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eyesxxyou · 20 days

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𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆 🏴‍☠️🐚

| i. one| pearly white eyes

🐚・・・pirate!Hobie x mute!siren!reader.

𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱: blood. death. decompostion. mentions of person being eaten. reader is caged. mention of selling reader.

↳ ❝ If only the sea would love him back. How unrequited his adoration was ❞

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

“Da ocean is no’cha friend, ‘Obie. It’ll chew ya up ‘n spit’cha ou’ ‘n there won’ be a trace of ya left.” His mother would grab his chin when he was young and gazed at the ocean for too long, hypnotized by the lapping waves at the shore, like it was coaxing him toward it. He’d stand there, body swaying with the sea back and forth back and forth, its song luring him closer. She’d try to hurry him along as they made their way to the market from their little home.

But Hobie would linger, feet bare against the ground, toes digging into the sand. The salt of the sea carried by the wind across his nose. He closed his eyes and listened—listened to the song of the sea. The crash of the waves against the rocks below, the seagulls cawing in the distance, the ripple of the salty wind against his face. He could taste it if he stuck his tongue out.

He knew that this was what it felt like to be completely at peace.

He let his eyes flutter open slowly and suddenly he was on the beach, taller, dressed in clothing that didn’t feel like his own. The sun had barely begun to set over the horizon, painting the sky in broad strokes of lilly pink and tangerine orange. The sea was calm, gentle waves washing up on shore. It was foamy and white, wetting his leather boots. Then it was pink, then the unmistakable brown-ish color of old blood. He looked out at the sea. Red, all red.

“‘Obie.” The calming voice of his mother. Low and thickly accented. Hobie looked back down at his feet and there she was, his poor mother, lying in the wet sand almost as if she had been washed up onto shore. The sea had spit her out. Half decomposed, half eaten, with blood coming from her ears. Her eyes were open, milky white, not a single spark of life to be found within them. But she spoke, her half exposed jaw opening. “‘Obie.”

“Mama?” He couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he help her? Why was he so useless? Why couldn’t he save her?

“I’s time t’wake up, ‘Obie.” She crooned so softly, almost singing to him.

Hobie stared down at her, unable to look away as her body slowly withered away and turned to seafoam. Unable to do anything to stop it. “Mama, ‘m sorry I couldn’ save ya. ‘M sorry. Please forgive me.” He wanted her to hold him, even if she was decaying before his eyes. He wanted to know her kindness, her warmth, her forgiveness, just one last time.

But she just looked at him vacantly, with those dead eyes of hers. Just before her face melted away into nothingness, she spoke one last time.

“Wake up.”

Hobie shot up in bed, his eyes vigorously searching about his surroundings– wide and wild with panic. He was no longer on that beach he had known so well in his youth. He sat in his cabin, aboard his ship, The Mary Jane. His mother was nowhere to be found. She hasn’t been for years. He knew that already.

He was layered in a thin film of cold sweat, his chest rose and fell with the sway of the ship. His skin glistened under the golden rays of dawn stretching her fingers across the sky to mark a new day. It caressed him, told him it would all be okay. But it offered no comfort. He reached up and wiped away a stray tear from his cheek. Hobie figured there was no use in going back to sleep. He didn’t want to go back to sleep, didn’t want to run the risk of another recurring nightmare.

Hobie left his bed, disheveled and disgruntled. He grabbed his billowy, off-white tunic shirt from off the floor and slid it on over his head before grabbing his boots to shove onto his feet on his way out of his cabin. Tossing the door open, Hobie used his arm to cover his eyes from the rising sun. His face scrunched, grimacing at the abrupt brightness that overtook him. His lip curled with distaste. He was not a morning person.

“‘mornin’, Cap’n. How’d you sleep?”

Hobie looked up at the crow’s nest where one of his crew sat happily perched, looking down at him with a smile almost brighter than the early-morning sun. His skin was a deep caramel and his dark brown hair fell over his face, only tied back by a blue scarf. Pavitr had been placed on look out and by the looks of it, he'd been up there all night. He looked tired but was trying to hide it by being energetic.

