#tw sailors mouth

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decriminalize having a sailors mouth criminalize ben shapiro talking

[peaches2217]

Untarnished

Chapter 3 (TW: Brief but graphic descriptions of injuries)

AO3 link! | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Beginning

~~~

“P-presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Daisy Nambuthiri of the Sarasaland Empire, Firstborn of Emperor Oleander and Heir Apparent to—”

“Move it!”

The squeak of an unfortunate messenger Toad being knocked against a wall preceded Daisy’s appearance, and not once did she look behind to acknowledge the carnage left in her wake. At some point in the near future, Peach knew she would have to make amends for whatever property destruction and bruised egos she’d doled out in her haste.

For the time being, the shock and joy that came with her arrival far outweighed any sense of responsibility. Peach stood as quickly as she could without getting lightheaded, and Daisy cried her name as she lunged forth, pulling her into a familiar, full-bodied hug, ever-so-slightly uncomfortable hug.

“Sacred Stars!” Daisy cried, her voice cracking. “Hooooly shit! The crazy bastard did it!”

Peach subconsciously filled in the blanks; “the crazy bastard” was Mario, she presumed, and “it” was her successful rescue. For Daisy of all people to consider such a feat foolhardy… Peach felt suddenly dizzy, her stomach heavy. It took a great deal of adversity to dishearten the strong-willed princess. 

Just how hopeless must her inner circle have felt as the weeks dragged on? Would anyone have been able to save her if Mario hadn’t?

She squeezed Daisy back, feebly, yet with all her strength. She was alive. She was alive and she was here and she would restore things to their proper order in due time, and that was all that mattered.

Daisy kept her hands on Peach’s shoulders when she pulled away, just as Luigi had the night before. Perhaps they both worried she would float away if they didn’t keep her grounded. She couldn’t blame them for such an assumption; she had lost most of her “padding,” so to speak, in the past months. Nothing fit the way it was supposed to anymore. Toadette had spent the better part of an hour pinning her into one of her nicer dresses here in her bedroom.

And judging by the distaste with which Daisy’s eyes swept over her attire, Peach guessed that she still didn’t look presentable enough.

“Oh, no,” she muttered, though she sounded more agitated than devastated. Her eyes then swept over the room until they fell upon Toadsworth, standing loosely at attention by the bed’s baseboard… and what joy remained in her face morphed into something far less friendly.

Peach knew exactly what was about to happen. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so joyous either.

“And you! ” She threw an accusatory finger in his direction, so swift and sudden that he stumbled backward a step or two. “Maybe you can give me a good answer here!”

Peach instinctively jerked in his direction, intent on catching him, but he righted himself with a soft Hmph! before she could break from beneath Daisy’s hand. “Daisy,” she implored softly, returning her attention back to her belligerent friend, “this isn’t the time—”

“I had to fight through thousands of Toads and like a hundred different journalists and news crews just to get inside!” Daisy soldiered on. “Everyone’s saying the Princess is gonna give a speech at the top of the hour!”

In spite of Peach’s stuttered protests, Daisy pulled her into a side-hug, so tight that it actually hurt. Daisy’s strongest embraces were capable of bruising, even when Peach was in otherwise good health. She almost dreaded to think what her arms would look like after she was turned loose.

“But that’s crazy, right? She’s been a prisoner of war for the past three months and just got home last night! So that whole crowd’s just misinformed, and you’ve only got her all dressed and made up so you can figure out what she needs in the way of gowns and cosmetics, and the Princess isn’t doing anything that doesn’t involve food or rest for at least the next few weeks.” Daisy squeezed even tighter, and Peach swore she felt something pop. “Right? ”

“Hey! Cool your jets!” It was Toadette who spoke up now, throwing herself in front of the elderly steward with her arms spread wide. “Look, I get it! But do you think we didn’t try talking her outta this?”

“Oh, don’t go pinning this on—”

“She’s right.” Peach made her best effort to pry herself free of Daisy’s arm, wincing as she did so. Stars Almighty, she was still so sore. “Daisy, I agreed to this,” she said, quickly giving up her efforts and refocusing her energy. “Willingly, and against both of their wishes.”

Daisy scoffed, not even looking her way. “Toadsworth, you’re technically still in charge, right? Lay down the law! Tell her to get her butt back to the infirmary!”

Toadsworth’s features, already tense with indignity, turned solemn, betraying the extent of his weariness. Yes, he was still in charge. Yes, he had expressed reluctance at the thought of a press conference so soon. But he’d given her the freedom to choose, because he knew as well as she did what sorts of sacrifices needed to be made. Something burned within Peach, not quite anger, but close enough. Hadn’t he already endured enough?

“N-n-now, Lady Daisy,” he managed to interject, tapping his cane to the floor and gently pushing Toadette aside, “I understand your concern, but you must understand. This has been a difficult time for our kingdom. The people want a statement from their Princess.”

“The people—” Daisy sputtered for a moment, and she finally let go of Peach to engage in a spot of frustrated gesticulation. “Well! In that case, this princess has a statement to make, too…”

“Daisy…”

“The people can go bend over the railings and shove those cameras up their stubby— ”

“Daisy!” That feeling like anger flared into a flashover, granting Peach the strength to turn Daisy in her direction, take firm hold of her shoulders, and glare her into silence. She fell silent alright, but she glared right back at Peach, her turquoise eyes wide and her eyebrows furrowed, her cheeks hot with an anger far more indignant than her own.

Peach knew her friend too well to be upset at her behavior. Daisy’s hostility was never random. She was, if Peach had to guess, afraid. Just as Peach was afraid last night, hearing the screams of a loved one she couldn’t reach, helpless to ease his pain; such fear can push even the most level-headed of individuals to rash extremes. No one in such a state could make fully rational decisions.

“I’m going to wave and say a few words of encouragement, then I’m going straight back to the infirmary.” She squeezed Daisy’s shoulders in wordless reassurance. “I promise.” I don’t have the energy for much else, she thought about tacking on, but she decided against it. Best not admit just how tired she truly was.

Granted, she couldn’t pretend the idea thrilled her. To step into the public eye and show her people a Princess that had grown frail and emaciated, her golden hair now a lusterless yellow, a thick caking of makeup barely hiding a countenance burdened with scratches and bruises… she wanted to shed her regalia and wash her face clean. She wanted to crawl into her nightgown, cover herself in fluffy blankets, eat soup and laugh with her friends and just exist for a while.

She longed above all else to be back in Mario’s arms, warm and safe, drifting in and out of blissful sleep. She had promised to be there when he woke up again. Could he forgive her for abandoning him?

But she also longed to see her subjects once more. For three months, they’d lived under constant fear that she would never return, that life as they knew it would be uprooted and set ablaze. She wanted to stand in the sun before them so they could hear her voice and see for themselves that their resilience hadn’t been in vain.

Her duties as a ruler came above all else. She would be the people’s Princess for a few minutes, then she could be Peach again. Poor, pitiful, pathetic Peach. 

It took several seconds more of unbroken eye contact, but finally, Daisy’s face softened.

“You look terrible, Peach Pit,” she said, voice quiet. I don’t want to lose you again.

Peach couldn’t help but smile. “So I’ve been told.” You won’t.

Tinnnnng! Tinnnnng! Tinnnnng! The grandfather clock next to her writing desk chimed out the top of the hour. It was time.

“You’re sure about this?” Daisy covered one of Peach’s hands with her own, and the smile she returned was begrudgingly playful, if heavy. “Last chance. We can still bail you out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

With one more quick embrace, Daisy straightened the ruffles of Peach’s bodice, gave her sleeves a quick poof, then nodded in approval. Toadette’s carefree mannerisms and brash mouth belied a delicate touch with both fabric and cosmetics. Though she still didn’t care to look into a mirror, Peach trusted that she looked presentable.

This notion kept her calm as she made her way to the double balcony doors. “Right behind you, Princess,” she heard Toadsworth say as she rested her hands on the brass door handles, and that added an extra layer of mental security. Right. She wasn’t alone. A few words, a smile or two, and then it would be over. Simple enough.

With a quick breath, she gracefully pushed the doors open.

The world outside went still — and then plunged into chaos.

Interlacing her fingers and squeezing as hard as she could was all that stopped her from slapping her hands over her ears. The roar of the crowd was deafening. Cries of “Princess!” and “Oh, thank the stars!”  and a thousand other celebrations merged into a single mass of sound, rumbling and churning and vibrating in her eardrums.

The sunlight that assaulted her as she passed the overhang was equally relentless, and for a moment, it blinded her. All she could see was white. The roar was even louder with one less sense to guide her, and it was hot, she realized, her chilled skin suddenly vulnerable, burning—

His blood soaking into her dress was the first warmth she had felt in three months. Her hands stung when she touched him. When she jerked away at the pain, the top layer of his skin came with her, gooey and red and black. Skin wasn’t supposed to feel like that— he wasn’t supposed to look like that—

“Princess?”

Peach jolted, and it all slammed into focus: rolling green hills. A cloudless blue sky. A sea of colors and caps and polka dots, smiling faces, triumphant pink flags and banners.

No. No, no, this was her reality. This was her present, and this was her kingdom, and these were her people, and she couldn’t afford to lose sight of that, not so publicly.

Her feet stopped when she reached the balcony’s edge, and she held onto the wall for dear life, for fear of collapsing. The stones were warm, having basked all morning in the summer sun. It wasn’t heat of an oppressive or debilitating sort. It was comfortable.

It was home.

She lifted her head, and she raised her hand, and the world went silent once more. And with a disconnect she hadn’t known she was capable of, she closed her eyes, fell back onto a lifetime’s worth of training, and let that training do the talking for her.

.

.

.

.

.

“...so kickass! You did awesome! ”

“We shouldn’t have doubted you for a moment, Peach Pit! Look at you, showin’ ‘em who’s boss!”

“Excellent, my dear. Most excellent.”

It took a few moments for Peach to come back to herself. The sight of blue skies and green hills faded into swaths of white and pink silk, her hands planted in her lap, her eyes fixed on some point between or beyond them. The warmth of the sun had long since left her; once more, a chill settled over her, so familiar by now that she didn’t even shiver. The chair beneath and behind her felt both luxuriously soft and rigid.

Too many hands were on her. There was one on her back, one on her shoulder, one on her knee, one holding hers. She couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, hold up— give her some space! Give her some space. She needs a minute.” It was Toadette’s voice that made the call, and then all points of contact left her, and her newly-released body pulled in a loud, shuddering gasp of air, so deep and so fast that her lungs burned.

It took a few more breaths for Peach to be able to acknowledge the rest of her surroundings. She was back in her room, surrounded by her steward and two of her closest friends, the balcony doors closed once more.

“You okay?” It was Daisy who asked this, and after another breath, Peach was able to nod.

She had checked out. She had fully, mentally checked out from the moment she spoke until she got back inside. Peach wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the phenomenon; being able to detach herself from her innermost thoughts and feelings and allow her training to take control had allowed her to save face in many a high-stress scenario.

It just… usually wasn’t this… intense.

A knock on the door gave her one more real-word happening to focus on. By the time Toadsworth reached the bedroom door, Peach was able to stand (with minimal wobbling) and collect herself, setting her shoulders back and lifting her chin. One more visitor. Okay. She could handle one more visitor.

The door opened, and suddenly Peach didn’t feel quite so collected anymore.

Luigi ducked his head and stepped into the bedroom, his cap clutched to his chest in a gesture of respect. He smiled at her, but it was an uneasy smile, one that only barely hid a metric ton of uncertainty. His eyes, only slightly less tired than last night, were unreadable.

He had caught her just before she left the medical ward that morning. He had promised he’d come get her if Mario’s condition worsened. He had grinned and promised she wouldn’t see him until she returned, stars willing.

Peach’s knees went weak beneath her. 

“D-don’t panic, Princess, don’t panic!” Luigi was quick to say, reaching out as if preparing to steady her. “Nothing’s wrong! Nothing’s wrong. Mario’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry.”

Though it was too late to keep her upright, Peach breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into her chair. Too much. Today was just too much. “Nothing’s wrong,” she repeated, both in question and to resettle her nerves. 

But if nothing was wrong…

“Then what are you…?” Peach gestured up at him, letting her hands finish her sentence.

“Actually, there’s, uh… y’see, there’s nothing wrong, per say, but something’s…”  Luigi cracked his neck, his eyes uneasily darting to another corner of the room, and then he pulled his cap back onto his head. “I-I think you need to see for yourself.”

~~~

Sure enough, Mario was okay. Where he’d been swaddled in gauze when she’d left that morning, he was now uncovered, his entire upper half exposed.

And he looked… perfectly healthy. Almost unharmed.

Areas where Peach remembered gashes and deep scratches had faded into clusters of scars, the larger ones pink and fresh, the smaller ones pale, as though he’d attained the original injuries weeks ago. Patches of burnt skin that blistered and oozed the night before now wouldn’t even pass for sunburns, they blended so seamlessly into his skin. His face, completely unblemished, not even lingering hints of bruising or bleeding or anything of the sort.

Last night, there had been a gash in his left side, spanning from the base of his ribcage to his hip. When he’d first reached Peach, it spilled blood freely, and though she tried blocking the image from her head, she distinctly remembered seeing exposed, severed muscle and what might have been bone. Even after flooding him with every bit of magic she possessed, it only stayed closed — and barely, at that — thanks to strips she had torn from her own skirts and wrapped tightly around him. By the time they reached home, those strips were all but dripping with ichor and infection, pink fabric dyed red and green and yellow.

Now, that same wound idly seeped a clear fluid, the width of her thumb at its widest point, already scarring at one tip. Though a blanket covered everything from his hips down, she presumed the opposite tip was in a similar stage of healing.

Once she had gotten a proper eyeful, Peach sank into the loveseat against the wall, Daisy and Toadette quickly joining her on either side. The notion that she might be dreaming after all hovered nearby in spite of the informal guard flanking her; while the doctor filled everyone in, she quietly stamped her foot a few times to agitate the sores there. Good. She never felt pain in her dreams.

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,” Dr. Toad (not to be confused with Dr. Nurse Toadessa or Captain Toad or Toad Himself) confessed. Beady eyes peered over thick spectacles, flicking back and forth between his patient and an oversized clipboard in his hands. “Now, I’ve seen a handful of 1-UP patients, and that’s about the closest comparison I can make, but…”

Peach’s eyes met Luigi’s, who was standing vigil at his brother’s bedside, and the question on his face was clear: Did you sneak him a 1-UP? She shook her head. 1-UPs, the colloquial term for a subspecies of Mushroom with power so potent it could even restore the dead, were found so rarely in nature that many still believed they didn’t exist. Ten of these specimens sat in the royal vault, but even Peach herself wasn’t permitted to access them without going through several layers of security and fail-safes.

And anyway, if she understood correctly how their magic worked—

“Well,” the doctor continued, “when someone consumes a 1-UP, everything heals up. The body’s restored to prime condition, any sicknesses or infections disappear, there’s no trace the patient was ever hurt to begin with.” He cleared his throat, and something like fascination twinkled in his dark eyes. “That’s where the divergence comes in: none of this has been instantaneous. He’s healing up like anyone else would, just… at an alarmingly accelerated rate.” 

Another four sets of eyes turned back to Mario, still sound asleep. One couldn’t tell just from looking that he had been on death’s door only twelve hours earlier. That should have gladdened Peach. But…

Alarming. She didn’t like that word at all. She knew with a fair amount of certainty that this wasn’t the work of her magic; the initial burst she’d transferred to him wore off in an hour’s time, and any additional slivers she’d slipped him surely weren’t strong enough to linger much longer than that, much less heal to this extent.

What, then…?

