#another sailor aboard

[thefiddlingdeath]

Ok I had to send you a message cause I am SO EXCITED to find your blog. I watched both Kingsman movies when they came out and was in the fandom for a bit, but i don't remember percilot back then. I randomly got back into the kingsman fandom in the last couple months and became re-obsessed, then discovered percilot and became even MORE obsessed, but was despairing at the fact that the overall fandom was so quiet. I was just scrolling through the percilot tag for some small morsel that I missed and found your blog and I freaked out when I realized you're still active in percilot. HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE SO EXCITED to have found you. (and I agree shorter than James percival is best percival <3)

AHHH! And I'm so excited to see that someone new joined us on our trip through this black hole!

Welcome aboard 🫡

We aren't many, but we won't let this ship sink so soon.

Also

Ha ha @eveningearlgrey 🫵🏻 smol Perci for the win

[captainseamech]

Tags go brrrrr part 3

[nasa]

Navigating Deep Space by Starlight

On August 6, 1967, astrophysicist Jocelyn Bell Burnell noticed a blip in her radio telescope data. And then another. Eventually, Bell Burnell figured out that these blips, or pulses, were not from people or machines.

The blips were constant. There was something in space that was pulsing in a regular pattern, and Bell Burnell figured out that it was a pulsar: a rapidly spinning neutron star emitting beams of light. Neutron stars are superdense objects created when a massive star dies. Not only are they dense, but neutron stars can also spin really fast! Every star we observe spins, and due to a property called angular momentum, as a collapsing star gets smaller and denser, it spins faster. It’s like how ice skaters spin faster as they bring their arms closer to their bodies and make the space that they take up smaller.

The pulses of light coming from these whirling stars are like the beacons spinning at the tops of lighthouses that help sailors safely approach the shore. As the pulsar spins, beams of radio waves (and other types of light) are swept out into the universe with each turn. The light appears and disappears from our view each time the star rotates.

After decades of studying pulsars, astronomers wondered—could they serve as cosmic beacons to help future space explorers navigate the universe? To see if it could work, scientists needed to do some testing!

First, it was important to gather more data. NASA’s NICER, or Neutron star Interior Composition Explorer, is a telescope that was installed aboard the International Space Station in 2017. Its goal is to find out things about neutron stars like their sizes and densities, using an array of 56 special X-ray concentrators and sensitive detectors to capture and measure pulsars’ light.

But how can we use these X-ray pulses as navigational tools? Enter SEXTANT, or Station Explorer for X-ray Timing and Navigation Technology. If NICER was your phone, SEXTANT would be like an app on it.  

During the first few years of NICER’s observations, SEXTANT created an on-board navigation system using NICER’s pulsar data. It worked by measuring the consistent timing between each pulsar’s pulses to map a set of cosmic beacons.

When calculating position or location, extremely accurate timekeeping is essential. We usually rely on atomic clocks, which use the predictable fluctuations of atoms to tick away the seconds. These atomic clocks can be located on the ground or in space, like the ones on GPS satellites. However, our GPS system only works on or close to Earth, and onboard atomic clocks can be expensive and heavy. Using pulsar observations instead could give us free and reliable “clocks” for navigation. During its experiment, SEXTANT was able to successfully determine the space station’s orbital position!

We can calculate distances using the time taken for a signal to travel between two objects to determine a spacecraft’s approximate location relative to those objects. However, we would need to observe more pulsars to pinpoint a more exact location of a spacecraft. As SEXTANT gathered signals from multiple pulsars, it could more accurately derive its position in space.

So, imagine you are an astronaut on a lengthy journey to the outer solar system. You could use the technology developed by SEXTANT to help plot your course. Since pulsars are reliable and consistent in their spins, you wouldn’t need Wi-Fi or cell service to figure out where you were in relation to your destination. The pulsar-based navigation data could even help you figure out your ETA!

None of these missions or experiments would be possible without Jocelyn Bell Burnell’s keen eye for an odd spot in her radio data decades ago, which set the stage for the idea to use spinning neutron stars as a celestial GPS. Her contribution to the field of astrophysics laid the groundwork for research benefitting the people of the future, who yearn to sail amongst the stars.  

Keep up with the latest NICER news by following NASA Universe on X and Facebook and check out the mission’s website. For more on space navigation, follow @NASASCaN on X or visit NASA’s Space Communications and Navigation website.  

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Want to be notified when a chapter is updated? Join the Taglist!

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Echoes of Memory

Morning light filtered through the small porthole of Ella's cabin, waking her from the deepest sleep she'd experienced in years. For a disorienting moment, she couldn't place where she was—the gentle rocking motion familiar yet the comfort of the bed entirely foreign. Then yesterday's events crashed back: the auction, the astronomical bid, the pirate captain with intense eyes who had purchased her freedom rather than her person.

She rose quickly, years of conditioning making her anxious about being caught sleeping late. Slave habits died hard, if they died at all. The clean clothes provided yesterday were supplemented by new garments on the small desk—practical attire suitable for ship life rather than the restrictive clothing typically given to female captives. Another unexpected consideration.

Ella ran her fingers over the fabric, allowing herself a small smile at its softness. Fifteen years of coarse cloth against her skin made this simple comfort feel like extraordinary luxury. On impulse, she twirled once, feeling the fabric swish around her legs, before catching herself with a startled laugh. Such frivolous movement had been dangerous in Blackwell's household, where any sign of spirit invited unwanted attention.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Breakfast will be served on deck in ten minutes," came Wooyoung's cheerful voice through the door. "Captain's orders—he wants to begin the interviews with a full stomach and fresh air."

"Thank you," she replied, relieved to hear no impatience in his tone despite her oversleeping. "I'll be ready."

"No rush! Pirates aren't exactly known for punctuality." His laughter faded as he moved away down the corridor.

The casual kindness continued to unsettle her. Fifteen years of captivity had taught her to expect hidden motives behind every gentle word, calculating strategy behind every apparent consideration. Yet something in Wooyoung's genuine warmth defied her practiced cynicism.

As she dressed and prepared herself, Ella deliberately loosened some of her usual rigid control. If she truly was free, perhaps she could begin allowing small pieces of herself to emerge from behind the protective walls she'd constructed. Not complete vulnerability—never that—but tiny openings to test the atmosphere of this strange new world.

She whispered her nightly ritual once more, like a talisman against the day's uncertainties: "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy."

The ATEEZ's main deck bustled with morning activity when Ella emerged from below. Sailors moved with practiced efficiency, adjusting sails to catch the favorable wind that had carried them well away from Halazia's harbor overnight. The black sails, now fully unfurled against the clear sky, gave the vessel an ominous silhouette that belied the cheerful calls and occasional laughter of its crew.

She paused momentarily, breathing deeply of the clean sea air—another simple pleasure denied during years of confinement. The vastness of ocean and sky created a sensation of expanding possibility that made her heart beat faster.

"There you are!" Wooyoung waved from a small table set near the stern, where Captain Hongjoong and Quartermaster Seonghwa were already seated. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

"The ship is... larger than it appears from shore," she replied, a partial truth to explain her hesitation. In reality, she had been cataloging escape routes and defensive positions—habitual survival behavior she couldn't switch off despite her apparent freedom.

As she approached the table, a sudden gust of wind caught her hair, loosening strands from her severe bun. Instead of immediately securing them as she normally would, Ella let them dance momentarily around her face, enjoying the sensation of wind against her skin.

Captain Hongjoong rose slightly as she approached—a courtesy normally reserved for ladies of quality, not former slaves. The gesture caught her off-guard, another unexpected consideration that made her wary even as part of her responded to the simple dignity it afforded her.

"I trust you slept well?" he inquired as she took the seat indicated.

"Very well, thank you." Better than she had in years, though she kept this admission to herself. The soft bed and absence of fear had combined to produce a depth of rest she'd forgotten was possible.

The breakfast spread surprised her—fresh bread, preserved fruits, even small portions of smoked fish. Wooyoung placed a cup of steaming tea before her with flourish.

"My special blend," he said with a wink. "Secret ingredients."

As she took a cautious sip, the flavor struck her with unexpected force—cardamom, cinnamon, and something else she couldn't quite identify. A flash of memory surfaced: a small boy with bright eyes crushing spices between stones, whispering that he was "making magic" while she watched with fascination.

"It's wonderful," she said, letting genuine pleasure show in her expression. "Like drinking sunlight."

Wooyoung's eyes widened slightly at her poetic description before his face split into a delighted grin. "Exactly! That's exactly what I've always thought but could never explain." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "The secret is a pinch of saffron—criminally expensive but worth every coin."

His enthusiasm was contagious, and Ella found herself smiling in response—a real smile that reached her eyes rather than the carefully calibrated expression she typically maintained. "Then I'm honored by your generosity," she replied, taking another appreciative sip.

Wooyoung beamed with pleasure before settling into his own seat. "The captain says you're going to help us understand Blackwell's operation. You'll find no more attentive audience—we've been tracking him for years."

"Years?" Ella asked, genuine curiosity breaking through her caution. "Why focus on one particular slave trader among so many?"

A subtle tension rippled through the three men, brief but unmistakable. Captain Hongjoong's expression remained carefully neutral as he replied.

"The Southern Trade Company represents everything we oppose. Their methods are particularly brutal, their influence unusually extensive. Dismantling their operation would significantly disrupt the slave trade throughout the region."

The explanation was logical, yet something in his tone suggested personal motivation beyond strategic objectives. Ella filed this observation away for later consideration.

"I'll share what I know," she offered, "though my perspective was necessarily limited. Slaves aren't privy to business operations."

"You'd be surprised how much one can observe from the shadows," Seonghwa countered, his elegant features arranged in perfect composure. "Those who own others often forget they have eyes and ears."

The assessment was accurate. Throughout her captivity, Ella had cultivated the art of invisibility while remaining acutely aware of her surroundings. Over time, she'd pieced together considerable knowledge about Blackwell's business practices, ship movements, and trade connections. The question was how much of this information to share, and how quickly.

"Perhaps we could begin with the basic structure of Blackwell's organization," Hongjoong suggested, seamlessly shifting into the interview portion of their breakfast. "His key lieutenants, primary trading routes, largest holdings."

The topic was safe enough—factual information without personal disclosure. Ella organized her thoughts, then began a methodical description of Blackwell's company structure. As she spoke, she noticed Seonghwa making precise notes in a small leather-bound book, his handwriting remarkably neat despite the ship's gentle rolling.

"His primary residence is a fortified estate ten miles inland from Halazia's eastern district," she explained. "The property includes holding facilities for 'premium merchandise' before auction."

A muscle tightened in Hongjoong's jaw at this clinical terminology, though she was merely quoting Blackwell's own words. His controlled reaction revealed genuine moral outrage beneath his carefully maintained composure.

"You should see his private garden, though," she added, allowing a hint of sardonic humor to color her tone. "He's terribly proud of his imported roses—fusses over them more than any human in his possession. Once spent an entire dinner describing the precise soil composition required for blue-tinted blooms."

Wooyoung snorted into his tea, while Seonghwa's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. Even Hongjoong's serious expression lightened momentarily.

"Priorities of a true gentleman," the captain remarked dryly, his tone matching her ironic delivery.

The small moment of shared humor loosened something in Ella's chest—a tight knot of tension she hadn't fully recognized until it began to unravel. Humor had been another luxury denied under Blackwell's ownership, where laughter could be interpreted as insolence.

"The estate is guarded by approximately thirty men at any given time," she continued, finding her voice flowing more naturally. "Blackwell himself travels frequently between his three main bases of operation—Halazia, Port Westerly, and the southern islands."

"His flagship is the Meridian," Hongjoong noted. "Fast brigantine, heavily armed but disguised as a merchant vessel. We've tracked it through southern waters but never engaged directly."

Ella nodded. "He typically travels with a small fleet—the Meridian plus two escort vessels crewed by his most loyal officers." She hesitated, then added with a touch of mischief, "Though 'loyal' might be overstating matters. His first mate, Coleman, has been skimming profits for years. Blackwell suspects but can't prove it, which makes their interactions rather entertaining to observe."

Seonghwa's eyebrow arched with interest. "Internal discord is always useful information."

"Coleman maintains a separate ledger," Ella elaborated, warming to her subject. "Keeps it hidden beneath a loose floorboard in his cabin—not particularly imaginative, but effective enough. If one were inclined toward mischief, that ledger would make excellent leverage."

"One might indeed be so inclined," Wooyoung remarked with a conspiratorial grin that reminded her painfully of a young boy planning kitchen raids for forbidden treats.

The conversation continued in this vein through breakfast—professional exchange of information increasingly colored by Ella's personal observations and occasional flashes of wit. She found herself relaxing into the interaction despite her habitual caution, drawn by the evident appreciation these men showed for both her knowledge and her perspective.

As they finished eating, a sailor approached with a message for the captain. After a brief exchange, Hongjoong turned back to the table.

"Duty calls. Seonghwa, please continue our discussion with Ella in the chart room. I'll join you shortly." He rose, offering her a slight bow. "Your insights are invaluable. Thank you for your candor."

As he departed, Seonghwa gathered his notes with meticulous precision. "The chart room will be more comfortable for an extended conversation. If you're amenable?"

"Of course," she agreed, rising to follow him.

"I'll bring fresh tea!" Wooyoung called after them, already clearing the breakfast dishes with efficient movements.

As Ella followed Seonghwa below decks, she noticed how crew members they passed showed the quartermaster respect without fear—a stark contrast to the enforced deference she'd witnessed in Blackwell's organization. The ATEEZ might be feared by enemies, but its own crew operated with evident loyalty rather than intimidation.

The chart room proved to be a spacious cabin dominated by a large table where navigational maps were secured beneath a sheet of clear glass. Various instruments lined the walls—sextants, compasses, and measuring tools arranged in perfect order. The space reminded her of a meticulous scholar's study rather than a pirate's workplace.

"Please, sit," Seonghwa indicated a chair positioned to view both the maps and the doorway—a courtesy that acknowledged her need for situational awareness.

As they settled into a more detailed discussion of Blackwell's trading routes, Ella found herself unexpectedly relaxing. The quartermaster's precise questions were clearly designed to extract maximum useful information, yet there was nothing threatening in his approach. He simply presented problems, absorbed her responses, and occasionally made annotations on the appropriate maps.

Their conversation flowed with surprising ease. When she mentioned a particular cove Blackwell used for clandestine transfers, Seonghwa immediately located it on the chart, adding small marks to indicate patrol patterns based on her description. His memory was exceptional—he never needed her to repeat information, and quickly integrated new details with existing knowledge.

During a brief pause while Seonghwa adjusted a map, Ella found herself absently rearranging the navigation tools near her edge of the table, aligning them in perfect parallel lines. Catching herself in this unconscious action, she glanced up to find Seonghwa watching her with an unreadable expression.

"Sorry," she said, gesturing to the tools. "Force of habit."

To her surprise, his lips curved in a small but genuine smile. "No apology necessary. They're now in their proper positions."

The simple acknowledgment of shared precision struck a chord of recognition so powerful that Ella had to look away momentarily. When she glanced back, Seonghwa had returned to his maps, the brief connection seemingly forgotten though its effects lingered in her awareness.

"You have a remarkably ordered mind," he observed after another period of productive discussion. "Most witnesses struggle to provide such coherent intelligence."

The compliment, delivered without flattery, caught her off guard. "Observation was necessary for survival," she replied simply.

Seonghwa's gaze met hers with unexpected intensity. "Yes. It often is."

Something in his tone suggested personal understanding rather than theoretical knowledge. Before she could respond, Wooyoung arrived with the promised tea service, his entrance dispelling the moment of connection.

"Special delivery!" he announced, setting down a tray laden with not just tea but small honey cakes. "Brain work requires sustenance."

"We're conducting serious intelligence gathering, not hosting a social gathering," Seonghwa remarked, though without genuine irritation.

"Intelligence flows better with honey cakes," Wooyoung countered, setting cups before them. "Even quartermaster brains need sweetening occasionally."

Their familiar bickering triggered another wave of déjà vu so powerful that Ella had to focus on the teacup before her to maintain composure. Something about their dynamic, the precise way Seonghwa's eyebrow arched in response to Wooyoung's teasing, resonated with half-forgotten memories.

Unable to resist the temptation, she picked up a honey cake and deliberately broke it in half before eating—a small childhood habit she'd maintained whenever possible. Wooyoung's eyes widened fractionally, his gaze following the movement of her hands with curious intensity.

"Too large to eat in one bite," she explained with a light shrug, though the justification felt strangely important to offer.

"Exactly!" Wooyoung exclaimed with disproportionate enthusiasm. "That's exactly how they should be eaten. I always break mine in half too."

It was a small thing—trivial really—yet the shared preference created an unexpected sense of connection. Ella found herself smiling again, the expression becoming less foreign with each occurrence.

"Will you be continuing the interview?" Wooyoung asked, clearly hoping to join them.

"Actually," Seonghwa replied, glancing at the chronometer on the wall, "we've covered considerable ground already. Perhaps Ella would appreciate seeing more of the ship? A tour might provide context for our discussions."

"An excellent idea!" Wooyoung agreed enthusiastically. "Though the galley is currently off-limits—mid-morning bread preparation makes for poor sightseeing."

"Perhaps Yunho could serve as guide," Seonghwa suggested. "As boatswain, he can provide the most comprehensive overview of ship operations."

The proposal seemed casual, but Ella sensed underlying purpose. Were they deliberately cycling her through different officers, each assessing her from their unique perspective? Or was there another motive for ensuring she spent time with each of them?

"I would welcome a tour," she agreed, curious to observe more of the ship's operations. Knowledge of her surroundings was always valuable, regardless of intent.

Wooyoung departed to locate Yunho, leaving Ella briefly alone with Seonghwa. The quartermaster organized his notes with methodical precision, each page aligned perfectly before being secured in a leather folio.

"Thank you for your assistance," he said formally. "Your knowledge of Blackwell's operation is impressively detailed."

"I merely observed what was before me."

"Few develop such clarity of perception, even when survival depends upon it." His tone remained neutral, but something in his eyes suggested deeper meaning. "Perception requires both intelligence and courage."

Before she could formulate a response, the door opened to admit Yunho's tall frame. The boatswain's gentle smile immediately lightened the atmosphere.

"I hear you're interested in ship operations," he said, ducking slightly as he entered the low-ceilinged room. "I'd be happy to show you around, if you'd like."

"Thank you," Ella replied, rising from her seat. "I appreciate the opportunity."

Seonghwa nodded acknowledgment as they departed, already returning to his annotations on the charts. His focused dedication to task reminded her of another careful boy who had created safety through meticulous planning—a memory she pushed aside as she followed Yunho into the corridor.

The boatswain moved with surprising grace for his size, adjusting his stride to accommodate her shorter legs without making the consideration obvious. As they emerged onto the main deck, he gestured broadly at the ship surrounding them.

"The ATEEZ is a modified brigantine—fast enough to outrun larger vessels, maneuverable enough to navigate shallow waters, but with sufficient firepower to defend herself when necessary," he explained, pride evident in his voice. "We've made considerable alterations to her original design over the years."

Ella followed as he conducted a comprehensive tour of the vessel, from bow to stern. Yunho explained each area's function with clear enthusiasm, introducing crew members they encountered with casual warmth that revealed the ship's strong community bonds. Throughout, he displayed not just technical knowledge but genuine love for the vessel and its operations.

"The rigging system is custom designed," he explained, pointing to the complex arrangement of ropes and pulleys above them. "We can adjust sail configuration more quickly than standard vessels, giving us advantage in pursuit or evasion."

"You designed this?" she asked, genuinely impressed by the ingenious system.

A slight flush colored his cheeks. "With Mingi's help. He created the pulley mechanisms that make it work."

"It's brilliant," she said sincerely, then added with playful challenge, "Though I wonder how it performs in squall conditions with rapid wind shifts."

Yunho's eyes lit up at the technical question. "That's where the secondary stabilizing lines come in," he explained, pointing to a supplementary rigging arrangement. "They allow for quick rebalancing without compromising structural integrity."

"Clever," she acknowledged, then surprised herself by adding, "I'd love to see it in action sometime."

"Are you familiar with sailing mechanics?" he asked, evident curiosity in his tone.

The question required careful navigation. Her knowledge came primarily from observation aboard various vessels during her captivity, but explaining this might reveal more of her history than she wished to share.

"I've observed various ships in operation," she replied, a truthful if incomplete explanation. "The principles fascinate me, though my understanding is purely theoretical."

Yunho nodded acceptance of this answer. "Theory and practice often differ at sea. The elements have little respect for human calculations."

"Nature rarely does," she agreed. "Though humans can adapt if they're clever enough."

"And humble enough," he added with unexpected wisdom. "Pride makes poor companions with waves and wind."

The observation, delivered without pretension, reminded her of starlit conversations long ago—a tall boy explaining natural elements with reverent wonder rather than technical mastery. The memory created an ache of recognition she couldn't fully suppress.

As they continued their tour, the sun climbed higher in the sky, its warmth pleasant against Ella's skin after years of limited access to fresh air and daylight. The vastness of the ocean surrounding them stirred complex emotions—freedom and opportunity mixed with awareness of isolation and dependency.

"The crow's nest provides the best view," Yunho remarked, following her gaze upward. "Would you like to see?"

The invitation surprised her—access to high vantage points was rarely granted to captives, given the tactical advantage height provided. Yet another reminder that her status aboard this vessel was fundamentally different from her previous existence.

"Is it permitted?" she asked cautiously.

"Of course. You're not a prisoner here." His gentle assertion held no condescension, just simple truth. "Though the climb can be challenging for those unaccustomed to ship rigging."

"I'd like to try," she decided, the prospect of expansive visibility appealing to instincts honed by years of restricted movement and sight lines.

Yunho nodded approval. "I'll follow behind—not because I doubt your capability, but safety protocols apply to everyone aboard."

His consideration—acknowledging her agency while maintaining practical safety—struck another chord of familiarity. She followed his instructions for navigating the rigging, finding her body remembered climbing skills she hadn't used in years. The physical exertion felt surprisingly good, muscles engaging in movements long denied.

When they reached the small platform high above the deck, the view stole her breath. Endless blue stretched in all directions, the horizon a perfect circle unbroken by land. The ATEEZ's black sails billowed below them, crew members reduced to small figures moving with coordinated purpose across the deck.

"It's magnificent," she admitted, the word inadequate for the expanse of freedom before her.

