll be meeting royalty.”

Taking something from behind, the familiar steel shines in the candle light. For a moment you thought she would stab you with it but she hands it to you, handle first. “For you, just in case.”

You stare dumbfounded at the sea snake curling around the handle, the turtle’s eyes staring back.

As she leaves you, shutting the heavy door, you let out a sob.

—

You try your best to act like you belong in the golden palace, but you couldn't possibly do it when your heels clack against italian made marble floors. Whenever you look down you can see your reflection blinking back at you. You might look the part, except for the way your eyes dart around the expansive room, you're not fooling anyone. The saints that are finely painted on the ceiling seem to judge you, perfect faces unblinkingly watch above, puffs of white clouds drawn around them like blankets of cotton.

Large columns loom all around you, golden laurels dotted across the walls, paintings of old watches your nervous form as you make your way towards the throne room.

All splendor, no thought under all the gold and glitter.

There's cracks in the façade, as much as they try to hide it with plaster, you can see it, hear it, even if it's just below a whisper. The men scattered around the long hallway are turning their heads away, murmuring hushed words. Painted eyes watch you, red lips smirking at your form before drinking from their overflowing cups.

You cling to Miguel in all his fancy clothing. He cleaned himself up nicely, a picture of a proper gentleman. With his arm the only solid thing near you, you hold tighter. He senses your swirling emotions, leaning down to whisper close to you so the footmen guiding you won't hear.

“Breathe.” He says, “it'll be over soon.”

“Why do we have to meet the king and queen? I thought we were here to meet my uncle.” You impatiently utter when you feel like you've been walking forever towards the throne room. The shoes don't help.

“It's customary, I'm sorry. If it was up to me we'd be on our way to your estate.”

Lyla walks behind the both of you, eyes watching you like a hawk, as if you can run in your state.

“Why isn't it up to you then?” Your voice raises a bit, it echoes around the enormous room.

“At the end of the day, they're your relatives. I'm your godfather all by name only but without a piece of paper to prove it. It's only a promise from your parents before you were born.”

“So you don't have proof? People must think you're a weirdo running after some girl who might be already dead.”

Miguel laughs deeply and genuinely. “I bet they do.”

You smile, “hate to break it to you, O’Hara, they definitely think you're bonkers.”

“Definitely.” Finally, you three come to a stop.

Two large doors stand before you, carved lions and a familiar sea monster decorate the wood. The two footmen open the doors and you swear you've never hated just standing.

A crowd waits for you, they stand on the side, all silk and gold adorning their expensive bodies. Fake smiles and whispers thrown at you the second they laid eyes on you.

“Fuck.” You quietly whisper. Miguel gives your hand a gentle reassuring squeeze.

“One foot forward after the other.” He whispers back. “Don't let them see you mess up.”

“I already hate all of them.” You smile politely, small and fake.

Two figures sit on two large thrones, golden crowns perched on top of their heads, well practiced smiles, and stiff backs against the uncomfortable stone chairs. They're dripping in gold, from the threads woven in their clothes and cloaks to their shoes. There's no single mark on their faces, no scars or pores, just perfection. Fake perfection, you thought as the queen's smile falters when you get closer to their pedestal.

“My, how pretty you are.” The king says in disbelief. His voice is commanding, accent unfamiliar, too fancy, you thought.

A man born with a golden spoon in his mouth. You want to shove it down further in his throat when you think about the starving people you've come across during your travels, and he's dressed in something that could feed a whole town.

You realize Miguel and Lyla are bowing and you're not. Standing upright, you don't even consider bowing to people such as them. They don't deserve it.

They don't seem to notice your insubordination when their green eyes roam around your form. Trying to find your imperfections.

“Don't you think she's pretty, my love?” He asks his queen who fakes a manicured smile. “She looks so much like her mother doesn't she?”

“That is true, dear husband.” Her golden earrings sway whenever she turns her head. The white wig perfectly placed on her royal head makes you want to hurl at the similarities between Mathias' own powdered wig.

“You're a sight for sore eyes O’Hara!” The king adds to Miguel's annoyance. “Welcome back to the capital. I haven't seen you in a decade, old friend.”