“So how bad was he last night?” Daisy asked.

“Pretty… pretty bad.” Luigi’s response was quiet, his eyes distant as he spoke, and Peach knew then that he’d seen exactly what she had seen. Possibly even more. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek and focused on taking deep breaths.

“So he’s gone through like, what,” Toadette chimed in, “two or three weeks’ worth of R&R in one night?”

“I’d say closer to a month or two. His infection’s almost completely gone. He’s still running a fever, but it’s a lot lower than it was last night.” Rolling up the sleeves of a comically oversized lab coat (or at least attempting to — they fell right back into place, earning a stifled chuckle from Daisy), the doctor scribbled some indistinct note onto his clipboard’s topmost paper. “Granted, I’ve only seen how 1-UPs affect Toads and Koopas and a Goomba or two. Maybe it works differently in humans?”

Though his tone carried the weight of skepticism, Peach was at least half-heartedly willing to accept it. Such specimens were rare, yes, but they did exist. Perhaps Mario had stumbled across one on his way to the Darklands and consumed it with the belief that it was just an ordinary Mushroom? That coupled with her magic could easily…

Wait. Come to think of it, had she even told anyone? Wouldn’t that be useful information to divulge?

“I did attempt to heal him myself.” She clasped her hands in her lap as she spoke, tapping her thumbs together absently. “What we’re seeing is beyond what I’m capable of, but perhaps that comes into play?”

Dr. Toad’s eyes flashed with revelation. “Ah! Of course!” he cried, waving his pen in her direction. “That would explain things a bit better. I imagine your wish power certainly played a role.”

“Wait— w-what exactly did you do? ”

Peach’s heart jolted at Luigi’s inquiry, then it gradually sunk as she faced him. She watched in real time as his face changed, surprise phasing into cogitation phasing into dawning realization, and she felt helpless to do anything but meet his darkening gaze as the implications set in.

“...What did you do?” he asked again, and Peach heard the question buried beneath loud and clear: If he was in such bad shape last night, how bad was it before you healed him?

Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t said anything. Or she at least wished she’d brought it to the doctor in private. She lowered her eyes and studied the stitching of her gloves. She’d hoped to spare him the knowledge.

“Well, I… I did what I could. I transferred as much of my magic as I could summon when he reached me and rationed out what remained on the journey home, so that he…” So that he wouldn’t bleed out or go septic or drop dead from shock. She had no desire to say as much out loud. Surely Luigi got the picture.

A quiet click-click-click echoed through the room. “Well,” Dr. Toad said, fidgeting with the thrust device on his pen as he thought, “I would guess that’s it. Your wish power can linger when used in large enough bursts, can it not? But I would expect the effects to weaken over time, especially the more you use up, not…”

When he didn’t finish his thought, Peach lifted her eyes to the doctor… and found him staring directly at her. Once more she watched as confusion morphed into realization, and this time, she came along for the ride.

Yes. She could only use so much wish power in one go before needing to recharge. She had never actually pushed beyond that point. Not before last night.

The doctor blinked once, twice, then he finally took the plunge, his voice stern but even: “How much of your power did you use, Your Highness?”

Peach swallowed.

“As much as I had,” she confessed, quietly. And when she still felt eyes boring into her, she added: “...and then some.”

A silence fell over the room, cold and heavy. The steady beeping of Mario’s heart monitor was Peach’s only proof that she hadn’t fallen deaf.

“Oh, Stars Almighty— Peach!” 

Peach winced. For Toadette to use her name alone, she knew she was in deep trouble.

“You’re not some well of infinite magical ability!” her lady-in-waiting continued. “You know if you keep using magic after you use up all your wish power—”

“—I deplete my lifeforce.” Balling her hands into loose fists, Peach found the nerve to look her directly in the eye, unwavering. “I’m well aware.”

Yes, she knew the risk of overextending herself. An innate magic lay deep within her, so potent and pure that it allowed her to wield the power of the Stars Themselves; this, in turn, was what granted her the ability to heal, to renew. Yet she was only human, and she could only wield so much of that magic safely. The Stars would therefore only grant her a limited amount of power each time she summoned it.

She could push herself beyond what the Stars would permit, and she could tap into her magic directly once her wish power was expended, but doing so would come at a cost: the depletion of her lifeforce. Toadsworth drilled this information into her head every time she so much as healed her own paper cuts in his presence.

She’d never stopped to wonder what exactly depleting her lifeforce meant, or even implied; she’d never been in a position where she had to. She’d vaguely interpreted this warning as Your magic at its most powerful is so taxing that it will overwhelm your body and kill you.

But it was far more than that, she understood now. Her lifeforce and that dangerous, forbidden magic within her were one and the same. She knew full well the risk she took in giving Mario that final push to the finish. What she hadn’t realized — what she realized now — was that the magic she had desperately transferred to him in those final moments was far more than mere magic.

She had, in essence, given him part of her very soul, the ether that breathed being into her. And the only reason she was still alive was because he had broken free and urged her to make that last push alongside him.

Peach grit her teeth and stamped her foot once more, and the stinging sensation in her sole distracted from the burning in her eyes. He had saved her twice over. No reward would ever come close to being payback enough.

The sofa dipped on one side of Peach, then Daisy stood, the newly-decompressed cushion sending Peach toppling over onto Toadette.

“So… what does that mean?” Daisy pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut and brows furrowed tightly, and as Peach righted herself and muttered an apology to her lady-in-waiting, her fellow princess began to pace the width of the room. “‘Depleted her lifeforce’? What does— does that mean she’s, like, a goner? Is she dying now? How much time does… Oh, Peach, what did you…!”

Her voice pitched and cracked as she spoke, her freckled cheeks growing darker, and Peach desperately tried and failed to still the trembling that overtook her. Daisy was once more answering fear with anger. Peach wanted so desperately to alleviate her woes, assure her that everything would be alright, magically undo everything that had been done, somehow... but there was nothing worth undoing. Knowing for a fact that her actions saved Mario’s life, she couldn’t bring herself to regret what she had done. Did that make her remorseless? Selfish?

Guilt and pride and joy and fear. Peach wanted now more than ever to sink into the loveseat’s cushions, to curl into a ball and disappear until this poison fog of emotions passed her by.

“Clearly she’s not a goner, ” Dr. Toad mercifully interrupted, “lest she wouldn’t be here with us now.” He flipped frantically through the papers on his clipboard, as if one of them might contain a field guide for such a niche problem’s diagnostic outlook. “Her, uh, her lifeforce should be self-sustaining, same as her wish power. It’ll likely refill given time.”

“You don’t know that for sure?!” 

“Admittedly there’s very little documentation on—”

“Well maybe all you geniuses should have documented this shit better —”

“Hey, hey, we’ll figure it out, don’t—!”

A quiet groan silenced the trio of overlapping voices. Peach’s leaden heart suddenly leapt into her throat.

Mario was no longer the picture of peaceful rest. His face was screwed into a tired grimace, and he turned his head away from the commotion at his bedside with another pained noise.

He still sounded so weak. Peach wanted so terribly to rush to his side, take his hand, ease what remained of his pain somehow. Show him that she hadn’t broken her promise after all. She scooted to the edge of her cushion, waiting for his eyes to flutter open.

They never did. Mario sighed in his sleep, and then he was still and silent once more, his chest steadily rising and falling.

Looking over to Luigi, Peach’s heart fell once more. Had he been this pale all day? She realized, watching him stare down at his brother with hollow eyes, that he hadn’t spoken at all since Peach made her confession.

“Perhaps we should continue this at another time,” Dr. Toad suggested in a voice just above a whisper. His spectacles had fallen halfway down his face in the preceding havoc, and now he took a moment to set them back in place, smiling at Peach. “Let me bump caps with some other minds. I’ll get you some more definitive answers, Your Highness.”

She cleared her throat. “And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime… I would recommend abstaining from any and all uses of magic. Err on the side of caution.”

“Oh yeah,” Daisy said, shooting a glare at Peach that made her stomach churn. “Don’t worry, Doc. We’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything so stupid again.”

“Daisy,” Toadette groaned, and Peach felt a comforting hand on her lap, but the damage was already done. She rose to her feet and trained her eyes on the sterile white floors and excused herself, pointedly ignoring the calls of her name as she retreated back to her medical room.