"I've always found peace up here," Yunho said quietly, settling beside her with respectful distance. "The stars at night are even more spectacular—no city lights to dim their brilliance."

Unable to resist the childlike impulse, she closed her eyes and spread her arms slightly, letting the wind flow around her body in a sensation of near-flight.

When she opened her eyes, she caught Yunho watching her with a soft expression that vanished quickly into his usual gentle smile. "It's the closest we get to flying," he remarked, as if understanding her unspoken thought.

"Better than flying," she replied. "Birds don't appreciate what they have."

Yunho laughed, the sound carrying freely in the open air. "I've never thought of it that way. Poor ungrateful birds, taking flight for granted."

His laughter was contagious, and Ella found herself joining in—genuine mirth bubbling up from a place she'd thought long silenced. The sound of her own laughter startled her almost as much as the sensation itself, unfamiliar after years of careful restraint.

"You mentioned the stars," she said once their laughter subsided. "Are they particularly clear from here?"

Yunho's expression brightened with genuine enthusiasm. "Extraordinarily so. On cloudless nights, the sky becomes a canopy of light—constellations so vivid they seem close enough to touch."

"I've always loved the stars," Ella admitted, the confession slipping out before she could reconsider. "During my years with Blackwell, my bedroom had a small window high in the wall. Too small for escape, but perfect for viewing a small patch of night sky. I taught myself the constellations from that limited view—piecing them together night after night like a puzzle."

The personal revelation surprised her as much as it seemed to surprise Yunho, whose expression reflected both interest and compassion.

"Self-taught astronomy under such conditions," he remarked softly. "That shows remarkable determination."

Ella shrugged, momentarily embarrassed by her openness. "It gave me something beyond my immediate circumstances—something vast and constant that couldn't be owned or controlled."

"The stars have been sailors' companions for thousands of years for similar reasons," Yunho agreed. "They offer direction when all else is chaos."

Impulsively, she pointed toward a particular section of sky. "Is that where Orion would be visible at night?"

"Yes, exactly!" Yunho's face lit with even greater enthusiasm. "You do know your stars. He's not visible now in daylight, but he guards that quadrant after sunset. How did you determine his position?"

"Hemisphere and season," she explained, warming to the subject despite her usual caution. "And I remember he travels with his loyal hound, Canis Major, who carries the brightest star in our sky."

"Sirius," Yunho confirmed, his expression reflecting delighted surprise at finding an unexpected fellow enthusiast. "The Dog Star."

For several minutes, they discussed the constellations visible from their current position, Ella sharing her self-taught knowledge while Yunho contributed the practical applications used in navigation. It was the most unguarded conversation she'd engaged in for years—a subject that connected to her deepest self yet revealed nothing dangerous about her history or identity.

"Would you be interested in seeing them properly tonight?" Yunho suggested. "Weather permitting, of course. The night watch wouldn't mind company in the crow's nest for an hour."

The invitation represented more than simple stargazing—it was an offer of trust, an acknowledgment of her as a person with interests and desires rather than merely a source of intelligence about Blackwell. Ella found herself nodding before prudence could intervene.

"I'd like that very much," she replied, surprised by her own sincerity.

They remained in the crow's nest for several more comfortable minutes, the silence between them lacking the tension Ella had grown accustomed to in most human interactions. Eventually, Yunho gestured toward the deck below.

"We should continue our tour. The captain will want to resume interviews this afternoon."

As they descended, Ella found herself wondering at the ease she felt in Yunho's presence. His gentle manner and straightforward communication created space for relaxation she rarely permitted herself. It was dangerous—comfort led to complacency, and complacency to vulnerability—yet the familiar quality of his kindness resonated with something deep within her.

Back on deck, Yunho led her toward the bow, where several crew members were engaged in maintenance work. As they approached, Ella spotted a figure she recognized instantly—Mingi's broad shoulders and focused attention unmistakable as he inspected a section of railing.

The master gunner looked up at their approach, his dark eyes meeting hers briefly before shifting away. Unlike the captain's searching gaze or Wooyoung's open curiosity, Mingi's glance contained something deeper—a wary recognition that suggested he, too, experienced the strange resonance she felt in their presence.

"Mingi's checking the gun port mechanisms," Yunho explained. "We modified the design to conceal our firepower from distant observation."

"Clever," she acknowledged, studying the seamless integration of practical function and deceptive appearance. "Most merchant vessels wouldn't recognize the threat until within range."

"Exactly," Yunho confirmed. "Though we prefer to avoid conflict when possible. The modifications simply ensure favorable terms when negotiation fails."

As he spoke, Mingi completed his inspection and straightened, acknowledging them with a slight nod. His movements held the careful precision she'd noticed yesterday—a man constantly aware of his size and strength, moderating both to avoid intimidation.

"Is everything functional?" Yunho asked his friend.

"Yes," Mingi replied, his deep voice soft despite its resonance. "Port-side mechanism needs minor adjustment."

"I can assist after the tour," Yunho offered.

Mingi nodded agreement, his eyes flickering briefly to Ella before returning to Yunho. Something unspoken passed between them—a communication developed through years of friendship and collaboration.

"The forecastle next?" Yunho suggested, apparently understanding whatever silent message had been conveyed.

"Actually," Ella interjected, curiosity overcoming caution, "I'd be interested in learning more about the gun ports, if permitted. The design seems uniquely practical."

Both men looked momentarily surprised by her interest. Mingi recovered first, giving another slight nod that might have been approval.

"I can demonstrate," he offered, the words emerging with careful deliberation.

Yunho smiled, as if pleased by this development. "Excellent. No one understands the mechanisms better than their designer. I'll check in with the captain and return shortly."

With that diplomatic withdrawal, Ella found herself alone with the taciturn gunner—a situation that triggered both wariness and that same inexplicable sense of familiarity. Mingi led her to the nearest gun port, his movements unhurried but efficient.

"External appearance," he began, indicating the seemingly solid hull planking. "Conceals armed capability."

He pressed a recessed panel, revealing a cleverly disguised latch mechanism. With smooth precision, the "solid" section of hull swung inward, exposing a medium-caliber cannon mounted on a specially designed track.

"Rotation and elevation adjustable," he explained, demonstrating with minimal movement how the weapon could be positioned for various targeting scenarios. "Quick deployment essential in confrontation."

His explanation was technical but clear, each word carefully chosen and precisely delivered. The efficiency of his communication reflected both respect for her intelligence and his own preference for verbal economy.

"The counterweight system is ingenious," she observed, noting how the heavy cannon could be moved with relatively little physical effort. "Your design?"

He nodded once, a flicker of quiet pride crossing his features before disappearing behind his usual reserved expression.

Ella studied the mechanism with genuine curiosity. Unlike the stars, which had provided solace during her captivity, weapons systems represented knowledge she'd never had opportunity or reason to acquire. Yet she found herself intrigued by the practical ingenuity represented in Mingi's design.

"How do you synchronize the firing sequence if multiple ports are deployed simultaneously?" she asked, genuinely curious about the operational logistics. 

The question seemed to surprise him. Mingi studied her for a moment, as if reassessing his understanding of who she was and what she knew.

"Coordinated signaling," he explained, then indicated a series of speaking tubes and bell-pull mechanisms integrated into the gun port housing. "Precise timing essential for maximum effect."

His explanation remained concise but thorough, respecting her question without condescension. Unlike mathematics, which would have required formal education she clearly couldn't have received as a slave, weapons operation represented practical knowledge that might reasonably be acquired through observation.

Ella found herself engaging in the technical discussion with unexpected interest. Though she lacked the theoretical foundation to fully understand the underlying principles, she could appreciate the elegant functionality of the design.

Finding herself genuinely curious, Ella leaned forward to examine a particular gear mechanism. "This compensates for lateral motion?"

Mingi nodded, then surprised her by gently adjusting her viewpoint with a light touch on her shoulder, directing her attention to a secondary system. "Additional stabilization."

The brief contact lasted only a moment, but Ella noticed how quickly he withdrew his hand afterward, as if concerned about overstepping. His caution touched something in her—this powerful man so careful not to frighten or impose.

On impulse, she pointed to a small carved symbol nearly hidden within the mechanical housing. "Is that your maker's mark?"

Mingi's eyes widened slightly before he nodded, something vulnerable flashing across his usually stoic features.

"It's beautiful," she said sincerely, studying the simple but elegant design. "Functional components shouldn't sacrifice aesthetic consideration."

The observation drew what might have been the ghost of a smile—a subtle softening around his eyes that transformed his face momentarily.

As they continued examining the gun port mechanisms, Ella found herself relaxing into the interaction despite its technical nature. Though she couldn't match Mingi's expertise, her genuine interest seemed to encourage him to demonstrate aspects of the system he might otherwise have omitted.

"Designed for minimal crew," he explained at one point, showing how a single operator could manage functions that typically required multiple gunners. "Efficiency important with limited personnel."

"That's remarkably practical," she acknowledged. "Most naval vessels require three or four men per cannon."

"Necessity drives innovation," he replied with unexpected eloquence.

"You've clearly given great thought to these systems," Ella observed. "Have you designed other mechanisms for the ship?"

This question seemed to please him, though his expression remained reserved. With slightly more animation than he'd shown previously, Mingi led her to several additional innovation points throughout the nearby section—hatches with counterbalanced opening mechanisms, specialized tool storage integrated into structural elements, even water collection systems that utilized the ship's natural drainage patterns.

Each design reflected the same core principles: efficiency, functionality, and elegant simplicity. Though Mingi's explanations remained concise, his evident pride in the work revealed a depth of passion that transcended his reserved demeanor.

"Your work is extraordinary," Ella said sincerely as they concluded the impromptu tour. "You've created an integrated system where every component serves multiple purposes."

Mingi ducked his head slightly at the praise, uncomfortable with direct acknowledgment yet clearly pleased by her genuine appreciation. "Practical necessities," he murmured, though the faint color in his cheeks betrayed his satisfaction.

Before she could respond further, Yunho returned, accompanied by the captain.

"I see Mingi's revealed our secret weapons," Hongjoong remarked, his tone light though his eyes watchful as always.

"The design is exceptional," Ella replied truthfully. "Both practical and deceptive."

"Mingi's mechanical genius extends beyond weapons systems," the captain acknowledged, giving his gunner rare public credit. "Much of what makes the ATEEZ unique comes from his innovations."

The quiet man ducked his head slightly at this praise, discomfort with attention evident in his posture. Hongjoong seemed to recognize this, smoothly shifting focus.

"If you've concluded your tour, perhaps we could continue our discussion from this morning? There are several aspects of Blackwell's operation I'd like to explore further."

"Of course," Ella agreed, recognizing the request as politely phrased command.

As she prepared to follow the captain, a sudden impulse made her turn back to Mingi. "Thank you for the explanation. Your work is... remarkable."

Mingi met her eyes directly for the first time, holding her gaze for a breathtaking moment before offering a single nod of acknowledgment. The brief connection felt strangely significant, as if some important message had passed between them without words.

As she followed the captain toward his quarters, she glanced back to see Mingi and Yunho already absorbed in discussion of the port-side mechanism that needed adjustment. Their comfortable partnership spoke of years of mutual trust and understanding—another echo of something half-remembered from a time before captivity had taught her the danger of such bonds.

The morning's interactions had left her with conflicting impressions. The

The morning's interactions had left her with conflicting impressions. The ATEEZ's officers treated her with consistent respect and consideration, yet she sensed underlying currents beyond their stated interest in Blackwell's operations. Their coordinated movement through her day—breakfast with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, then Seonghwa alone, followed by Yunho's tour and Mingi's technical explanation—suggested deliberate strategy rather than coincidental scheduling.

Were they testing her? Evaluating her responses to different approaches? Or was there something else behind their careful attention?

As she entered the captain's cabin for the afternoon interview, Ella reinforced her mental guards. Whatever game was being played aboard the ATEEZ, she would maintain her vigilance until she understood the true stakes and players involved. Freedom—real freedom—required more than physical escape from captivity. It demanded clarity about the forces surrounding her and the nature of her place among them.

Yet beneath this caution, something else stirred—a sense of recognition that transcended logical explanation. Something about these five men resonated with her most deeply held memories, echoing from a time before Blackwell, before slavery had defined her existence.

Like fragments of a forgotten dream, these echoes teased at the edges of consciousness, suggesting connections she couldn't yet fully comprehend or trust. For now, she would watch and wait, gathering her own intelligence while providing theirs, until the truth—whatever it might be—emerged from the shadows of memory and time.

But perhaps, she admitted to herself as she took the seat offered by the captain, she could allow small moments of her true self to emerge from behind her protective walls. Testing the waters of this strange new freedom one ripple at a time.

From his position on the quarterdeck, Hongjoong observed Ella's departure from the gun port demonstration, noting the subtle change in her posture following her conversation with Mingi. Something in the interaction had affected her—a slight relaxation of the constant vigilance she maintained, perhaps, or a moment of genuine engagement beyond calculated cooperation.

More striking was the transformation he'd witnessed throughout the morning—small but significant shifts in her demeanor with each officer. With Seonghwa, she'd displayed unexpected humor and methodical thinking. With Yunho, she'd shown curiosity and even momentary playfulness in the crow's nest. With Mingi, she'd revealed genuine interest in mechanical systems that had drawn the reticent gunner into extended explanation.

"Well?" he asked as Seonghwa approached, the quartermaster's arrival precisely timed as always.

"She has exceptional knowledge of Blackwell's organization," Seonghwa reported. "Details that would be difficult to fabricate or misremember. Her understanding of shipping routes and security protocols is particularly comprehensive."

"And your impression beyond the information provided?"

Seonghwa considered carefully before responding. "She organizes information with remarkable clarity. Methodical, precise, attentive to detail in ways that suggest trained observation rather than casual awareness."

"She arranged the papers on the chart table," he added after a moment, his voice lowering slightly. "In perfect right angles. Exactly as I would have done."

The implication hung between them, neither man giving voice to the hope that continued to build despite their cautious restraint.

"Yunho reports she expressed specific interest in celestial navigation," Hongjoong noted. "Self-taught astronomy, she claimed—learned through a window in her quarters under Blackwell."

"Wooyoung is convinced she recognized the cardamom tea," Seonghwa added. "He claims she had the same reaction to his spiced honey cakes that she did fifteen years ago—though I reminded him that confirmation bias affects perception."

"And breaking them in half before eating," Hongjoong mused. "Wooyoung mentioned that specifically."

Seonghwa nodded, the gesture acknowledging significance without confirming conclusion. "Small behaviors that could be coincidental."

"Or could be memory fragments," Hongjoong countered. "Habits that survived when explicit memories were suppressed."

The quartermaster inclined his head slightly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His caution balanced Hongjoong's growing conviction—a partnership dynamic established through years of shared decision-making.

"We proceed as planned," Hongjoong decided. "Systematic exposure to familiar elements without direct confrontation. If she is y/n, there must be reasons for her concealment. We'll respect that until she chooses otherwise."

"And if she isn't?" Seonghwa asked, voicing the question that haunted them all.

Hongjoong's hand moved unconsciously to the inner pocket where Mr. Hugs had traveled for fifteen years—now empty, the teddy bear secured in his sea chest until certainty was established.

"Then we've gained valuable intelligence about our primary target while freeing someone who deserved liberation," he replied firmly. "Either outcome justifies our investment."

As Ella appeared on deck, moving toward his cabin for their scheduled interview, Hongjoong observed the subtle but significant changes in her demeanor since yesterday—her posture slightly more relaxed, her interactions with crew members less guarded, occasional genuine expressions breaking through her careful composure. Small changes that nonetheless suggested growing comfort despite continued caution.

"Time will reveal truth," he murmured, more to himself than Seonghwa. "One way or another."

But deep within, in the quiet spaces where the captain's mask occasionally slipped, Hongjoong nursed the growing hope that they had finally, improbably, fulfilled the blood oath that had defined their lives since childhood. That the treasure he had sworn to protect had somehow found her way back to them against impossible odds.

The afternoon interview proved less formally structured than Ella had anticipated. Rather than continuing the systematic interrogation from their morning session, Hongjoong guided the conversation toward more nuanced aspects of Blackwell's operation—the power dynamics within his organization, the patterns in his decision-making, the vulnerabilities in his security protocols.

"You mentioned Coleman's separate accounting," the captain noted, referencing her breakfast revelation. "How extensive is this embezzlement?"

"Substantial enough to purchase a modest estate in the southern islands," Ella replied. "He's been methodically diverting funds for at least five years, primarily from the less documented transactions."

"Which Blackwell suspects but hasn't confirmed?"

"Correct. He knows the numbers don't align but can't identify the specific discrepancies. Coleman is careful to spread his theft across multiple accounts, never taking enough from any single source to trigger obvious concern."

Hongjoong nodded thoughtfully, clearly integrating this information into some larger strategic framework. "And the relationship between them?"

"Strained but functional," Ella explained. "Blackwell values Coleman's competence while distrusting his integrity—a common paradox in his organization. He surrounds himself with people effective enough to be valuable but corrupt enough to be controlled through their own misdeeds."

"A sound strategy for someone in his position," Hongjoong observed.

"But ultimately self-defeating," Ella countered. "It creates an organization of people seeking advantage rather than serving common purpose. In crisis, such bonds fracture quickly."

The captain's eyebrow raised slightly at this analysis. "You've given this considerable thought."

Ella shrugged, trying to appear casual despite the significance of her observation. "When your survival depends on predicting how power will shift, you learn to identify structural weaknesses."

"A valuable skill," Hongjoong acknowledged, his tone suggesting genuine respect rather than mere courtesy.

The conversation continued in this manner for over an hour—Hongjoong probing specific aspects of Blackwell's operation while Ella provided increasingly nuanced insights. Unlike the morning session, which had focused primarily on factual information, this discussion ventured into more interpretive territory, revealing Ella's understanding of the psychological and organizational dynamics underlying Blackwell's business practices.

Throughout, she maintained careful boundaries around her personal experiences, sharing analytical observations without disclosing how this knowledge had been acquired. To her surprise, Hongjoong respected these limitations, never pressing for details about her specific position within Blackwell's household or the treatment she had endured.

This restraint reinforced her growing impression that these pirates operated according to principles beyond mere self-interest. Their opposition to slavery appeared principled rather than opportunistic—a moral stance rather than a convenient justification for profit-seeking violence.

As the interview concluded, Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, studying her with that same searching gaze she'd noticed during their first encounter. "Your insights are extraordinarily valuable," he said finally. "Not just the factual information, but your understanding of Blackwell's organizational weaknesses."

"I hope it proves useful in your campaign against him," she replied neutrally.

"It already has," he assured her. "You've confirmed several strategic vulnerabilities we suspected and identified others we hadn't recognized."

He rose, signaling the end of their session. "You're free to move about the ship as you wish, within reasonable safety parameters. Dinner will be served in the officers' mess at sunset. Until then, your time is your own."

The casual grant of freedom—temporary and limited though it might be—caught Ella off guard. "Thank you," she managed, rising from her own seat. "That's... generous."

"It's not generosity," Hongjoong replied, echoing Wooyoung's breakfast statement. "It's recognition of your status as a free person rather than property."

Before she could formulate a response to this matter-of-fact declaration, a knock at the door announced Seonghwa's arrival with additional maps for the captain's review. Ella took the opportunity to make her exit, mind already considering how best to use this unexpected period of independence.

As she emerged onto the main deck, the afternoon sun warm against her skin, Ella experienced a momentary sense of disorientation. Freedom to choose her own actions, even within the confined context of a ship at sea, represented luxury so unfamiliar it bordered on overwhelming. What did one do with unfettered hours after fifteen years of regimented existence?

The answer came with surprising clarity: she would watch the ocean. During her captivity, horizons had been her most consistent deprivation—views blocked by walls, windows, or the constant press of supervisory presence. Now, with permission to move freely and an endless horizon surrounding her, she could indulge the simple pleasure of unobstructed sight lines.

Finding a relatively quiet section of railing, Ella positioned herself to observe both the open sea and the ship's operations. The dual focus served both her immediate desire for expansive views and her habitual need for situational awareness. From this vantage point, she could track crew movements while appearing to simply enjoy the scenery.

For nearly an hour, she remained in this contemplative state, absorbing the ship's rhythms while allowing her mind to process the day's interactions. The ATEEZ operated with remarkable efficiency—crew members moving purposefully through their tasks with minimal supervision yet evident coordination. Unlike Blackwell's household, where fear motivated performance, these sailors appeared driven by competence and mutual respect.

More puzzling were her own reactions to the ship's officers. Their familiar yet unfamiliar presence continued to trigger emotional echoes she couldn't fully explain. The easy banter between Seonghwa and Wooyoung, Yunho's gentle instruction, Mingi's quiet competence, Hongjoong's careful leadership—all resonated with memories just beyond conscious reach.

"Enjoying the view?"

The voice startled her from her reverie. Ella turned to find Wooyoung approaching, his characteristic smile brightening his features.

"Very much," she acknowledged. "It's... liberating."

"The endless horizon?" he asked, joining her at the railing. "Or the lack of walls?"

The perceptive question revealed unexpected insight beneath his playful demeanor. "Both," she admitted. "Though I hadn't consciously distinguished between them."

"The sea offers many forms of freedom," he replied, his tone unusually philosophical. "Absence of confinement is only the most obvious."

For several minutes, they stood in comfortable silence, watching the sun's gradual descent toward the western horizon. The moment felt strangely significant—shared contemplation without purpose beyond present experience.

"I'm heading to the galley to begin dinner preparations," Wooyoung said eventually. "Would you like to join me? I could use an extra pair of hands, and cooking offers its own kind of freedom."

The invitation surprised her, though perhaps it shouldn't have. Wooyoung had been the most openly welcoming of the officers, his warmth seemingly uncomplicated by whatever undercurrents flowed between the others.

"I'm not much of a cook," she warned. "Blackwell's household had professional kitchen staff."

"All the more reason to learn," he countered cheerfully. "Everyone should know how to prepare at least one delicious meal. It's a fundamental life skill, like swimming or lying convincingly to customs officials."

The casual inclusion of deception among essential capabilities startled a laugh from her. "Is that part of your official duties as ship's cook?"

"Cook and intelligence officer," he corrected with exaggerated dignity. "The roles complement each other beautifully. People reveal all sorts of secrets when they're enjoying good food."

"Is that your strategy with me?" she asked, only half-joking. "Culinary interrogation?"

Wooyoung's expression shifted to one of mock offense. "I would never! Well, not with honey cakes at least. Those are sacred."