Hobie only grunted and that was all the answer Pav needed to know that he had another nightmare. Everyone on the crew knew he had them but no one had the gull to bring it up to him or try to talk to him about it. He wasn’t the type to want to talk about and no one wanted to upset him. He had given them all a home aboard The Mary Jane and asks for nothing in return besides that they never talk to him about the things they’ve heard coming from his cabin.

“Get down from there ‘n get some rest, Pav.” Hobie motioned him down as he walked away.

The rest of his crew roamed about on the deck, either preparing their swords and guns or cleaning. There wasn’t much to do between raids besides prepare for the next one to float along their path. Most delegated chores amongst themselves simply out of sheer boredom. They all nodded their heads respectfully or greeted Hobie with a quiet, “‘mornin’, Cap’n”. They must have all known. Either he had been yelling again or they could tell just by the way he carried himself with a heaviness they could all feel, he cared not for which.

Hobie made his way up to the forecastle deck where he could feel the sea wind the best. He leaned against the railing and closed his eyes as he always had when he was a child and took in the beauty of the sea through the rest of his senses. The smell of salt and fish burned his nose and the breeze kissed his slender cheeks. He could feel the coolness of his rings against his knuckles and the layered chains around his neck almost restricting him. And he loved it all.

If only he could close his eyes and make it last forever. If only the sea would love him back. How unrequited his adoration was. He’s learned to despise the ocean and her children for everything it has done to him. And he’s vowed to conquer it. In a way, that's how he loved it.

“Cap’n.” Hobie didn’t open his eyes nor did he answer but he knew who stood beside him. She tried again. “Hobie.” He opened his eyes and glanced to his side where stood Gwen, a small blonde with brilliant blue eyes and a fierce attitude. She looked up at him sympathetically, the only one willing to take the risk to talk to him about his nightmares. “How were things last night? You were talking rather loudly in your sleep.” Her fingers twiddled with each other in front of her but she never stopped looking at him.

Hobie turned his head away, his jaw tightening with discomfort. “There’s nothin’ t’say. Y’all heard i’.” He dragged his tongue along the soft inner flesh of his cheek. “I don’ think i’s something’ we need t’talk ‘bout.” He retracted. It was easy to pull away from others. No one on deck knew him like Gwen did though, but even she had limited knowledge about Hobie’s life before he took up a life at sea.

“I won’t force you to talk, I never do. But I want you to know I’m always here if you need to talk. I’m your friend before anything else.” She placed her hand on Hobie’s shoulder only for him to shrug her away. “‘M fine. Where’s ya boyfriend, Gwendy. Go bother him.” He didn’t mean for his words to come off as harsh as they had but it didn’t seem to deter her.

She leaned against the wooden railing beside Hobie and sighed, looking out at the open sea before them. The sun was rising quickly, still red. The sea was as red as freshly spilled blood. She opened her mouth to speak but paused. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she looked out into the distance. “Is that a ship?”

Hobie perked up and squinted his eyes as well. It was indeed a British royal navy ship, the sails only half unraveled, just wading through the shallow waters entirely directionless. There seemed to be no one on the deck. There was something off about it. If he could see them with just his bare eyes then they could certainly see The Mary Jane, so why weren’t they attacking? They were certainly within range.

“Prepare the cannons but don’ fire jus’ yet. Ge’ ready to board.”

Gwen gave one firm nod and marched off to direct the rest of the crew who jumped up with enthusiasm and began scuttling about the deck in preparation. Finally, some excitement.

Hobie took his place at the helm of the ship, steering closer to the navy ship with an air of caution settling over the deck. “Fire a warning shot.” He commanded with authority that everyone respected. Within minutes there was a fire shot at the ship and before they knew it a white flag was being flown over the navy ship. They had given up without so much as a fight.

He was sure it must be a trap, a farce to get him to lower his guard. Hobie grabbed his sword and gun and rounded up some of his crew to board the navy ship with him while the others stayed behind to protect the Mary Jane from attack. He gathered Pav, Gwen, Miles, as well as a handful of others and took them with him.

Hobie boarded the navy ship with a heavy thump of his boots, his saber unsheathed in preparation for an attack. His eyes shifted back and forth, ringed fingers gripping the handle of his sword with a hold so tight his knuckles paled. He was soon followed by the rest of his crew, all equally as cautious.