By the time she managed to free herself from swathes of pins and fabric, her tears had already washed a good portion of her makeup away, which at least gave her one less thing to worry about removing.

~~~

Luigi stood the moment he caught sight of Peach in the doorway, removing his cap and ducking his head with a small smile. He didn’t look nearly so pale now, and his eyes seemed fully alert, and that was all good, Peach decided. 

“Has he woken up?” 

“For a little bit. Just a couple minutes.” He stepped aside as she approached, gesturing to the chair he had pulled up to Mario’s bedside, a silent offer for his seat. Peach shook her head and held her right hand palm-out in grateful rejection. “Still pretty out of it, but he’s not hurting as bad,” he continued, pushing the chair aside so she could comfortably stand beside him. “Even got him to have a snack! Just a couple of crackers, but definitely a step in the right direction.”

Peach smiled down at her sleeping hero, and for a moment, everything that weighed heavy upon her was forgotten. Crumbs still lodged in his mustache and fledgling beard backed Luigi’s story up. He had finally been given a proper medical gown, baby blue with a green Mushroom pattern. It looked quite cute on him.

She couldn’t resist stepping forward to rest a palm atop his hand. An IV drip remained taped in place, but the surrounding skin trauma that had just last night overflowed from beneath his bandages was nowhere to be found.

“Did he say anything?” she chanced.

In her peripheral, he nodded. “He asked about you.”

Peach winced without really meaning to. Her momentary cheer dissipated just as easily, and a creeping guilt gnawed a hole into her gut, small but festering. Guilt for leaving his side; guilt that his brother’s attentive care was met only with inquiries regarding her.

“I said you were in the shower and you’d be right back. He seemed happy with that answer. Went right back to sleep afterward, heh...” Even without looking, she could hear the strained smile in his voice. Was he upset? She certainly couldn’t fault him if he was.

She had already monopolized enough of his time with Mario. The least she could do was back off until she was called for again. After all, she knew now that her hero would live. With the uncertainty eliminated, she could happily retreat until she was needed again. Or she could at least suffer through the loneliness in contented silence.

Giving his warm hand one last squeeze, Peach withdrew, turning to apologize and excuse herself—

“He died, didn’t he?”

Peach blinked.

Luigi wouldn’t look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Mario, his smile hollow, distant.

“I…” Suddenly she felt as though her whole mouth was stuffed with cotton. “What?”

“Your—” Luigi began to shake his wrists out, a favored stim of his when words wouldn’t come easily. “Princess, I’ve seen your wish power. I-I’ve seen you do things I didn’t think were possible with it. And if even that wasn’t— I mean, if you had to… I-I’m still not real sure I follow everything, but if you drained your lifeforce somehow…”

With a huff, he finally faced Peach. His brows were furrowed, his eyes were dark, but he didn’t look angry, just hurt. “Was he dead? At some point, was he dead?”

Peach stood uselessly, her mouth opening then shutting just as quickly. She didn’t know. In the time it would have taken her to assess Mario’s condition when he first reached her, he would have died. That was the only thing she was certain of. Had she brought him back from a newly-crossed horizon, or had she only narrowly prevented him from crossing in the first place? She didn’t know.

Her silence still gave Luigi the answer he needed.

Inhaling sharply, he ripped his cap from his head, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and buried his fingers into his hair. “You…” He tightened his grasp and yanked at his hair, though whether he winced from the pain of that action or the pain within him Peach couldn’t say for sure. “Y-you…!”

She balled her hands into fists and held her breath, willing a surge of fresh tears away. You killed him. You almost took him away. You’re horrible. I hate you. You should have died instead. All warranted, all perfectly fair thoughts, all things she needed yet selfishly couldn’t bear to hear. She would take it with composure, and then she would spend the remainder of her natural days in atonement, whatever good that might do—

“You brought him back to me…!”

Before Peach could process these words, he let go of his hair in favor of lunging at her… and wrapping his arms around her.

Not for the first time that day, Peach went still beneath the force of shock, unable to do anything but draw shallow breaths and stare at the wall ahead of her. This embrace was so much tighter than the one he’d pulled her into yesterday, so much more forceful, and rather than smile and feed her words of cheerful encouragement, he buried his face into her shoulder and cried so hard that his whole body shook and his tears rapidly saturated her nightgown.

You brought him back to me.

Hesitantly, Peach returned his embrace, because she was certain her legs would fail her if she didn’t grab hold of something.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, and though her body still felt too stunned and weak to produce tears, her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Luigi—”

“You saved him,” Luigi interrupted, his voice half-absorbed by her gown. “I never really let myself think about it but I kinda just accepted that he wasn’t coming back, y’know? Because he always told me he’d die for you, but— but you could’ve— and you still—”

Peach sniffled, digging in deeper and fighting against the ever-growing desire to crumple to the floor. She wouldn’t have had to save him in the first place if he hadn’t gotten himself killed or near to it rescuing her. The fact that he needed saving in the first place was all her fault.

He’d die for you. This wasn’t news to Peach. It was Mario’s job as her guard to protect her with his life. She had witnessed him hold to that vow with her own eyes. But to hear it spoken so plainly, so openly, now that everything was okay—

“Grazie. Grazie. Grazie di cuore, Principessa…! Grazie…!” Thanks continued to pour from Luigi in his native tongue, each one more heartfelt, more overwhelmed, more agonizing than the last. She had caused his brother so much pain — she had caused them both so much pain, physically, emotionally, psychologically, and he was thanking her? For doing what literally anyone else would have done in her shoes? For doing the bare minimum for someone she claimed to love with her whole heart?

For being so useless that it took the sacrifices of others just to keep her alive?

A few tears finally managed to slip down her cheeks as the barrage of unwarranted gratitude continued, but she fought with what little strength and stamina was left within her to remain silent. She had forced others to shoulder her hardships for long enough. It was high time she returned the favor. And if that meant keeping her mouth shut and suffering in perfect silence, then so be it.

[thetravelingymleader]

🤬: do they swear often?

Fuckin' fuck yes I do! The fuck?

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: enemies to lovers, past bullying, reformed bully x victim

♡ fem reader

“No way.” You shake your head—face warped in something akin to disgust. Judging him for even asking, glaring in disbelief at him and what dangles from the clothing hanger in his hand. He couldn't be serious.

“Come on, please, for me?” he pleads, downright pleads. But there’s no way.

“No.” You say more firmly, planting both hands on your tilted hips. “I don’t get what you’re thinking, but it’s not exactly a time in our lives I want to relive.”

He pouts and sags a little where he stands, clasping his hands together in prayer, making the ill-taste outfit swing. “Oh, come on, it won’t be the same as then,” he promises with zero believability backing him. He even dares smile as he spouts the bullshit in his next words, “It’ll be like therapy. Let’s reframe your trauma together.”

You scoff. He’s unbelievable. “You’re stupid.”

He feigns feeling insulted. “I’m serious!”

“You always said I looked like trash in that—no way I’m not putting it on,” you dismiss.

But then he gets down on his knees. Hands still together as if in worship. Looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. “I was lying through my teeth back then—you know that! I’ll be honest this time around. Tell you exactly how often I had to change my pants because of you—”

“Ew, stop.” You can’t believe the spectacle he’s creating—such a drama queen—and all for getting you to put on a make-shift copy of your old high-school uniform.

“Come one, pretty, pretty, pretty please?” He shuffles forward on his knees until he’s right by your feet—bottom lip jutting out in his pout. “The prettiest please?”

You look down at him—you mouth a prim pursed line, gritting your teeth to try and steal yourself. Grimacing at the outfit sprawled on his lap. There’s no way. Absolutely no way.

“Pretty please?” he continues, making you roll your eyes with a sigh.

“Fine,” you bite out but quickly add, “But you have to wear one, too.”

You think you’re being smart. But he only grins—a wicked little twinkle in his eye.

“Way ahead of you.”

From behind the outfit meant for you, he pulls forth a black gakuran to match.

Okay, so you hadn’t really thought he would have bought one for himself—you realize now the mistake in your speculation. Of course, he’d bought one for himself. But hold on… You raise your brow, folding your arms atop your chest. “And where’s the pants?”

“They didn’t have my size, but my sweats are already a good lookalike,” he explains away. “This doesn’t really fit either, but it won’t stay on for long, so’ doesn’t matter.”

He gets up and hastily pulls his shirt off of his head, then, with just as much enthusiasm, pulls the black school jacket on. And he’s right—his black sweatpants could pass for the old Tobi trousers he used to wear. All in all, it’s a sight for sore eyes. Looking at him feels just short of seeing his old high-school self.

“Come on. You said.” He holds out the rendition of your old uniform. “Get dressed.”

You regret conceding. But it’s too late to go back on your word now. Rolling your eyes, you receive the hanger with a sigh, “Oh, fine. Just this once, you freak.”

You get dressed without making much of a show. Leaving your current comfy outfit in an unceremonious pile, you pull the tacky articles on hastily. Black pleated skirt and sailor blouse with a little red bow sash—there’s even a pair of knee-high socks to go with it. As a grown-up, it’s utterly humiliating having to wear it now.

But he doesn’t seem to share your discomfort. Only groaning, “Damn. There she is—my prettiest little junior~”

You ball your skirt in your fists. Glancing up at him only to look down again, fixing your gaze to the floor. Heat in your face. Mumbling, “This is weird—you look dumb.”

“Oh yeah?” his voice curls with newfound enjoyment. “Well, you don’t look a day older.”

He comes closer, and oh god—you don’t know why you’re so nervous. But fuck—you feel like your back in time—back in time when you were a sorry loser getting picked on, and he was… he was a—

“Perv,” you manage to say. Though, that’s not really the word you’d been thinking.

He chuckles, so close now that he also starts to play with the hem of your skirt. “That’s for damn sure.” Agreeing, he hums, “Only for you though. So’s fine.”

He bends down and finds your neck with his tongue and teeth—his hand traveling up under your skirt without further ado.

“Hey,” you protest, wringing his ill-fitting jacket in both fists, hauling him off. And even though it makes him look back at you like a kicked puppy, you don’t let it get to you as you scold him, “Thought we were reframing my trauma. At this rate, you’re just itching to make me relive it.”

He tries giving you one of his innocent smiles. “Oh?” His arms curl around your waist, pulling you close—chest to chest—simpering while leering down at you, voice in a purr, “It won’t be any fun if I can’t bully you a little bit like I used to.”

He tries leaning down to catch your lips, but you push him away. Breaking free, then scoffing, “Tch, if that’s how you’re gonna play this, then have fun beating off on your own.”

“But—” He starts, but you’re already on your way to leave the room. Hooking two fingers into the band of your skirt, he stops you and spins you back, now all mopey and sorry, “I’m sorry, don’t go, princess—how about we one-eighty it, and I tell you all the reasons I love you? Will that make you humor me?”

He’s back to pleading.

And you can’t help the small smile it gives you. Muttering, “Maybe.”

He smiles giddily, too, “I love how pouty you can be sometimes.”

Your brows furrow, “Hey!” That’s not a compliment.

But he only laughs and continues, “And I love your snippy little tsundere attitude.”

“Those are both insults, you tit—” you argue, but he doesn’t care, hugging you close, lifting you off your feet before falling with you down on the bed. Hanging over you, he admires every inch of your perfect body tucked into that cute little uniform he used to make fun of because he was scared of how silly you made him feel.

“I love how you tell me off.”

Deciding to face his fears was the best decision he’d ever made.

“I love how you look at me.”

It’s crazy to think you’re here with him still, after all these years.

“I love how you put up with me, how you make all my wishes come true—how, even though I don’t deserve you, you stay with me anyway—how you’re mine even though I’m a scumbag.”

You’re eyes soften under his speech. For all his tactlessness, he can also be really quite sweet. You raise both hands, reaching out to cup his face—beholding the softness in his eyes—that way he looks at you. It makes your chest stir.

“You’re not that bad,” you confess, pulling him down to tease his lips with yours.

Kissing you once, he accredits you, “That’s ‘cause you make me a better man.”

You smile and kiss him again, then resume your teasing, “Don't get ahead of yourself. You’re still a boy.”

He lifts and raises a brow down at you in retaliation, “Is that so?” And oh no, you recognize that look.

“Well, this boy is feeling hormonal and horny and just raring to go—” he overplays. Gasping, “And what do you know? How lucky!” He lowers himself again, then starts peppering kisses all over your face in between words, “I’ve got this perfect little high-school sweetheart lying here all up for the taking—”

♡ BNHA – Hawks, Dabi, Bakugou, ♡ JJK – Gojo, really silly in-love Sukuna ♡ HQ – Kuro, Atsumu ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[serendipity8832]

No amount of music or television or movies or YouTube videos or other media could have prepared me for how much I swear as an adult. Parents are way more worked up about that shit than they need to be, give it a few years and your kids and their friends will be saying way fucking worse stuff than whatever that stupid network television euphemism is replacing

[maxillness]

'•.¸♡ MASTERLIST ♡¸.•'

'•.¸♡TW♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Pretty Boy❞

╰┈➤ ❝If Daddy Knew❞ → ❝Daddy Knows❞

╰┈➤ ❝Wet Body❞

╰┈➤ ❝Happy Fucking New Years❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝I Can See You❞

'•.¸♡SS♡¸.•'

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Girls Like Girls❞

╰┈➤ ❝She Likes A Boy❞

'•.¸♡CH♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝My Ass❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Dangerous Woman❞

'•.¸♡LL♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Dangerous Game❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Stacy's Brother❞

'•.¸♡LS2♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Mafia AU, Chap 2❞

'•.¸♡MW2♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝From People You Know, To People You Don't❞

╰┈➤ ❝Let Them Watch❞

╰┈➤ ❝Malaysia 2013 (Mark’s Version)❞

╰┈➤ ❝Tits Like A Rock❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Light❞

↳˗ˏˋsmauˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Write Me A Song❞

'•.¸♡DR3♡¸.•'

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Favorite❞

'•.¸♡LN4♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Only For Me To Hear❞

╰┈➤ ❝Blow Me❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Nattely❞ → ❝I Don't Forgive You❞

╰┈➤ ❝Friends Don't Fuck❞

'•.¸♡SV5♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Praises And Babies❞

╰┈➤ ❝I Love You❞

╰┈➤ ❝Malaysia 2013 (Sebastian’s Version)❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Touch It❞

╰┈➤ ❝Ocean Eyes❞

╰┈➤ ❝Skin❞

╰┈➤ ❝Gorgeous❞

'•.¸♡NR6♡¸.•'

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝I Like You Best❞

╰┈➤ ❝Guilty As Sin?❞

↳˗ˏˋsmauˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Soft Launch❞

'•.¸♡KR7♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝A Good Use Of That Mouth❞

╰┈➤ ❝Tell Me Your Sounds❞ → ❝Any Silent Man Scream❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Figure You Out❞

╰┈➤ ❝Darling❞

'•.¸♡MS7♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝You’re Gonna Help Me❞

'•.¸♡PG10 ♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝She's What I Like❞

'•.¸♡SP11♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Mafia AU, Chap 1❞

↳˗ˏˋsmauˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Christmas Problems❞

'•.¸♡FA14♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝ Bébé Gorçon❞

╰┈➤ ❝Stranger Danger❞

╰┈➤ ❝Struggles❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Sugar Daddy❞

╰┈➤ ❝Troublemaker❞

'•.¸♡MH14♡¸.•'

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡… ⋙

'•.¸♡CL16♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝So Pretty, And Just For Me❞

╰┈➤ ❝Different Kind Of Good Morning❞

╰┈➤ ❝Good At Other Things❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Talking Body❞

╰┈➤ ❝Premier Amour❞

'•.¸♡LS18♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝That's What Girlfriends Are For❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Superstar❞

╰┈➤ ❝Shape Of You❞

╰┈➤ ❝Sailor Song❞

'•.¸♡KM20♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Cold Hands❞

╰┈➤ ❝Christmas Sex❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Igen I Dag❞

╰┈➤ ❝Hooked❞

╰┈➤ ❝My oh my❞

'•.¸♡JH20♡¸.•'

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡… ⋙

'•.¸♡YT22♡¸.•'

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡… ⋙

'•.¸♡JB22♡¸.•'

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝She's Got That❞

╰┈➤ ❝Older❞ → ❝Perfume❞

╰┈➤ ❝Need You Now❞

'•.¸♡AA23♡¸.•'

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡… ⋙

'•.¸♡ZG24♡¸.•'

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡… ⋙

'•.¸♡NH27♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝A Little Too Much Kirschwasser❞

╰┈➤ ❝What A Mess❞

'•.¸♡EO31♡¸.•'

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡… ⋙

'•.¸♡MV33♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Fucking Whore❞

╰┈➤ ❝You Say You Hate Me❞

╰┈➤ ❝Head Over Heels❞

╰┈➤ ❝It's Okay To Cry❞

╰┈➤ ❝This Fkn Bratty Attitude❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Dress❞

╰┈➤ ❝FU In My Head❞

'•.¸♡LH44♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝So Good For Her❞

╰┈➤ ❝I'll Show You How Sorry I Am❞

╰┈➤ ❝Sir Lewis❞

╰┈➤ ❝Braid Me❞

╰┈➤ ❝Satisfy The Fans❞

╰┈➤ ❝I’m Sorry❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Secret Love Song❞

╰┈➤ ❝Pipe❞

╰┈➤ ❝All To You❞

╰┈➤ ❝18❞

↳˗ˏˋsmauˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝On The House❞

'•.¸♡MSC47♡¸.•'

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝American Town❞

↳˗ˏˋsmauˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Makkinen 2.0❞

'•.¸♡CS55♡¸.•'

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Tonight (I'm Fuckin' You)❞

╰┈➤ ❝Invisible❞

'•.¸♡GR63♡¸.•'

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡… ⋙

'•.¸♡VB77♡¸.•'

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡… ⋙

'•.¸♡OP81♡¸.•'

╰┈➤ ❝Help With A Girl❞

↳˗ˏˋmusic mondayˊˎ˗ ↴

╰┈➤ ❝Treat You Better❞

Kinktober ‘24

[lordprettyflackotara]