His theatrical indignation drew another laugh from her—genuine amusement that felt increasingly natural with each occurrence. "In that case, I accept your invitation. Though I can't promise culinary competence."

"Enthusiasm counts more than expertise," he assured her, leading the way below decks. "And you already have the most important qualification."

"Which is?"

"You break honey cakes correctly," he replied with complete seriousness. "That demonstrates fundamental good judgment."

The galley proved more spacious than she had expected, with clear organization and surprisingly modern equipment. Various cooking implements hung from overhead racks, while ingredients were stored in labeled containers secured against the ship's movement. The space reflected the same attention to practical efficiency she'd observed throughout the vessel.

"Welcome to my domain," Wooyoung announced with theatrical flourish. "Less glamorous than the captain's quarters but infinitely more satisfying to the senses."

Under his cheerful guidance, Ella found herself drawn into collaborative food preparation—chopping vegetables, measuring spices, stirring simmering pots. Wooyoung's instruction proved surprisingly effective, his explanations clear despite his apparent haphazard approach.

"The secret to good cooking is confidence," he declared, demonstrating a technique for quickly dicing onions. "Ingredients can smell fear. They only behave for those who approach them with authority."

"Is that official culinary science?" she asked, attempting to mimic his rapid knife work with considerably less skill.

"Absolutely," he confirmed with complete conviction. "Passed down through generations of fearless cooks facing rebellious vegetation."

His playful absurdity created an atmosphere where mistakes became opportunities for humor rather than sources of anxiety. When Ella accidentally added too much salt to a sauce, Wooyoung immediately incorporated the error into a revised recipe, declaring it "fortuitously enhanced" rather than ruined.

This forgiving approach gradually eroded her habitual cautiousness. By the time they began preparing dessert—a simple fruit compote with spiced syrup—Ella found herself suggesting modifications to the recipe without first calculating potential negative consequences.

"Cinnamon might complement the apples," she ventured, then added more boldly, "And perhaps a touch of that cardamom from breakfast?"

Wooyoung's face lit with disproportionate delight. "Exactly what I was thinking! Great minds clearly think alike about spice combinations."

As he reached for the suggested ingredients, Ella noticed him exchanging a brief glance with someone behind her. Turning, she discovered Hongjoong standing in the galley doorway, observing their interaction with unreadable expression.

"Captain," Wooyoung acknowledged, his tone maintaining its cheerfulness despite the sudden tension in his posture. "We're preparing a feast worthy of your most distinguished guest."

"So I see," Hongjoong replied, his eyes moving from Wooyoung to Ella and back again. "I apologize for the interruption. Please continue."

As he departed, Ella noticed how Wooyoung's shoulders relaxed incrementally, though his smile never wavered. The brief exchange suggested complexity beneath the surface of the officers' interactions—dynamics invisible to outsiders yet deeply significant to those involved.

"The captain doesn't cook?" she asked, keeping her tone casual despite her curiosity.

"Tragically, no," Wooyoung replied, resuming his food preparation with characteristic animation. "His talents lie elsewhere, though he appreciates good food with appropriate reverence."

"And the others?"

"Seonghwa can cook but insists on measuring everything with scientific precision—beautiful results but painfully methodical process. Yunho manages basic sustenance but lacks creative flair. And Mingi..."

He paused, a fond smile crossing his features. "Mingi actually has natural talent but gets uncomfortable with praise, so he pretends incompetence to avoid being drafted into kitchen duty."

This casual insight into the gunner's character caught Ella's attention. "He dislikes attention that much?"

"He prefers his work to speak for itself," Wooyoung explained, his typical humor giving way to thoughtful assessment. "Recognition makes him self-conscious, though he deserves it more than most."

The observation aligned with her own impressions of Mingi—his evident discomfort when Hongjoong had praised his mechanical innovations, the way he deflected attention even while taking evident pride in his work. These characteristics seemed unlikely to be recent developments; they spoke of deeply ingrained personality traits rather than temporary circumstances.

As they completed dinner preparations, delivering steaming dishes to the officers' mess where the others had begun to gather, Ella found herself studying each man with renewed attentiveness. Their individualized mannerisms, their established dynamics, the subtle ways they accommodated each other's strengths and sensitivities—all suggested relationships developed over years rather than months.

These were not men who had recently formed alliance for convenience or profit. They functioned as a cohesive unit built on profound mutual understanding and trust. Such bonds required time to develop, particularly among people shaped by the harshness of pirate existence.

When had their journeys intersected? How had five such different personalities forged such seamless collaboration? And why did their presence trigger such persistent sense of familiarity in her own consciousness?

As they settled around the dinner table—the same configuration as the previous evening, with Hongjoong at the head, Seonghwa to his right, and the others arranged accordingly—Ella found herself watching their interactions with new intentness. Something connected these men beyond current circumstance, something that predated their present roles and responsibilities.

"The compote was Ella's inspiration," Wooyoung announced as dessert was served. "Specifically, the spice combination."

All eyes turned briefly toward her, reactions varying from Seonghwa's raised eyebrow to Yunho's warm smile. Most interesting was Hongjoong's response—a flash of something that might have been recognition quickly masked by polite acknowledgment.

"It's excellent," the captain noted, his voice carefully neutral. "You have good instincts for flavor harmony."

"Wooyoung deserves the credit," she demurred. "I merely suggested; he executed."

"Creative collaboration," Yunho offered, his gentle voice carrying surprising authority. "Often produces results neither party could achieve alone."

"Like our rigging system," Mingi added unexpectedly, the rare voluntary contribution drawing momentary surprise from his companions.

"Exactly," Yunho agreed, evident pleasure in his expression. "Or Seonghwa and Hongjoong's navigation innovations."

The conversation shifted naturally to other examples of collaborative success aboard the ATEEZ, revealing an organizational culture that valued combined expertise over individual achievement. Throughout, Ella observed how easily these men communicated, their interactions reflecting years of shared experience and mutual understanding.

As the meal concluded and the officers began discussing watch schedules and navigational matters, Ella found herself stifling a yawn. The day's activities—physical, intellectual, and emotional—had drained her more thoroughly than she'd realized.

"You should rest," Seonghwa observed, his attention to detail apparently extending to others' well-being. "Today has been demanding."

"I'm fine," she began automatically, then caught herself. In Blackwell's household, acknowledging fatigue invited exploitation of perceived weakness. Here, such calculation seemed unnecessary. "But perhaps you're right," she amended. "It has been an eventful day."

"Wooyoung and I will handle cleanup," Yunho offered. "You've done more than your share in food preparation."

"And I promised you stargazing," he added with a gentle smile. "Though perhaps tomorrow night would be better, when you're properly rested."

The considerate rescheduling touched her unexpectedly. Throughout her captivity, her preferences and physical limits had been irrelevant to those with power over her. This simple acknowledgment of her needs—without exploitation or judgment—represented novel respect for her humanity.

"Thank you," she said simply. "Tomorrow night would be perfect."

As she rose to depart, Hongjoong addressed her directly. "We'll continue our discussion of Blackwell's operations tomorrow morning, if you're amenable. There are several strategic aspects I'd like to explore further."

"Of course, Captain," she agreed, recognizing the return to their formal arrangement. Whatever moments of casual interaction had occurred today, the underlying purpose of her presence remained clear: she was valuable primarily for her knowledge of their target.

Yet as she made her way to her cabin, nodding acknowledgment to crew members she passed, Ella found herself questioning this straightforward assessment. If information about Blackwell was their sole objective, why the careful consideration of her comfort? Why the grant of relative freedom within the ship? Why the personal interactions beyond formal interrogation?

The paradox troubled her as she prepared for sleep, removing her shoes and outer clothing but maintaining sufficient attire for quick movement if necessary. Fifteen years of captivity had taught her never to be completely vulnerable, even during rest. Yet for the first time in memory, she felt secure enough to consider genuine relaxation rather than merely strategic recuperation.

As she settled onto the small but comfortable bed, Ella whispered her nightly ritual—the five names that had sustained her through fifteen years of survival: "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy."

Tonight, the childish nicknames carried new resonance, echoing with the day's experiences aboard the ATEEZ. The careful, strategic captain with his searching gaze. The methodical quartermaster with his precise movements. The cheerful cook with his playful instruction. The gentle boatswain with his star knowledge. The quiet gunner with his eloquent designs.

Five men, five boys, five names preserved through fifteen years of determined recitation.

Coincidence? Or something more significant?

Ella drifted toward sleep with these questions circling through her consciousness, no closer to certainty than when the day began. Yet something had shifted within her—a cautious openness to possibility that transcended her habitual suspicion.

Tomorrow would bring further interaction, additional observation, more opportunities to assess the true nature of her situation aboard the ATEEZ. For tonight, she would allow herself the luxury of dreamless sleep, secure in the knowledge that whatever game was being played, she remained an active participant rather than merely a pawn.

In the quiet darkness of her cabin, with the gentle rocking of the ship beneath her and the vast starlit sky above, Ella surrendered to rest more complete than she had known since childhood.

[thewulf]

Good News || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: So i saw somewhere where a woman got into trouble for "destruction of government property" but it's just her giving her military husband hickies, and i think this would be so hilarious with Jake Seresin.

A/N: This one came so quickly to me. It's just pure fluff. All the Jake Seresin fluff! Short but sweet. Hope you all enjoy :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 2.3k +

Your eyes flipped back to the calendar on the wall with a big red circle around today. You’d probably looked at that calendar a thousand times over the last six months as you waited. Waited agonizingly every single day praying you wouldn’t get a knock on your door or the dreaded phone call.

Jake had been deployed on a carrier off the coast of Israel in the Mediterranean Sea for the last six months. You knew it came with the territory when you started dating him all those years ago. It terrified you every single time he came to tell you he was off on a mission or going on orders overseas. You’d never show it, only your utmost support and confidence in the man. But you knew how dangerous it was. He told you about all the men and women he’s seen gone down and some never making it home in his short span as a pilot in the Navy. It didn’t just terrify you, it rocked you all the way down to your core. What if he didn’t make it home? He was a hell of a pilot, one of the best that was flying, but things didn’t always go your way. He knew that. You knew it. Everybody seemed to know it.

But today was the day. He was coming home. After the months of shitty less than communication and trying your best to stay distracted it was here. He was safe. He was alive. You’d talked to him just a few hours ago. Waiting.

Jake’s parents picked you up from your shared home just off base that’d been eerily quiet in his absence. They didn’t want you driving in your hyper-fixated state. They never wanted you driving when it came to these kinds of events. They knew how much it tore you up when he was gone on deployment. If you didn’t fly down to Texas they made sure to fly to you. Just to keep you company. You hadn’t a clue how you’d gotten so lucky to have them in your life. And hopefully in the future as family. You never pushed it though. You didn’t want him to panic and ran. And truth be told you’d be fine never marrying him so long as he was like this in your life. Your best friend and love wrapped up in one.

“Are you excited?” His mom asked seeing you nearly bouncing out of the backseat once the car rolled onto base.

“Oh Nancy,” you could only nod your head in confirmation, “I’m more than excited.” Your cheeks were starting to burn from the big cheesy grin you were wearing.

His dad, David, spoke up, “I know Jake is just as excited.” He smiled just feeling the excitement in the air. These days were truly the best. Six months was a long time to be away. The longest deployment he’d been on in years.

The three of you made small talk as David drove to the base. Once parked, you happily led the older couple over to where the sailors would stand before they waited to be dismissed. You watched as the hundred or so men and women aboard the ship departed to their designated formation. Your eyes scanned for your loved one. Your Jake.

Finally spotting him you waited anxiously as the rest of the crew lined up. You just had to wait it out another ten minutes or so. They had to officially be dismissed before they could break for the family reunions. These last few minutes always seemed to draw on for decades trying to be as patient as possible.

You kept your eyes on him as he kept his forward. You hadn’t a clue that he already spotted you moments before you did him. But he had to keep his attention forward. No matter how anxious he was to see his favorite girl again.

They second they were dismissed Jake made a beeline right for you. Your face lit up in surprise as he headed right at you. Your body responding by moving forward you jumped right into his arms once he got close enough. He was more than ready. He wrapped his arms right around you securing you tightly to his chest while your feet locked behind him.

“Jakey.” You grinned hugging him tightly, afraid he’d be gone from your arms again you cherished every second like this. It made you realize how much you really did love the man you were holding so tightly. How much you craved him, everything about him. You’d rather not have had him gone for six months though. That was far too long for your liking. As if you had any say.

“Honey.” He cooed gently rocking you side to side. One arm snaked around your waist, one arm gently cradling your head in his hands, “You’re so fucking pretty. How’d you get even more beautiful? God I missed your face.” Jake leaned down capturing your lips in his. As gentle as he normally was with you this was hungrier. He really had missed you. Giving your hip as squeeze you felt him smile into the kiss as you squirmed away from his grasp.

Once you stopped giggling you looked right into his eyes smiling dopily, “And I missed yours, handsome man.” You gave him a wicked smirk before doing the unthinkable. Jake had warned you time and time again how he couldn’t show visible marks on the skin, or the Navy could have his ass. And maybe even yours if they were angry enough. You’d known they were empty threats, but you’d never dreamed of potentially hurting his flying in anyway. So, you’d never leave any marks.

Sliding his collar to the side you decided to throw caution to the wind seeing everybody lost in their own world with their own families. Jake’s parents were even admiring all the reunions around them instead of having their eyes fixated on the two of you. They loved watching all the joy every time. Nancy always made sure that every sailor was feeling the love. That was just one of the reasons you’d fallen in love not only with Jake but his entire family. His mom was as sweet as they came. His dad just as caring but even more tough. It was no wonder Jake was the way he was. Albeit a little more of an asshole than either of them even combined.

“Ma’am. That is abhorrent.” A vaguely familiar voice made you focus on your surroundings once more, “This is Destruction of Government Property.” You heard a cough from behind Jake drawing you away from your boyfriends neck. The look you sent could’ve killed him if it were at all possible. Bradley fucking Bradshaw. Was he actually serious right now?

You felt Jake’s laughter in his chest before you heard it. Flicking your eyes up momentarily at him you kissed him on his cheek before flipping Bradley off, “I don’t care Bradley.” You continued flipping him off while Jake held you tightly to his chest.

“Sweetheart…” Jake tried to warn you. The government really did own his ass. But his Commanding Officer was cool. He wasn’t expected to be back on base for another few weeks… what did a few hickies hurt? You knew the drill, but it didn’t seem to matter as you clung to him like he was about to vanish at any second. He looked down at your doe eyed expression, “I missed you.” He finished realizing just how hard deployment really was on you. The two of you were going on year five together. He’d been a pilot for all of them. He’d flown his hardest missions during that time. Your support never wavered. But seeing you like this? Like you’d never see him again… it hurt him. It hurt knowing you were feeling like that.

“You’ll care when there are Naval Officers on your doorstep.” Bradley tried. He really did. But you really didn’t care. You missed him more than anything. You didn’t care that his parents were there watching. You just missed him. Missed his corny ass jokes and the soft touches he always threw your way. You missed the sweet smiles and laughter that came with being around him. 

“So be it. Worth it.” You giggled as Jake pinched your sides again bringing your attention back to the man you’d dreamed about every day.

“Eyes over here darling.” He made sure to flip Bradley off before holding you back in his arms once again. He wouldn’t let you drop your hold on him. He wanted you close. He didn’t care either. He’d craved you for those months. He’d forgotten just how bad deployment got. Bradley mumbled some incoherent words before disappearing off into the crowd.

Kissing his cheek once more you nodded, “Sorry Jakey.” Brushing your hands through his hair it felt like it really was just the two of you there. Like nobody else was around.

“No need to apologize.” He whispered in your ear sending immediate chills down your spine, “You didn’t answer my question though. How’d you seem to get even more beautiful while I was gone?”

You truly felt like a little schoolgirl was a nasty crush on a boy way out of your league. He was so sweet to you and only you. Not having a clue why. You loved watching him interact with everyone else. He was so different than the man who came home to you every night. But that was Jake. Tough as they come. Sweet as can be. The biggest fight the two of you had was when he came home and told you about the six month long deployment a year ago. You didn’t even fight you were just sad. Sad that he volunteered to go. Volunteered and didn’t tell you. The two of you worked through it though. You always did.

“Shush. You’ve just been trapped on a big boat for so long I’d be offended if you didn’t think I was pretty.” You wanted to kiss him so bad. You didn’t even remember the kiss you gave him once you spotted him walk off the ship. You blacked out, truly.

“Never ever.” He grinned, “I’ll never stop complementing my beautiful girl.”

You squeezed your arms around him pulling him so much closer. You’d melt into him if you could, “You’re too sweet to me Mr. Seresin.”

He shook his head, “Not enough, I’d say.” He took the lead this time leaning down to give you a soft, sweet kiss that was far too short for your liking.

“I love you.” You whispered to him feeling oh so happy. So beyond excited he was holding you in his arms once again. You tried to step away to give his parents a chance to say hello, but he only held you tighter. Shaking his head.

“Love you too, gorgeous girl.” He hummed placing a soft kiss on your forehead, “That was it, by the way.”

You scrunched your eyes together in confusion, “What?”

He nodded his head with that larger than life smile on his face, “You’re looking at Captain Jake Seresin. Command Ground Officer.” He emphasized ground with wide eyes.

“Jake! Congrats. You didn’t tell me! Does this mean you’re here? Permanently?” Looking at him expectedly. It hit you just how good it could really get once you knew he’d be sleeping by your side every night.

He nodded his head in excitement, “At least for this job. I’ll still be flying but more on the leadership side. Training. Preparing them.”

You didn’t think your heart could swell any larger in love. But there it went. Only Jake could do that. You knew it. He knew it, “You’re not kidding right? Like you’re being serious?”

“Yes sweetheart. So serious.” He kissed your nose this time. He missed you more than you could’ve imagined. It was an impossible six months. He didn’t want to do that anymore. He couldn’t be away from you anymore. Lucky for him he had options. They let him choose. He choose to ground himself from missions. It was time to grow up and move on. He’d accomplished everything he sought out to and more already in the air. Now he was on a mission to rise to the top. Admiral Jake Seresin had a ring to it. 

You wanted to squeal but knew you had eyes all over you. Anybody could’ve been watching, “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while J.”

“Just you wait.” He grinned ear to ear leaning down once more, whispering into your ear, “Won’t even be the best news you’ve heard all day.” Leaning all the way down he kissed you with a little bit more but keeping it PG. His parents were standing there a little annoyed that he’d chosen to be with you for so long before he even acknowledged them. But they knew. They knew the raw power of love. How much it could sway and dissuade. How deeply Jake was in love with you and how much you were with him.

“Oh? Do tell.” You pulled away looking at him curiously.

“You’ll see.” He wiggled his eyebrows just to egg you on.

You narrowed your eyebrows in on the man you loved so dearly, “You know how much I hate surprises.”

He laughed gleefully, “Oh darling, I know.” He pulled you back into him momentarily, “Promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”

“Promise?” You knew he’d keep true to his word, but you wanted to hear him confirm it.

“I promise you darling. Just you wait.” Squeezing your hand, he finally walked over to his parents bringing you right along with him. Only dropping your hand as he went in for the hug with his mom.

Taglist: @stuffingbuttsandshit @genius2050

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Shipping Out

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Drinking, smoking, public sex, smut. Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: Just trust me on this one, and read all the way to the end.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @bottlesandbarricades. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The pub is crowded and noisy, the humidity of the air making her carefully coiffed curls cling to the back of her neck with perspiration. It’s not often that she frequents this side of Manchester, but the change of scenery is a refreshing switch of pace to the monotony of everyday life. Laughter, music and the clinking of glasses is preferable to the whir of the factory sewing machines.

She taps her red lacquered nails against the wood of the bar, wrinkling her nose at the stickiness of the wooden surface beneath her palm. If the frequency with which it’s wiped down is any indication of the attentiveness of the barkeep then she’s in for a long wait for a drink.

Sighing, she fishes her cigarette case from her handbag, flipping it open and plucking one out. No sooner has she placed it between her lips than a hand is clicking a flame to life before the end of it, turning it a glowing cherry red. She casts her gaze upwards through the steady plume of smoke, met by twinkling blue eyes and a cocky smirk, as the chivalrous stranger deposits his lighter back into his trouser pocket and regards her with a tip of his head.

“Thanks,” she says with an easy smile, taking the smoke between her fingers and exhaling a tight line of vapour up towards the ceiling.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies with a wink. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this then?”

God, that’s a terrible line.

She bites back a laugh, and decides to humour him. “Trying to get a drink, service in here is awful though.”

He purses his lips, eyes raking over her from head to toe, before nodding. “Can’t be having that.” Slapping a hand against the bartop, he calls out, “Oi! My lady friend and I are dying of thirst over here! Anyone serving?”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, but doesn’t have to wait long until a middle aged, irritated looking woman makes her way around the corner to the pair of them and grumpily takes their order. She’s long since finished her cigarette by the time the glasses are placed heavily down in front of them.

He doesn’t even ask what she wants to drink; she ends up with a gin and tonic, while he has a pint. It’s what she would have ordered anyway, but the bold presumption unsettles her regardless.

Sipping her drink, she relishes in the way the fizzy bitterness envelopes her tongue as she takes in what he’s wearing; navy blue slacks and a matching long sleeved smock, with a white striped collar.

“Shouldn’t you be on a boat somewhere, sailor?”

He grins, setting his glass down on a dog eared beer mat. “Just so happens I’ve been given a night of shore leave. I ship out again tomorrow.”

“Lucky me,” she says with a coy smile.

“If you play your cards right you might be.”

There’s that smirk again. She watches as he takes out a packet of Lucky Strike, perching one between his lips before offering one to her. She gratefully accepts, and he’s quick to light it for her, before doing the same to his own.

Every table is full, but she doesn’t mind, she’s content just to prop up the bar with him, ignoring the ache of her feet as they lapse into effortless conversation. He’s handsome, if a little overeager and she pays rapt attention as he entertains her with stories of his time aboard the HMS Exeter.

She’s on her third gin and tonic of the evening when he leans in to whisper to her.

“So, I might not see another woman for months after tonight. You gonna help me make it one to remember?”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, she giggles softly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to thank me for my loyal service to our country,” he tells her, taking her hand and leading her out of the pub.

Allowing the gin to fuel her confidence, before she can change her mind, she lets him guide her outside. Even met with the sobering chill of the night air, she offers up no protest when he pulls her into the ginnel, the brickwork biting into her back as he pushes her up against the wall and captures her lips with her.