“Search the ship, bring me everyone you can find.”

His crew split up and began to scour the ship for any people or loot they could find. Most of the crew were still asleep and were summarily caught with their pants down. Quite literally, as some were brought to Hobie in only their underwear. Including the captain or the ship who was tied up and brought before Hobie, shoved to his knees.

Hobie held the tip of his sword to the captain’s throat. He was an older, pale man with graying hair, round and fat with lack of work. He looked cowardly, afraid of the fate that lay before him. “We surrendered, take whatever you please. But leave us our dignity.” The man pleaded dramatically and Hobie found himself wanting nothing more than to slit the man’s throat and be done with it. He was not in the mood for being merciful after the night he’s had.

“Why did y’surrender so easily?”

The captain trembled. “We were raided by pirates just a day ago. We were in no position to fight. Most of our men were lost. Please, I beg.” He laced his fingers together only for Hobie to press his sword to his throat and draw the slightest bit of blood. “I wonder why I don’ believe ya.” His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Cap’n.” Miles came from the hold below the deck and motioned Hobie to come. “You’ll want to see this.” He shifted with distress and urgency. His golden, brown eyes shifted between Hobie and the lower deck where he, Gwen, and Pav all resided.

“Watch all of ‘em.” Hobie commanded the rest of his crew. “Don’ hesitate to kill anyone who ge’s outta line.” He looked back down to the white man before him before marching past him in firm strides towards the hold. Hobie followed Miles down, his sword still drawn.

It was dark in the hold and the smell of stale ale and old fish stung in his nose. The dim light of a lanturn offered just enough light to see exactly what Miles had beckoned him down for. He had seen you.

You were the most hauntingly beautiful thing he had ever seen. Pav and Gwen stood around the cage you were in; Miles joined them, all of them staring with something of wonder or horror, it was hard to tell which. Maybe it was a bit of both. Maybe they were one in the same.

You had eyes like the freshest milk he's ever seen, eyes like pearls, white and sparkling, all wide and framed with long lashes that stuck together with the tears that ran down your cheeks and over quivering lips that undoubtedly hid the horror of your fanged teeth. Shimmering scales like iridescent pearls showed up in small patches over your skin, on your shoulders, your forearms and your calves. You were akin to a human, minus the scales, your finned ears, and the fins that stuck out of the backs of your forearms and legs. You were covered in strings of pearls that hung around your neck and over your hips, shells, and coverings made of seaweed.

You were something divine, something not of this world, something so terrifyingly gorgeous. Hobie knew exactly what you were.

“I’s a fuckin’ siren.” Hobie marched forward, his face stone-like with dispassion. He grinded his teeth almost to dust. His lip curled with disgust and his eyes lit up with fury. “Open the cage so I can kill the tin’.” They all looked at him with something of fear and worry. They had never seen him so furious about anything.

“Shouldn’t we think about this?” Pav stood between you and Hobie, his brows furrowed. “It’s hurt.” He looked back at you and saw the dried blood caked onto your skin originating from a large wound in your shoulder. “Shouldn’t we ask more questions? Why do they have a siren locked up in the first place? We should all be dead right now but we’re not.”

“Plus, sirens are useful. They cost a lot on the market.” Gwen piped up.

They were right. Hobie didn’t want to admit it but they were right. Siren's blood was highly valuable and was used to heal illnesses and injuries. Their scales were used to make jewelry as well. They were highly sought after and would make a good bounty but hunting them was incredibly dangerous. It’s rare that anyone actually captures one. They're known to bring entire ships to the bottom of the sea where they’d eat their victims.

Hobie sighed. He’d save himself a lot of trouble if he just killed you before you drowned the whole lot of them. “Keep them in the cage for now.” He turned on his booted heels and made his way back onto the upper deck. Everyone was just where they had been. He stood before the captain of the ship once more and glowered at him. “Wha’s with the siren? Y’should all be dead righ’ now.”

“I- We captured it for his majesty…he wants to make a zoo of the things, but it’s broken. Can’t sing. Figured…we jus’ might sell it on the market for parts. You– you can have it. Just leave us.” He smiled as he offered you to him, wearily and desperately. Something about the offer disgusted Hobie. The selling of flesh, even if it wasn’t that of a human, was morally reprehensible in his book.