Miguel straightens out his posture, chest out, eyes boring into the man's skull. If looks could kill, he'd be at the gallows by now.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, your highness.” He spits out the last word like it's poisoned. And you wonder why it is.

“Say, my friend, why does she walk with a limp?”

Miguel opens his mouth but you interrupt. “She—”

“I was shot,” a hush falls around the room. You correct yourself, not wanting to look like the bad guy in all of this. “Your highness.”

“Shot? By a gun?” The queen covers her open mouth, face shocked at the information. “Who would want to kill such a pretty thing?”

“Surprisingly a lot—” Miguel stops you, warning you with a look.

“She was caught in a crossfire, but she's strong and she's healing well.” He saves you.

“That's good—”

The door abruptly opens, two people emerge from the large doors. The man has his arms open, grinning widely, quickly making his way towards the thrones. The woman walks all prim and proper behind him, not wasting her time to look at the crowd, or you.

A footman rushes in, briskly announcing their presence with his blaring voice. “The duke and duchess of Hazelside!” You blink in surprise at the mention of your house name.

“Eddie, my boy!” Your ‘uncle’ exclaims boisterously. “Ready for our night out?!” he says while shaking his hips in a crude manner.

Your aunt bows, face flat and unreadable.

“Welcome back, you old sack of shit!” The king exclaims to your surprise. Not the kind of behaviour you thought a king would have.

“Fucking hell.” You say under your breath, Miguel tightly shuts his mouth to avoid a laugh. “These motherfuckers are related to me?” You ask the man next to you, tone as quiet as a dormouse.

The crew were quite rambunctious too, but at least they were actually funny and respectful to an extent. And not covered in fine jewels that could fix every problem an entire town has.

You miss them already, you feel your chest clench at the mere thought of them.

He deeply sighs, “yes.”

“Please tell me my parents weren't like this.”

“I'm happy to tell you that they were not.” He leans away when your uncle notices the two of you.

“Oh!” Your uncle finally notices you and Miguel. “Miguel is that you? And– woah! Is that my…” he smells of ale and strong perfume. “My niece? I honestly don't bloody know what I should call you because we are really far away from each other on the ol’ family tree.” he gestures towards his wife. “Ain't that right, my dear?”

She doesn't acknowledge him. “My name's Victoria and this is my husband, Frederick. Welcome back to the land of the living, dear niece.”

“Glad to be back— oof” Frederick suddenly drunkenly hooks you and his wife in his arms.

“Look at you two!” His breath stinks. “Already best friends huh?”

Miguel subtly takes you away from your uncle while his wife shoves him away. You thank Miguel with a nod.

“Oh you're so pretty!” He yells now that he had a proper look at you without the haze from the liquor. “I would say you look like your mother or your father but I've never met them! And you know about those portraits, I highly doubt they weren't doctored.” He laughs like a donkey starved. “Listen, I'm surprised my wife isn't stabbing you with her numerous hair pins right now—”

“Frederick!” She yells. The royals seem to like the scene in front of them as they genuinely smile and hide their laughs behind opulent hands. “We shall talk about the ownership of the estate and the title after she reacquaints herself to society.” she says like you've been living like a savage until Miguel found you.

You scrunch up your face, fighting the urge to backtalk your so-called aunt.

“Isn't that right, your highnesses?” She turns towards the couple draped in gold.

“That's right, for now, we shall discuss what we didn't finish the last time you two visited.” The queen answers for her husband.

“Yes! During a game of poker perhaps?” Your uncle says. Miguel looks like he's losing his patience.

“Absolutely!” The king stands up, laughing while they both walk away from the room.

Both women follow suit, not uttering a single word between them.

“Is that it?” You ask the two people next to you. “Can we go now?”

Miguel kneads at his forehead. “I'm afraid we have to stay here until they finish. I still have things to discuss with them.” you narrow your eyes.

“What?!” Lyla speaks, unable to hold it in anymore.”

“I could…” He wavers but he takes one look at you and he continues. “...join them and make sure they don't play well into the night.”

“Wait, no, that means I have to join you too!” Lyla stomps her foot.