It’s a messy kiss, moist and desperate with need. He tastes of beer and tobacco as she welcomes his tongue against her own with parted lips, her fingertips sliding over the breadth of his shoulders and up into the cropped softness of his sandy coloured hair.

Pressing tighter against her, he groans appreciatively, mouth moving from hers to travel a path across her jaw and down her neck, as his hands find their way up her skirt. One teases the top of her stocking while the other presses against her clothed core, making her gasp.

His touch is hurried, not as thorough as she’d like, yet she feels a growing stickiness between her thighs regardless. The warmth of his fingers and lips against her makes her feel desired, and she is lightheaded, almost giddy, to see the effect she’s having on him.

Instinctively, she parts her legs wider as he dips beneath her knicker elastic, stroking eagerly through her folds.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, “bet you’d let me fuck you right here, if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

She bites her bottom lip, stifling her quiet whimper as his strokes against her cause her to throb. “Please…”

“Since you asked nicely…” He pulls back, blue eyes dark with intent as he makes quick work of unbuckling his belt, lowering his trousers and briefs just enough to free his erection.

Even in the darkness of the alleyway she can see that he’s thick and heavy, and he pumps lazily at himself, while his free hand reaches into his pocket.

“Leave that,” she tells him, as she spots the foil of the sheath wrapper.

He raises an eyebrow, pursing his lips as he stares at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, slipping the packet away and surging forward. He pulls her underwear to the side, grasping the base of himself and pushes forcefully into her in one motion.

The movement knocks all the air from her lungs. Though she is wet, the public nature of their tryst leaves little time for him to prepare her fully, the luxury of time is not on their side, but in their desperation neither one of them cares. It stings, the fullness of him pushing against her, but it’s a pleasurable hurt.

Her breaths leave her mouth in shallow pants as he pistons his hips into her, lifting one of her legs to hook her thigh around his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he rocks into her, his forehead pushed up against hers.

“Filthy slut,” he grits out, “bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yeah…” she whines, feeling his fingers press tighter into the meat of her thigh.

His brow furrows, and he grunts, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. While the ache builds steadily inside of her, she worries he’ll finish before she does. The thought is fleeting, and as though he’s read her mind, the hand not gripping her thigh slips between them, fingers rubbing tight circles against her bud. She clenches around him, the added stimulation serving to intensify the tightening in her lower belly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, “come on.”

He pulsates inside of her, knocking against a spot that makes her tip over the edge suddenly, and she lets out a choked cry, a rolling wave of weightlessness travelling from her head to her toes. Her walls spasm around him and he pushes himself in to the hilt, a groan of relief escaping him as he spills himself inside of her.

They stay like that for a few moments, both catching their breath as their bodies relax. He grins as he pulls back slightly, before leaning in to pepper her face with soft, playful kisses.

“Tommy!” She huffs a laugh, swatting at his shoulder.

He slips out of her, stepping back to tuck himself away and fasten his belt. “Thought we weren’t supposed to be using our names? Part of the fun was pretending we don’t know each other.”

She scoffs, putting her gusset back into place as she feels his spend start to drip out of her, and smooths her skirt back down. “Think you ruined that when you ordered my drink without asking what I wanted. A stranger wouldn’t know I like gin and tonic!”

Tom rolls his eyes and chuckles, offering his arm for her to take. “Right, right. Well, I’ll remember for next time. Whatever you need for me to fulfill your fantasies.”

“Right now, my only fantasy is being at home in bed. That pub is horrible,” she tells him as they begin to walk down the street arm in arm.

“You wanted the uniform. I wasn’t gonna take us somewhere someone we know would see and take the piss.”

She laughs, gripping his arm tighter as she looks up at him. “Was fun though, wasn’t it?”

He gazes down at her with hooded eyes as they continue to walk. “I’ve had worse nights.”

Read on AO3

More Tom fics

[see-arcane]

Well.

Here I am again.

In-between half a dozen other projects, the writing exercise that was supposed to be a light distraction has taken off without me. Once more, a very vampiric flavor of horror. But this time it’s so close to the Dracula source material that it’s living in it like an accursed undead poison. Or the bedeviled solicitor who first wrote on that horror in the first place.

That’s what Harker is. Those who have read Dracula before will know that, being a novel built of diary entries and sundry documents, the narrative is boiled down to what events the characters bother to record. Of special note is how the opening and closing protagonist of the book, Jonathan Harker, becomes progressively curter in his descriptions as certain grim events pile up.

So much so that he pointedly avoids recording the bulk of his two month-long captivity in Castle Dracula. And whatever it was that happened to him between the castle and his stay with the nuns. And just what exactly happened to him upon realizing what happened on the 3rd of October. Among a hundred other little omissions a reader only detects by the vacuum they’ve left as the entries of other characters sketch around them. Artful as Mr. Harker may be when in a descriptive mood, vital as his words are for the whole of the story, he’s shockingly silent on huge gaps of time and very significant occurrences within them.

Which bothers the hell out of me. Especially when there’s roughly a jillion elaborations and inventions made from swiveling the perspective to (Suddenly in love with Dark Sexprince Dracula~) Mina or (Very Definite Vampire Expert Badass Actionman) Van Helsing or (Ohhh, I’m so misunderstood, those babies and sailors and assorted murdered chattel had it coming and those human heroes were just stuffy cliché Victorians who were so meeean to meee) Dracula or (Actually pretty cool?) depictions of the nightmare aboard the Demeter. And yet we’ve got nothing for Jonathan? Not one single spinoff dedicated to filling in the blanks between journal pages?

It can’t stand. Not for another Dracula Season. So, I’m a-scribbling.

Whether this winds up as a proper book or not, I figured said scribbling has gotten big enough that it was time to carve out a piece to share. Hope you guys enjoy the read and any future updates.

You can read the Chapter 1 Teaser via:

Tumblr

PDF

Author site

(And remember, I already have a book published if you want to read about some modern gothic undead horrors! The Vampyres is a short and sinister read with its own preview sample to comb through. Hope you’ll have a look.)

[novaursa]

Love your stories! I had a request.

Could you please do a Euron/YN story? I'm thinking maybe Y/N could be a captive aboard the Silence.

Another request: please make this story as unhinged and dark as possible. I know that's your specialty.

She Who Sleeps Beneath

- Summary: Euron believes he captured a god, but the truth is, you are something far more terrible.

- Pairing: reader/Euron Greyjoy

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (all flags are up for this one)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: You let me off the leash and I went rabid.

The deck of Silence reeked of blood, salt, and madness. You hung there like a fallen angel—if angels ever came from the black abysses beneath the world—naked and slick with brine, eyes too wide, too still, too ancient for the form they now wore. A girl, they thought. A girl no older than fifteen summers, skin like cold wax, hair clinging to your shoulders in tendrils like kelp. But you were no girl. No thing so simple. You watched them with that eerie stillness, as if you could already see the meat peeling from their bones.

Euron Greyjoy stood over you, barefoot on the red-slick planks, his lips parted in something between a grin and a religious trance. His good eye blazed with sea-glass hunger. The other, the black one, was a void, a maw, an open mouth with no throat. His robes were stained with salt and old gore, his teeth sharp from too many dreams of gnawing on the divine. You smelled it on him—madness, rot, old blood, and something older, something deeper.

He had hunted you for ten years.

Ten years of storms and slaughter, of necromancers flayed on his deck for answers, of sailors thrown screaming into the sea with bells tied to their ankles so he could hear the deep sing back. Ten years chasing whispers, wet footprints on stone, sightings of a girl in glassy waters, ships swallowed whole in perfect silence.

And now you were here. Lashed in chains made from weirwood roots and black iron, soaked in oils scoured from drowned priests and unborn calves. Your eyes blinked once. Slowly. He shuddered.

“She’s mine,” Euron whispered, turning to his crew with arms spread wide. “Do you hear it? Do you feel it?” He laughed, a hideous, choking sound. “She’s the womb of gods! The mother of tides and ruin. I will crawl inside her and be reborn. I will tear sons from her belly that will drink the stars dry.”

The crew didn’t answer. Most didn’t dare meet your gaze. One of the thralls muttered a prayer before Euron silenced him with a knife through the throat.

“They don’t understand,” he crooned, dropping to his knees before you. He cupped your face like you were something delicate, a relic pulled from a drowned city. “But I do. I’ve seen you in my dreams. You walked through the weeping tunnels beneath the world. You tore kings in half with your teeth. You laid with leviathans, and birthed monsters that swallowed continents.” His breath was foul, his words reverent.

You said nothing. Your lips were blue, faintly cracked, and you blinked again.

Inside, you imagined the taste of his tongue.

You imagined how he would scream when you split his ribs open and wore his lungs like wings. You had done it before. Long ago, in a different form, before the world remembered sunlight. Your mind slithered through time like a serpent through ruins, tasting his flesh already. He thought he’d won. But you knew better. You’d let him find you. You’d let him drag you aboard this rotting ark, because now you were close.

Close enough to smell the iron in his blood.

“I’ll fill her with god-seed,” Euron declared, rising now, arms shaking with the strength of his madness. “Every night. Every tide. Until her belly swells and bursts with children. They will climb from her screaming like stormspawn. They’ll walk on water. They’ll tear down the gods of men.”

One of his lieutenants—Qarlen, you remembered, a thick-necked man with red boils on his arms—spoke then, voice unsure. “She don’t look like she can bear no babes, Captain. She looks like a child.”

Euron turned slowly. “Do you question me?” His voice was quiet, terrifying.

Qarlen took a step back. “No, Captain. Just… she ain’t natural.”

“Exactly,” Euron whispered. “That’s the point.” He turned back to you and pressed his forehead to yours, trembling. “You’re not of this world. You’re from the dark before time. You’re the end of all things. You’re mine.”

Your eyes flicked down to his throat. You knew where his arteries pulsed. You fantasized about puncturing them with your nails. Or your teeth. Or the ridged mandibles that slumbered beneath your tongue. For now, you waited. Let him think you weak. Let him feel victorious.

Let him feed you.

He kissed your forehead. You barely felt it.

“I’ll keep you beneath,” he said. “In the hold. Where the bones sing. And when the moon’s high, I’ll come down and pray. I’ll anoint your belly with blood and salt. You’ll give me a kingdom of horrors, won’t you, my love?”

You smiled. Just barely.

One day, you would eat him alive. You would peel his skin and wear it long enough to whisper madness into every ear that had ever heard his name. You would sing his death-song in a voice of knives and drown this ship in his screams.

But for now, you closed your eyes and let him dream.

The hold of Silence was a womb of black and brine, thick with the reek of mildew, blood, and the slow rot of things too long kept in the dark. No torch burned there. Only the phosphorescent glow of barnacles smeared across old hull planks, casting a sickly, pulsing light that seemed to breathe. You lay upon a slab of driftwood and rusted chains, cold as stone, your skin still glistening with sea-slick and salt.

Above you loomed Euron.

He was shirtless, glistening with sweat, eye wild and unblinking, and every breath he took shuddered like a man possessed. His voice was a rasp, thick with reverence and lust.

“You’ll remember this,” he whispered, as if speaking to a goddess. “You’ll carry me inside you, the way the sea carries the bones of drowned kings. You were made for this.”

You didn’t answer. You watched him with those still, glassy eyes—empty of resistance, of emotion, of anything resembling fear. It pleased him.

He tore what little covered you and pressed himself to your cool flesh, trembling with desire and terror. You were pliant beneath him, as silent as the dead, your breath shallow, body unmoving save for the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He didn’t notice the way your pupils dilated—long, vertical slits slicing through the black of your eyes like cracks in reality. He didn't see how your mouth twitched, just slightly, as if remembering how to split wide.

His hands roamed your skin as he whispered profanities and prayers in the same breath, groaning your name—though he did not know it. He called you Womb of the Abyss, Bride of Leviathans, Mother of the Next World.

And then it was done.

Euron collapsed atop you, breath ragged, lips pressed against your neck as he muttered a lullaby you did not understand. “You are mine. You are mine. My queen of horrors. My whore of the deep. My vessel…”

You did not move.

Until you did.

Something shifted beneath your flesh.

Your hands—small and pale—snapped shut around his wrists with a strength that no child should possess. He tensed, startled, but before his mouth could form a question, your head turned toward him. Slowly. Inhumanly. Your lips peeled back in something that could not be called a smile.

There were too many teeth.

The skin on your face rippled, peeled, tore—and something inside unfurled.

Euron screamed.

It was a wet, helpless sound, sharp with panic and disbelief. He tried to pull back, but your body had opened like a blooming flower, your limbs lengthening, black carapace gleaming beneath tearing flesh. Bone cracked as your arms split at the elbows, long fingers stretching into jagged claws. Your chest split down the middle with a sickening wet pop, revealing a slick, chitinous maw, and your tongue uncoiled like a whip of muscle and hooks.

“You were inside me,” you said, but the voice was not yours. It was before you. A thousand voices murmured beneath it—dripping, wet, writhing things. “Now I will be inside you.”

He tried to scream again, but your tongue lashed around his throat and pulled him down.

You bit into his face first.

The eye—the real one—popped between your jaws. The black one, the void, you sucked from the socket like marrow from a bone. He thrashed, blood spilling in great pulsing waves, staining the planks with steaming crimson. You tore his chest open next, ribs cracking like splintering ice. His heart was a hot, twitching thing between your teeth.

He died gurgling your name.

You chewed.

When it was over, what remained of Euron Greyjoy was a mess of bone and pulp strewn across the floor of his own ship, dragged into a rough spiral by your claws—a mark left by your kind long ago, older than speech, older than gods. You stood in the wreck of your human skin, the shape of you now monstrous—taller, lithe, slick with mucous and blood. Your body gleamed with armored plates and sinew. Four eyes blinked across your face. The mandibles twitched.

And you breathed.

Climbing the steps, you emerged into the moonlight, glistening and grotesque.

The crew froze. Every man on deck stared at you. Some dropped to their knees in horror, others backed away until they fell overboard. None moved to stop you.

You walked through them without fear. Their terror was thick, savory, and you basked in it. A few dared to speak your name, to whisper of monsters and old stories, but no one followed as you reached the edge of the deck.

You looked back once. The wind blew through your hair—what little remained of it—and your jaw distended with a hiss that silenced every mouth.

Then you leapt.

You hit the water without a sound, and the sea accepted you like a mother reclaiming her child.

And Silence was truly silent at last.

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere siren! neuvillette x reader (intro)

Adopted by the sea, you have devoted your life to discovering its mysteries. What happens when you stumble upon an enigma that returns your interest tenfold?

You don’t know anything besides the sea. Neither your name nor the person guided by it years before, but when the moon’s pale face greets you, leering over its wavering, abysmal reflection swathed in sheets of liquid silver and indigo, you recall how some things are only created to be viewed at a surface level. To delve any further is to invite your demise, so you have learned to fill your mind with other sinking thoughts, like how amongst all the treasures your ship ferries to gilded thrones, the finest gems are scattered amongst your motley crew.

However, despite the fact that courts across the land commission you to discover and steal, meager entails can no longer sustain your crew, and you refuse to let the Waverider be decommissioned. The piers are a marketplace of secrets, myth and fact alike, yet when you catch wind of a discovery that will send shockwaves across the earth, you would have been foolish not to investigate. Like any other sailor, you have heard of and long to discover the hermit kingdom of Fontaine, so when another captain aboard a smaller vessel was rumored to possess a map of a newly discovered waterway, you besieged it.

Grinding it to driftwood the very next evening, you did everything in your power to bring that map into your possession and fled, redirecting your course the moment it graced your hands. Now, with a chorus of shanties, you charge steadfast into uncharted waters, where cyclones await, eager to ensnare. You hadn’t anticipated the sudden shift in climate, but your crew is prepared to weather the storm at your side. Diluc, your second in command, stands on the deck, bracing himself against nothing, tottering around.

Your hands clasp around the wheel as if to wring the neck of the tempest itself. The gale roars its fury, clawing at the sails and throwing its weight against the stout hull of your vessel. Yet above the cacophony, your voice rises, slicing through the tumult.

“Retreat below,” you shout, barely audible as a thunderclap crackles across the sky.

Your crew, shadows cast in the intermittent glow of vengeful lightning, scurry across the heaving deck, moving with a bumbling grace, bodies bending and twisting to the will of the wind as they pour into the galley. Doors slam shut, soon to be barred. You scan the expanse of the ship, finding a stray, defiant figure creeping up the stairs, clutching the bannister to keep from spilling over.

“I gave an order,” you sternly declare.

“I won’t leave,” says Diluc, jaw clenched and brows furrowing.

His anger is as brazen as his fiery hair; it whips around like a flame dancing in the wind. He is filled with promise. With light. His loyalty to you, a no-name captain, is misplaced. Your survival is uncertain, but you will ensure your crew endures, no matter the cost. Even if that means discarding your life, they will live through the night.

“If you don’t leave now, you’ll leave at the next port.”

Gauging your sincerity, he creeps forward. You merely glare.

“Now. Or you’re fired.”

With a simper, he retreats. Alone now, you permit your shoulders to sag. It isn’t only the sopping coat that weighs you down.

Tousled by a ferocious wind, waves crest and trough, rattling the ship like brittle bones. Nestled at the helm, you grit your teeth and face the brunt of the aquatic assault. Battered by torrents, your rain-soaked coat weighs like stones. Similarly burdened, your captain’s hat dips below your brow. With your sight cleared, an otherworldly vision is tossed aboard, piercing the veil of rain and darkness. A flash of silver, swift as lighting, slithers onto the deck. His skin holds the pallor of moonlight, a stark contrast to the storm’s grim palette. Those dark blue eyes, deep as the fathomless abyss, ensnare your gaze. The white tendrils of his hair whip about him, serpents writhing. Pointed ears peek through the wild mane, completing the image of a creature not quite of this world.

For a moment, the storm’s clamor quiets, as if the elements themselves held their breath in reverence. He is the embodiment of everything unknown that you sought—the whispered secrets hidden by the sea, the melody of unanswered questions

Briefly, your gazes clash. Stolen with the next tidal wave, the mysterious being is returned just as swiftly as he landed. In shock, your grip on the wheel falters. The tempest, seizing its chance, rears like a spiteful beast, wrenching the helm from her loosened grip. With a violent buck, you are gifted to the whims of gravity. The world upends: the sky, a churning of dark clouds above your head, now swiftly becomes the raging sea below. You are airborne but for a breath before the embrace of the ocean claimed you, a lover both cruel and seductive. The sea you adore is merciless: it offers a churlish welcome, engulfing you in its embrace. You plunge into the heart of the storm-tossed waters, and there is no gradual descent—only the shock of the cold that seizes your lungs, the harsh slap of brine against your cheeks. It is terrifying, this surrender to an earthly yet uncaring supreme. Yet amidst the terror, a strange beauty whispers, almost like a voice in a shell.

Although the sea is dark, beams of sunlight and luminous animals dart through the billowing waves. Hordes of sickly pale flounder filter past in streams, storming you in a whirlpool. Halfway through this descent, enveloped in a cold, viscous pool where light dim and the world above are a distant memory, your life as a captain, your quest for memories lost—they are inconsequential. Here, in the clutches of the deep, your fragmented past us scattered further by the currents, your identity dissolving into the salt and spray. All of it—it was for naught. You are inconsequential compared to the raw might of the sea.

Amidst the turmoil, a figure descends with otherworldly grace. A lithe figure slices through the water, his form a specter of light against the oppressive darkness. With each fluid stroke, he encroaches, his pale skin luminescent beneath the frothing waves, long white hair trailing behind him like a comet tail. The ethereal sight of him strikes the remaining air from your lungs. Death is hauntingly beautiful; you will welcome it with open arms if this beautiful being is your harbinger.

As he approaches, the chaotic churning of the water softens into gentler undulations. His dark eyes, mirrors of the abyss, fix upon you with a precarious interest. His gaze meanders over you. Without warning, he ensnares your wrist with a touch both gentle and resolute. You glance down at where he holds you and notice a glimmering length of pale scales in place of legs. The cold fear seizing your veins is met with an inexplicable warmth. With his guidance, you began an ascent, and the surrounding waters seemed to part in reverence to his silent command. As if recognizing the sovereignty of its son, the tumultuous swells ebb away from you, creating a serene path towards the surface.

You cannot fathom the enigma that is this moment, nor the serendipitous fate that will, if only for a moment, bind your life to that of a non-human, to a siren. His motivations are shrouded, as impenetrable as the depths from whence he came.

Still, foam-capped, you breach the surface. You are hardly lucid enough to expel the liquid ice from your lungs, yet you realize how the winds die, how the waves cease their torment, how the storm abates to present you to him—a figure cloaked in gauzy light, sunshine gleaming from his snow-peaked head, stars in his eyes. Like clouds reflecting the sun, he is blinding.

As if conscious of his splendor, he tilts you back. You are too weak to protest as a large hand cradles the gap between your shoulders, the other, resting over your eyes. You feel brief pinpricks along your vertebrae but little else: eased onto your back, you are propelled through the waves, gliding seamlessly, without so much as a splash. You long to speak, but your throat is rimmed with salt. You offer no protest, lulled into sleep as a gentle hum picks up. Dull to your waterlogged ears, it almost sounds like a hymn.

A/N: only the intro for now! I'm hoping to have the rest out by the winter holidays but i've become a bit obsessed with this piece, so I'm nit-picking my prose. Thank you, swan anon, for introducing me to Genshin. While I haven't got a feel for most aspects, I'm really enjoying it. (Was there any reason to include Diluc? Not at all. Does someone have a Genshin crush? Maybe.)

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Wary Sailor Pt. 2 | Matthew Joy x fem!reader

summary: Second Mate Matthew Joy goes out on a whale hunt and even after a successful chase, he can't seem to feel satisfied. Something's weighing heavily on his mind. While alone in the harpoon boat, trouble comes to call.

warnings: Aiming a gun at someone, talk of violence, smut, oral (F receiving), penetration, dubious consent (weird circumstances), unprotected sex, Matthew's abandonment issues lol.

word count: 2763k+

Tucumcari- Goodnight, Texas 🎶

Lady May- Tyler Childers 🎵

Note: The lyrics that I included are from the old whaling song Maid of Amsterdam.

*Pt. 3 (and maybe 4???) coming soon!

The men were deployed into the smaller whaling boats, each boat armed with a harpoon and dense cord. Matthew stood at the back of his boat to steer it away from the ship, navigating the aggravated water. He forced himself to think about the whales, keeping his mind inside the boat… but the girl’s eyes appeared like stars in the corner of his vision at all times. 