habits || bloody painter

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: descriptions of gore, murder, abusive/toxic relationship, stalking, service dom!helen, borderline yandere helen, overstimulation, praise

Helen considered himself to be a poised and intelligent young man.

He had never considered himself lowly enough to crave romantic affairs, nevertheless develop a full fledge obsession.

He lived his life on a scheduled routine. The only variable he allowed to change was in which victim he selected. His creativity was shown through out his art pieces, he didn’t need tons and tons of action to keep him mentally satisfied. After all, he was an artist. A painter. One with methods society disapproved of, but a painter nevertheless. Helen considered himself to be content with life.

He came and went from the Trenderman mansion as he pleased. On Tuesday’s he spent quality time with The Puppeteer. What else could he possibly need?

That question became answered, once he saw you.

Helen hadn’t even meant to see you. Your neighbor had been his choice for his routine victim. Middle aged man with a habit of watching the neighborhood kids play in the street. One would normally find that endearing, but the contents Helen found in the mans household were not so much. Helen thought he had done a fine job, turning a scum of the earth pedophile into a work of art. He was spread like a starfish, pinned to the wall by his hands and feet with the handy kitchen knives. His chest of course was ripped open, the contents of his organs fallen onto the floor below. Helen's favorite part, the one he deemed to make this a masterpiece, was the removal of the mans genital's. Helen found it very appropriate to cut that off and staple it into the wall beside him.

As Helen admired his masterpiece, he couldn't help but overhear yelling coming from the direction of your house. Normally he would take this as his sign to leave. After all, his work here was done. But then he heard your voice. He was drawn to you like a sailor to a siren. Curiously he peered through the deceased mans curtains, looking over at your house. Your white curtains were closed, but he could make out the shadows of you arguing with a taller man. Helen wasn't a fan of domestic violence. He had witnessed all of that and more during his childhood stay at the psychiatric hospital. During that time he trained himself to stay neutral. To pretend what he was seeing didn't exist. But the pain in your voice intrigued him. Cautiously he slipped out of the mans house, dying for a closer look.

Using the shadows of the night to his advantage he slipped out of the neighbors backyard, hopping the fence. Helen creeped over to the window, peaking inside. That's when he saw you. Your face was red with anger, your eyes widened, and mouth running a thousand miles a minute as you argued with your presumed lover. Helen had never seen anyone like you. With your curves, feisty attitude, and bright eyes. You were something a man could only dream of. He felt himself frown at the sight of your oblivious and angry boyfriend, whose veins were popping out of his head from anger. Helen then made himself a vow, one he took very seriously. He was going to be your guardian angel, whether you knew it or not.

Helen didn't have obsessive tendencies. He had never spent his time stalking someone before. He didn't live at the Slenderman mansion, he wasn't sent on missions or anything absurd. He felt out of place as he studied you, becoming accustomed with your routine. You lived a simple and peaceful life, outside of your toxic relationship. Helen decided to study up on your lover as well, since he seemed to be such a massive issue. His name was Liam. Occupation: unemployed. If Helen had to take a guess he would assume that is why the two of you were arguing. Helen deemed Liam to be a useless slob. One that didn't do much of anything with his time, nevertheless tend to you and your needs. How you ended up with such a useless partner Helen could not figure out.

He enjoyed how modest you were. Your spare time was spent in libraries, curled up in the most secluded corner with a good book. You only ordered from small businesses, even if it meant going out of your way to attend them. All and all you were perfect. Helen thought of all the ways he’d introduce himself to you. Maybe he could run into you at the local book store. Or maybe he’d accidentally brush into you on the street. After all, Trenderman’s mansion was at least four states over from where he was wanted for being a serial killer. Showing his face in public was too much of a risk though, he feared. Especially with the cops now on high patrol in your neighborhood since the murder of your neighbor. If he could go back in time he wished he could’ve seen you first. He would’ve at least changed his victim to someone a few streets over.

The more Helen watched the more he noticed Liam’s violent tendencies. It all came to a screeching halt for Helen once he saw him put his hands on you. Now that. That did numbers on his mind. Who did he think he was? Stomping on such a delicate flower like yourself? If it wasn’t for the patrol car parked outside of your neighbors house he would’ve slit his throat and mutilated him for as long as possible. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not interfere. The look of despair and sorrow you had written all over your face resonated with Helen more than he would’ve liked to admit. It stayed in his head rent free.

The next day Helen saw the bruises that littered your arms. It was in your character to modestly try to cover them. He expected that of you, even if he didn’t approve. What he hadn’t expected of you, was for your night life to become so social. You previously had proven yourself to be introverted and borderline antisocial. Yet, he watched you through your window as you put in earrings. You were dressed up more than he had ever seen. A tight dress and strappy heels clothed you, his mind going to rancid filth at the sight of your exposed thighs. So Helen did what he thought to be the best course of action: he followed you. This time however, he had different plans.

He planned to finally meet you.

He was surprised your location of choice was the local club, crowded with local college students and overbearingly loud with music. Even as you paced through the door he could sense how uncomfortable you were with the bass booming. Straightening out his collar he trailed behind you, the bouncer not glancing at him twice. He followed you through the never ending sea of swaying bodies, your hips ones that Helen would recognize anywhere. You approached the bar, sliding up on the bar stool like you had done this time and time again. Helen tried to appear casual as he sat beside you, the bartender approaching him. “Whiskey, neat please,” He ordered. You hadn’t glanced in his direction, your fingers aggressively typing against your phone screen. The overworked bar tender looked at you, your gaze not meeting his.

“Ma’am?”

Embarrassed you looked up, eyes widened. It then occurred to Helen why you chose the club. Subtracting the alcohol from the equation, your bruises were practically invisible strobe lights. “I’ll have a sex on the beach, sorry,” You gushed, face flushing with heat. Helen tried to avoid looking at you as to not seem obvious, but it was so hard not to. You were so darling, a ball of nervousness as you sat in a location you felt so out of place in. “Come here often?” Helen finally said, the words escaping his lips faster than he meant them to. Your eyes finally met his, soaking in his blue eyes. They were so striking, even in the inconsistent lighting. You awkwardly laughed, not having expected to indulge in a conversation with someone new. “Who? Me? Pfft, no. Absolutely not,” You rambled, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. Helen didn’t fail to notice this, giving you a polite smile. “I don’t come here either. I’m Helen, lovely to meet you,” He greeted. He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

You flashed a small genuine smile, before shaking his hand. “Y/n. Nice to meet someone like me. Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing besides us,” You say, side eyeing a group doing body shots at the opposite end of the bar. The bartender set down both of your drinks, nodding before walking off to help another customer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you in?” Helen pried. He sipped his drink, the firey liquid slithering its way down his throat. You slipped the little pink umbrella out of your glass, setting it aside on a napkin. “Just needed to get away from life, you know? I want to feel something absolutely liberating instead of the norm,” You say. Technically you were telling the truth, but you were smart enough to not spill your guts to a stranger. Helen liked that. He liked that you were smart enough to be cautious.

“How about you?” You asked, taking a large gulp of your fruity drink. Helen gave a slight chuckle. “Troubles at work. You know how that goes i’m sure,” He said. He was dancing along side you in the tango of word play. His occupation was untraditional surely, but the cop outside of your house was most certainly a thorn in his side. “Definitely. So do you live around here?” You asked, attempting to stir up conversation. You hadn’t expected to converse with anyone, nevertheless a handsome man. Helen was quick on his feet with an answer. After all, he had prepared conversation topics and answers for all of the different ways he could converse with you. “I’m new to the area actually. Been here about a month. You?” He replied slyly. You nervously pulled your short dress down before setting your drink on the counter. The obnoxious music seemed to be bothering you.

Helen had learned all of your nervous habits. Strike one was pulling down or picking at your clothing. “Dont freak out but I may live next to the murder house,” You replied. Helen raised an eyebrow, now curious. “Murder house?” He asked. Of course, you figured sharing something so frightful to the normal man would be safer rather than lying. Oh how bright you were. “Oh cmon i’m sure you’ve heard. It’s the most talk we’ve had in this town for ages. Creepy old Gary got torn apart by some serial killer,” You explained. Helen was intrigued by what you thought. If things were different he’d ask so much more. Maybe when he got to know you better he’d ask what you thought of his work. “Oh my. Sounds quite brutal,” Helen commented. You nodded, finishing off your drink. Huh. You seemed awfully desperate to get drunk. The bartender approached the two of you again, going to pour you another one.

“Oh no no just one please. Do you guys accept cash?” You rambled. You began digging in your clutch, searching for the crumbled up bills you had shoved in there. Helen knew this to be because of your lack of funds. He suspected Liam had some sort of control over your finances. “Put anything she wants on my tab please,” He intervened. Wide eyed you turned to Helen. “You didn’t have to do that,” You told him. He shrugged and sipped his drink, watching the bar tender deliver your drink before walking away. “The pleasures all mine. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be paying for her own drinks,” He said truthfully. Your blush may have not been visible because of the lighting, but you best believe Helen knew you were. You couldn't help but feel hopelessly attracted to him. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe it was nice being treated with respect for once.

The clubs music switched to a different song, one with more bass. Helen noted you nervously glancing over your shoulder, staring at the DJ booth. Strike two was the way your eyes darted around when you were nervous. Helen decided distracting you might be the best course of action. “So, may I ask you on a proper date? What fun activities are there to do around here?” He asked. You became incredibly flustered, the sight definitely one for sore eyes. “There’s an art museum down the street. It’s the only gallery I haven’t seen in this town,” You suggested. Oh how little did you know that suggestion secured your fate and locked it in place. Helen then had mentally deemed you to be his perfect match. You both would make a delightful pair.

“Thats a splendid idea. Truthfully I adore the arts,” Helen answered. It was then you delivered the third strike, the biting of the inside of your cheek. Helen wasn’t quite sure what set you off, but the room was overstimulating to say the very least. “How about we take this party elsewhere? Your place perhaps?” Helen asked. He knew that wasn’t possible, but curiosity lingered about what your answer would be. “Oh um, no mine it’s very unorganized right now. What about yours?” You asked. You were now gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Oh dear, had you developed a new habit? “I have the most obnoxious roommate. Here, take my hand,” He proposed, setting a neat pile of bills on the counter. Your soft hand took his, the painter leading you through the crowds of people. Truthfully he was searching for more of a supply closet, something more secluded and private. But he supposed an unoccupied handicapped restroom would do. “I apologize for the lack of cleanliness that’s surrounds us, but your well being is more important,” Helen said, locking the door.

It wasn’t terribly filthy, but he much rather would’ve taken you somewhere nicer. “Helen I- I must be honest, I have-” You began. He knew where this was going. And if he was being truthful with himself he did not want to discuss Liam at your first meeting. So instead, he decided an alternative. “I apologize if this is a little too straight forward,” He said abruptly. Helen towered over you, cupping your cheeks before planting your lips against his. His lips were soft and warm, the faintest taste of whiskey still lingering. You melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Stumbling you fell back against the wall, your head spinning. “You are so beautiful and you deserve to be treated as so. May I show you how beautiful you are?” He asked. You nodded profusely, watching him drop to his knees. His slender fingers pulled up your dress, revealing your lacey black panties. Helen couldn’t help but feel like you had worn them for him.

It only made his cock harder as he pushed them to the side. Your slick was already wet, your folds begging for attention. “This wet already? You poor thing, does no one tend to your needs?” He asked, a hint of taunting lacing his tone. You were desperate, the double meaning of his words flying over your head. “N-no, please, please touch me,” You whined. Who was Helen to deny you of that? He licked a stripe up your cunt, sending a shudder down your spine. You grabbed onto his jet black locs for support as his large hands settled onto your thighs. He lapped at your cunt like a starved man, devouring every drop of juice your body was producing. His eagerness to please you only made you wetter. Truthfully you couldn’t recall the last time Liam had ever done foreplay with you. Your moans were loud and shameless, the clubs music overpowering the sounds anyways. You grinded against his face, whining as you approached your high. His lips attached to your clit, sucking at the sensitive bud harshly. His ocean eyes watched your facial expressions intently.

You were like a divine art piece that came to life.

Helen kept your thighs apart as they trembled, his name falling off of your lips as you came on his face. Shamelessly he lapped all of the juices away, licking you until he deemed you clean. You went to drop to your knees to return the favor, Helen stopping you. “A lady such as yourself does not belong on this filthy floor. Where you do belong, is with my fingers buried in your cunt until I make you cum again,” He said. Your head was spinning as he picked you up, setting you on the sink. He nudged his way between your thighs, plunging two fingers into your eager cunt. “Oh my- fuck- holy shit,” You whined, tilting your head back. Helen curled his fingers inside of you, your gummy walls clinging to him. “Such a tight cunt, what a masterpiece,” He praised, licking his lips. He began to curl his fingers faster, placing sloppy and uncoordinated kisses onto your neck. “D-don’t leave marks,” You pleaded in between pants. Helen knew why, but agreed to your request.

“I would never mark such a beautiful masterpiece my love,” He agreed, his voice hoarse. He pulled down your dress, exposing your breast. He was pleased at your lack of a bra. With one hand he toyed with your nipple, the other abusing your g spot as it pleased. “Feels so good Helen, you make me feel so good,” You whimpered, pawing at his button up. You grabbed handfuls of the fabric, Helen more amused than anything else. How long had it been since someone had truly pleasured you? He concluded it must’ve been an entirety, based on the way he could feel your second orgasm coming. “Someone close again? Wanna make a mess on my fingers?” Helen asked, a sly grin dancing across his lips. You managed to meet his gaze, your mouth fallen open in the shape of an O. “So close, wanna cum for you,” You whined. Helen twisted your nipple painfully, triggering your second orgasm. You didn’t have time to process it, your vision going white as you creamed around his fingers.

Helen enjoyed watching you ride out your high, your body convulsing as you experienced euphoria. He removed his fingers from your cunt, licking them clean. “You taste divine my love,” He praised. You gave him a dazed smile, hopping off of the sink. Helen guided you to turn around, studying the mounds of your ass as he pulled your dress up to your waist. “Such a gorgeous body. Truly a walking goddess,” He mumbled, undoing his belt. It wasn’t long before you felt him rub his tip up and down your slick, earning desperate moans from you. You gripped the sink as he began to push inside of you. Your face told Helen everything. That truthfully Liam was no whereas big as him or as coordinated. That you had not had a good fuck in a longtime. Your body was the snitch to everything you were attempting to hide. Helen was quick to bottom out, your gummy walls clinging to him. “You’re so perfect,” He grunted, beginning to pick up the pace. Helen thrust were slow and powerful, each one hitting your g spot just right.

It was like he knew what your body needed, your sounds sinful and pure filth as he rammed into you. Your cunt told him everything he needed to know, the sound of his name falling off of your lips one he wanted to hear forever. He relentlessly snapped his hips into yours, your orgasm growing closer and closer as he fucked you. “I’m going to make you mine my love, my perfect masterpiece,” Helen huffed, his slender fingers digging into your hips. You babbled an agreement, your mind too far gone. Helen slithered one of his hands down to your clit, drawing fast circles. You stood upwards, your back colliding with his chest as you felt yourself coming closer to your final orgasm. “Thats it, cum for me. Make a mess on my cock,” He praised, his breath hot against your ear. His name rang off of the bathroom walls as you creamed on his shaft, your orgasm triggering his own. Helen was quick to pull out of you, bending you over and cumming on your ass.

He watched his white seed paint your skin, creating a beautiful work of art.

Your fate was sealed, you were to spend entirety as his canvas.

[lookingformoondrop]

could i request a boyfriend!andrew graves x reader headcannons or scenarios? i LOVE TCOAAL🫶🫶

Boyfriend! Andrew Graves x Reader - Headcanons

TW: Andy has a foul mouth, reader gets groped, Andy is a little possessive, a tiny bit of violence (-is always the answer)

♥︎Notes: I'm kind of an idiot so if you notice something is spelled incorrectly, feel free to send me a dm so i can fix it (totally not at all referring to my first Yandere!Andy x Reader post where I spelled dark as darmfk ;-;). Also this is kind of short because so many people requested for Andy x Reader, so I didn't want to pull out all the stops. I hope this meets your expectations <3.♥︎