“No, go watch over Y/N. Just in case.”

“I can take care of myself.” You sound offended.

“I know, it's the people here I don't trust.”

With his parting words, you and Lyla find things to do in the vast palace.

—

It wasn't like the fairytales Jessica once told you about. Princes saving damsels in distress locked in a tower, jesters dancing around the smooth floors, kind kings finding their one true love. Instead you get whatever the hell you just witnessed.

You and Lyla found a portrait room, trying to occupy yourself until Miguel fetches you both. The walls are covered in paintings of nobility. Their eyes seem to follow you everywhere you go as you skim through the art on the walls.

Lyla snores softly on the plush settee in the middle of the room. Turns out you're the one who has to watch over her.

It's been a couple of hours since the disastrous first meeting. When you imagined meeting your family you thought it would be full of tears and hugs, instead you were greeted by a drunken duke and a stiff duchess.

Your mind goes back to the people you left. Janet and Thena would get a kick out of you being a noble. Gwen, Miles and Pavitr would tease the living hell out of you, poking your velvet clad side and making remarks at how you've sold your soul. Yuri on the other hand would actually try to marry you. While James—well James is there.

And Hobie, Hobie would hate you.

The pearl in your pocket is cold as you roll it in between fingers. The dagger hidden inside your skirt presses down your thigh. Eyes forlorn, mouth frowning, you distract yourself by staring at dead people on the gold inlay walls.

“Oh hello.” A familiar voice echoes throughout the expansive room. “Have you had supper?” The queen asks, eyebrows knitting at Lyla’s sleeping form. Her heels clack on the expensive floors, hands clasped in front of her, standing like how you thought aristocrats would stand.

“I ate beforehand.” You say, confused as to why she's even talking to you.

“That's too bad, the chef's making her special.” She smiles at you, a touch of authenticity in it. “May I show you something?”

“Sure.” It's not like you have a choice in the matter.

“I haven't properly introduced myself, my name's Caroline. It's a pleasure to meet you.” She says in her practiced tone.

“Y/N, your majesty.” You think it's hard to keep her appearance even though it's only you and a wall of paintings.

“Y/N, how lovely. Your mother chose well.”

“She didn't get a chance to name me.” You say sourly. “My guardian named me,” you once again correct yourself. “Your majesty.”

“Come, I must show it to you before you go.” She gestures for you to follow, her bracelets clash against the other when she beckons you over.

Caroline stops in front of a portrait of a woman in a similar colour of gown like yours. A single long stemmed rose in her hand, smile soft and alive. Then you look at her face, really look at her. And you feel like the ground is trying to eat you whole.

“It's her.” You softly say, still in disbelief. Eyes sliding down to see the identical necklace on her neck.

“Indeed. You might look like her but I think you have your father's eyes.”

You whip your head towards her, “does he have a portrait here too?”

“Unfortunately no,” you visibly deflate.

“Did you know them? Personally?”

“Your mother and I used to have the same governess growing up. She was a close friend.” Her green eyes seem to search something in you. “Your father on the other hand, I barely knew. But I knew they would end up together the second he danced with her at a ball. She looked at him like he's the sky himself, while he looked at her like she's the finest jewel.”

You imagine the scene where it was possible that you were also there.

“When I heard they eloped outside the country, I knew I was right. The moment I heard of their untimely deaths at the hands of vicious pirates, I was devastated.” She takes your hands without asking. Her hands are soft, no calluses or bumps. “You see, I feel a sense of kinship with her, she was supposed to marry my husband back then. I got bumped up when your parents married in secret, so I have her to thank for everything I have right now.”

“She was supposed to marry the king?”

“My Edward was the crown prince back then, but yes, she was supposed to be wed to him.” She rubs her thumbs above your palms. “If you need any help, any at all, don't be afraid to ask for me. I'll do everything in my power to help my old friend's only daughter.”

“That's good to know, your majesty.”

“Of course, anything at all, little bird.”

The doors burst open suddenly, and out comes your heavily drunk uncle stumbling in. Frederick spots you, he gasps, laughing and pointing at you while he has a bottle in his hand.