With one swift motion of his sword, Hobie slit the captain’s throat and watched as he fell to the deck, choking and gurgling on his own blood. Blood splattered onto Hobie’s face at the initial spray and down the rest of his body as the captain collapsed.

He stepped on the captain’s body as he made his way back down to the hold to figure out if he should do just the same with you. Your kind killed hundreds in your lifetime, thousands even. Your kind lured people to their deaths by way of seducing them with everything they desired in life. There was something quite despicably sinister about it.

Hobie came back and stood before you, your frail, injured body. You looked up at him with those milky white eyes that almost made him flinch. He couldn’t bear to look at you, the way you wept, as if you were crying for your life. How could such a thing look so perfect while crying? He cursed his feelings, his empathy, his humanity. Would a being like you even understand something like that? Something as complex and beyond comprehension as human emotion? He barely understood it himself.

“Let it go.”

Gwen and Miles fiddled with the lock until they managed to break it open and let you free. You didn’t move for a bit, your eyes flicking from side to side at all of them to see what they would do. You trembled with fear, you sobbed in choking gasps. Hobie knew that sirens were meant to be alluring, that’s how they captured their victims, but he didn’t know one could look so pretty while crying.

After a while of stillness, you finally began to move. You crawled out of the small cage you had been locked in, wincing at the pressure put upon your injured shoulder until you stood up. You were a fragile thing, looking between the four of them as they all stood back and watched you. They were waiting for the moment you’d flip, the moment you’d sing your hypnotizing song and convince them to all jump ship.

“You’re free.” Hobie moved out of the way, sheathing his sword to show he meant no harm. He did it despite all signals in his mind telling him this was a terrible idea. “No one will kill ya, no one will sell ya. Yer probably gonna die from ya injuries anyway. Jus’ go.” If you remained in his presence any longer, he may just lose it. Your kind stole innocent people from their families. Monsters, the whole lot of you.

But you didn’t move, you just stared at him, blankly, blinking with those pretty lashes of yours. Your lips formed into the smallest pout.

Hobie sighed. “Don’cha understand me?” Sirens were meant to understand all languages.

You nodded, tears still streaking your pretty face.

“Then go, go now, before I change my min’.” He gritted his teeth and pointed towards the door, moving further out of the way to give you more room to leave. You hesitated just for a moment before beginning to walk on shaky legs and bare feet. You look at them all as you pass them but you stop in front of Hobie and stare– just stare for a long, drawn out moment. You stare even when he turns his face away from yours because he can’t bear to look into those eyes.

That’s when you begin to run. You scramble off up the stairs, soon followed by Hobie, Miles, Gwen, and Pav, and they all watch as you climb and stand on the edge of the boat. You look back one last time at Hobie before turning back towards the sea and diving overboard.

They all rush to watch you swim away. All except Hobie, who can’t stop thinking about those pearl white eyes.

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #pirate!au #pirate! hobie #siren!au #siren!reader #pirate!hobie x siren!reader #pearl of the sea #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you

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eyesxxyou · 12 days

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𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆 🏴‍☠️🐚

| ii. two| rough voice, gentle hands

🐚・・・pirate!Hobie x mute!siren!reader.

𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱: smoking, blood, fire, mentions of nightmares, crying, treating wounds

↳ ❝ the battle of wanting to be a good person and the fire of revenge ❞

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

Hobie felt as though he was suffocating. Sweat clung to him like a second skin against his flesh. Sleep eluded him every time he so desperately reached for it. The sway of the ship did not comfort him as it usually did. It did not lull him to sleep like being held in his mothers tender arms and rocked slowly into slumber. It did not hum in his ear the tune of his childhood and offer the respite of home.

He stared out of the window beside his bed. The moon was full and partly hidden behind pale clouds. It shone so softly on the calm waters and made it sparkle like silver under the light. His fingers traced imaginary shapes on his tummy to soothe the turbulent thoughts plaguing him. Closing his eyes was not an option. Closing his eyes meant being haunted by the sight of two pearls, white and glassy and dead. He wasn’t sure who they belonged to. You or his mother.