The first thing you gotta to know about dating Andy, is that he's very touch starved.

I can just headcanon that due to his aloof personality and very broody behavior, he doesn't get many hugs...

So when you enter his life, best believe that Andy shows you this completely different side of him!

I'm talking.... Cuddling in the mornings till the point where you're almost late for work because he refuses to let you go.

I'm talking.... Andy being able to sense when you're about to go into the shower. His spidey-senses tingles, and the moment you're about to hop in, he's right there already getting his hair wet.

I'm talking.... Trapping you with his kisses when you're making food, definitely not noticing that he's causing you to burn dinner.

And no amount of protest can deter this man either.

Speaking of making food... Andrew is the master-chef of the house!

Now he's no Gorden Ramsey (as he likes to tell you whenever he makes you a sandwich), but everyone knows that one bite of his food is enough to make a sailor come back to the land.

So it's very nifty when you're sick and at home, in need to have someone take care of you.

The first time you ever got sick was when you and Andy were still living separately.

It was a Friday night, and it was supposed to be your 1-year anniversary with Andy. Unfortunately, due to some unhygienic biotch at the office, you caught a cold and had to cancel.

At first Andy didn't respond, instead leaving you on read. You felt bad, figuring that he was mad at you for canceling.

But lo' and behold, exactly 10 minutes later, that was a frantic sound of keys jiggling into the your front door.

You had gotten up from your couch-potato position to see the person who wanted to rush into your home so badly, when it occurred to you;

Andrew is the only one with another set of keys...

And with that realization, Andy burst through the door with a pharmacy store bag in one hand, and a grocery store bag in another.

In an instant, Andy made you take a disgusting amount of cold medicine, and blessed your cold home with the warmth and smell of spices and herbs (likely all from the soup).

When the food was ready, he sat you up with a pillow and hand-fed you soup for the rest of the night. You felt so bad for ruining your anniversary, but everytime you tried to apologize for it, Andrew would stuff your mouth with more soup and would say;

"I don't care about that romance and anniversary shit. We don't need to go to a fancy restaurant or an expensive place just to feel like we're honoring an important date. That date is important because it is our date. We don't need to one-up that memorable time just to remind everyone of how special it is... Y/N, you're crying into the soup."

Needless to say, you cried.

But Andrew doesn't just take care of you...You best believe he also protects.

Well, sorta.

You could be in a grocery store, at a Boba shop, in the mall, getting new shoes, it wouldn't matter, Andrew would always have his hand on your waist.

Be it because he saw someone look at you, doesn't matter who or how old they are, he'll always wrap his arms around you and whisper ever so softly, "You're mine..."

It has definitely given you some weird looks over the years, but you know he means well.

And if anyone ever actually looks at you funny? It's over for them.

Andrew will make it VERY clear that you're not to be messed with.

For example, a couple of months into your relationship, you were riding the train. Enjoying a simple conversation about suspicious neighbors and whatnot, when all of the sudden some guy came up behind you and tried groping you discreetly.

Andy noticed very quickly that all the blood drained from your face. He looked behind you and noticed the old geezer trying to get a hand full of someone way younger than them, and Andrew could feel every restraint in his body snap.

In an act of "self-defense" as told to the cops later on, Andrew punched the living daylights of the guy and sent him flying into a pole.

You fussed over Andy's fist for awhile, completely forgetting about how you felt. But the only thing Andy could think about was how he should've hit that guy harder.

When you guys were finally walking home, hand in hand, you leaned on Andrew.

"I'm sorry about today Andy... I didn't mean for you to get all banged up."

Andrew snorted, "My knuckle is a little scratched up, so what? That perverted asshole had it coming for him."

You kissed Andy's cheek, which granted you a dark blush from Andy, and a grin from you.

"Thank you Aaandy~" You brushed his hand with your thumb,

Being in a relationship with Andy is a little messy, and yes sometimes a little crazy. But no matter what happens, Andy will always stick by your side.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Andy squeezed your hand in return.

Thank you for the ask<3

[small-sinclair]

Possessed

Obsessed!Bo Sinclair x fem!reader

NSFW. 18+. No minors!!!!!!🔞

Tw: being eaten out, face fucking, nakedness, bottom/needy Bo, obsessed Bo, fluffy aftercare

I love obsessed Bo. He’s my favorite to write.

He practically stormed into the house at the end of the day. He wasn’t mad about his day or anything, he just needed you. He wanted your love in his heart and filling his mouth. Bo needs you in more ways he could say. Once he found you in the parlor, putting away some board games, all beats were off.

He tossed his hat to the floor and kicked off his boots. “Sweetheart,” he breathed desperately. His eyes had hearts and it swirled around like a storm. “I need you—no,” he pressed you against the pool table, practically cornering you, “want you. I wanted ya so bad it hurt today jus’ t’do work.” He kissed your neck then shoulder.

His eyes locked with yours, and he admired you the same way a stone carved admired a block. “Bo?” You whispered, kissing his cheek. “What gotten into you today?”

“You, cherie,” he breathed. “Always been you.”

Bo pressed his lips against yours hungrily. His hands were too busy ripping your clothes off and letting it go the ground until you stood naked and bare in front of him. Before he could give you much of a chance to respond and protest, he feel to his knees and pulled your hips closer, spreading your legs out.

He was like a possessed man as his tongue pressed inside you, his heavy, blown out eyes softening. He felt as if he hadn’t ate in days as he lapped you up. His tongue swirled with every breath and moan you made. He melted as your hands pulled his hair slightly, earning a deep growl from the back off his throat. He pushes up on his knees, needing more of you in his mouth, more of your taste. There was a type of freedom that came with it, a type of comfort which he couldn’t quite name. Bo loves you, but the way your would moan his name and fight against him only to fail…something bloomed in his chest and through the cracks of his concrete heart.

“B-Bo!”

He held your hips down as his nose buried into your clint, taking deep breaths, as he retraced the letter again and again. Turns out, you got off on the letters ‘Q, R, S’, but he’ll never complain. He loved the sweet music pouring from your lips. You sounded like a siren from some story he read. If that’s the case, let him be the sailor, your harbor, and your home.

He drank you dry and ate you starved over and over again, never slowing for a second. He was obsessed with the noises you made. He was in love with the smell of your body and the taste on his tongue. As you trembled to his touch, he loved every bit of you. As your rocked your hips against his face, he only licked and sucked deeper. Every inch of him was screaming for him to hit that spot, but his hands held your legs and thighs tightly. The friction made it too tight as he felt himself grow more and more desperate for your touch and approval, but he didn’t touch himself. He wouldn’t do it until you command it. For now, he let your hips roll over his cheeks and face, letting you get lost, letting you use him as a tool and a vice at your disposal. He savored your body and taste as his tongue swirled.

When he felt you clenched around his tongue, he felt his eyes closing and roll as he drank every drop of your organism, pure ambrosia of the gods. He felt thankful, felt blessed, felt blissfully at peace.

He felt you grow limp above him, and he caught you in his arms in a moment. Your legs were shaking as he guided you to the couch and laid you on the sofa, setting up on pillow, and slid down to your thighs. He his hair was soaked and he looked like some type of beautiful mess. He kissed your lips gently, shivering at the mere touch.

He began licking you clean, kissing your skin numb as he whispered gentle praises of you, telling you everything he loved about you from your thighs to your stretch marks. His hands racked over the aching muscles as he kisses up your stomach. He let you unbutton his shirt so you could touch his chest and trace his scars lightly.

“More,” he whispers, unraveling. “Want more, darlin’. Please, let me have more?” He’s not one to beg, not one to say out loud what he wanted, so this was a rare moment. Bo shudders as your hand ghosts his cheek. “Been leavin’ ya alone in dis house for too long. Ain’t fair, cher, ‘at I can’t have ya in the shop. It ain’t fair I can’t have ya at all.” He lift your head up slightly and began to suck and kiss a part on your skin. Your gasps turned into him moaning his name.

“Please,” came from your lips, causing him to groan and bite down on your skin, deepening the color on your neck. “Beauregard, have me.”

His real name on your lips made his heart ache. His hands played with the mounds on your chest, rolling them with every breath he took of you. Bo kisses the bruise on your neck as your back arched to his touch.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” he says, capturing your lips. “Anything you desire,” he leaned close and kiss your beside ear, “will be yours.”

[ambrosiagoldfish]

hi! can i request headcanons of Adam x Male Angel! Reader who is sweet, kind and never curses? preferly sfw and nsfw but if u don't write smut for Male Reader, that's fine!

hope u have a Nice day <3

Adam x Kind Angel Reader HC’s

Warnings: General Adam TW’s, NSFW in latter half of post, He/Him pronouns with Male Genitalia. Slight Degradation/dirty talk. Fluff + Smut

Request Box: Open

Word Count: 820

A/n: thank you so much for the request! I had a lot of fun with this one! I did make it on the shorter side but that’s only because it’s quite difficult to make Headcanon’s 1000+ words without other characters but nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! Also I decided to make this little header thing for fics! I’ve seen a few others do it and the GIF’s I normally use are becoming a hassle to find. Let me know if you guys like it!

SFW

Oh boy, this relationship really is a match that could only be made in heaven. No one would have expected Adam to date a man who is the complete opposite of him. If anything, people expected someone like him or even Lute!! But you? They never could have predicted that.

But what can you do, opposites do attract.

You’re always being so kind to him, telling him he looks handsome, helping him with any and all work he might have to do, and on top of it you bring him gifts and trinkets! Not to mention all the delicious treats you get him that are almost as sweet as you.

And to be honest, this really messes with Adam, cause you’re literally so sweet and thoughtful but he doesn’t have anything to give you in return besides sex. At least that’s what he thinks but in reality he gives you so much more than he gives himself credit for.

He plays you songs on the guitar, takes you out to fancy restaurants, and over all treats you with love and affection than any other has. But even if none of that was true, you don’t do anything and everything for him because you want something in return. You love Adam completely unconditionally.

The no cursing thing is something that genuinely gets on his nerves. Cause like, he could never. This man has the mouth of a sailor and the delicacy of a bull in a china shop. Which is one of the traits you love about him, that he says what he wants. But also you’re just like “Sir, this is not what The Father intended-“

“Neither was putting my dick in another guys ass but look, I’m still here bitch!”

And it especially bugs Adam, if instead of cursing, you replace swears with other words. Like the other day you stubbed your toe when landing on ground and Adam had fully expected for you to do what he does, which is scream the loudest swear and be pissed off at everyone for 20 minutes. But instead….

“OW Fudging chocolate chip-“

“JUST SAY FUCK”

So, ever since that day, Adam has sworn to one day take your ‘cursing virginity’, at least that’s what he calls it. And he try’s so hard to do so, which is a slight bit of trouble cause he doesn’t want to like, be a complete douche to you.

So until he figures out a way to get you to curse, he’s pretty stumped at the moment. But still, he absolutely adores you.

NSFW

Oh Boy x2

Everything I said previously still stands if not double the amount. This man wants to do the👏Most👏Unholiest👏Things👏To👏You👏

Loves to see your kind and sweet personality slowly crumble because of his cock.

‘Who knew you could be such a slut?’

He loves that your personality carries over during sex, you give him everything you’ve got and then some. You want to do your best for him after all.

Speaking of which, if you worship him in any way that man is cumming IMMEDIATELY. He really just wants to feel like he’s above everyone else, and Surprise surprise, he has a praise and you being the, oh so thoughtful person you are, you make sure to completely indulge that aspect of him.

You babble so much about how good his cock feels hitting your prostate over and over again. How well he’s making you feel like like the Good Boy he is. It really gets it him going.

Remember how I said he’s trying to make you lose your ‘Cursing Virginity’? Yeah well, this is how. He is SO determined to get you to spill out just one swear while he goes to town on you. Is it the most holy thing he should do? No. But how could he not fuck your brains out till you break your own moral code?

He tries so hard too. He has yet to get you there but he has come close. When he had you in a mating press, legs over his shoulders, your ankle’s lightly hitting the base of his wings with each thrust.. You couldn’t stop begging for him to cum inside you as you came for the Xth time in a row.

“Please Adam! P-Please! Fu~“ you cut yourself off with a hand to your mouth.

Adam looked at you with his signature grin, his hips not stopping their movements to pump himself in and out of you. “Was you about to say something babe?”

You held your hand against your mouth shaking your head ‘no’ clearly trying to make it seem like you weren’t about to drop the f bomb.

“Mhm, right~ let’s see if I can pry some other ‘naughty’ fuxkin’ words out of ya!” He laughs a wicked laugh as he switches the position so that he’s somehow even more atop of you. Leaving you a completely, moaning, helpless mess for him to dominate >:)

[randomly-generated-posts-machine]

decriminalize having a sailors mouth criminalize elon musk

[atherflame-theconcubus]

Yeah… unfortunately ruin decided whiskers was getting in the way of “disciplining” the twins.

And I am with you. BP!ruin needs to be thrown into an industrial shredder.

Booping any version of bloodmoon would be considered danger boops. Boop at your own risk, I cannot guarantee your safety.

[the-kr8tor]

Starlight and Seafoam

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.9k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, CW food mentions, TW death, CW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 10 >>> CHAPTER 11

The street is bustling and teeming with people as you pay for the new mortar and pestle that you've been saving for a long time. The coins clink on the counter as you drop it on the wood. You hate to see your hard earned money go but you're glad that you have your very own mortar and pestle in exchange.

“Careful now it's heavy.” The old shopkeeper smiles at you.

“I've got it, thank you!” You heave the heavy stone in your small arms, waddling towards the door, struggling to open it with both arms occupied, a kind gentleman opens it for you and you smile politely, your mother didn't raise you to be rude after all. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome.” The stranger says with a gruff voice, his large frame casts a shadow over you, fancy clothes making you gawk. Gold threads sewed into the finest cloth. His brown eyes only spares you a quick once over, tufts of chestnut hair flowing in the breeze, chiseled face turning towards the shopkeeper.

Walking out of the store, the door shuts closed behind you. Eyes still glued to the rich man, someone taps you on your shoulder.

“Careful, kid, that one can and will buy you if you don't stop gawking.” Sherry, an old neighbor of yours warns you. Her husband shushes her, eyes rolling at her gossiping. “Don't you shush me, Mickey, I'm right y’know!”

“The bloke's right there, love!” Mickey whisper shouts, he turns towards a customer, scowl disappearing, smiling politely over the vegetable stand.

You notice some people whisper too, from the butcher across the street to the florist on your right. Their main topic is the mysterious rich man in the store you just left.

Sherry clicks her tongue, slyly beckoning you over, whispering close in your ear. She smells of lettuce and cigars.

“Listen, girl,” you nod, trusting the adult. “you better get home ‘cause word around town is that wanker right there is a skin trader.” She says the word with malice. “See his fancy dancy clothes? He got ‘em from selling children like yourself.”

“What's a skin trader?” You ask, eyes wide and concerned. The mortar and pestle gets heavier in your arms.

“Didn't dear old mum warn you about ‘em?”

“Stop scaring the poor child, Sher.” her husband warns, busy with a line of customers while his wife gossips with a thirteen year old.

“This ‘ere is a private conversation, Mickey!” She turns back towards you, “Jus’ be careful, kiddo. I like you, you've got ‘em magic hands with them herbs. I don't want you gettin' sold off to a noble house, yeah?” you nod, “Stay away from him and you'll be good.” Shrugging, she pats your head.

“I don't think my mum would sell me.” You say with a small voice, fingers grazing over your necklace that's tucked under your blouse.

She scoffs, “tell that to little John, he was sold off for a bag of coins a few days ago.”

“Sher.” Mickey warns as your blood runs cold.

You know John, you've played with him a few times even though he runs his mouth like a sailor. Now you know why you haven't seen him around town. Nerves alight, you stay away from the shop's door.

Home calls for you, but you still have other errands to run.

“I've gotta go, thank you, Sherry.” You start to walk away with heavy strides and worry written on your face. She won't do that right? You thought. She loves me like her own, she can't— won't do that to me.

Mickey calls you back, “oh Y/N, grab a few of these for you and your mum, yeah? I know they're your favourite.” he smiles, putting a handful of cherry tomatoes inside the mortar.

“Thank you!” You smile, “It's her favourite too!”

“Aye, I know.”

His wife slaps him upside the head, “the fuck you mean ‘you know?’”

You leave before you get stuck in the middle of their argument. In your peripheral, you see the well dressed man leave the store without buying anything, he walks over to Sherry and Mickey. You don't stay long to hear their conversation.

—

Despite hurrying home, you end up walking towards the cabin with the sun already setting. Leaves crunch under your foot as you yawn, but your smile stays on your lips, happy enough that you have your newly purchased instrument in your arms, even though it's extremely heavy combined with the old canvas bags on your shoulder full of supplies you and your mother needed for the rest of the month.

Finally seeing the small cabin makes you weary, wanting to lay down in bed until she calls you for supper. Based on the smoke billowing from the chimney, you guess she already started cooking for dinner.