“We shall have a ball to welcome my niece!” He wobbles over to you, slurring his words.

His wife comes running in after him, grabbing her husband by the collar before he reaches your side and the queen's. “Caroline, your majesty. Niece.” She apologizes quickly with a bow before dragging him out.

Miguel walks in with his shirt rumpled and jacket in his hand. He bows when he sees the queen before waking Lyla up with a measured slap on her bicep. She wakes up with a start, heart racing at the sudden wake up call.

“I bid you farewell. Do remember what we discussed.” The queen turns to you, letting your hands go.

You give her a polite smile. “Of course, thank you.”

She leaves with a nod towards Miguel. With the click of the doors, he can finally breathe properly.

“Ready to come home?”

No.

“Yes.” Your eyes play tricks as you see Hobie in the corner of your eyes. When you glance at the wall, he's gone like a candle light.

[arminsumi]

WHEW🚴 can i request corrupting canon verse armin??? sure, he’s seen his fellow soldiers go in and out of brothels but that’s so indecent to him!!! :( poor boy doesn’t get the hype of sex and even how good it feels, maybe armin had an occasional wet dream but he’s too focused on his work to know how an orgasm feels or how to pleasure others… UNTIL Y/N PULLS UPPP😶‍🌫️

thank you sm i adore your writing

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

ARMIN x f.reader

Warnings; 🔞 MDNI, smut

Kinks; masturbation, oraljob (reader giving), inxperienced Armin x experienced reader, accidental edging, unprotected sex, creampie, kinda sub!armin and soft dom!reader

A/N; WHEEE this request had me holding my breath 😩💕 ty i hope u like what i did with it mwaaa

It just didn't occur to armin that he could touch and stroke his cock whenever it got stiff. That needy feeling persistently nagged him, but he paid it no mind like a good and disciplined soldier and went back to his duties.

Sometimes he'd look confusedly at his sheets in the morning after waking, wondering why there was a small puddle on his sheets of this creamy white... milk? No, that couldn't be milk, it was the wrong consistency, and it also didn't taste like milk, as he discovered.

It was curious that, when he was around you, his cock got stiff. And stubbornly so. Sometimes while talking to you, he felt it begin to strain against the black fabric of his uniform dress pants.

When you confronted him about it, he stuttered and attempted to explain himself sophisticatedly. "I don't know, it gets like this when I talk to you... when I think about you."

How cute. But you knew more than he did, poor innocent angel that he was. You offered to help him out, and he accepted with a nervous gulp.

"Wh-what are you getting on your knees for? You're gonna hurt your knees and — it's — it's cold!" he looked at you confusedly.

"Oh, Armin, don't worry. I'm gonna teach you how to take care of yourself, m'kay?" you smiled, your thighs pillowing flat as you kneeled before him.

You looked up at him. What a damn good-looking man, so handsome in his uniform with that pendant around his neck.

When he first felt your lips engulf his hard cock, he visibly melted and went straight to heaven. A staggering moan escaped his lips, but he had no idea why he made that sound. "Sorry... that was, um, involuntary?" he apologized through ragged breaths.

When you pulled away and he saw the sloppy mess of saliva left on his cock, he busted right there. Hot, creamy ropes of cum shot all over your tongue and mouth.

His chest heaved up and down, he tried to catch his breath and apologize at the same time.

"I-I don't know why I — how did I — I'm so sorry, it got all over you! Let me get you a towel!" and he scurried off to get you one.

After that life-changing experience, Armin practiced jerking himself off a few times. He was starting to get an idea of how good sex must be, and why his fellow soldiers snuck off to brothels so often.

Sometimes he felt shameful when he got hard, and avoided touching himself.

He had to really distract himself.

So he'd do some pushups and get into a sweaty workout. But he'd be rock hard throughout it, his cock aching and nagging to be touched. You at the forefront of his mind, of course.

In the shower one day, he finally gave into his desires and stroked himself off. Rivulets of piping hot water ran down the contours of his physique, precum spurted out his reddened cockhead. The veins showed up all over.

Each stroke became faster and faster as he tried to chase that familiar feeling to the finish line. He threw his head back and let the water wash over his face, let it run down his neck, his chest, his abs... his tummy flexed at the sensation of fucking his hand.