Anxiety ate away at Hobie. It carved pieces of his soul, whittled away at the contours of his being with the intent to leave nothing behind. He trembled as if he were cold but the thin film of sweat layering his body said otherwise. Nights like these were not uncommon. If he wasn’t having a nightmare about his mother, he couldn’t sleep at all. He wasn’t sure which he preferred, if any.

Hobie sat up and sat off of the side of his bed, running his hands down his face with a heavy sigh. He thought of you, of your weeping frame in that cage looking up at him with those haunting eyes. He thought of the way you looked at him, the way you lingered, the way you looked so much like his mother in a way— helpless.

Hobie gripped his sheets and looked out the window once more. It was stifling in his cabin. The air was thick and hot with humidity. He needed fresh air and maybe a cigar to soothe his nerves enough to find some peace in sleep. Ale would be nice, drink himself to sleep so even if he did have a nightmare he wouldn’t remember it. But everyone was asleep below deck and he didn’t want to stumble about in the dark, risking an angry, sleepy crew member cursing at him.

He got up and grabbed a lanturn. He took his time lighting it and placed it carefully on his desk. It cast just enough light to let Hobie look through his desk for a stray cigar he had in one of the drawers. Once he found it, he took the lantern and his cigar and grabbed the dagger he never went without before he left his cabin.

The deck was eerily silent. Every creak of the wood under his boots made him wince. The air was cool, the wind was salty, and the moon shone so brightly that the lantern was mostly unneeded. The Mary Jane swayed softly with the calm water that kissed and caressed her sides and kept everyone in her hull fast asleep except for her captain who made his way towards the side of the ship.

Hobie placed the lantern down on the ledge and took out his cigar. He leaned against the side of the ship, placing the end of the cigar in the small flame encased inside the lantern to light it before taking it between his full lips. He took a drag with the wind, embers burning away at the end. And as the smoke passed between his lips, he let go of the tightness in his shoulders and the knot in his stomach. The smoke was musky and rich and eased Hobie's nerves more than the comfort of any human other than his mother.

His mother, you, his mother, you. He couldn't close his eyes. Eyes, white eyes, pearls hanging off your hips, his mother's corpse, the tremble of your lips, the decaying of her jaw, half her skull exposed.

His fingers gripped the edge of the ship, lip curling. Hobie took another long drag of his cigar and held it in a tight grip between his lips. He shook his head and rubbed his face. Burying his face in the palms of his hands, he groaned loudly with frustration. This was a torture Hobie wished on no one.

Hobie sat there with his face in his hands for a long while, occasionally bringing his cigar to his lips to smoke from it. His head ached, his chest tightened, and he longed for a home that no longer belonged to him.

There was a splash in the water. Swiftly, Hobie took his hands from his face and looked over the side of the ship down into the dark waters below. It must have been a fish, nothing more. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars behind his lids and then white. Shakily, he took another drag from his cigar and let the smoke tumble from trembling lips.

Another splash. Hobie opened his eyes again and almost dropped his cigar into the water when he saw a head peeking up through the darkness just enough to reveal completely white eyes staring blankly at him.

It was you. Even in the darkness, he knew for certain it was you lurking in the waters, staring at him now with the same eyes that kept him from sleeping. He couldn't quite believe it was you and for a moment thought he was dreaming. This must have all been some elaborate scheme conjured up by his mind, set out to ruin his life and drive him into insanity.

He rubbed his eyes again, pinched his arm, and you were still there. You looked at him with an almost child-like wonder, your head breaching the water a little more to reveal the rest of your face. Water rolled down your cheeks like the tears had before, shimmering under the moonlight like little droplets of pearls.

Hobie looked towards the door that led below deck. It was still quiet. He almost wanted to retrieve Gwen to ensure his mind wasn't making fantasies, to ensure he wasn't dwindling into madness.

He looked back to you, his lip curling with distaste. “Wha’cha doin’ here?”

You stared at him, your head tilted subtly to the side as you waded closer to the ship. Hobie sneered at you. “Are ya daft or sometin'? I let’cha go free. Get outta here.” He waved you off, attempted to shoo you away like one swats away a pest but you remained, moving ever closer to the ship.

You placed a clawed hand against the hull of the ship. Hobie watched in horror as you used your claws to grapple into the wood and climb your way up the side of the ship.