The heavy door creaks open as you push it open with your shoulder. “Mum, Mickey gave us cherry tomatoes! And you can't believe what I just heard—”

You freeze in the doorway, your mortar and pestle falls in your arms, clanging loudly on the wooden floor, it splits in half as the cherry tomatoes tumbles out of the mortar.

There he stands, the same well dressed man handing your guardian that you call mother, loved like your own mother, hugged like your own mother a bag of coins. They both pause in their movements.

The man cages you with his stare, an unreadable expression on his face, hazel eyes reflecting the fire in the hearth, turning it to crimson.

“Mum?” you frown, tears brimming in your eyes.

She can't, she won't but she still did it.

“Y/N, this is—”

“How could you?” You ask, broken, heart left split in half like the mortar on the floor.

She looks at you apologetically, hand reaching towards you instinctively. Your home seems to suffocate you.

The man exhales sharply like he's in pain. “I passed by her a few hours ago. She looks just like—”

You don't let him finish.

Bolting away with only the clothes on your back and the spare change in your pockets, you run as fast as you can without looking back.

“Love?” Hobie says it tenderly that you thought he was calling for someone else, again. “Love?” He calls a bit louder.

Hobie wakes you up back to reality, back to his hold. His thumb wipes the tears sliding down your cheeks, eyes glazing over. He sits on the edge of the pool, the fire next to him warming his drenched clothes whilst you float with only his hand anchoring you near him.

“I'm sorry.” He whispers.

You twist around in the water, arms placed on the ground next to him, fingers twisting around the frayed thread on his pants. Chin resting atop your elbow, you watch the fire crackle and burn timber.

Hobie's hands slide over to your nape, caressing softly, hoping it would make up for what you've lived through. He knows it doesn't, but he still wants to try.

After minutes of silence and listening to your soft sniffles, the warmth of the afternoon sun and fire illuminating your deep frown and tear stained cheeks. Hobie breaks the quiet.

“MJ—” for a second you thought he's calling you by her name again, and it shatters your heart all over again. “She…she was—”

“Don't tell me just because I told you mine.” You look up at him with sadness underneath your eyes. “Only tell me when you're ready.” He nods, squeezing you in thanks. “I told you mine because someone else has to know, just in case—”

Hobie knits his eyebrows. “In case of what?”

In case I die, in case I decide to stay on the island and you leave. In case, in case. You have a lot of them but you spare him the heartache. He'd do the same. Someone has to know your story, that's how you can live forever, you remember her old words.

You shake your head, “nothing.”

He understands, “alright, keep your secrets.” flicking his eyes down, he observes your fingers mindlessly playing with its thread. “Stop tryin’ to take my trousers off, you can just ask.”

You chuckle softly, the first time he's heard it since you sobbed in his arms a week ago.

“You wish, Hobie.”

He dramatically clasps his hands together, eyes closed like he's in prayer. “I wish Y/N would just ask me to take my trousers off.” He laughs, almost not finishing his own joke because of it.

You pinch his leg, earning a yelp from the pirate captain. “You always say something that ruins the moment.”

“You were chuffed though”

“Mm-hmm.”

He looks towards the beach right in between the trees. “It's finally low tide. C’mon, scuttlebutt, I've got somethin' to show you.” He stands up, giving you a helping hand.

“I swear if it's another pair of crabs fucking—”

“That was one time, get up or we might get stranded.”

“We're already stranded.” he frowns at your words.

You've been down since the night you cried in his arms. He's worried, properly so, used to the embers in you, used to the loud banter, it's only right that he worries. You're on your last legs, everything that has happened managed to catch up to you, and for him it's crawling up his neck like a swarm of ants, biting and nipping at him. But you're the priority, his priority, if you fall then he would tumble harder, landing on his face with a sickening crunch.

He doesn't mind, not finding it cumbersome, because you'd do the same for him too. Or he hopes you will.

Hobie has tried everything to make you feel better, caught fish the right way even though it made his blood boil with impatience and frustration. Shot at a seagull with the last of his bullets for a variety of meat that only made you sob for how tough it was. Not even chocolate can brighten your mood nowadays. He even postponed leaving the island until you're back to your usual self. But he knows you two can't stay here forever or the ants might finally reach his head, gnawing at his cheek, eating through his skin. Or worse, kill the fire inside you.

As a last resort, he has thought of a plan, although it's a gamble, a toss of a coin, whether or not it might make you feel worse or better then it all depends on how he acts. Hope is his main choice of weapon yet hope can kill you too.

Hobie huffs, crouching down to face you. His voice is soft. “We're not stranded, we're leaving tomorrow but before we do I have somethin’ to show you.” You look up at him with a frown.

You don't even want to leave anymore. What's waiting for you once you get on land? Nothing, nothing's waiting for you, just more longing for a family you might have and you might never have. And you're frightened at what awaits you.

“Do you want to really leave?” You ask forlornly.

“As much as I love our days here surviving, we have to leave eventually.” He's not sure either, he wants to stay with you but he has responsibilities to the crew and you. He knows you can't stay here or he might never see the fire blaze inside you again. “All I know is my crew might be waitin’ for us, yeah? Now get up.”

Might and Us, the words are a mind killer for you recently.

“Y/N, I know it's hard,” he cups the back of your head. “But you have to stand up, could you do that for me? I'll walk with you the entire time, I promise.”

“What if—?”

“Don't, remember what I told you? Don't let ‘em kill you for the second time.” His eyes bore into you. “Please? C’mon you even got me sayin’ please.”

With an exhale, you manage to clasp your hand in his. Hobie lifts you up to your feet. Water sloshes as you leave the pool, clothes drenched, air making you shiver.

“You hang around me too much.” Hand still in his, he leads you out to the eastern side of the island. “You've become too polite.”

“Is that supposed to be horrible?” Hobie takes his hand away for a moment to grab his vest that's hanging from a branch. “You're not even that polite.” he drapes it over your shoulders, taking your hand back in his hand.

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, his scent clinging to you like the heat on your cheeks. You put your arms inside, wearing his vest proudly like a medal. Laying your cheek on his shoulder, he laces his fingers around yours, squeezing it tenderly.

It all seems natural to you now, all the wordless affection and care that you both act upon. You know this won't last the moment you two leave the island. So you savour it as much as you can, letting all of it linger in your mind, tucking it away until you need to relive it along the way.

“I'm polite,” you walk on soft leaves to grainy sand, the low tide providing a way towards a smaller island with rocky terrain. The sun beams just behind it, it's a beautiful sight but Hobie's eyes are on you. “If I want to.”

“Sure you are.”

He moves your intertwined hands behind him so he could exchange it with his unoccupied hand, holding you close. Like a moth to a flame, you half embrace him, hand on top of his waist, grasping softly at his skin, memorizing every indent. His warmer hand rests atop yours, while the other has managed to snake around your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Like broken pieces of a shattered glass, you fit together.

Hobie drowns in all of you. Your scent and touch leaving a mark on him, not like a scar that says that you've hurt him in the past, no, it's much more like a wound, a wound that he'd gladly let fester just so he can revisit you, revisit how you look like when you smile or cry, revisit how your soft palms touches his marred flesh.

He'd poke, prod and bleed the wound just to feel your touch again.

It's a lot harder to walk entangled together on the sandy bridge that connects your island to the other, but you two don't seem to mind as you leave your footprints on the sand.

“We have a couple of hours to explore before high tide or we'll get stuck here for an entire day.”

Would that be so bad?

You hum, “explore what?” Voice muffled by his shirt, he rubs softly at your upper arm, warming you.

“You'll see, I know you'll like it.”

“Great, you're gonna kill me.” You joke monotonously.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair. “I'd do it on our island instead.”

You chuckle, “how would you do it?”

“Stake to the heart.” You almost didn't understand him whilst his face is buried in your hair. “Classic.”

“Or you could choke me with the pomegranate seeds.”

“You'd like that, huh?” you can feel his smirk atop your head and you swear he kissed you faintly like a feather landing on you.

“I don't mind dying by fruit. Better yet, death by chocolate.”

“I'd mind, it would be hard to do that. Just think of the bloody logistics.” you two stop walking, finally reaching the tiny patch of land.

“For a second there I thought you didn't want me to die.” He leans away, hand still clasped in yours.

“That too.” You smile at him genuinely. Hobie enters the crevice in the wall, jagged rocks against his calloused hands. “C’mon then.” He holds his hand out to you and you don't hesitate to take it.

“Oh you're definitely gonna kill me.”

His laugh bounces around the cavern as you two shimmy towards the light at the far end of the tight alcove. Darkness soon envelops your vision. His piercings shine, acting as your guide. Like a ship to a lighthouse.

“It's a bit dark, Hobie.” Your voice echoes, concern laced in your voice. Not questioning your trust in him but concerned for what the dark could reveal to you.

“I've got you, just keep holding on to me, yeah?”

You sniff a reply, the dampness from the stone makes your nose itch from the musk.

Your feet splashes on a puddle, almost yelping at the sudden wetness. He holds on to you tighter while the rocks scratch at your back.

Hobie pauses before making way for you to pass through, making sure you don't trip on the way out.

The light almost blinds you as you finally make it to the end. Eyes adjusting, you squint at Hobie's gleeful face.

“We're here.”

Just behind Hobie is a massive ship, half of its hull is missing, mast broken, white sails fluttering aimlessly. There's something eerie about it, from how the sun's light filters through the cracks in the cavern ceiling, to the chipping golden paint that decorates the sides; barnacles have made a home on the broken bottom and crabs skittering away to its crevices. The sodden wood is inflated from the currents, wear and tear evident on its oak. It's gorgeously morbid when you think about the people who might've perished right there.

“Whose ship is this?” Your words echoes and bounces off the cave. You'd be lying if you didn't think it was the revenge for a split second, if not for its unfamiliar figure head, you'd collapse right on the spot.

“Don't know, I think It's navy but it doesn't have their flags so probably a merchant ship.” He comes closer to you, palm brushing over yours. “Look over there.” He glances behind you.

Turning around, you see several tally marks on the wall, an indication that someone survived. You glide your hands carefully over the marks, eyes curious and in disbelief.

“I counted, they were here for six months.”

You whirl around, “six? Fuck.”

“They got out though.”

You knit your brows. “How'd you know?”

“Come with me?”

“To the ship? It looks like it's about to collapse any second.”

“I tried climbing it, it's stable.” Hobie reaches for you, and again you take his hand.

“If I fall I'll blame you.”

“Thought you're good at climbin’?”

“Houses and trees, not a dilapidated ship that's more than ready to be scrapped. That thing looks older than us combined.”

“Fine, I'll climb up first and I'll help you up. Deal?”

“Christ, fine, but you owe me the rest of the chocolate.” you watch him climb a crate, effortlessly reaching the ledge of the deck, hauling himself up quicker than you thought. “Show off.” You say under your breath.

“Heard that.” Hobie peeks down, “the chocolate's all yours, now get your arse up here.” he crouches down, hands at the ready to help you up.

Copying his movements, you jump up, he immediately grabs you. Putting your foot up in a crack for leverage and with Hobie's help, you manage to get up onto the deck.

You sit next to him, stretching your wrists.

“See, not too bad, right?” The wood creaks right as he says it. “Maybe we shouldn't sit or stand on the same floor board.” He stands up but before giving you space to lessen the strain on the old wood, he helps you up once again.

“Thanks, I can stand up on my own y’know.” Yet you still take his hand.

“I know, I just don't like it when you're on the ground, you always look like you're about to bite my ankles.”

You laugh and he smiles triumphantly. The sound echoes, it reminds Hobie of the days spent together on the revenge.

“That's true, It takes every bone in my body not to.”

He smiles lopsidedly, shaking his head at you. “I have to show this to you.” He exclaims excitedly. “Just be careful of where you step.”

You pause in your movements, “shit, alright.” testing the floorboards, you slowly clamber your way towards him. “How'd you even find this place? Did you go spelunking without me?”

“Found it on our second day, thought you wouldn't like to see a broken ship like this so soon.”

You smile softly at him, heart reaching towards him and he thinks he chose right.

Hobie opens a barrel, “Look at this, found it when I actually explored the place.”

You take a peek inside, hands leaning on the barrel. “Dried pomegranates? Look at that, your murder weapon.” flicking your eyes towards him, a teasing smile on your lips.

He huffs with a grin, hands placed on his hips. “So violent. You've been hanging around me too much eh, captain?”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that, Captain Y/N. It has a nice ring to it” chuckling, your hands instinctively inch over to his. He meets you halfway on the rim of the barrel, pinky intertwined with yours. “You wanna sleep separately from now on? Since we spend too much time together and all that.”

Hobie scoffs, sucking in his teeth. “Please, you can't sleep without me now.”

It's true, you've spoiled yourself with his warmth next to you every night.

Rolling your eyes, feigning offense, you change the subject. “What's with the pomegranates?”

“They planted it, using their own supplies.”

“Cute, they left a piece of themselves on the island.”

“More than that, because of ‘em we get to eat the fruit they planted. They helped us survive.”

You shake your head, “no, you helped us survive. You did all the work, Hobie.” Taking his hand, standing toe to toe with him, you stare at his eyes for too long that you drown in his eyes. “I never got to thank you for…everything. Thank you, captain, truly.”

His breath hitches in his throat. Warmth emanating from you, eyes sparkling under the sparse light and sand clinging to your hair, he feels himself carve your name on his skin; right next to hers, right next to the scar she left.

“I rendered the great Captain Hobie Brown speechless. I think I deserve some kind of medal for that—”

Hobie cups your cheeks with both hands, leaning in, the act has you shutting up immediately.

You hear wood cracking underneath your feet. You were above deck then a second later, you're groaning on the floor, laying on his chest, facing a skeleton.

“Oh fuck!” You flinch back, Hobie holds you in place with a hand on your waist. Straddling him, you look at the decaying skeleton on the floor. “Shit—” you notice the body under you. “Oh shit!” Holding his face, you roam your eyes for any visible injuries.

“You should write poetry, you have a way with words.” He says with a wince, peeking at you through his eyelashes, he pats your thigh and you get off his aching body.

“Are you alright?” you ask frantically, checking the back of his head for blood, thankfully you find none. Panic sets in your bones, crawling on all fours, you smack his leg.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Hobie sits up, with his legs moving, you can finally breathe.

“I thought your legs—” the wood creaked above, eyes widening at the barrel tethering on the edge, threatening to fall.

With Hobie still shaky from the fall, you grab him quickly, dragging him away from the falling object at the last minute before it collapses on both of you.

He grips your arm, staring at the space where you two were just in a second ago. The heavy barrel now occupies it, dried pomegranates spilling out from the split wood.

“Holy fuck.” He heaves.

You drop next to him, sliding down on the rotten walls. “Holy fuck is the right word for it.” he cranes his neck to look at you. “Death by pomegranates.”

You two watch your faces morph into a smile then into a grin and then to full blown laughter.

The loud noise scares the crabs away, dust flies around and there's splintered wood laying on the floors. Despite it all, you and Hobie continue to laugh. His head laying on your chest, hand around your middle and the vibrations from his chest making you laugh harder. With your hands around his torso, fingers splayed on his back, the both of you meld together in laughter.

“Mystery solved, that's how I could die by pomegranates. Take notes, Hobie.”

He inhales before leaning away, “you saved my arse.”

“Well you saved me too, we're even.”

Hobie thumps his head on the wall just like you have. His hand searches for yours while he stares at the skeleton left next to the barrel.

You find him first before he does, immediately weaving your fingers around his, you smile despite the near death experience.

“How would you do it?” He breaks the quiet.

“Do what?” you turn your head to look at him, he's calm, face relaxed.

“Kill me.”

“Hobie—” you groan.

“Humour me, love.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “poison probably.”

“Poison? Really?” Chuckling, he clasps your hand. Your stomach somersaults at the simple act.

“Mm-hmm, I figured that I can't possibly fight you, I can't shoot you so I'd do it in a subtle way. So, poison.”

“Fuckin' hell, I'll never let you cook.” Hobie turns his head towards the skeleton again like it would suddenly stand up and attack.

“You never let me cook anyway.”

“It's because you always burn it.”

“‘It's because you always burn it’” you mock his tone, “fuck off.”

Hobie guffaws which makes you laugh too.

The laughter subsides once again, he taps your thigh, leaving his warmth embedded in you.

“He has a nice hat,” groaning, Hobie stands up, stretching his back, giving you a glimpse of his skin.

You turn away, watching the pomegranate seeds tumble down. “Who?”

“This bloke.” He bends down, taking a tricorn hat off the dirty floor. “See? There's even a bird on it. Is that silver thread?”

“Let me see.” You stretch your hand up, he lifts you up with one tug.

“There, stitched around the bird.” Hobie points at the fading design.

You can barely make out the emblem, its beak barely there and wings almost indistinguishable. The silver thread weaves around it, the only fully visible thing.

Brushing the pads of your fingers around it, you tilt your head at Hobie. “I think it is, and it's incredibly filthy. Put it back, it's been here for more than twenty years or more.”

“How would you know?” He stares at you, perplexed.