His cock twitched at the memory of your lips. And his thoughts? All he could think about was how it would feel to have sex with you. How it would feel to actually be between your soft thighs, to have you take his cock.

"Hey! Miiin? You in there?" you called.

He stopped immediately, hissing because he just unknowingly accidentally edged himself.

"Yeah! Just a minute!" he yelled in response.

He hastily turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist.

How annoying... his cock made a tent.

His tip nuzzled against the soft fabric, making a tickling sensation. "Shit..." he mumbled.

He had to calm down before presenting himself to you. But he just couldn't. So instead he compromised and folded his hands over that region, so he could press his cock down and look normal.

"What is it?" he innocently poked his head around the corner.

You motioned for him to come out quickly. It was just some small favor that you needed him for — fixing a tiny ODM gear mechanic.

"I should repay you in advance. Wanna take that towel off?" you asked cheekily.

His ears perked up. His heart raced — it went nuts. His cock only just started calming down, now it made a tent again with the towel. Armin flushed bright red and half-heartedly concealed his hard-on, but you pulled his hands away.

"Don't be ashamed, Armin, it's totally normal. I get it." you said.

"Sorry... I-I gues I just... I like you a lot?"

"Mmm... i think it's a bit more than that." you said. "you wanna fuck me, don't you?"

He audibly swallowed and stared at you dumbfoundedly with those baby blue eyes. He nodded and weakly responded with a small and shy "Y-yeah... I do."

"Well, c'mon, I'm right here. Give it to me." you said, hopping on his bed, pulling off your panties from under your uniform skirt.

Armin's eyes went big. His dick was so hard that it hurt.

"Come here." you beckoned him. He didn't hesitate.

Soon you had him kneeling on the bed, staring curiously as your pretty plush thighs parted for the blond soldier. Your dirty smile was so inviting to him, but —

"What... what exactly am I supposed to do?" he asked.

"Fuck me." you giggled.

"But... how?" he blinked.

You giggled louder.

He let out a gasp when you reached for his cock, tugging on it a bit. "Put this," you said, "in here." you spread your legs wider to display your soaked pussy.

That sight made him widen his eyes. He stuttered, "Oh... o-okay, I'll try?"

The poor boy, it took him a while to... ahem... find the hole. And when his tip first pushed past your supple lower lips, he came immediately. He came a lot. It felt like he burst inside you.

"Ooh, you've never felt pussy before, huh?" you teased.

Well, it wasn't only that; he had just edged himself in the shower.

"N-no, I haven't. I-I don't really know what I'm doing. c-can you guide me? Please?" he pleaded cutely.

"Of course, come closer; push it deeper. Mhm, there, like that, keep going. Deeper, deeper — there we go — oh fuck — you're thick."

"Is that a good thing...?"

"Mhm, definitely. Ah, okay, thrust your hips now, just imagine you're doing those ODM gear warmup exercises, Y'know what I'm talking about?"

"Y-yeah. Ah fuck... like this?"

You rolled your eyes back and he groaned. His cock was pulsating. It felt so damn good all over, he felt all this dopamine rushing through his brain.

"Oh — oh — yes — fuck, ohmygod— Armin, keep doing that."

You kept guiding him through the motions until... well, until he figured it out and ended up fucking you dumb.

You didn't expect that. But that's so Armin of him; he's a quick learner, of course after a little sex lesson he'd know exactly what to do, and excel at it. Well, some of it was also just primal instinct.

Your plush pussy engulfed him and squeezed out more of his creamy cum. It got messy, so messy.

His forehead beaded with sweat, dampening his bangs and causing them stick to his skin.

Fully flushed. Breath short — he panted as he easily came a third time inside you.

His thrusts made your eyes roll back, hard, and your pussy clenched around him like it never wanted to let go. Just a few more strokes and you felt yourself gushing and shaking under him.

"Oh my god..." he whimpered at the sight of you cumming for him.

He wanted to make you do that again and again — he got a little addicted to sex with you after that, some days he'd come pawing on your skirt with these pleading, lustful eyes.