“Joy!” One of the rowers was yelling at him, snapping him out of his trance. “Joy, focus! Don’t go soft on us all of a sudden, eh?” 

Matthew grimaced as the grisly sailor chuckled. He steered them out to open water, following the Captain's boat as per his orders. While he couldn’t see their bodies in the water, Matthew could hear the loud vibrations of sound the Sperm whales made as they spoke to one another. He could also hear Owen yelling out commands to his men. The harpoonist prepared his weapon. Matthew directed his man to do the same. 

“Steady now!” He advised his men as they waited for movement below the surface. Striking the whale was simple compared to the rest of the exhausting process. Matthew just planned on keeping his men alive but whale oil was also a necessity that he was willing to sacrifice for. He wasn’t a greedy man by any means, he’d lived in poverty all his life. His life was whaling and he didn’t spend much time off the ocean, the stillness made him restless. 

“There she blows!” A man yelled and Matthew peered over the edge as the side of his boat rose out of the water, stuck on the back of an adolescent whale. As he looked over, the distinct silhouette of a woman wavered beneath the surface. Choosing to ignore it, Matthew swung the boat over to allow the harpooner to cast his weapon. 

“Go, go, go!” He barked, spit flying from his mouth as he waved the man on. The harpoon sailed through the sky, landed in the water like a seabird, and missed. The whale diverted away from Matthew’s boat and found itself trapped beside Owen’s. The mother whale broke the surface nearby, distracting the men to the real prize. Matthew steered his boat away as the other men helped reel in the harpoon’s cord. The harpooner aimed and threw. 

…

It was evening when the whale was secured by chains to the deck of the ship. The whale was so large she had to rest in two different places, one on the ship’s deck and the other in Matthew’s boat. The men aboard wrapped rags around their noses to cover the smell. Matthew just grimaced and rubbed the sockets of his eyes. The darkening landscape helped relieve some of his headache. The other men were already aboard the Essex, only he was left to watch over the end of the whale, saving it from sharks and other predators. He could hear the men singing as they did their work, scraping the fat from the inside of a giant. He hummed along to the song they were singing together.

A roving, a roving

Since roving's been my ru-i-in

I'll go no more a roving

With you fair maid! 

Movement in the water drew his mind away from the song. Ripples expanded across the surface where something had just been. Matthew drew his rifle from the floorboards and checked the chamber for bullets. He watched the surface carefully for the distinct fins of sharks. 

I put my hand upon her thigh

Mark well what I do say!

I put my hand upon her thigh

She said young man ‘That’s rather high’

I'll go no more a roving with you fair maid!

Matthew cocked the gun and aimed it at the dark water around his boat. The men’s singing seemed to dissipate with the seriousness of his situation. Sharks could be both dangerous and damaging. The scent of whale blood always drew them in, sending them into a frenzy where they could throw themselves against the side of the boat, risking damage. They were a nuisance to Matthew and he didn’t mind shooting them when necessary. The boat rocked in the waves and he steadied himself. 

“Are you going to use that on me, Matthew Joy?” The voice behind him startled a gasp from his lips. He swung the rifle around, aiming it at the same face he’d seen hours before. 

“You…” he whispered, keeping his rifle trained on her throat. Her eyes were the same green as before, only this time he could see them more clearly. The sun had fully set but colors remained in the sky above her head, bloody purples and such. He couldn’t see her body below the water but he saw that her shoulders were bare save the scattered pearls stuck to her skin like freckles. 

“Are you going to shoot me?” She whispered back, her face inches from the barrel of the rifle. He licked his lips before speaking.

“Where… where did you go? You disappeared…” he muttered darkly, flicking his eyes up to the deck where his crewmates continued to work. He was alone with the girl. 

“I had to see what you were like,” she offered a small smile. Matthew adjusted the way he held the gun, still aimed at her. 

“You asked me if I believed in Sirens…” Matthew remembered warily, his eyes trailing over the pearls across her chest. Her dark hair rested behind her shoulders, down her back. 

“Do you?” She asked and reached up her hands slowly, holding the edge of the small boat. He stared at her, his breath clouding the metal scope on his gun. 

“Is that what you are?” He asked finally and the girl smiled once again. 

“Is it quite shocking?” She teased and bit her lip timidly. 

“Well… yes,” Matthew exhaled and raised his eyebrow, “I thought they were only in stories. They weren’t real… Why didn’t you sing?”

The girl cocked her head to the side. The air felt heavy between them as he waited for her response. His body was confused and frightened, something he’d rarely felt before. His instinct and desire clashed, strengthening the opposing forces within him.  

“I don’t want to kill you,” she answered honestly, “we sing to kill.” 

Matthew lowered his gun and nodded, breathless. 

“You had legs. You didn’t look… ” He ran a shaky hand through his hair and ran his hand over his mouth. He could see the top of her fin break through the water. It was a beautiful silver color and her scales were shiny and iridescent. 

“I wanted to see how you would treat me. I disguised myself as a human girl and you treated me gently.”

“What do you want from me? You had to keep me alive for some reason,” Matthew sat down on a plank of seating and rubbed the waterducts of his eyes. 

“Nothing more than just to know you. I’ve watched your crew from the sea for weeks. You are a good, kind man.” 

Matthew looked up from between his fingers and exhaled slowly, lowering his guard only slightly. 

“Then what does this mean? How do you want to… know me?” He furrowed his brow and sat back once again on the plank of wood. Her hands tipped the boat slightly so that she could come a little closer to the sailor. 

“Come closer, please…” she whispered and rose onto her elbows, her face a few inches from Matthew’s. Matthew stared at her lips, rosey pink and plump. She smelled like sea salt and clean things. Ever so slowly, Matthew closed the distance between them, his eyes staying on her lips. 

“Y/N…” He tried to restrain himself as he whispered but eventually, as she stared up at him with her beautiful curtained eyes, he kissed her. It had been years since he’d actually kissed a woman. Kissing was so different than fucking. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it, the softness of it. Her hands inched up his blouse, beneath his overcoat, grabbing at his lapels. His hands found the sharp edges of her jaw, meeting her mouth with a more fervent kiss. She tasted lightly of salt, like seaspray against rocks. He devoured her flavor as though it were precious, forbidden. He twisted his fingers into her hair that felt dry despite being in the water, moaning against her lips. 

“In what other ways do you want to know me?” He muttered against her lips, his eyes closed. Her fingers ran over his neck, down to the dip between his collarbones. 

“I want to know every part of you,” she smiled and moved away, allowing the light from the deck to illuminate her figure below him in the water. Matthew hid a choked sigh as his eyes trailed over her body below the waves. Her body was decorated with pearls and scraps of white cloth. Instead of a tail, she now had two legs that beat the water to keep her afloat. 

“Will you take me into your boat?” She asked softly and Matthew nearly forgot to respond, caught in a state of disbelief. He cleared his throat and scooped his hands beneath her arms, pulling her into the boat in one movement. Standing above him on two legs, she looked even more beautiful than she had hours earlier. He could see the buds of her nipples through the white fabric, surrounded by pearls and strands of seaweed. Her cunt was hidden behind a swath of wet fabric but he could still see the dark shape of pubic hair. He looked back up at her face, his lips having fallen apart in amazement. The Siren laughed softly and carded her fingers through his hair, pulling his head back slightly as she did. 

“Lay me down,” she requested and smiled when he immediately wrapped his hands around her waist and flipped her over where she could lie flat on the bottom of the harpoon boat. The planks were far enough away to give him space to kneel above her. He supported himself above her, studying the contours of her body, plump and full. She twisted her fingers through his hair again and pulled him close so she could whisper in his ear. 

“Now make love to me, Matthew Joy.” 

…

He was already hard when she cupped her hand against his pants. It had been a while since he’d slept with a woman after months at sea. His body ached as badly as if he were a teenage boy again, not an aging man. He was throbbing as he moved the fabric on her cunt aside and lowered his head between her thighs. Looking up at her, he ran his tongue against her, tasting her. She hummed and shook with nerves. 

A roving, a roving

Since roving's been my ru-i-in

I'll go no more a roving

With you fair maid!

Feeling emboldened by her reaction, Matthew licked her again and rubbed his nose against her clit. She was wet against his tongue and he licked his lips greedily. His cock started to throb as she whimpered and moaned beneath his mouth. Her hand pulled tightly at his hair but he loved the pain and worked his mouth harder into her cunt. 

“Now, please now!” She begged him as she started to shake with pleasure. Taking the hint, Matthew undid his trousers and pushed them down to his knees. His face was still wet with her precum as he pulled out his cock and inserted himself quickly. She spasmed around him, her hands moving to grip the sides of the boat for leverage. His thighs clenched as he thrusted into her, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head. He leaned closer to her chest and rocked into her neck as he fucked her. 

“Oh you don’t know how long it’s been, love,” he sighed against her neck. “Is it ok?”

She nodded emphatically and pulled him closer by the back of his jacket, moving him deeper inside her. They both gasped out. He pulled his face away to watch her, still fucking her. 

“Beautiful. Pretty pretty creature you are,” he praised her as he trailed a finger down her cheek. Her thighs bounced against his as he pulled her legs around his waist. The boat shook around them. He slipped his tongue around the mound of her breast beneath the cloth, making more moans escape the girl’s mouth. He slipped the fabric aside with one finger and looking up to watch her face, he pressed his mouth around a nipple and sucked. Immediately, her body pulled into his, her back arching off the curved bottom. 

I'll go no more a roving

With you fair maid!

“Matthew…” she gasped as her muscles tightened and her bare feet flexed. He rolled his tongue around her nipple while his hand moved to hold her neck lightly, supporting her head. She cried out silently, her eyes screwed shut as if she were in pain. He dragged his tongue along her sternum to her neck and sucked at the flesh there. Her breathing evened out and she pulled his face to hers once again. 

“Do what you want with me. Get what you need from me,” the seriousness of her command sent a spasm of pleasure into his cock, still inside her. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I want you to use me,” she whispered and spread her legs farther. Matthew looked at her for a second before smiling. 

“Fuck, love. I think I’ll fall in love with you,” he chuckled softly and brushed his hand across her cheek. 

“And so what if you do, sailor? Hasn’t everyone else done the same at some point?” 

Matthew raised an eyebrow and kissed her, dragging her hands out above her head. Pressing her hands down into the boat, he began to thrust slowly into her, his hips still rebounding off of her pelvis. 

“You’re going to stay right here, Y/N. I don’t want to lose you again.” 

The girl smiled and broke into a moan as he shortened his thrusts, keeping himself as far inside her as he could. He went slowly so he could feel the orgasm clearly as it came over him, making his cock feel swollen with seed. Her hips shook wildly as she began to lose control over her orgasms. He watched her orgasm and released a wave of contractions around him. Smiling, he finally began to speed up as she whimpered beneath him.

“Fuck, yes… fuck… yes!” He muttered breathlessly as he felt his cock start to twitch before his orgasm. She tightened around him, pulling him deeper and drawing a guttural groan from his throat. His shoulders shook with effort as he allowed his orgasm to explode, cumming inside the girl and sending waves of relief through his system. He pulled out slowly and kissed down her stomach, savoring the heat of her skin against his lips. She caught her breath as he lapped at her swollen cunt. She was still shaking from her orgasms and whined when his tongue overstimulated her. He cleaned her out and nibbled at the skin on the inside of her thighs. 

“It’s time for me to go.” 

Matthew looked up at her and furrowed his brow, “so soon?” 

The girl nodded and sat up to face him. 

“I’ll be back, I promise.” She smiled shyly and rubbed her nose against his. 

“Where do you go… I mean where do you go while we’re aboard?” He stumbled over his words, still catching his breath. 

“Here,” she offered no further clarification as Matthew gave her a questioning look. She pressed her hand against his cheek and laughed. 

“Don’t worry about where I go, sailor. The sea is my home.”

Matthew kissed her hastily as he redid his pants and pulled his suspender straps back over his shoulders. She stood and kissed him once more before she stepped over the edge and dropped into the water. In seconds she was resurfacing with her silver tail. 

“Let me ask you one thing,” Matthew stopped her before he could leave, “are you real? Was that real?” He gestured to the bottom of the boat and the girl laughed brightly. 

“Be wary, sailor. You might just lose your mind."

Matthew nodded and watched as she backed away and dove into the dark water beyond the reflection of light from the deck. Moments later, a whistle sounded and he was called to return to the ship. Forcing himself to look away from the place where the girl disappeared, he felt the familiar material of his old coat that he had wrapped around the girl earlier on the plank beside him, folded and damp.

...

End of Pt. 2!

[scarletttries]

Roronoa Zoro Falling In Love Headcanons (One Piece)

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro (Live Action One Piece) x Reader

Rating: Fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: After lacking a bit of inspiration recently I just finished watching the live action One PIece on Netflix and am completely obsessed, especially with Zoro! So here a few little headcanons for him, and I might do a part two of relationship headcanons too. Also requests are now open for any of the one piece characters so send them in! 💗☺️

- Oh Zoro. Truly the epitome of a heart of gold hiding behind a sarcastic, borderline cold, facade. A man who pretends to be affected by nothing, despite having so much space inside him for friendship and devotion.

- Chances are he'd first come across you when he and Luffy are docked in another new town. Maybe you're a pirate whose name he's heard in passing and considers trying to capture for the bounty. Maybe you're someone who just loves and helps out the small seaside village you live in, trying to make a few Berry from the ships passing through. Maybe you're the next key step to reaching Monkey's dream of finding the piece. Whatever he expects to find when your paths cross, it certainly isn't you.

- Before he even knows you're the person he's looking for, one look at you and he knows you're important. Like you exist in a slightly brighter light than everyone else he's ever met before, and he's not sure if he should shield his eyes or if he can't bear to look away. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you, the first glimpse enough to have his heart pounding in his chest like it never has before. Luffy watches his usually stern friend let his mouth fall open in silence, baffled by his actions until Nami leans over and whispers to him. Zoro can't hear exactly what she says but he hears the word 'crush' and feels his stomach churn at the thought. He wants to run, but he's unsure whether he wants to go towards or away from you. He grips his white katana as a panicked instinct when finally you glance up and send a friendly smile to the eclectic group of pirates standing, staring at you.

- Luffy can tell before you ever say a word that you're good and kind, and destined to be aboard the Merry as a part of his crew. Zoro can't bring himself to do anything but loom over his captain as he makes a sales pitch. The part of his brain that likes to be in control hopes that you're busy and tied down, that you'll reject Luffy's offer and he'll never feel as shaken and desperate as he does in this moment again. A much bigger part of him knows that he won't survive if you say 'no'. Like without you he might never dream again, doomed to spend the rest of his days sailing aimlessly, searching for the same rush he feels every time you look up at him over his friends straw hat. Thankfully Monkey rarely asks someone to join his crew that he isn't certain will eventually say yes. And so you do, accepting it's time to try a new path and join this strange group of good-hearted sailors, hoping for a new shot at your dreams.

- Monkey, Sanji and Usopp are all friendly from the get-go. They can't wait to share stories of their journey so far, and make sure you feel as safe and at home on the ship as they do. Nami takes a bit longer to open up to you, but when she does you can understand why, and while her friendship is harder to earn, it feels all the more solid for it. And then there's Zoro.

- You notice that whenever you all walk into a room, he'll always take the position or chair next to you, awkwardly stepping in front of Sanji on more than one occasion, or forcing himself into a tight spot rather than create distance between the two of you. He doesn't often strike up conversation first, but when you ask him something about himself he always looks very relieved and happy to have something to talk to you about. If the group has to split up he'll always stick by your side, taking the role of keeping you safe to heart. Your unspoken bodyguard. It gets to the point that the crew adjust to leaving a spot next to you for him to settle into, and never asking him to go out without you. All the while Nami takes great joy in speculating on his behaviour with you, and teasing Zoro for his complete inability to act like a normal human being. Sanji has to lay off his harmless flirting with you after he notices the daggers Zoro's shooting at him, and he's sure one night at a bar he heard him start to draw his sword when he put a hand on your leg.

- It doesn't take many conversations with Zoro, or many chats with Luffy who spends a lot of his time telling you about how wonderful and impressive Zoro is, for you to start finding his strange behavior more than a little flattering. The tall, talented swordsman can't help but soften under your gaze, and you feel yourself slowly leaning closer to him every time he settles at your side, before long finding yourself practically draped against him when the group find themselves at some gaudy bar on the outskirts of a marine base, failing to keep a low profile. Usopp insists on dragging you onto the dancefloor, and thankfully Nami asks Zoro to come dance with her before he has to either sit without you, or volunteer to dance of his own volition. Despite his athleticism, of course he's a terrible dancer, all uncoordinated movements and awkward energy as he fails to copy Usopp's charismatic moves. Taking pity on him, you take his hand in yours, letting him hold you closer as the rest of the group seem to fade in the crowd behind you having seen more than enough of his desperate longing to stick around for this. As Sanji and Usopp slink off to find another drink, Nami and Luffy can't resist keeping just in view so they can watch on as they finally see Zoro smile widely and let his guard down, relaxing against you as the pair of you sway. Nami wants to make a bet on if Zoro finally gets the nerve to say something about his feelings, but after a few months of being her closest friend she decides to just root for you both instead, trying to pull Luffy just far enough away to give you two some much needed privacy.

- As you feel his arms encircle you, a soft sway in his hips that matches yours, his mouth drops open and closed a few times over. It's always hard for him to find the right thing to say to you, but when he has you this close, with your eyes sparkling up at him, it's almost impossible to even think. It's all consuming living on the same ship, his heart jumping in his chest every time someone enters his cabin in case it's you, his feet taking him to stand outside your quarters almost every day just willing himself to knock on the door and finally put words to his devoted actions. He couldn't fight his longing to be near you for even a day, and watching you open up to him and start to inch closer yourself, he can't help but hope that you might be feeling just a drop of the ocean of affection he navigates for you. His eyes focus intensely on yours as he tries again to speak, stumbling over the word 'I' a few times before resigning himself to silence for another night.

- You could see the conflict of fear and hope in his eyes, the man of few words clearly straining to explain things his training had never left room for. He was trying, and you were sure you knew what he was going to say, but you didn't think you could be the one to articulate it for him. That didn't mean you couldn't give him a bit of encouragement.

- Trailing your hands over his arms to settle on his shoulders, you stepped flush with his body, the extra contact enough to stop his gentle sway and turn his whole frame rigid. With the softest smile you could muster you leaned up onto your tiptoes, giving him a moment to pull away before letting your lips press softly to his. It was just for a second. A mere moment of soft, sweet, contact. The kind Zoro had never even let himself imagine because it felt so far out of reach for him. But it happened, and it was perfect. A wide grin spread over his face at your action, finally feeling like he might be able to share his life with someone other than the ghost he carried with him on his hip.

"WAHHOOOOOO!YES YES YES!"" A deafening cheer echoed through the bar, shaking the light fixtures and turning every single head towards your ecstatic captain. Nami looked mortified as Luffy continued to punch the air in celebration of his first mate finally achieving a dream a little less violent than he'd first set out for, his joy for his friend all consuming and without an ounce of tact.

"Luffy! Stop it! We'll leave you to it." Nami had to physically drag him away as you heard the unfamiliar sound of Zoro laughing to himself, the grin across his cheeks only spreading as his focus returned to you. Leaning back in to find your lips again, he whispered,

"What Luffy said."

[shivadh]

Imagine losing your rudder out at sea and sending out a distress call. And then the largest ocean-going wooden sailing ship in the world comes to your rescue. [...] To our knowledge it is the first time that an east indiaman, and the first time for Götheborg, to engage in such a rescue.

Tuesday last week, the 25th of April [2023], Götheborg of Sweden was heading for the upcoming portstop in Jersey. Just after 4pm, a distress call was sent by the MRCC regarding a sailing vessel that had lost its rudder and was drifting. Being the closest ship to the sailing boat, Götheborg answered the call. The sailing boat was towed after the Götheborg during the night from the 25th to the 26th of April. In the morning the 26th of April, a French search and rescue boat from the port of Paimpol came and met up off the French coast.

Text from the sailors on the sailing vessel Corto:

On April 25th at 01:00, we left Cherbourg and set sail for Camaret (the tip of Brittany). We are two experienced sailors on board (Simon and me) with the objective of bringing the boat to Southern Brittany.

At 15:30, we were at sea, more than 50 nautical miles from the coast, when our rudder broke. After sending a PAN-PAN call on the VHF radio, the three-masted sailboat Götheborg quickly responded to our call, offering to tow us to Paimpol (France).

We repeatedly emphasized that we were aboard a small 8-meter sailboat, but the response was the same each time: "We are a 50-meter three-masted sailboat, and we offer our assistance in towing you to Paimpol." We were perplexed by the size difference between our two boats, as we feared being towed by a boat that was too large and at too fast a speed that could damage our boat.

The arrival of the Götheborg on the scene was rapid and surprising, as we did not expect to see a merchant ship from the East India Company of the XVIII century. This moment was very strange, and we wondered if we were dreaming. Where were we? What time period was it? The Götheborg approached very close to us to throw the line and pass a large rope. The mooring went well, and our destinies were linked for very long hours, during which we shared the same radio frequency to communicate with each other.

The crew of the Götheborg showed great professionalism and kindness towards us. They adapted their speed to the size of our boat and the weather conditions. We felt accompanied by very professional sailors. Every hour, the officer on duty of the Götheborg called us to ensure everything was going well.

The next day, as we approached the French coast, we radioed for another boat to help us enter the port, but no one responded positively. Around noon, the Götheborg approached us as closely as possible and stayed by our side until the arrival of a French rescue boat to ensure that everything would go well for us before letting us go.

This adventure, very real, was an incredible experience for us. We were extremely lucky to cross paths with the Götheborg by chance and especially to meet such a caring crew.

Dear commander and crew of the Götheborg, your kindness, and generosity have shown that your ship is much more than just a boat. It embodies the noblest values of the sea, and we are honored to have had the chance to cross your path and benefit from your help.

We thank you again for everything you have done for us.