“Judging from the decay,” you gesture around the skeleton, figuring it's too rude to point at it. “and adding the fact it's exposed to the elements, it's been here a long ass time.”

Hobie’s eyes brighten, “you fuckin' bookworm.”

Sticking your tongue at him, cheeks warm, “How'd you know the survivors got out of the island then?”

He shrugs, hands still holding the musty hat. “They left a note on top of a couple of graves just behind the ship.”

“Bullshit, now you're just making shit up.”

He chuckles, the sound similar to a giggle. “‘m not lyin’, cross my heart!”

“Sure, and I'm a selkie.” Sarcasm rolls off your tongue, “I'm going outside.” You begin to walk away, finding the space stifling from all the dust and death that surrounds it.

He quickly places the hat on top of your head and you jump away, flinging it off your head then throwing it at the perpetrator.

“What?” He laughs, “It looks better on you! He clearly doesn't need it anymore!” joking, he tries to put it on you again and you push him away as a warning.

Your smile betrays your true emotion. “Don't—”

“Alright” Hobie surrenders, placing the hat back where he found it, hands next to his head, he slyly inches towards you.

“Thank you, now can we go? High tide’s coming—”

He suddenly lunges for you, picking you up as you yelp and wiggle in his arms. His arm is underneath your knees, the other is around your torso, hands placed right above your ribs. You drown in him once again. Cackling, he walks towards the hole in the wall.

“Put me down!” you bunch up his shirt in your hands, “Hobie!”

“What? I'm taking you outside, it's clearly not safe here, love!” Your squirming has him holding onto you tighter. He grins widely, carefully squeezing out of the broken hull and into the light and fresh air.

Being this close to him, you notice the small dimples on his cheeks. Restraining yourself from poking it, you can't help but stare up at him like he's the sea himself. Deep and full of secrets, secrets that you're more than willing to dive for. A terrifying force on the surface but once you're underneath the tides, you see his true self, all the love he harbors for the people, all the hate that has made him who he is.

With his waves crashing against you, he smoothens your edges with his touch, if you're not careful, he'd erode you until you're nothing but a speck of sand.

Hands atop his shoulders, Hobie stops laughing the second he sees your eyes gleam over, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half moons on his skin. He doesn't mind, he'd let you mark him if that's what you truly want.

“You alright?” He whispers, staring down at you like the sky above, beautiful and out of reach, a cloud soft and fleeting, stars that guide him in the night. A hurricane that has sunk ships. He thinks he's one of those ships.

You wonder if he used to look at her like this too. Your hold on him loosens.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You say, voice quivering. His face goes slack, eyebrows furrowed. “Like I'm her, you know I'm not her.”

You've struck him with lightning.

You leap off his arms, wobbling on your feet. He stretches his fingers, ghosting over the shape you've left.

“What do you mean?” He asks even though he's afraid of what you're going to say.

You smile bitterly. “I remind you of her. And I'm not her, Hobie.”

“I— where is this coming from?”

Sniffing and shaking your head, “nevermind” you begin to walk towards the exit.

“Y/N,” Hobie grabs your hand, letting go immediately when you flinch like he has burned you. “Not bloody nevermind, what's wrong?”

Gwen and Hobie's arguing finally escapes its cage, their angry words thrown at each other have finally eaten through the back of your head, revealing a wound that hasn't closed. Together with the numerous times he has called her name instead of yours, you collapse under all of it.

He loves her and not you.

You avoid the swirling greys, arms crossed, head down, staring at your worn out shoes. It's better this way you think, cut it off like a lame limb before it spreads to your heart. You're letting him go, and it pains your soul to do so.

“You only like me because of the circumstances.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Hobie's not mad at you, he's angry at the conversation and the idea that you've dug up.

Does he? Does he only like you because of her? Did he only let you in at the start because of her? He only knows what he currently feels for you right now.

“You like me because of the circumstances! If we weren't stuck here together you wouldn't be.” A thunderstorm has broken through.

“After all this time together do you really think that?” He asks the question for you and for himself.

Your hands shake, tears almost spilling over. You don't let it, not in front of him. “You tolerate me.” twisting to face him, you regret the words you've thrown, but it has to be said or the relationship would've been built on lies and love for another. “You called me by her name when I fell and when you slept. I–I don't know, Hobie, I really don't know.”

There it is, the knife that was made to split skin and bleed. Instead of Hobie holding it, it's you. But he helps you bury the steel in his body, helping you twist it, helping you bleed him.

“You were there?” You nod, “I— you do remind me of her… it's uncanny sometimes.” You stifle a sob, head held up high. “And I don't fuckin' know, Y/N. All I know is I like you despite the bloody circumstances.”

Hobie closes his eyes, rubbing it with the heels of his palms. “I'll see you back at the island.” He leaves, and you just watch.

Falling to the ground, you hug your knees, letting it all crumble around you.

—

You haven't slept, bags under your eyes, headache pounding in your head, the sound of soil getting dug out behind you has become a comfort not a nuisance.

You haven't looked at the source of the sound since he started, letting his quiet curses and groans fill you with sadness and guilt. With the sun rising, and a new day coming, you sit up, palms raw from your clenched fists.

He tried to do something nice and you threw it back at him with venom.

Heading towards the shore, kneeling down, you let the salt wash over the crescent wounds. Wincing at the stinging pain, you lift your hands away from the water, lingering, watching the sun rise with heavy eyes. The humidity stifles you, choking you almost.

You clutch at your chest, imagining that your necklace is still hanging around your neck. Wishing for the comfort it brings, but the gold isn't there and the only comfort you have is now cold around you, avoiding your presence since yesterday. The closest thing you have is the pearl in your pocket, so you place your hand inside, rolling the smooth edges around your fingers, letting the cool surface ease you.

With a shaky sigh, you trudge towards the grove, grass grazing along your legs, you stand stiff at the sight.

Graves, he's digging graves.

Covered in dirt and sweat, Hobie digs a hole in the ground using a sharp stick. Lips wobbling, you let a tear fall before wiping it away.

“Hobie.” You call his name softly, voice breaking. He doesn't look up, you notice his arms shaking from fatigue. “Hobie.”

He pauses mid dig, “what?” Asking sharply, his eyes are dark, worse for wear. “Don't ask me to stop, Y/N, because I won't.”

“I was gonna ask if you needed help—want my help.”

Hobie tosses a stick at you, “this is the last one.”

Nodding, you grab the stick from the ground. Jumping down the hole, you wordlessly dig across him. The rough wood opens the scratches on your palms, dribbles of blood rolling down like the tears you've shed.

“Is this Finn's?” you ask with apprehension.

Nothing.

“Ned’s?”

Still nothing, he swallows thickly.

“Mine?”

Hobie stops, sighing, “Do you really think I can do that just because of yesterday?” Do you think he is a monster?

“No. I was trying to lift the mood, I realize now it's in poor taste.”

“I would have laughed if we weren't digging a grave.”

“Graveyard humour.” you say flatly, stabbing the ground, digging even when your palms bleed, even when your blood falls inside the grave.

Hobie exhales, eyes heavy with fatigue, dirt underneath his nails.

“You want to stay.” he says with certainty, cutting the uncomfortable silence.

“I do.”

“You won't survive here alone.”

“I know.”

“Then we'll come back here, once everything is said and done.” He looks at you, “we'll come back here.”

“Hobie—”

His eyes flicker down to your hands, the stick now red from your own hands. “You're bleedin’”

With concern he drops the makeshift shovel to cross the small distance, slowly taking your hands away from the tool. Your skin clings to it like the roots of a tree.

“It's fine.”

Hobie clutches your hands, palms above your own, trying to stop the bleeding. “No, it's not.” No, you're not fine.

“It's just from…everything. I'll clean them so they don't get infected.” you try to leave but he still holds you tight.

“I'll clean it.” Let me help, please. He screams inside his head. Just this once, let him stop the blood instead of the one bleeding you dry.

You glance at him, lines marring his face, grey eyes laid upon a bloodied field. Lips pursed into worry.

“Alright.”

—

The silence makes you squirm in your seat, watching the waves on the shore, you let him clean your hands, trust him to clean your wounds.

Hobie carefully wraps your hands with a tattered part of his shirt. He smells of the familiar herbs and soil, eyes glued to your bandaged hands, he finally speaks.

“She was killed in front of me.” His voice lacks the usual tone, grief weaved around the sentence. “When the black helion sailed next to us I knew that she was already gone.”

You look at him, it's the least you could do.

“She called for me while Mathias had his sword right next to her neck. And I cowered under the deck until she asked with a smile if she could see me.”

Listening with tears in your eyes, Hobie avoids yours.

“The second I showed myself…he cut off her head. At first I thought it was her last attempt at hurting me, seeing her dead. But after a while I… I think she wanted me to be the last thing she ever saw because she grinned like she used to when she saw me.”

He raises his head to meet your tearful eyes, “Mary Jane, that was her real name.” He chokes before inhaling deeply. “An orphan like me but she got the wrong end of the bloody stick.” He spits the words angrily. “She wanted an out, that's why she went to Mathias. We fought when she told me she was navy, but I knew…I think I just didn't want to believe it.”

Your heart breaks for him.

“I want to avenge her not just for MJ but for everyone else who got the wrong end of the bloody stick. Thirty of my men died that day, I can grieve for them everyday for the rest of my life but it wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough.”

Hobie lets your hands go softly on your lap.

“It's better to be angry than to wallow in myself. They wouldn't like that if I did so I let myself be angry for their sake.”

You reach for him, surprising himself, he welcomes your touch. Holding his face like you hold the entire world in your palms, you kiss the corner of his eyes softly, encouraging him to cry.

Laying your forehead against his, you whisper the words to him like a secret shared between two lovers.

“Let me be angry for you just this once, e–even if it's just for today, let me carry it for you. And I'll be angry for you if you ask. Just ask me, Hobie.”

“Just for a minute.” He whispers back.

“Alright, just for a minute.”

Hobie drops his head on your shoulder, hiding his face from the world, arms enclosed around your torso, you let him cry.

—

You help Hobie bury the empty graves. Pomegranates and colourful flowers on top of each one except for the three at the very back. You whisper goodbyes to each one, giving Finn's, Ned's and the crew he lost with extra attention and extra love.

You leave a bar of chocolate on top of Finn's grave, his name written on a piece of driftwood. ‘beloved friend’ you've written under his name then you realize it's not enough to describe him, so you write ‘best chef in the world’ next to it, laughing to yourself once you finish it.

“I think he'd like it” Hobie said whilst he places the folded sail on top of Ned’s empty grave. He wrote next to his name, ‘a shit lyricist but a good friend, beloved by everyone’ and you sobbed wetly at the words.

You just stare at the graves for the men you killed, imagining them rotting under it. They were once children, you thought, but you don't regret it, because you lived because of what you did, lived because of what you endured.

Just as you're leaving the thicket, giving the crew one last goodbye, you watch Hobie write her name and you leave, giving him privacy.

You wait for him patiently under the trees, right next to the raft full of supplies you've gathered. Eyes downturned, cheeks stained with tears, you hear the rustle of leaves from behind and you don't mention the missing necklace from his neck.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

No.

“Yes.”

Hobie goes around the raft to push, you copy him.

“Is that—?” He stops, hand above his eyebrows, shielding it from the sun. “Holy shit.”

You follow his line of sight, perplexed, until you see five figures waving wildly at you.

“It's them” Hobie looks at you with relief and you almost weep once again.

“It's them.”

A/N: Before you all get mad at me for Miguel, all will be revealed in the next chapter. Thank you for reading!

[writerblue275]

Heartsteel Ranking: “Scary boyfriend privilege”

(AKA how intimidating they are to people who don’t know them.)

Inspiration: I’ll be honest this is a bit of a random ranking but I thought it would be fun to do and it was!

Champions: Heartsteel

Genre: Ranking

Type: Fluff? This is meant in a funny way.

Tw: Small mention of alcohol (drink responsibly y’all), and swearing (because I do, in fact, have the mouth of a damn sailor.)

List goes least intimidating to most intimidating.

LEAST

Ezreal (One of these days I will do a ranking that doesn’t put him at the bottom! I swear it’s not intentional! 😂)

Let’s be honest no one is shocked he’s here, right? Where else was Ez going to go on this list?? This isn’t a bad thing though! He just gives off such golden retriever energy and it’s amazing and I love him. I want to be at least best friends with HS Ezreal.

Despite the usual happy golden retriever energy, he’s definitely not afraid to tell people off/protect you though. (I feel like he secretly has quite a temper. He’s a Sagittarius after all [love my fellow 🔥 signs WOOT WOOT]. Usually he’s very good about keeping it under control…but if someone [besides you, he absolutely adores you] pushes him too far [ex: by making you uncomfortable]…just see what happens.)

Aphelios

You absolutely have scary boyfriend privilege with Aphelios, but I just can’t rank him higher than any of the other members below. He definitely has that “brooding silent type” down pat, and when he’s wearing his mask, that’s doubled. That air of mystery, baby, he’s got that in SPADES.

We also know he’s tall. Like not Sett, K’Sante, or Yone tall, but he’s got some height on him (unconfirmed 6’). Physically, he’s definitely more intimidating than Ez. Like imagine Phel silently staring daggers at someone. Lmao I’d hate to be whoever pissed him off.

K’Sante

Most of this comes from his height (unconfirmed 6’4”) and the fact he’s one of the gym bros. Like general vibe/personality-wise, I think Phel could be more-intimidating than K’Sante (or even Sett), but have you seen how just MASSIVE K’Sante is? HE CAN CANONICALLY BENCH SETT. Like 😮😮😮

Not to mention I feel like he’d always stick close to you in public, so no one would even dream of trying to do anything to you. (Unless they’re a whole dumbass.) K’Sante genuinely gives me very kind vibes, but he definitely protects those he loves very fiercely.

Sett

Sett is (unconfirmed) 6’7” (at least confirmed the tallest in the group), and JACKED AS HELL. Not to mention “allergic” to sleeves so those arms are out most of the time lmao. Only a fucking moron (or someone who is incredibly drunk) would look at Settrigh and go “oh yeah I am absolutely going to mess with this guy.” RIP that idiot.

He also doesn’t fuck around about the safety of the people he loves. Sett genuinely seems like the sweetest guy (I love this giant, ripped, sewing himbo so fucking much oh my fucking god) but he can/will be intentionally intimidating if it’s necessary to keep you or Ma safe (the two most important figures in his life 🥺). Will walk you home/keep you close to him in crowded situations. He always wants you to feel safe when you’re with him (you absolutely do like how could you not?).

Kayn

So this is based on both appearance and reputation. Obviously Kayn has quite the reputation from his last band (as well as being kicked out of it.) Appearance-wise, he’s not super tall, but he’s tall enough. Not to mention the piercings, tattoos, the fact he’s also in excellent shape (I mean we all saw those abs 😏), has vibrant dyed hair, a very bright red eye, and he is a total metal head. He can also, um, travel through WALLS. (Small detail lol.)

DO I EVEN HAVE TO MENTION RHAAST (even as his stage alter ego)???? Kayn can be pretty impulsive and sometimes acts first, thinks later. (He’s currently working on that with Yone, it’s fine.) Someone would be a damn fool to fuck with him or you. He just gives me very loyal guard dog vibes. (I mean he did wear the damn leash in the mv so….😝)

Yone

There is no one (let me repeat: NO ONE) I’d want to fuck with less than Yone. This man has quintessential resting bitch face (RBF), is like 6’ 2-3” (unconfirmed), in very good shaped (based on the lovely titty window of his outfit. Thank you, Riot designers) and is able to (mostly) wrangle the rest of the group. Also (hella obvious but) HE’S AN INTROVERT (INFJ specifically). People are NOT his thing (fucking MOOD).

Yone is the one who gives the most similar vibes to the TikToks I’ve seen that show cosplayers at Cons with their scarier-dressed friends/partners following behind them keeping them safe. (For Yone, it’s the RBF/air of mystery that really sets the tone.) He gives me such mature gentleman vibes as well. He’s always going to walk you home especially at night, or he’ll stay by your side in a crowd and you are just going to feel really safe with him. Top-tier scary boyfriend privilege right there.

Most

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Ok so the least and most intimidating were extremely obvious to me. It was everyone else in between that made things difficult. This was really fun to write though, even if the concept is a bit silly! 😂

[animeyanderelover]

Halloween is almost upon us and so I have decided to write a short something as well. It doesn’t include a specific character though and only focuses on the concept of a siren reader in the world of One Piece. I took the liberty of taking my own spin on the sirens, though there are still known themes in here.

Tw: Yandere themes, sirens are extremely cruel in here, manipulation, hypnosis, sadism, blood lust, sirens play around with their victims for the fun of it, sirens have a human and a monster form, the monster form is going to have very specific physical features, cannibalism, slavery, sexual abuse, violence, mentions of suicide, death, female reader

A reader's origin

You still remember it. Your human life. Yes, once upon a time you used to be a human. One who lived above the sea water, who walked on two legs and one who lived a puny and mortal life. Young, naïve and deeply in love with a sailor who had found his second love in you with his first being the sea and its alluring promise of adventure. You poor maiden, always filled with longing and heartbreak whenever he left you on the island where you had been born and raised to chase his next adventure. Always waiting for him every day on the port, your hopeful gaze focused on the horizon. Your sailor always kept you waiting, the distance only making your heart grow fonder as you waited day and night for your darling’s arrival. Wondering, weeping, moaning for your sailor until he sailed home to you. Weeks or even months sometimes passed as you longed for him, your innocent heart slowly filling with disdain for the sea and all the glittering gold it hid, for stealing your man from you. What a boring and meaningless existence it has been in hindsight.