Hobie stumbled back, his hand retrieving his dagger as you climbed onto the ship and placed your feet aboard his deck. You glanced at his knife and trembled, whimpering softly.

Hobie had almost forgotten how ethereal you looked. Memory did your beauty no service. You were something handcrafted, something so meticulously designed it almost made him believe in a higher power. But he couldn’t let your deadly looks make him lose sight of what you really were. A danger.

“What do ya wan’?” He bared his teeth at you, fingers white-kuckling his dagger. His eyes were sharp with caution, shooting up and down your decorated body covered in pearls, seaweed, and shells. Your patches of scales almost twinkled with iridescent light. How could something so gorgeous be capable of such mass destruction and devastation? Nature was a cruel mistress.

“I let ya go. I coulda killed ya but I didn'. Ya gotta death wish or sometin’?”

You were clutching your shoulder; the one that had been injured before. You were shivering, looking so soft and vulnerable. It was clear you needed help. You had only wrapped up your shoulder with seaweed but it was bleeding through with the strenuous task you had just done.

You fell to your knees before him and looked up at him. You were tired and in pain. It would be easy to kill you now and be done with it. No one would know of his sin. You would plague him no longer. He would sleep well at night knowing you would never destroy anyone with your beauty again.

But how could he harm such a defenseless thing? If you wanted to kill him and his crew there were easier ways to do it. No– you were asking for help from him of all people. Maybe you figured that because he had helped you before he’d help you now when you needed it most.

Hobie should kill you. He knows he should. Your kind takes entire ships down indiscriminately, lure innocent people into the ocean to never be seen again or to wash up on shore days later with bleeding ears and whitened eyes. He had every reason in the world to kill you and let you rot out at sea like your victims.

But a softer part of him, the part who took in strays and gave them a home, asked him, ‘Is this who you really are? Killing someone that's so clearly asking for your help? Is that who you want to be?’ The battle of wanting to be a good person and the fire of revenge.

This was not right. Killing those in need of help would make him no better than the sirens he despised so much, no better than you and your kind. Hobie’s lip curled into a scowl. He would help you but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He’d be better than you, better than the whole lot of you.

Hobie took his dagger and shoved it away into his belt at his hips. He raised his hands as if to surrender to you and got down low to show that he was no threat. You watched him slowly approach and something in your eyes told him you were scared. “Look, ‘m no’ gonna hur’cha.” His voice came off a bit abrasive though he tried to be gentle. You whimpered at him as he placed a hand on your shoulder, your lips pulling back to bare your teeth at him.

He backed away a bit. “You wan’ my help or no’?” He bit back at you. “You can go back t’where ya belong if no’.” His eyes were sharp and his lips were pressed, holding back a sneering frown. He made it clear. He did not need to help you, didn’t even want to in some sense. If you didn’t want it, he wouldn’t go out of his way to convince you to accept his help.

Your gaze shifted, you looked away for a moment. You were considering it. Finally, you yielded and stood, allowing Hobie to come close enough to touch you. Your skin was cool to the touch, water droplets clung to you, rolling down the dips and valleys of your body, your decency just barely hidden by coverings of seaweed.

His fingers slid over your skin, over the scales and fins of your forearm. You shivered, trembled so subtly under his warm touch. Your extra appendages were sensitive, his fingertips just barely grazed your fin. You almost tore your arm from his hold, but Hobie took your hand, taking a quick look at your webbed fingers carefully grabbing it. He stood before you, tossing his cigar over the side of the boat and into the water. You looked at him but he never seemed to look at you straight on. He’d catch quick glimpses of your gaze before letting his snap away elsewhere.

“Stay quiet.” Hobie’s voice was firm. “Do ya understand?” He grabbed the lantern from the ledge and held it up between the two of you to get a look at your face. You were pretty. Soft and delicate looking. He always expected sirens to look more…severe, more sharp and lethal-looking. The light reflected off of your eyes and made them glow gold. You nodded wordlessly.

Hobie guided you by your hand and led you below deck into the hold separate from where the rest of the crew slept. The dim fire from the lantern served as your only light in the darkness. It only illuminated the first few steps before you before the darkness swiftly rushed back in, biting at your heels.