Sincerely,

David Moeneclaey (skipper of the sailboat Corto)

[thesharktanksdriver]

Red Burning Stars (Platonic)

Y’all asked for Shanks you have received. Since everyone was asking for him I decided to make his part of Determination it’s own thing. I’m thinking of doing something like this for other characters as well

Also Uta is canon in this cause I really like her and I said so

Hope y’all pick up a bit on my foreshadowing of shit. It’ll eventually be explained (not now tho cause I’m evil muhahahahhahaha)

Part 1 Part 2

Tagged: @peachsuka28 @emptynessinmyworld @badluckinfrench @j-s-l-m @tigerfang-rage @madokamagicaa @rymtea

From the moment that you had stepped aboard the Oro Jackson shanks had knew he wanted to be friends with you

It was an instantaneous affect

One that deepened and got worse the moment he locked eyes with you across the large ship

Your calm and kind eyes connecting with his own

He felt as if in that moment time had froze, it was just him and you on that ship alone

A tugging feeling in his very soul calling out to him

Telling him to approach

To say something to this stranger that had somehow caught his attention in a way no other had ever done

It’s an odd feeling to look back on in retrospect since he’d never felt it again or with anyone else

Especially considering he’d heard some typically describe what he felt as something akin to a romantic connection with someone

Hell, when he had explained the phenomenon to Reyleigh the first mate had assumed it was a crush until Shanks repeatedly told him it wasn’t like that

But no, he knew from the start it wasn’t a silly crush or love outside of that of platonic

It was more like…a calling from something greater than him saying that the two of you were meant to be allies

Telling him that the two of you were meant to meet

Meant to befriend one another

Like fire and gunpowder

Or a sailor and the sea

Two forces that are meant to be combined together

Naturally creating something new in the process

He doesn’t understand it now and sure as hell didn’t as a kid

But back then he didn’t question it much

Not when he was Solely focussed on that feeling

That call from the universe guiding him towards you through the crowds of men

Past Buggy who’s yelling at him for leaving all of a sudden from whatever they were doing before you were invited aboard

He felt like he was being pulled on a lead

Mindlessly following without a single thought in his head other than he had to meet you

Had to do something at least

And when he stumbles his way into Rogers office as you sat down on a cushioned chair

Turning around to meet his brown eyes once again

Shanks feels a wide smile stretch across his face as if it were rubber

“I’m Shanks! Wanna be friends!?” It stumbles out his mouth excitedly as does his jagged breaths. He whips out his hand, outstretched towards you as you stare at it for a moment in surprise. A bit of worry coats his face, shit he probably came off to strong-

Suddenly he feels your hand in his, gently shaking it. “Sure, I’m y/n by the way”. He nods, his smile getting wider. “Do you usually forget to ask for people’s names when you try to befriend them?”

“Nope, only you so far”

“I must be special then”

The entire time as that happened Roger watched on with a large grin

Practically kicking his feet beneath his desk out of enthusiasm

Despite being a grown man his captain was able to match his and Buggy’s childlike spirit

It’s perhaps because of that he was able to understand the connection the most

Not chocking it up to a crush or puppy love

It was something more akin to Nakama

Something the pirate king had felt when meeting some of his crew

He just knew they had to be friends

To be apart of his crew

Admittedly it take awhile for Buggy to warm up to you compared to Shanks’s instantaneous pace

But eventually the three of you fall into a comforting balance of personality

Whilst he and Buggy are rambunctious and rather impulsive your the opponent

Your a calm force, you think before you do and help them find a solution with more opportunities

If your combined force together is a hurricane then your the eye of it

The calm within the storm

It’s what the rest of the crew begin to affectionately call your trio

Even Roger begins to use it when referring to you all

Much to Buggy’s displeasure

He doesn’t mind though, unlike his friend shanks finds amusement in the nickname

One that he thinks actually fits the three of you quite nicely

Meanwhile you don’t think much of it

Instead just thinking of it as a the crew poking some light fun

Speaking of your role in the trio

You make sure neither of them get killed

Usually cause of both Buggy’s and his stupid plans of playing pranks or stealing more food from the kitchen instead of just asking

Both of which become much more successful that they aren’t arguing over said plan and screwing up

Now their Fort is stocked with cheese and as many sweets they could plunder

So much so that the cooks are now on edge as someone sets up a diversion for the other two to strike

It’s fun

A whole lot of fun that he realizes up until now you had seemingly missed

Admittedly he nor Buggy know much about you

Hell, none of the crew besides seemingly their captain knows anything

But honestly he’s fine with that

Their not entitled to that knowledge unless you deem them so

All that he’s focused on is the moment

The fun times he shared with you and Buggy

Nights spent out atop the crows nest looking up towards the stars

You explain that each has a story behind them all

Every island and their cultures have given them stories and formed differences constellations

It’s fascinating to him

Perhaps not Buggy who opts to go to bed

But as you both sit there, legs kicking back and forth while sitting on the ledge

It leaves him listening with eager ears

Engraining the new knowledge into his mind

It’s not just constellations that he listens about, it’s basically anything that you talk about

The others besides Rayleigh and Roger no one seems to notice how much you’d be seen despite your age

It’s odd but he notices

Especially as you sometimes mumble about how much you missed acting like a kid

Acting your age

It worries him

But he focuses on making you happy

Showing you the wonders of the life here

Stealing more food

Playing tag with Roger who can’t help but join much to everyone’s amusement

Outings on islands you sometimes recognize that usually end with the three of you raiding an ice cream shop

Sharing the spoils of stealing toys gotten from a few stores he might’ve yoinked them from

Times where he and Buggy protectively would start fights when other pirates at bats would try to pick on you

Roger would always laugh, calling them big brothers and mother hens

But of them would deny it even if they both knew deep down they saw you as a younger sibling

And that you did the same likewise

It was something unspoken but there that they all unconsciously and silently acknowledged

It came naturally as well

The two of them fretting over you when you got too close to the edge of the ship or did something reckless enough that even he and Buggy thought it was too dangerous

And that’s saying something

Their both really worried about that

You put your safety behind others

And whilst that might be fine in some cases in yours it’s dangerous

Really dangerous

There had been times he narrowly saved your life without you even knowing

A wild animal sneaking up from the brush

An enemy pirate almost swinging his sword at your neck

It bothers everyone on the crew how many close calls there were

Almost unnaturally so

But it makes him on edge even more when his captain has a look in his eye

One of unspoken sorrow and worry

Roger was a man who ran head first into danger

Someone who never considered the consequences before diving into the lions den

Never showing fear or hesitation for his actions

Only doing so when it came to the safety of his crew

And even then he knew they would be fine

They all had each other to rely on

But that look in his eyes directed towards you was something he’d never seen

Buggy tries to ease Shanks’s worried in his own…Buggy way

While he appreciates the effort not much can ease the tension in his shoulders

Roger never looked that worried

And that init of itself was scary

And it’s even more so when it’s directed at someone Shanks had dearly cared for

Rogers death comes as quick and painful as a shot to the chest

Burning white hot pain encompassing his entire form

Buggy and him got into a fight and when their separate ways

The crew disbanded

No one but Roger knows where you disappeared off to

He just said you were doing him a favour and like a whisper in the wind you were gone

Almost as if you were never there to begin with

The memories and small mementos show you were there though

Not a figment of his imagination

Not a cruel mirage

You were real, he knows that

Yet everything feels like a blur

Grief tinges his vision and mind like a filter over his perception of the world

For a long while he’s hopeless

Wishing and hoping to find someone

To perhaps find you once more

To find stability again

His dream lost and shattered

His life is very much the same

Yet after a long while he rebuilt himself

Began building his own crew

Finding and making stability once more as he sailed the seas both you and Roger loved with a whole heart

Many a nights he spends drinking and partying but occasionally finding a quiet corner for a moment

Staring up towards the night sky you taught him about

He always pours one out for the dead and lost of his former crew

A sign of respect for the people he might not meet again yet wishes to reunite with one day

In death or in life it doesn’t matter to him

Just one day meeting once more

You included

Though you had never formally joined the crew everyone had accepted you there with open hearts

Him definitely included

God he hopes your alright

That despite your terrible track record of danger and lack of self awareness you were alive

You’d be quite grown up by now

Maybe you found an island and settled down

He doubts that thought

You were much too like Roger and him

Souls called and nurtured by the sea and thrill of adventure

Never leaving her waves until possibly being drowned in her salty cold embrace

But that’s what makes him think that perhaps you hadn’t though

That perhaps instead you had died

The thought leaves him sick

So much so that when it happens he braces himself again the railing

Fingernails digging into the wood as his Haki flairs up

Seeping from his form and through the cracks of his cheery facade

Ben always notices

Pulling him back to the party and into his normal self

Handing him a fresh pint of beer with a knowing look

Shanks always gives him a thankful nod

Then going back to drinking with his crew

His first mate already knows of his history

Of why he’s wracked with grief and when no one’s looking stares off at the night sky

He’s never confused when Shanks returns to the party with an empty bottle yet doesn’t seem any drunker

Lucky and Yassop sometimes notice but don’t push him nor Ben on the topic

It’s better that way

Shanks would rather not air out old dusty laundry of his past anyways

Especially not when he had to keep morale up

Cause if his crew saw he was down in the dumps they’d follow suite

Caring too much about his sake to back down in doing something

It’s admirable

It reminds him of the good old days of the Oro Jackson

The way in which the crew would cheer you up when you were lost in thought

A glazed look of sorrow over your eyes they all desperately wanted to wash away

Because you were a kid

Because you were a friend

Because you were a part of their Nakama

Because you were his little sibling

No blood was shared between either of your veins yet the kinship of family was there anyways

He misses it

He misses a lot of things from the past but that’s one thing he especially longs for

Even if for just a moment he’d like to see you smile once more

Perhaps even hug you again and let himself cry

….yeah that sounded nice

Rumours on the sea spread fast and wide but are always dubious in nature and reality

It’s something you learn quick whilst on the seas

Especially when your as seasoned as he was in that retrospect

He’s spent his entire life on some sort of boat

being found by Roger in a treasure chest and being taken in by the entire crew

He was quite literally raised by the seas

It’s why when he hears rumours of a travelling child on the ocean going from place to place it doesn’t initially make him hopeful

It in fact makes him kinda melancholy

He can’t help it, not when he still wonders about you

Maybe that was your kid or something, he wouldn’t be surprised

But either way that wasn’t his business

Or at least that’s what he tells himself despite keeping an extra eye out for any small raft on the sea

A small desperate part of himself clinging to some sort of hope

That maybe it somehow was you despite the fact you’d be a grown adult

That after all this time of wondering and praying to whatever god had listened you were alive somehow

That the child more precious than any treasure he befriend all those years ago who he cared for as if they were his sibling was still out there

While at piers he tries to find what he’d imagined to be your grown up face in the crowds

Tries to find the rickety old dingy you called your loyal stead

And comes up empty handed as the whispers of the child on the raft continue to spill into his ears

At this point it’s either pointless fodder or a plain lie that leaves him disappointed

Ben pats his back as takes a sip of his drink, guzzling it down with ease as his men party around him

….and then someone enters the bar

He doesn’t care to turn around, not when he’s in a sour mood

Doesn’t care to bat an eye to the newcomer who sits themself down next to him on the only other empty barstool on account that no one wanted to be near a grumpy drunk emperor

Yet this either brave of foolish soul dares to do so

He’ll give them that, they either have balls of steel or a death wish since he really isn’t in the mood for bullshit right now-

“Huh?, what happened to Rogers hat? Did you give it away or something?”

Shanks goes still as the sound of your very familiar voice enters through his ears

He goes ridged and his emperors Haki lashes out

A few men drop to the floor as the attention turns to him and the small figure who sits looking up at him

Shanks slowly turns and faces someone he had missed for a long time now

There you sat

As young as ever, looking like you haven’t aged a day despite the fact it’s been well over a decade and now nearing a second decade

You still have Rogers coat but now it’s adorned with several trinkets and charms along with the fact you seemed to have gained more souvenirs from other pirate friends (much to his chagrin)

Your eyes are still innocent yet have the spark of something ancient in them

Chubby cheeks pulled up into a look of confusion at his agape reaction

He accidentally spits the beer out his mouth into Ben’s face

His right hand man can’t even seem to be mad when your looking up at the red haired man with a small grin at his expression

“Never thought you’d waste beer like that. Not when you’d beg Rayleigh and then sneak a sip from the mugs of people passed out”

Not even a word after that can come out your mouth before your in his arms

This feels unreal to him

Like a cruel dream he’s gonna wake up from

He’s preparing himself for it yet it doesn’t seem to happen

Your still in his arms

Your still you

He’s still him

His crew is watching gobsmacked and confused as tears begin to like his eyes

Him, red haired Shanks crying for the first time in years let alone at some small bar with a random kid he’s hugging

Maybe they think he’s so drunk that he’s imagining you as Uta or Luffy

But no

Your you

And perhaps that’s the one thing that makes this feel like some sort of fever Dream

He’ll give his captain credit where it’s due, he could’ve never imagined Roger keeping a secret let alone several important ones

Though Shank supposed that Roger was a man of his word, he’d rather cut off an arm rather than go back on a promise he made

And that extended to keeping something a secret

But he had to admit of all possibilities as to why you haven’t aged a single day this was the one he dreaded the most

He was hoping for some mad science experiment or just a weird devil fruit

But this was much worse

Immortality

Many people want it, but like a monkeys paw every blessing comes with a curse

And you had seen the extents of what it could bring to not only you but those you had gotten close to

The mental horror of watching someone you were close to die not knowing they would appear across the world moments later

And then having to grapple with the fact they had traumatized that person now with the possibility of meeting them again in the future

It sounded torturous

But it also now explained the fact as to why you were already hardened to the sea back then

Already seeing it’s worse storms and foes

It’s why your eyes despite their innocence are hallowed out, empty of life sometimes as you stared out towards the sea you loved

Why they always seemed older than what you looked

It’s cause you were technically older, just stuck physically and mentally as a child

One who had braved the seas for both its treasures and tortures

Content in wanting to explore and see all that could be seen, experience everything there was

It is fascinating as it is horrifying

He can’t imagine what you had been through up till now

Who you had met on your journeys

that explains why you’d always tell cryptic stories about people you’ve met that now looking back sound suspiciously like big mom and Kaido

Speaking of which that probably means their trying to look for you still

….god this did not turn out to be what he expected nor wanted

He takes a sip of his beer as his crew can’t also help but be exasperated from how nonchalant you are about all of this

As if dying repeatedly isn’t a big deal

Nor is meeting future emperors and Yonko’s who were definitely affected by your time with them

If he hears that you befriended Doflamingo or something then he’s officially done

With all these things coming to light though he can’t help the small grin that made its way onto his face

You weren’t exactly ok (at least mentally speaking) but you were alive

The greatest blessing that came with your immortality was that you were alive

He can’t help but continue to hold you close

You don’t mind, you had seemingly missed his presence over the years

Even if your time on his ship will be but a blip in your long life he knows you’ll remember it

You have that feeling as well

Every night with them is a party of sorts

Shanks had always been one who enjoyed a festival’s atmosphere so it’s no surprise that each night with his crew is an experience

They drink, laugh and dance with one another

Singing songs familiar to you and your years at sea

Even one that they now realize was made for you

The undying star in the sky that leads sailors to wonders untold

A spark of determination lit in their souls when the star moves across the sky to a new horizon

A lot of old stories and rumours at sea make sense now on the fact that your probably connected to them

But what’s perhaps the most funny thing about all that is the world government knows about you but doesn’t have a clear enough picture to try and pursue you

Photos are always blurry or downright incomprehensible, descriptions are muddied and vary

The people who met you refuse to tell even a pep of what you looked like

They can imagine it’s driving them mad

Especially Sengoku who has been tasked to find you for years now

And for a time you were right under his nose without even knowing

They all get a good cackle out of that

Imagining the old man’s face when he does eventually realize

It would probably take a big public event for that to happen though

Something you’d probably inevitably crash for whatever reason

So until then your relatively safe from marine pursuit

But even when that does inevitably happen you’ll have a good portion of the pirating world at your side

Him and his crew included

Like all those years ago on the Oro Jackson you work your ways into the crews hearts

A relatively quick process that somehow happens with everyone you meet

Yet it’s something that has yielded you much more power than you know of

Hell, your probably the most safe person on the sea not accounting your devil fruit ability on account of somehow getting on everyone’s good sides

How you did this he and his crew don’t know but it’s certainly something their suspecting is due to your devil fruit

Or you just have some uncanny ability in literally having the power of friendship or something

Either way their not writing it off as other just quite yet

Not when their all too caught up in your stories or insisting on teaching you blackjack

You don’t tell them you already know how to play, especially since you use that to win their desserts

Shanks just laughs, especially as they all sulk at “being beaten by a kid” momentarily forgetting your older than all of them

Whilst Shanks is both happy and ecstatic of finding you again he can’t help but feel melancholy

He swears he sees his old crew mates while lucky Rox and Yassop toss you around like a hot potato

His mind playing tricks as Ben messes up your hair just as Rayleigh did

Whenever this happens you seem to know

Always ending up at his side, going to a quiet part of the ship for a moment of peace where he can breath

In its there you both truly talk

You both catch up with what’s happened over the years

After the crew disbanded he was aimless

The fight with buggy

Him raising Uta with his crew before eventually leaving her for her own safety despite the fact it still kills him on the inside

The young boy who ate a fruit he was transporting for the world government, the reason why he doesn’t have Rogers hat anymore and why he’s missing an arm

It’s all a lot to process

Yet it’s even more when you tell him what’s happened on your end

The other pirates you’d met, the marines, becoming and dying as a slave

The pain

The loss

Everything

He can’t help but just sit there for a few solid minutes

Processing everything

And then comes the guilt

Tears

If he had tried harder to find you none of that would’ve happened

If he had done better

If he-

Your small hands shake him from his stupor as you place them gently on his tear stained cheeks

Here he was, an emperor crying as a child comforted him

Yet as he does it feels natural

Like back when he had a nightmare when he was a young teen and you talked with him to help distract from it all

The times that despite being your self appointed “older brother” he’d rely on you for advice

He crumbles in your gentle hands yet he does not care

Because when shanks is with you he knows he’s not the cabin boy of the Oro Jackson

He’s not red haired Shanks, the fierce-some emperor of the sea

He’s not shanks, the bastard child of some celestial dragon who was abandoned at birth in a treasure chest

He’s not the father who left his daughter out of both love and fear for her safety and wellbeing

He’s not the party animal who’s constantly drunk despite his power

To you Shanks is just Shanks

The man encompassed by the colour red

Rage

Stress

Love

Passion

And most importantly of all Determination

For once in a very long while he feels the stress fall from his shoulders

As much as he loves his crew and the sea he feels a heavy burden of responsibility on his chest out of love for them

But like a switch it melts away

He feels a bit guilty that he’s the one crying when your the one who went through so much pain

But when he sees your gentle smile he knows you don’t mind

A soft look of ‘its ok’ and ‘you can cry’

And so he does

So much so that his eyes turn red from irritation

It’s inevitable that you leave

He knows that when it comes to you yet he can’t help but feel sad

And notice something slightly different this time around

When on the Oro Jackson you’d leave from time to time

Staying for good portions of times before leaving for awhile and somehow always making your way back

You never once hesitated to leave

Back then they had all accepted it

Knowing you’d come back eventually, so much so that they’d plan parties in advance

But now as you prepare to leave it’s different

Your tired

It’s easy for him to tell since he’s known you for a good portion of time

Though your smile is as good as a mask as ever he sees the cracks

The way you don’t look at the sea like the way you once did

He can’t blame you

But it worries him

A part of him wants to offer you a place here permanently but that in some sense would be cruel

He can’t will himself to take advantage of your exhaustion to essentially trap you here

The sea is meant to be a place of freedom and would not shackle you like others once did

He won’t guilt you into this when he knows you’d stay out of guilt

He may be selfish but he isn’t selfish enough to do that

Not when all he wants is for you to be happy

So he prepares to let go

Knowing you’d meet again

But not before he throws you the biggest party they’ve had in a long while

Stacks of food are prepared

So many Desserts to the point big mom would have to stop and take a break from eating

Enough booze to create a running river

Streamers and confetti decorating the ship in all the colours of the rainbow

Songs sung loudly as the few who knew how to play instruments strummed away

Mihawk even showing up much to his surprise because he apparently already met you once before

Not surprised at that fact but Moreso on how that stubborn asshole gives you a small well made sword

One obviously custom made and designed for you with it’s whole star design

Neither of you elaborate how you both met

Both giving each other a silent stare before turning to him with shit eating grins saying that “that story is for another day”

It leaves his a bit huffy but he’s secretly happy that it seems the two of you are both well acquainted

Even more so that you finally have something to defend yourself with for once

God knows the amount of times he and buggy had tried to convince you to bring some sort of weapon only for them to say you’d be fine and then save you at the last minute from being stabbed

It seems Mihawk shared this same sentiment since he nearly jumps out of his skin when you start mock sword fighting with Ben and his second hand man gets the death eye of the century

It’s good though, especially as you sing with the crowd of drunks who are either happily joining in for the party or sadly joining in remembering this is a goodbye party

Your hoisted and thrown playfully in the air screaming the lyrics of shanties

Given a few sips of alcohol behind Ben’s and Mihawk’s backs (Shanks is guilty of this as well)

At some point someone decides fireworks are a good idea and almost set the ship on fire

It all works out though as sparks scatter in the sky

Fluttering down until fizzling out

All the while you watch on from the crows nest beside him

Everyone else down below watching and dancing

Mihawk nearby enjoying the lively atmosphere

It’s nice

Yet as he wishes for this moment can last forever he knows it can’t

The reminder of this is when you begin to speak once mor e

Shattering the silence he wishes to keep as to have the moment last longer

To not be reminded of the imminent departure from his ship that this entire party is about

Your words aren’t that bad yet it fills him with solace

You tell him you’ll keep your eye out for a kid in a straw hat

It’s probably inevitable you run into Luffy at some point

Knowing him you’ll probably even join him on some grand adventure

The kid Is a supernova waiting to happen and you seem to have an affinity for finding them

You also promise to check up on Uta for him if your given the chance

Meeting her when she was only a baby when he had found her in a treasure chest just as Roger had with him

For the first few months of her life you helped him raise her

The young toddler even eventually naming you her Auncle

The whole crew got a laugh out of that

As did he

But now as you say that it just reminders him you’ll be leaving again

He doesn’t have the courage to look you in the eyes until he looks up at the stars

They burn brightly in the sky

Golden light thousands of miles away yet still brilliant in their glow

And it’s there looking at those stars he’s reminded of the day you climbed aboard the Oro Jackson

The spark of determination in him to be your friend

…..determination

He remembers now why he had felt that calling all those years ago

The world government had been vague in why the fruit you ate was so important

Naturally Shanks attributed that to the nature of immortality that came with it

But it seems there was more to it than meets the eye

Whenever you had met someone you ended up being a catalyst to their determination towards something

And perhaps that was more powerful that immortality itself

Being the spark that can change someone’s entire life course

It’s no wonder why they wanted this fruit

One that would most definitely play into enlisting more powerful forces and lighting the fuse to their souls that would have them walk to the ends of the earth to accomplish it

It’s like with the gum-gum fruit that they had him try to deliver

But now thinking about it perhaps that one as well has some sort of other purpose they needed it for

Not if he has any say in it though

Shanks is a selfish pirate at heart and nothing comes between him and protecting his treasures

Whether that be a boy in a straw hat, a girl with half white and red hair or a child always floating at sea with stars in their eyes

He will fight tooth and nail to keep them safe

Cause selfishness is something taught to him by his captain

Protect what you love no matter the cost

Protect their freedom and your own,

Be determined to take the stand in liberation

Red is the colour of his hair and it encompasses his soul

Shanks’s hands are dyed that colour as well; the colour of blood and love.