What a good-natured person you used to be. Your heart filled with longing for your sailor and resentment against the ocean that constantly stole him from you. How many times did you beg your lover to take you with him only for him to laugh at you and tell you that you aren't made for the harsh sea. His comments were hurtful yet there still was a grain of truth in his words that you couldn't deny. Then one day he announces news that nearly break your heart. He plans to sail to the New World, plans to plunge himself into unknown seas that have taken the lives of so many other people before him. You beg him to not go, to stay with you instead of risking his life on seas where he may never return to you. Yet on that day you realise once more that you have never been the one he loves most. His heart belongs to the sea. So you have no choice but to let him go, tears cascading down your cheeks as you watch his ship leaving the ship, disappearing beyond the horizon. The sunset dips the sky in warm colours of red, casting a bloody light upon the ship as it sails away. An eerie forboding for the future that awaits the crew.

Only a few weeks after his crew has left the island they come. Real pirates. They raid the island, steal away all the riches your village possesses, imprison men, women and children alike. You are under those who are enslaved, who spent weeks on a cold and reeking ship where they push you around, where they grope you and mistreat you and everyone else. Weeks you have to spend on deck of the ship, malnourished, dehydrated and abused. Not everyone makes it sadly and those who die due to the mistreatment are thrown into the seawater, damned to serve as food for the sea beasts. You protest, you cry, you plead for them to at least allow the rest of the captured villagers to bury the dead properly only to be thrown around like a ragdoll as they mock you for your desperate pleas. Clothes are torn of your body, your nose is weeping red blood and your lip is busted as the taste of metal fills your mouth. Hands are all over your body, taint your skin and leave you shaking and crying on the dirty ground, the anguished cries of the other villagers filling your ears as the limp corpse is thrown overboard.

You're sold in Sabaody Archipelago to a Celestial Dragon, added to an evergrowing collection of women he buys as if they were souvenirs. To him they most likely are. Every day is torture for you. A collar around your neck that could explode any moment, skimpy clothes that tear away the last shreds of your dignity as you are forced to serve a slimy and disgusting master who touches you whenever he wishes and has a temper worse than a toddler. Something always sets him off even if you did nothing wrong. You're always slapped, grabbed roughly by your growing hair or forced on your knees to serve him pleasure. There is no bond that holds you or the other female slaves together as everyone is focused on her own survival, fingers constantly pointed at each other to avoid the punishment. You do not find it in you to blame them though as you start mimicking the other female slaves, pushing the blame on others and listening with closed eyes as their screams of pain fill the halls. It feels like you're going insane as weeks pass, every day a fight for survival and the bare necessities, a fight for no new wounds and scars.

You barely have any time to think about your lover, too preoccupied with your own survival. Sometimes though he crosses your mind at night when your whole body is aching from the intense labor of the day. You find the love you hold for him slowly dimishing, overshadowed by your own suffering. If only he wouldn't have left for the sea, if only he would have stayed with you and wouldn't have taken all those men with him. Then maybe, maybe, your village would have been able to defend itself better. Then maybe the pirates wouldn't have been able to take so many of you as prisoners. Then maybe you wouldn't have seen them dying or watching as they were sold to different people. Then maybe you wouldn't have to go through the torture that you are now forced to endure. All of that didn't happen though. And why did none of those what-if-scenarios happen? Because you were less important to him than the sea. Your thoughts are selfish and filled with resentment as those black emotions nourish themselves from all your pain and your suffering, tainting your once pure love more and more.

A storm is raging on one fateful night as you and other female slaves are upon a ship as your master has insisted to travel across the oceans of the New World as he has heard about another auction to buy a new female slave as one of his own has recently caved in to all the torture and took her own life. You do not know what happened to her body as you did not belong to the group that was forced to discard her body. You only remember the whiplashs you received as a punishment for her disobedience as her life was not her own and for that she didn't have the right to just kill herself. Truly, as you lay in the tiny room all of the female slaves sleep in with your back still screaming in agony, you wonder what you have turned into for you feel only bitterness for the woman who is responsible for the pain that was inflicted upon you. It's as if any empathy you ever possessed has slowly been stomped out like a dying spark. This is what you have turned into. You do your best to ignore the searing pain in your back as you close your eyes, hoping to at least get some hours of sleep only to wake up and repeat your daily hell.

There's a pleasant buzz drapped within your brain like heavy fog when you awake, sitting up as the rest of the other female slaves. The storm outside has calmed down as if falling silent for those humming melodies coming from everywhere. Your thoughts are slow, your body seemingly not your own as your limbs start moving on their own. The sounds of dragging footsteps are heard everywhere as all people on board start moving outside, even your master. Once outside the strange melody amplifies in volume now that there is nothing shielding you anymore from its sound, the fog within your mind thickening until your slow thoughts completely vanish. Your only desire in that moment is to get closer to that melody, to drown yourself within that sound that seems to erasse every single trace of pain and agony. You're not the only one. One after the other everyone jumps into the water. Once you stand on the edge you catch sight of something that almost stops your heart, your eyes widening subtly as you stare down into the bubbling and dark waters as everyone around you drops into the salty water as if they were stones.

They're slithering around within the water like the predators they are, webbed hands with sharp claws stretched out as they welcome their prey which jumps into the dark waves. Razor sharp teeth are within their mouths as they continue singing with those hypnotising voices of theirs, their eyes completely white, ears shaped like little fins and the skin of their upper body a light grey. Long fish tails in an even darker grey than the skin on their human torso, gills on their necks as they snatch away all those who fall into the waters, grabbing them and dragging them into their kingdom where they will be drowned and devoured. The wind is howling around you, almost drowning out the screams of terror and pain as those creatures start feasting from their prey yet not enough to erase the sound of their voices. You are shaking, whether its due to the biting cold, newfound terror or morbid excitement is unclear. Blotches of red swirl around within the water all around the ship, slashed clothes resurfacing here and there as all former passengers are eaten. There's only you left now, standing there and staring into the abyss which stares right back at you with shimmering white eyes.

The final step you take almost feels liberating as you leave the ship behind, leave every bad memory behind. The few brief seconds where you fall feel freeing before you plunge into the cold water that almost immediately numbs your body. The salty water irritates your eyes as soon as you try to open them, everything around you dark and ominous as you make out the dark silhouttes of the monsters as they drag people deep within the ocean to enjoy their meal. One of them approaches you slowly, her head tilted as if she is observing you. Somewhere within the deepest part of your mind you wonder what creature they are. Mermaids? No, that can't be. The descriptions and rumors that you have heard do not fit those strangely beautiful creatures at all. Clawed hands suddenly touch your cheeks, high-pitched chirps resonating through the sea as she seems to communicate with her sisters all whilst not looking away from you. The emptiness of air within your lungs is but a dull sensation, your mind still strangely serene and peaceful as you listen to the weird chatter of those creatures before your body forces you to refexively gasp for air, water filling your lungs, nose and mouth.

You only have hazy memories. The taste of salty air on your tongue as the she-monster helps you back to the surface. A swarm of them swimming close to the surface, all of them holding other female slaves from the sinking ship close to them, frequently resurfacing to allow you to breathe. Pressure popping in your ears as suddenly they take all of you into a mysterious cave, the entrance deeper within the ocean. You remember that you gasp desperately for air at one point as soon as you resurface, your lower body still in the water. There is mostly darkness around you, not a single ray of light that reaches the underwater cave, only the dim glow of their bodies. Only the sounds of splashing water and other human women gasping and coughing around you. The very last memory that you have is the sensation of being dragged underwater once more, smothered by the cold skin of the sirens who produce slimy and thick threats from their bodies and wrap you inside of them as if it was a coccon before they attach you to the wall within the cave, half of the strange creation still hanging outside the water. After that you barely remember anything as you fall into a deep sleep that is going to last for months.

You dream a lot during that time, revisiting your whole human life as you are shielded within that cocoon. Sometimes you stir awake though when wails of agony and sorrow suddenly fill the cave, telling you that one of the other female slaves hatched too early, their metamorphosis not complete and their body unable to survive under the water. At one point you find yourself weeping along, a strange agony filling your soul, a new compassion for the loss of a potential sister that you never felt before as a human. The feeling of hunger and the wish for freedom is what causes you one day to wake up all by yourself, the tightness around you restricting you and making you uncomfortable. Something compels you to leave, your instincts telling you that it is time. Sharp claws tear into the thick and gooey egg, tearing it effortlessly apart as you create a hole big enough for you to slip out. A light glow emits from your body, your senses completely different. Only freshly hatched yet your instincts seem to already know what to do as you quickly find your way outside the cave, joined by joyful sisters who welcome you as a new sister and invite you to your first hunt. You're the only survivor.

Free to explore the sea all by yourself, your first desire is to find the man who betrayed you but who you still long for. The very sailor who chose the ocean over you. You long to see him, to hold him, to kiss him, to devour him. Unable to deal with your heartbreak anymore you wish to unite with him forever, to never let him leave you ever again. A few of your older sisters follow you, the promise of fresh flesh alluring as they help you to hunt him down if he should still be alive. Luckily he very much is and you expected nothing less from the man you love. You feel your heart trembling with affection and wrath when you spot that familiar ship, you and your sisters slowly swimming closer without being spotted. Still, you wish for him to see you, to see what has become of you since his departure. Only after he has jumped right into your arms do you take him further away, allow him to come to his senses for a little while. A sweet smile on your face, one that quickly transforms into a bloodthirsty grin which reveals a row of sharp teeth, claws stealing his pretty eyes before you slowly drag him down with you, watching the life slowly fade from his body, forever united with the two biggest loves of his life. The sea and you.

Your kind doesn't have any specific name. Not until a few decades after the World Government has been established and accidents surrounding crews disappearing mysteriously from ships in the New World become more frequent. Sirens. No one exactly knows where your kind originated from or for how long you have been existing already, though tales from Fishman-Island suggest that you are related to their kind and therefore have been luring beneath the ocean for a long time already. However, your kind is forbidden to enter Fishman-Island, stories of your kind hunting mermaids and Fishmen alike, toying around with them and playing around with them for fun making the seafolk fear you and your sadistic nature. You feast on flesh from all living creatures, use your voices to lure prey to you and then devour them like starved piranhas. Underwater you are dangerous predators, fast and surprisingly strong. Your voices hynotise your targets, their brains mushy and slow as they fall victim to your songs. Sirens do not only use their voices to bewitch people though. You are also able to release a high-pitched scream which causes everyone who hears it extreme pain.

Those screams can even be enough to kill someone as the sound can cause not only eardrums but even the brain within the head to burst. It is a rare line of defense for your kind to use your voices that way, a last resort if you are cornered or wounded. Your bodies heal faster than other creatures, wounds that may take weeks to months to heal only take you days if you rest enough and receive proper nourishment. Sirens are very closely connected, treating each other as sisters even if everyone is free to travel alone through the oceans. A siren can live up to a millennium before she passes away, looking as beautiful and young as the day she hatched. However, once the life has left the body the remains can rot and unable to bear the heartbreak of your sister withering away into ugliness, your kind has developed a morbid tradition. Once one of your own dies you weep for days and nights, the eerie sounds carried across the seas and keeping entire islands awake in terror and bliss before you feed on her dead body before she can lose her beauty, even devouring her bones so that nothing remains, so that no one may ever take your beloved sisters or her remains away from you.

It is unclear to the Government if your kind procreates. Truth is, none of you has been born from a mother and a father. All of you hatched in the cave from the gooey threads you were wrapped in, creating the cocoon which slowly transformed you into sirens. The Government spectulates that technically it should be possible though for your kind to bear children biologically if you should ever decide to mate with a man. However, it simply doesn't seem to be an instinct installed into your biology. Your kind does feel affection but often only in short-lived sparks with the end goal always being to ultimately feed from your chosen victim. Your kind is even able to transform back into the race they were before being made a siren, allowing you to travel even on land and mix in with the rest. You're almost indistinguishable from other people living above the water from that point on which makes it extremely tricky for people to realise what you really are, especially since sirens naturally attract people to their sides, bewitching without even speaking. Your kind is far from wild animals after all. You are fast learners and your threat levels have only gone up after your kind learned how to use and utilise Haki.

The mere solace for the World Government is that your kind only lives within the New World. Very rarely does a siren travel to Paradise and even if she does, the government proceeds carefully. They never kill one of your kind as they know that other sirens will take merciless revenge if one of their sisters should be murdered. They've learnt it the hard way and that accident remains one of the worst in their history, one that only few know of. In Paradise and other parts of the Blue sirens only remain legends meant to scare children. In the New World however those legends quickly turn into a fearful reality. Still, you are no brainless predators. You do not attack and kill just anyone. Your kind doesn't kill every pirate crew whose ship they spot. You respect those who are strong and who you personally deem intriguing, the golden rule to never get on the bad side of a siren is to never kill one of their sisters and those pirates who disobey that rule learn to pay with their lives. The New World is indeed filled with many new dangers, with some of them more enchanting and tempting than even the finest riches. Yet obtaining such treasure has cost many pirates their sanity, their heart and even their life.

[sjbattleangel]

Public Service Announcement: There Is No "CalArts Style".

Can't believe I still have to say this!

Despite everything you might have heard, there is no "CalArts Style." It doesn't exist. CalArts isn't an art-style or animation studio, it's actually a university for art and animation founded by the Disney brothers. (Yes, THOSE Disney brothers)

I know there's this image going around of these cartoon characters sharing the same head, eyes and smile...

but that's deliberate, misleading exaggeration. In reality..

They're actually very different from one another. Sure, they share a few faint similarities but overall each character and their respective series have their own style and identity.

Animation with those similarities? (Round eyes, mouthes and bendy limbs) There're actual names for that style of animation: Rubber-Hose, Bean-Mouth, Noodle-Arm, Fleischerian. take your pick.

But to call all animation with those little similarities "CalArts"? It's stupid, lazy and dishonest. CalArts didn't create or popularize the Bean-Mouth. Like all art-styles, it became trendy following the major success of shows like Adventure Time, Steven Universe, ect. And most importantly, there is no uniform style at CalArts. In fact, here, let me show you the work of noticeable CalArts Alumni:

Just look at the diverse art-styles and animation, all from former CalArts students!

On a side-note:

Rebbeca Sugar (Steven Universe) never went to CalArts.

Ben Bocquelet (Gumball) never went to CalArts.

Nate Stevenson (She-Ra) never went to CalArts either! (Something I find hilarious since She-Ra doesn't look anything like the aforementioned Bean-Mouth cartoons but rather a bold, modernized version of Sailor Moon)

Another reason why people must stop using the term "CalArts"/"CalArts Style"? It was coined by none other than disgusting predator John K. Yes, John K, the co-creator of Ren & Stimpy who used his influence to prey on teenage girls. (TW: sexual exploitation, grooming, gaslighting.) He coined the term "CalArts"/"CalArts Style" to bash works like The Iron Giant, Animaniacs, Gargoyles, Les Triplettes De Belleville (which is also ridiculous since Sylvain Chomet didn't go to CalArts) along with the works of Disney, Warner Bros., Dreamworks, Richard Williams and Don Bluth. In simple terms, he was a toxic piece of work who loved tearing anything that didn't meet his standards of zany, off-model grotesqueness.

Here, a friend of mine on social media explains better than I can:

Thanks for listening. Hope I helped.