He took you to where the few medical supplies they had were stored and brought up crates where you could sit with the lantern while he got bandages and a bottle of whiskey. Hobie placed the lantern down beside the two of you, it’s dim light glowing just enough that he could see your glittering frame.

“How’d ya get this anyway?” He grumbled, reaching out with tender fingers to carefully unwrap the seaweed you had haphazardly tied around the wound. “Harpoon or sometin'?” You nodded slowly, fingers mindlessly twiddling with each other in your lap. Your eyes keenly watched him, traced the contours of his face. Hobie pretended like he didn't feel your gaze grazing his face.

Eyes flicking between your exposed wound—bloodied and irritated by the salt water—and your eyes, tracing the lines of his being with endless bounds of curiosity, he swallowed. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “Hold still. And don't bite.” Using his teeth, he popped open the cork of the bottle and poured the liquid inside over the wound.

You flinched away from him, fangs bared just for a moment at the sting. A low growl erupted from your chest somewhat instinctively.

“Growlin’ a’ me will get’cha nowhere.” He set the bottle down and grabbed the strip of cloth he was using as a bandage. Your lips formed into the smallest touch of a pout. You wiggled and writhed away from him. Hobie scoffed. “Gettin’ pouty won' get me either. Now stop movin’. Makin’ this much harder than it needs t’be.”

His voice was rough but his fingers were gentle. He traced over your skin with tender care– bandage in his hand– and began to wrap it tightly around your shoulder. He made you lift your arm a little so he could wrap it under the hinge of your arm. Hobie leaned in close. He was sure to focus his gaze on your wound though he could feel the burning gaze of your pearl eyes on him, lingering.

“Ya got a starin’ problem or sometin’?”

You did not grace him with a response. No shake or nod of your head. You simply stared. You did have a problem.

Hobie finished up wrapping your bandage with a quiet, “there”, and leaned away from you to hopefully get some space and breathe. You sat with your hands on your thighs, staring with wide, bright, white eyes. He was disturbed by you. Your vague allusion to human-ness made him uneasy, the way you stared made him uneasy, you made him uneasy.

“Leave. Ya got whatcha came fo’.”

You did not budge. You sat and stared with your head cocked to the side a little. You almost looked like a puppy, confused, eager, a bit ditzy.

Hobie almost wanted to be endeared. Instead he got annoyed. “Did ya no’ hear me? Go!” He pointed towards the hatch that led up to the deck. “Ya don' belong here ‘n ya know i’.” It was harsh, cutthroat, as if he had taken his dagger and jabbed it through your chest.

Hobie looked at you and could see the beginnings of tears glossing over your eyes. Your full, bottom lip trembled in a way all too familiar to him. Your tears reflecting in the light, tears like the pearls that hung off of your frame. Even if you couldn't sing, you were a siren in your own right. Your tears were your song and could lure even the toughest of sailors to their doom.

Curse you.

“Fine, fine, just– stop cryin’ would’ja? You can stay here fo’ the night but ya in the mornin’. Ya hear?” Rough voice.

You nod vigorously with understanding. You watched tearfully Hobie stand up with the lanturn and take your hand in his. Gentle hands. “Come on, we gotta hide ya. Don't wan’ my crew knowin’ ya here. Yer gonna give ‘em a fright.” He tugged and you stood, stumbling along behind him further below the ship into the hull.

Hobie took you to the room where they kept all the gunpowder and ale and moved a large barrel to the side so you could lay in the corner behind it. He looked around and found a sack of potatoes he summarily dumped out and tore apart so you could use it to cover yourself through the night.

“Don't leave this spot ‘til I come get ya in the mornin’. Understand?”

You nodded and grabbed the sack, looking at it in confusion. You slept underwater or on rocks. You’ve never used anything of the sort in your life. Hobie took it from you and made you lay down before draping it over you. “See, t’keep ya warm.”

Hobie moved the barrel back into place to hide you in case any of his crew came in to grab any ale in the morning. He’d come back for you as soon as day broke over the horizon before anyone woke up to usher you back off the ship and out to where you belong.

He was going to just walk away when something in him made him turn around and tell you, “good night”. Something soft and human. Something sympathetic and understanding.

And you purred a little tune along the same lines.

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