He will continue to stain it that colour to protect what he’s passionate about with vigorous anger if the world government so much breaths in any of their directions

[nomercymaster11]

Through Law's eyes (Chapter 4)

@GOKUJOUNOMAGURO

WC: 2,993 | Law x y/n, afab!reader | continuation of "We should talk" A/N: My attempt of writing a first person perspective, Law's POV, reminiscing the days before that one fateful day. It's been about three years now since she became part of our crew. I remember the day she barged into our lives like a storm, all fierce determination, and pleading eyes. We'd just finished a mission on one of the islands in the North Blue, and she'd been instrumental in our success.

But when she asked to join us, I wasn't exactly jumping at the chance. See, it's not that I had anything against her personally—it's just that taking on new crew members is a big decision. Let alone another woman, aside from Ikkaku, to join the crew.

But as Penguin—bless his chatty soul—filled me in on her background, I started to see things differently. Turns out, she wasn't just some runaway trying to escape a bad situation. She had skills—mad skills. Not only was she handy with medicine, but she knew her way around basic mechanics too. That's the kind of resourcefulness you can't ignore on the Grand Line.

Penguin had spent some time with her while we were sorting out the aftermath of our mission. He couldn't stop talking about her, which, coming from him, was saying something. But the more he told me, the more I realized that she belonged with us. She wasn't just looking for a way out—she was looking for a purpose. And maybe, just maybe, we could give her that.

So, despite my initial reservations, I welcomed her aboard.

At first, she struggled with sea sickness, poor thing. But she didn't let it keep her down for long. Despite her initial queasiness, she threw herself into life aboard the Polar Tang with all the gusto of a seasoned sailor. She had this tomboyish vibe about her, fitting right in with the rough-and-tumble atmosphere of our crew.

Watching her adjust was like seeing a flower bloom in the midst of a storm. Day by day, she grew more accustomed to the rhythms of life at sea. And when she finally donned that crisp, white overall suit—the same one worn by the rest of the Heart Pirates—it was like she'd always been one of us. The crew welcomed her with open arms, and she fit in seamlessly.

I often caught glimpses of her shadowing Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo, soaking up their knowledge like a sponge. They took her under their wing, showing her the ropes of ship life, teaching her the ins and outs of the Polar Tang. They made sure she knew the rules I'd laid down, and they filled her in on all the little tricks and quirks of submarine living. And you know what? She took it all in stride, like it was second nature to her.

As they reported her progress to me, I couldn't help but be impressed. She was a quick learner, picking up skills that took others years to master. And every time I nodded in approval, it was like giving her a silent pat on the back. She was proving herself, not just to me, but to the whole crew.

                                              XXXX

I remember that moment vividly, like it was yesterday. I was making my rounds through the submarine when I noticed a faint glow emanating from beneath the door of my office. Curiosity piqued, I approached quietly and peeked through the small window. There she was, surrounded by a sea of medical books, completely engrossed in their pages. Her expression was a mix of fascination and concentration, her lips forming silent words as she absorbed the knowledge within those worn pages.

I knocked softly, not wanting to startle her, and she jumped, clearly caught off guard. As I entered, she stood up quickly, blinking rapidly as if she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be touching these," she apologized, her voice tinged with guilt.

But I shook my head, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "No problem at all. You're welcome to borrow them anytime."

Her face lit up like a child on Christmas morning, and she grinned at me eagerly. "I also brought some medical books with me when I came aboard the sub. Can I keep them here?" she asked, gesturing to the stack of books she'd brought with her.

I nodded, touched by her enthusiasm. It wasn't every day that someone showed such genuine interest in expanding their knowledge.

And so, our impromptu study sessions began. It was the only time we were truly alone together, just the two of us surrounded by the wealth of knowledge contained within those walls. And as we poured over the books, exchanging insights and ideas, I couldn't help but feel a sense of closeness growing between us. She wasn't just a member of my crew—she was a kindred spirit, hungry for knowledge and eager to learn.

This isn’t something we do on a regular basis. During those rare moments when our duties aligned and we found ourselves in the same room, engrossed in our respective books, I couldn't help but steal glances at her. There was something mesmerizing about the way she immersed herself in her reading, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips moving silently as she absorbed the words on the page.

One particular night stands out in my memory. We were seated across from each other, the soft glow of the lamplight casting gentle shadows across her features. As I lifted my gaze from the text in front of me, I found myself studying her with a newfound curiosity. Her long lashes brushed against her cheeks with each blink, and her eyes darted back and forth across the pages, devouring every word. My gaze trailed down to the delicate curve of her nose, and then lingered on her lips—soft and full, like petals begging to be kissed.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the sudden wave of distraction that washed over me. I couldn't afford to get lost in thoughts of her—not when there were duties to attend to, and a ship to command. But despite my best efforts to focus on my reading, my mind kept drifting back to her, like a ship caught in an irresistible current.

What are you doing? I chided myself silently, forcing my attention back. I couldn't afford to let myself be distracted—not by her, or by anything else. But as I stole one last glance at her, her beauty illuminated by the soft glow of the lamplight, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips.

But such thoughts were dangerous, I reminded myself sternly. We were pirates, after all—outlaws on the high seas. And as much as I might have wanted to, I couldn't allow myself to get too close. Not when the stakes were so high, and the dangers so real. So, with a sigh, I forced myself to turn back to my book, pushing aside the tantalizing thoughts that threatened to consume me. But deep down, I knew that no matter how hard I tried to resist, she had already captured a piece of my heart.

That moment of distraction was like a brief flicker of light in the darkness—a glimmer of something I hadn't felt in ages. But I knew better than to let it take root. Emotions were a dangerous thing for a pirate, especially someone in my position. So, I buried those feelings deep down, resolved to concentrate on the current task.

                                               XXXX

I threw myself into my duties with a renewed vigor, strategizing and planning with a single-minded intensity. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and before I knew it, a year had slipped by like sand through my fingers. We had crossed into the treacherous waters of the Grand Line, where danger lurked around every corner and the ocean itself seemed to rise up against us.

In the depths of the Grand Line, the challenges we faced were unlike anything we'd encountered before. The sea monsters were larger, fiercer, and more relentless than those of the North Blue. Every day was a battle for survival, as we navigated through storms and dodged the attacks of creatures that seemed intent on tearing our ship apart.

But despite the dangers, I found solace in the chaos. In the midst of battle, there was no room for distraction or doubt. Every decision had to be made with precision and clarity, every move calculated to ensure our survival. And as the captain of the Heart Pirates, it was my responsibility to lead my crew through the storm and into calmer waters.

So, I pushed aside any lingering thoughts of her. There would be time for reflection later, when the seas were calm and the danger had passed. But for now, my only concern was keeping my crew safe and steering our ship toward our next destination in the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line.

                                           XXXX

It was on one such stop at an island that another incident unfolded. As I stood by the dock, mulling over our next course of action, she came bounding towards me, her fiery determination evident in every step.

I couldn't help but let out a sigh as she stood there, her lips set in a determined pout. This wasn't the first time we'd had this argument, and I had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be the last. She was stubborn, that much was clear, and when she set her mind to something, there was no stopping her.

But as much as her defiance grated on my nerves, I couldn't deny that there was something undeniably endearing about her fiery spirit. Even when she was being a brat, there was a spark in her eyes that I couldn't help but admire.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to quell the rising frustration within me. "Fine, have it your way," I relented, knowing that arguing any further would be futile. "But on one condition."

Her eyes lit up with curiosity as she leaned in, waiting for my terms. "What is it?" she asked eagerly.

"If you're able to land even a small cut on me anywhere on my body, I'll let you join Penguin and the others in their sparring," I replied, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.

I told her that she’s supposed to be a support and not someone who fights on the frontline.

Her expression faltered for a moment, a hint of doubt flickering across her features. "That's not fair! You're way stronger than me!" she protested; her frustration evident.

I shrugged nonchalantly, not about to back down. "Then give up, easy as that," I teased, hoping to quell her whining once and for all.

But instead of conceding defeat, she squared her shoulders and met my gaze head-on. "Let me practice first," she declared, her determination shining through.

And in that moment, I knew there was no stopping her. Whether I liked it or not, she was going to find a way to prove herself, even if it meant facing off against me, her captain, in a battle of wills. And as much as I tried to resist, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride swell within me at the sight of her unwavering determination. She may have been a handful, but she was my crewmate, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

As the crew gathered on the shore, forming a circle around us, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation coursing through my veins. The air was charged with excitement, and I tightened my grip on Kikoku, its weight resting comfortably on my shoulder, while the other hand remained tucked inside my pocket.  Beside me stood <y/n>, a few inches away, her movements fluid as she stretched her arms, cracked her knuckles, and warmed up her legs. The intensity in her eyes was unmistakable; she was dead serious about this.

"You can still back out if you want to," I offered, my voice laced with a hint of warning.

"Why? Are you scared of me?" she shot back, her voice laced with playful defiance.

A chorus of cheers erupted from the crew, egging us on as we prepared to face off. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her cockiness, unsure where her newfound confidence was coming from.

"What's going on?" Shachi whispered to Penguin, his curiosity evident.

"It appears that the two had a deal, something like that," Penguin replied, his arms crossed as he observed the scene. He had assisted her briefly in honing her swordsmanship skills.

As we squared off, I caught Shachi and Penguin exchanging whispered words, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. They knew something was up, but they trusted me enough to let things play out.

"Just to let you know, I won't hold back. You wanted this after all," I warned her, my grip tightening around my sword as I began to unsheathe it slowly. Truth be told, I was bluffing. Landing a small bruise on her would be sufficient—I had no desire for her to harbor any ill will towards me. But perhaps teaching her a lesson was necessary.

For a moment, hesitation flickered in her eyes as she tightened her grip on her own sword but then she squared her shoulders and advanced towards me. It was easy for me to anticipate her moves, to parry her attacks effortlessly. Despite her lack of experience, she wielded her sword with conviction, her determination evident with each swing. But there was something different about her—something unexpected.

"I thought you're not going to hold back? Why are you on the defensive?" she taunted, her words ringing in the air.

I couldn't help but smirk at her audacity. With a swift movement, I vanished from her line of sight, only to reappear behind her, ready to strike. But to my surprise, she anticipated my move, twisting her body to block my attack with her sword.

Her movements were fluid and precise, as if she could see right through me. And when I attacked again, she parried effortlessly, her eyes locked on mine with a steely determination. Testing my theory, I attacked from a different angle, only for her to evade once more.

"Since when did you know you could use Observation Haki?" I asked, taken aback by her newfound skill.

"I wasn't sure," she admitted, panting slightly from exertion. "I started seeing things differently."

She was full of surprises, that much was clear. But even as we continued to clash, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to her than met the eye.

"The deal is still on though," I reminded her, my voice firm.

"I won't back down," she replied

She may have been a novice, but she had the heart of a warrior, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of respect for her in that moment.

As our sparring continued, I couldn't help but admire her tenacity and marvel her progress. Despite her initial hesitations, she was adapting quickly, her movements becoming more fluid and precise with each exchange. The cheers of the crew egged us on, fueling the fire that burned between us.

But as the minutes dragged on, I found myself growing weary of the fight. With a final swing of my sword, I sent her weapon flying, causing her to lose her balance. Her eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the fall, but before she could hit the ground, I acted on instinct, hooking my arm around her to steady her. Our eyes locked in a moment of shared intensity, breaths ragged, chests rising and falling in unison. I could feel the warmth of her hand against my chest, the beads of sweat glistening on our foreheads.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still, the world around us fading into the background as we stood locked in that intimate embrace. But the sound of applause from the crew jolted me back to reality, and I quickly helped her to her feet, trying to ignore the strange fluttering in my chest.

Retrieving my sword and sheathing it once more, I took a moment to catch my breath, removing my fur hat to run a hand through my hair. But before I could even gather my thoughts, she was already asking about joining the others in their sparring sessions.

"You didn't land a scar anywhere on me. So, it's still a no," I replied firmly, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Her face fell instantly, her lips forming again to a pout that I couldn't help but find endearing. But I refused to let myself give in to her charms—not now, not ever.

"Rules are rules. You know that" I reminded her, furrowing my brows in a gesture that I hoped conveyed my seriousness.

But she wasn't about to give up so easily. Grabbing my arms, she examined them closely, searching for any sign of injury. She squeezed my hand firmly, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. Then, she cupped my face in her hands, her touch gentle yet probing. She moved my head from side to side, inspecting me for any hidden injuries, her eyes scanning my features with unwavering focus. I stiffened under her touch, caught off guard by her sudden gesture. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirling within me.

"Stop that," I scolded lightly, trying to mask the way her touch affected me.

With a resigned sigh, I watched as the crew began to make their way back to the submarine. But even as we parted ways, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger—something that would change us both in ways we couldn't even begin to imagine.

Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4.5 (Almost at the end)

[merakilii]

Bound by the Tide / Pirate AU

Part six: The enemy of my enemy other parts

pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader

words: 5.2k

tags: Sword fighting. blood and gore AFAB reader. pirate captain Mactavish and reader. the British Navy, including CPT Price and LT Riley. rivals to lovers

The walk back to the ship is brisk, the jungle around you alive with the hum of insects and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. Mactavish leads the way, his steps purposeful as he carves a path through the dense foliage. The ruins and their secrets linger in your mind, the tantalizing promise of something larger, something just out of reach.

But then you hear it.

A shout. Muffled at first, distant, but unmistakable. Your body tenses, and you glance at Mactavish, whose sharp gaze snaps to the direction of the noise. Another yell follows, louder this time, and your heart sinks as you catch the faint edge of panic in the voice.

"Trouble," he mutters, his tone dark as he takes off on a run.

You follow close behind, your boots pounding against the uneven ground as the shouting grows louder. The sound of distant gunfire cracks through the humid air, sharp and jarring, and your pulse quickens.

The jungle thins as you approach the shoreline, the foliage giving way to a chaotic scene. The ship, the Highland Flame, is anchored just offshore, but beside it looms a larger vessel, its hull painted in stark navy blue. A flag flutters from its mast, the insignia all too familiar: the Union Jack, fringed with a sigil you've seen before.

The British Navy.

You stop dead in your tracks, your breath catching as the weight of the sight crashes down on you.

Mactavish is already moving, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he strides onto the dock. The rest of the crew is scattered, some still on the shore, others aboard the ship, their movements frantic as the Navy sailors swarm the deck of the Flame.

"They've boarded us," Mactavish growls, his jaw tight as he surveys the area. His eyes narrow as he catches sight of a familiar figure standing at the helm of the Navy vessel.

"Riley," you mutter, the name like a curse.

Lieutenant Simon Riley stands tall, his presence commanding as he oversees the operation. He's a broad-shouldered man, his uniform immaculate save for the scarf that covers the lower half of his face. His eyes are sharp and calculating, and even from a distance, you can see the smugness in his stance.

The sight of him sends a cold wave of dread through you. Riley. A name that's haunted you for years. A man who once stood on the deck of the Black Siren, barking orders as his cannons tore through her hull. A man who had sworn to hunt you down until your name was nothing but a footnote in the annals of piracy.

Your hand instinctively goes to the hilt of your sword, but before you can move, Mactavish catches your arm.

"Don't," he says sharply, his eyes fixed on the ship. "Not yet."

You want to argue, to charge in and fight, but something in his tone keeps you still.

The chaos reaches a crescendo as the two of you board the Highland Flame. Navy sailors are everywhere, their muskets trained on the crew, who have been forced to stand down. Gary and Kyle are near the bow, their hands raised in surrender, while Nova is on her knees, her dagger lying discarded at her side, and two guards pinned Stone down as he groaned in protest.

And then you see him.

Riley strides across the deck with the air of a man who has already won. His dark eyes sweep over the crew before landing on you, and he stops short, his posture shifting as a faint hum escapes him.

"Well, isn't this a surprise," he says, his voice low and mocking as he steps closer. "I wasn't expecting to find you here, of all places."

You don't respond, your body tense as his gaze lingers on you.

"Captain MacTavish," he continues, his tone laced with mockery as he turns to Mactavish. "And here I thought you were a man of principle. A pirate, yes, but one with standards. Yet I find you harbouring her, a traitor to her own ship, her own crew. Makes me wonder if you've gone soft."

Mactavish doesn't flinch, his smirk returning as he steps forward. "Soft?" he repeats, his tone light but edged with steel. "Hardly, Lieutenant. I simply know an opportunity when I see one."

Riley's eyes narrow, and before you can react, he pulls a flintlock from his belt, the barrel trained squarely on your head. He moves quickly, grabbing you and dragging you in front of him, your body shielding him from the rest of the crew.

Your breath catches as the cold metal presses against your temple.

"Two of the most infamous pirates in the Isles, right here in one place. And one of them already in my hands. Feels like a celebration."

The crew shifts uneasily, their gazes darting between you, Mactavish, and Riley. Mactavish's smirk doesn't falter, though his eyes darken.

"Now, now," Riley taunts. "Let's not do anything rash. Wouldn't want to spill her brains all over your nice, clean deck, would we?"

You grit your teeth, glaring at him over your shoulder. "Still hiding behind guns and orders, I see."

He tightens his grip, the flintlock digging into your skin. "Still mouthy. Though I must admit, didn't think I'd find you playing first mate to this pirate."

He glances at Mactavish coldly, continuing. "Tell you what, Captain. I'll make it easy for you. Hand over your ship, your treasure, and your crew, and I might just let her live. Though, judging by the way you've been acting, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd rather see her gone."

Mactavish's smirk deepens, but there's a sharpness in his gaze now, a storm brewing behind his easy demeanour. He raises his hands in mock surrender, his tone deceptively light as he says, "Ye know what, Lieutenant? Ye've got a point. Maybe I have gone soft. Learned me lesson long ago, thanks to ye."

You freeze, the words slicing through you like a blade.

"Take her. She's all yours. Call it a peace offer, aye?"

The world stops.

You stare at him, your heart pounding as the weight of his words sinks in. The betrayal feels like a punch to the gut, the air knocked from your lungs as you struggle to comprehend.

"John," you breathe, the name slipping out before you can stop it.

His grin falters for the briefest of moments, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he schools his expression. "Sorry, hen," he says lightly, though his tone feels brittle. "But business is business."

Riley chuckles, triumphant, as he tightens his grip on you. "Maybe you're not as foolish as I thought."

And as the moment stretches, you can't help but wonder if you've misjudged everything, or if the man you thought you knew was never real at all.

The words echo in your ears, louder than the faint shouts of the crew or the creak of the ship beneath your feet.

Take her. She's all yours.

Riley's grip tightens as he presses the flintlock harder against your temple, but the sting of cold metal is nothing compared to the searing heat of betrayal coursing through you. You feel it like a brand, burning in your chest, your gut, your throat.

The man who had pulled you from the wreckage of your ship. The man who had fought beside you, laughed with you, challenged you at every turn. The man who had dared to stand so close, to needle at your walls until they cracked.

You had let yourself think, for one fleeting, foolish moment, that he might be something other than a rival. And now?

Now he had turned you over without so much as a second thought.

Riley's smug voice cut through the haze of your rage. "See, this is the problem with pirates, no loyalty, no backbone. You're nothing to him, you know. Just another pawn in his little game."

You snarl, twisting in his grip, but he's ready for it, his arm tightening around you as he yanks you back. The movement sends a jolt of pain through your shoulder, but you barely register it, too consumed by the fire blazing in your chest.

Your eyes lock on Mactavish, and the sight of him standing there, hands raised, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face, sends your fury boiling over.

"You bastard!" you spit, your voice raw with anger. "You think this is funny? You think I'll just let you—"

"Lass," he interrupts, his tone still maddeningly calm, though his eyes flicker with something darker. "Ye're out o' yer depth here. Let it go."

"Let it go?" you repeat, your voice rising as you lunge forward, only to be dragged back by Riley. "You think I'll let you walk away from this? I'll kill you, MacTavish. You're a dead man!"

His smirk falters, just for a second, but it's enough. Enough to know that your words hit their mark, even if they don't show it.

"Not today, ye won't."

You groan in frustration, your fury spilling out in a desperate attempt to break free. Riley jerks you back again.

"Settle down," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You're making it worse for yourself."

"Shut up," you snap, glaring at him over your shoulder. "You don't get to tell me anything."

Riley grunts as he begins to pull you toward the edge of the ship. "Keep talking, sweetheart. It'll make it all the more satisfying when I throw you in a cell."

The gangplank connecting the two ships sways beneath your feet as Riley drags you aboard the Navy vessel. The cheers of his men ring out around you, their voices mingling with the distant crash of the waves.

You don't look back. You can't.

Because if you do, you'll see him standing there, and you're not sure if you'll break down or break free.

You should've killed him. Right there on the spot. You should've lunged at him, sunk your blade into his traitorous heart and watched as the life drained from his eyes.

But you hadn't.

And now, as the deck of the Navy ship rises to meet you, the reality of your situation sinks in. You're caught. Caged.

The rage bubbling in your chest begins to twist, to warp into something sharper, colder. You don't have the luxury of breaking now. Not here. Not when every sailor on this damned ship is watching you, waiting for you to stumble.

Riley throws you forward, and you stumble, barely catching yourself on the railing. He's humming, that low, cruel sound that grates against your nerves like broken glass.

"Didn't think I'd see the day," he says, stepping in front of you. "The infamous pirate captain brought to heel. And by your own kind, no less. Poetic."

You straighten, your glare cutting through him like a blade. "You've always been good at talking, Riley. Shame you're so bad at fighting."

The grin beneath his scarf widens, his eyes narrowing. "Still have that fire in you, I see. Good. Makes it more fun when I snuff it out."

You take a step forward, your fists clenching, but the sound of muskets cocking around you stops you short.

You grit your teeth, your rage simmering just beneath the surface. Every fibre of your being screams at you to fight, to claw your way out of this, to make them pay for every second of your humiliation.

But you can't. Not yet.

Instead, you square your shoulders, lifting your chin as you meet Riley's gaze head-on. "Do what you want," you say coldly. "But don't think for a second that this is over."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. "Oh, I don't doubt it. Welcome aboard, Captain."

And as the crew cheers around you, their voices ringing in your ears like a death knell.

Mactavish will pay for this betrayal with blood.

The cell is dark, damp, and unbearably silent save for the occasional groan of the ship as it cuts through the waves. You sit on the cold, filthy floor, your knees drawn up, arms resting heavily on them. The rusted iron bars cast shadows against the walls, a cruel mockery of the chains you feel pressing into your soul.

Once a captain, you think bitterly. Once a force to be reckoned with, a storm in your own right, and now... this. A prisoner. A prize for the Navy to parade around before they toss you into a hole so deep you'll forget the sun ever existed.

You clench your fists so tightly your nails dig into your palms, but it does nothing to stem the tide of fury roaring through you. You can't stop thinking about his face, smiling, smirking, mocking, as he handed you over to Riley like a sack of stolen goods.

Take her. She's all yours.

The words replay in your mind like a curse, each repetition slicing deeper. You feel the burn of rage rising in your chest, clawing at your throat, threatening to spill out in a scream that would rattle the whole ship. How dare he? How could he?

Pirates didn't bow to the Navy. They didn't give them the satisfaction of winning. And Mactavish, that arrogant bastard, had done it without a second thought.

Or had he?

Your breath catches, and you grit your teeth, furious at yourself for even entertaining the idea. You'd seen the look in his eyes. You'd seen him hesitate before that damnable smirk returned. What had that meant? Was it regret? Was it guilt?

Or was it all part of his game?

Your chest tightens, your thoughts spiralling into a storm of anger and hurt that you can't untangle. You want him dead. No, you need him dead.

And yet, there's another name tangled in your rage.

A shadow falls across your cell, and you lift your head to find Lieutenant Riley standing there, his arms crossed and his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"You look pathetic."

You glare at him, but the iron bars between you stop the venom in your gaze from reaching him.

"What are you doing here?" you mutter.

He chuckles, stepping closer until he's just out of your reach. "Thought I'd pay you a visit. Check on our esteemed guest. S'not every day I get to see a pirate captain brought so low."

"I'm not a captain anymore," you spit, the admission tasting like bile on your tongue.

"No," he agrees. "You're not. You're nothing now. Just another corpse waiting to rot in one of our fine cells."

"Where's your captain, Riley?" you sneer. "Hiding behind his desk while you play guard dog?"

You see a flicker of something in his eyes, annoyance, perhaps, or maybe pride stung by the truth in your words.

"Careful," he says, his tone low and dangerous as he takes another step closer. "You're not in a position to insult anyone, least of all me."

You push yourself to your feet, the chains rattling as you move closer to the bars. "Why don't you come in here and make me regret it?" you snarl, your voice sharp enough to cut.

He laughs, the sound cruel and grating as he shakes his head. "Always were a feisty one. That's why they sent me to deal with you, you know. Because no one else had the stomach for it."

"Deal with me?" you repeat, your voice rising as the anger bubbles over. "You couldn't even catch me without turning my ship into a pyre. You're a coward, Riley. Always have been."

"You should choose your words carefully," he says quietly. "I'm the only thing standing between you and the gallows."

"And I'll still find a way to drag you down with me," you snap, your hands gripping the bars so tightly your knuckles turn white.

For a moment, the two of you are locked in a silent battle, the air between you crackling with tension.

Then, slowly, Riley steps forward until he's just inches from the bars. He tilts his head, studying you like a hunter sizing up his prey.

"You know," he says, his voice soft and taunting, "I almost feel sorry for you. Almost. But then I remember how many men you've killed, how many ships you've sunk, and I think, why not add one more name to the list? Just one little pirate who thought she could outwit the Navy."

You lunge at him, your anger snapping like a taut rope. Your hands shoot through the bars, grabbing the front of his coat and yanking him forward.

The movement startles him, his eyes widening as he stumbles against the iron. For a moment, you think you've won, that you'll rip him through the bars and tear him apart with your bare hands if you have to.

But the chains around your wrists pull you back, and Riley recovers quickly, huffing out as he yanks himself free.

"Still got some fight in you," he says, his voice dripping with amusement as he straightens his coat. "Makes it more satisfying when I break you."

And with that, he turns and strides away.

You sink back to your knees, your hands trembling as the rage surges and ebbs, leaving behind a raw, aching void.

The hours bleed into one another, the faint sway of the ship the only marker of time passing. The walls of your cell feel closer with each breath, the shadows stretching and shifting as the light filtering through the small porthole fades into night.

You haven't moved since Riley left, your body still tense from the exchange, your mind a storm of thoughts. Anger burns hot and unrelenting in your chest, but beneath it, another feeling festers, a gnawing determination that keeps you upright, keeps you thinking, planning.

You can't stay here. You won't.

The first step of escape is patience, and you've had a lifetime of learning it. Every click of boots on the deck above, every shouted order, every faint creak of wood feeds into the map you're building in your mind. You listen carefully, piecing together the rhythm of the ship and the crew, the way they move and breathe around you.

In a couple of days, you note that a single Navy guard passes your cell every fifteen minutes, their steps brisk but measured. The sound of keys jingling hangs faintly in the air as they approach, grows louder as they pause near your door, then fades as they move on.

You lean back against the wall, your fingers flexing against the cold metal of the chains around your wrists. The iron feels weaker than it should, rusted, poorly maintained. The Navy, for all its pomp and bluster, seems to have cut corners where it counts.

When the footsteps return again, you let your body go slack, your head lolling forward as if you've fallen unconscious. The guard pauses longer this time, the faint creak of leather and metal indicating they're leaning in closer.

"What's this, then?"

Their voice is muffled, disinterested. You don't move. You slow your breathing, your shoulders sagging just enough to sell the illusion.

The door creaks open.

It's a mistake, a small one, born of arrogance, but it's all you need.

The guard steps inside cautiously, his boots scuffing against the stone floor. You hear the faint rattle of his keys as he leans down, his hand reaching out to shake your shoulder.

You move faster than thought.

Your chains swing out, the rusted links holding just long enough to wrap around his neck. You yank hard, pulling him off balance, and he stumbles forward with a strangled gasp. His hand claws at the chain, but you don't let up, your grip tightening as you press your knee into his chest, forcing him to the ground.

It doesn't take long.

When his body goes limp beneath you, you let the chains fall away, your breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Your wrists ache, the metal biting into your skin, but the keys in your hand are a balm to every wound.

You waste no time.

The chains lock clicks open with a satisfying finality, and you step out into the corridor. The air feels different here, thicker, oppressive, the faint scent of seawater mingling with oil and gunpowder. The faint hum of the ship's crew carries through the wooden walls, a constant reminder that your escape is far from over.

The corridor stretches before you, dimly lit by the flicker of lanterns hanging from iron hooks on the walls. Each step you took felt like you were walking a tightrope, your bare feet whispering against the wooden planks as you moved. The ship creaks around you, its old bones groaning with each gentle sway, a sound that would've been comforting once, with The Siren, Maybe even The Flame.

But now it only reminds you of where you are: deep in the belly of the beast.

The weight of the keys in your hand feels solid, grounding. You grip them tightly, the faint clink of metal muffled by your palm as you move toward the next corner.

A shadow passes against the faint light ahead, a sailor patrolling the corridor.

Your breath slows, your body moving instinctively into the shadows. You crouch low, every muscle coiled as you watch his boots draw closer. He's humming softly to himself, some shanty you've heard before.

When he turns the corner, you're already moving.

Your hand shoots out, grabbing the front of his uniform and yanking him toward you. He doesn't have time to cry out before you slam him against the wall, your other hand clamping over his mouth as your forearm presses against his throat. His eyes bulge, panic flaring as he struggles, but your grip is unrelenting.

You don't stop until his body goes limp.

His sword, sheathed at his hip, is yours now. You slide it free, the blade gleaming faintly in the lantern light as you test its weight. It's heavier than you're used to, the balance slightly off, but it will do.

The keys clatter softly to the floor as you let them drop, their purpose served. The blade is what matters now.

The corridors are a maze of wood and shadows. You know better than to move too quickly; haste makes noise, and noise draws attention.

Another sailor appears as you round the next corner. He doesn't see you at first, his attention focused on the lantern he's adjusting on the wall.

Your blade is silent as it arcs through the air.

The faint gasp that escapes his lips is muffled by the rush of blood in your ears, your focus narrowing to the feel of the hilt in your hand, the resistance as the blade meets its mark. He crumples to the floor without a sound, his lifeless body slumping against the wall.

You pause, your breath steadying as you take in the sight.

This is what it takes, you remind yourself. This is what survival looks like.

The deck looms ahead, the faint rush of the sea growing louder as you ascend the narrow staircase. The blade in your hand feels like an extension of yourself now, its weight familiar.

The first sailor on deck doesn't even see you coming. You're on him before he can turn, your blade slicing through the air with a brutality that sends him sprawling.

You crouch low, your body a shadow as you move across the deck. The Navy sailors are scattered, their attention divided between their duties and the calm of the sea.

It's their complacency that will be their undoing.

One by one, you take them down, your movements swift and precise. A knife stolen from one belt finds its way into another man's throat. A boot to the back sends a sailor tumbling overboard, his startled cry swallowed by the waves.

Your heart pounds, but your mind is clear, your focus sharp.

Keep moving. Keep moving.

You spot the tenders along the port side, their small frames bobbing gently against the ship's hull. Freedom, so close you can taste it.

You slip past the last of the sailors, their backs turned as they haul crates across the deck. Your hands move quickly, untying the ropes that hold the tender in place. The wood creaks softly as you prepare to lower it into the water.

And then, the cold press of a flintlock against the back of your head freezes you in place.

"Going somewhere?" comes a gruff, familiar voice.

Your breath catches, your hands tightening on the rope as Riley steps closer, his presence looming behind you.

"Drop the sword," he says, his tone flat, commanding.

You don't move, your grip on the hilt tightening as your mind races.

"Don't be stupid," he snaps, pressing the barrel harder against your skull. "You think I won't pull the trigger?"

"Maybe," you bite out. "But you'd lose your precious prize, wouldn't you? What would your captain think of that?"

"Self-defence. You've already got enough blood on your hands, don't you?"

The words sting, but you don't let them show.

Instead, you take a slow breath, your fingers twitching against the rope. "You think you've got me cornered," you say, your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. "But you don't know me, Riley. Not really."

His silence is telling, and you use it.

With a sudden burst of movement, you twist to the side, your body moving faster than thought. The flintlock goes off, the deafening crack splitting the air as the shot sails harmlessly into the night.

Your sword flashes, the blade catching the moonlight as you swing it toward him. Riley stumbles back, barely avoiding the strike, his face twisted in anger and disbelief.

"You're dead," he growls, drawing his own blade.

"Not yet," you reply, your voice a low snarl as you ready yourself for the fight.

The deck around you seems to fade, narrowing to just this, the clash of steel, the rush of adrenaline, and the burning need to win.

Because this time, you won't let them take you.

The clash of steel reverberates through the night as you and Riley circle each other on the deck, the ship swaying beneath your feet. His blade is steady, his movements calculated, but your fury fuels you, pushing your strikes harder and faster. Sparks fly as your swords meet, the scrape of metal against metal ringing out like a war cry.

"Reckless," Riley growls, his face scarf fluttering in the sea breeze as he lunges forward. "That's what makes this so damn easy."

You twist to the side, his blade slicing through the air where you stood a moment ago. "Reckless enough to survive," you snap back, your sword arcing toward him. He parries it with a grunt, his strength meeting yours in a clash that jars your arms.

The other sailors are beginning to notice, their shouts breaking through the tension of your fight. Footsteps pound against the deck as they rush toward you, the glint of their drawn blades catching in the moonlight.

Your heart sinks, but you don't stop. You can't stop.

Riley's strikes grow more aggressive as the crew closes in, his blade driving you back step by step. The sharp edge of the railing digs into your spine, and for a fleeting moment, you think it's over.

But then you see your chance.

As Riley lunges again, you drop low, twisting your body to the side and sweeping your leg out. He stumbles, his balance faltering, and you take advantage of the opening. Your blade slices across his arm, drawing a sharp hiss of pain as he reels back.

"Get her!" he barks, his voice a whip cracking through the chaos.

The crew surges toward you, their numbers overwhelming. You swing your sword with everything you have, cutting down one sailor, then another, but they just keep coming. A hand grabs your arm, yanking you back, and you whirl around, your elbow driving into the man's face. He crumples, but another takes his place.

You fight like a cornered animal, every swing of your blade, every kick, every punch driven by desperation. But there are too many of them.

One grabs your wrist, wrenching your sword from your hand. Another slams into you from the side, sending you sprawling to the deck. Your head snaps back against the wood, pain flaring as your vision blurs.

Hands grip your arms, your legs, pinning you down as you thrash and yell, your voice hoarse with the effort.

"Hold her down."

You grit your teeth, your muscles straining as you fight against the weight of the men holding you. For a moment, you think about giving up, about saving your strength for later, but the thought of surrender twists in your gut like a knife.

And then–

An explosion.

A cannonball rips through the air, its roar deafening as it slams into the Navy ship's hull. The deck shudders beneath you, the force of the impact sending a tremor through the wood.

The sailors freeze, their grips loosening as they look around in confusion. Another cannonball follows, tearing through the rigging above, and panic erupts.

It's your chance.

You wrench free of their grasp, shoving one man back with a burst of strength you didn't know you had. Your hand finds the hilt of your sword, and you swing it in a wide arc, forcing the men to back off as you stagger to your feet.

You glance toward the sea and see it, a ship emerging from the darkness, its sails billowing like wings. The faint glow of lanterns illuminates its deck, and even from here, you recognize the shape of its hull, the lines of its masts.

The Highland Flame.

Your heart lurches, but you don't have time to think about what it means. Another cannonball crashes into the Navy ship, and Riley snaps his attention back to you, his eyes narrowing.

"Focus on the pirate ship!" he barks at his men. "Leave her to me!"

You take a step back as he advances, his blade glinting in the moonlight. "You're not going anywhere."

You lunge forward, your blade meeting his with a resounding clash. The fight is brutal, each strike driven by desperation and rage. Riley's strength is formidable, but you're faster, your movements fueled by the sheer will to escape.

The ship rocks violently as the cannons continue to fire, the battle between the Navy and the pirates raging around you. The air is thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder, the shouts of men, and the thunderous crash of cannonballs splintering wood.

You break free from Riley's grip once, dodging his blade and darting toward the edge of the deck. But he's on you again in an instant, his hand grabbing your arm and yanking you back.

"Not so fast," he snarls, his grip like iron.

You twist, your elbow slamming into his ribs, and he lets out a grunt of pain. His hold loosens just enough for you to slip free, and you run, your boots pounding against the deck as you make for the railing.

"Get back here!" he roars, his footsteps heavy behind you.

You don't stop. You don't look back.

The edge of the deck rises before you, and you don't hesitate. You leap, the cold night air rushing past you before the sea swallows you whole.

The water hits you like a wall, its icy grip stealing the breath from your lungs. You kick hard, your body instinctively fighting against the pull of the waves as you break the surface, gasping for air.

Above, the battle rages on, the flashes of cannon fire lighting up the night like distant lightning.

You don't wait to see if Riley follows. You swim, each stroke pulling you further from the ship, from the fight, from everything that would see you dragged back into chains.

The cold bites at your skin, the salt stinging your wounds, you don't stop, you can't, but your body seems to have given up on you.

[skepwith]

More Parts of the Revenge for OFMD Fans

Part of a series: Revenge Master Post.

This post is about stuff in the body of the ship, going more or less from top to bottom. I’m saving the sails and rigging for my next post. If you want to know more basic terms like fore and aft and bow and stern, look for ��Parts of the Revenge” in my master post.

Obviously, using these terms is entirely optional, since David Jenkins et al. are free and easy with the ol' historical accuracy. This list is for pedants like me and people who like historical and specialized language. Enjoy!

Main Deck

The low “walls” on the sides of the open decks were called the bulwarks—they were to keep people from falling overboard. On the Revenge, the bulwarks are topped by a rail (railing).

A gap in the bulwark, together with a set of rungs on the hull, was called an entry port. It allowed people to climb aboard from a dinghy.

The top edge of the bulwark was the gunwale, pronounced gunnel. The expression “loaded to the gunwales” is still used to mean very full. The top edges of a dinghy are also called gunwales.

An opening in the deck is called a hatchway. I wrote about hatches a while ago, but what I didn’t realize was that the hatch is the part that covers the hatchway. The wooden grid that lets light and air through is called the grating.

In the bow, the curving rail that goes from the figurehead to the hull is called the head rail, which would’ve been really helpful to know for my toilet post. Oh well.

Stede’s journal could at a stretch be called a logbook (or log). This was a book in which an officer noted details of the ship’s daily progress and journey. Probably a bit less fanciful than Stede’s version.

Weaponry

The Revenge has guns (the word used for cannons) on her main deck and her gun deck. Before a gun was fired, the barrel was cleared with the sponge, then loaded with gunpowder and shot and wads of cloth, all of which was tamped down with the rammer. There were different types of shot, or ammunition; cannonballs were called round shot.

To fire a gun, a lit fuse (usually a slow match) was brought in contact with the vent at the top of the gun—called the touchhole—to ignite the gunpowder. (The wick added in OFMD isn’t accurate. Shocking, I know.) The slow match was usually held with a staff called a linstock, tucked into a notch on the end. You didn’t want to be right next to the cannon when it went off, because there was a non-zero chance it would misfire and explode in your face.

Despite what you see in movies, cannons didn’t produce a lot of fire and smoke; the cannonball did damage by going unstoppably through hulls, masts, and people—often many at a time—like a deadly Energizer bunny.

The gunpowder was kept in kegs in a small room called the powder magazine. (A magazine is an ammunition storage area.) This room was in the hull of the ship, below the water line, to minimize the chances of a stray spark sending the whole ship up in flames. The shot was kept in the shot-locker, a small room in the hold (though this word wasn’t recorded till 1805). As we know, Stede calls this the ball room.

Besides the regular cannons, the Revenge also has swivel guns, small cannons mounted on swivels. These were too small to damage another ship; they were there to fire at boarders and approaching boats. Or, you know, to set off fireworks.

To take an enemy ship, sailors might use a grapnel (or grappling hook). These were attached to a rope and thrown at enemy bulwarks or rigging so the ships could be pulled together for boarding.

The Gun Deck

Everything on a ship had to have a special name: stairs were always called ladders; the floor was called the deck; and a wall or partition inside the hull was called a bulkhead.

Some of you may know that a ship’s kitchen is called a galley. However, this usage wasn’t recorded until 1750; the earlier word was cook-room.

Likewise, the mess is where you eat on a ship, but this sense wasn’t recorded until the late 1800s. In OFMD’s time, mess meant “a group of people who eat together,” like officers of the same rank or sailors on the same watch.

You might know a berth as a shelf or box to sleep on, like Stede’s (and Ed’s) bed, but this usage wasn’t recorded until the 1790s. The earlier meaning, used from at least 1706, is “a room where a particular group (such as officers or midshipmen) eats and sleeps.” So you might call Jim’s room a berth—except that it changes hands, and its name has been firmly established as the Room.

A berth is also a place in a port or harbour where you can moor (park) a vessel, and thirdly, the safety margin around another vessel or object, which gives us the phrase “to give [it] a wide berth.”

Finally, the area where the animals (remember them?) were kept was a small triangular area in the bow called the manger. This seems to be where the Revenge’s en suite is, at least as far as I can figure, but if you want to include the animals for whatever reason, they’d probably live somewhere around there.

Storage

Some of the stuff on board was stored in casks, a.k.a. barrels. These could be any size, but a large cask was also called a butt. A scuttlebutt was a butt full of water attached to the deck for sailors to drink from. Unfortunately, the word wasn’t recorded before 1800, and the “gossip” meaning not till a century after that. But it’s a great word and you should use it anyway.

A keg was a small cask, usually less than ten gallons, used for things like gunpowder or rum.

A sea chest was a wooden box used to store an officer’s personal effects—or to confine a nosy hombrecito.

The Ship’s Bottom

(As it were.)

In several of my posts and diagrams I said the lower decks of the Revenge were the gun deck, the orlop, and the hold. But my friends, I made a grievous error: the Revenge has no orlop. I know!

In season 2, for the first time we get to see what’s below the gun deck. When Frenchie opens the secret passage in the kitchen, he reveals a set of stairs—sorry, a ladder—down to a grim, damp space. The kitchen is on the gun deck, so this is the deck immediately below it, and while on most ships that would’ve been the orlop, in this case it’s the hold.

The hold was the lowest compartment of the ship, used for storage and cargo. It also sometimes held the ballast—heavy stuff (e.g., pig iron, gravel, stones, lead) put there to improve the ship’s balance. The lowest part of the hold itself was called the bilge or bilges—the area where bilgewater collected and had to be pumped out.

Episode 3 shows the water on the floor—sorry, deck—making it pretty clear we’re in the bilges of the hold. On top of that, an Instagram post by crewmember Will Giles (shared on Tumblr by @ourflagmeansbts) mentioned repurposing the “bilge set.”

Which all proves that the Revenge’s hold is immediately below the gun deck, with no orlop in between.

The keel is the structural piece that runs lengthwise along the middle of the hull’s bottom. Keel-hauling was to drag someone along the outside of the keel, underwater, as a punishment—very nasty, often fatal.

Also underwater, at the stern, is the rudder, whose movement makes the ship turn. On a dinghy you steer by moving the tiller, a horizontal bar attached to the rudder post. On a ship like the Revenge, you turn the ship’s wheel, which is attached to the tiller via cables, and that moves the rudder.

That’s all for now! Coming next: sails and rigging, in port, and more sailing lingo.

Sources: Wikipedia, historicnavalfiction [dot] com, Oxford English Dictionary