#bosun's call

[ltwilliammowett]

A tiny silver bosun's call recovered from the wreck of the Tudor Ship Mary Rose, before 1545

[exycourtbesties]

what if i said aftg below deck au. does that mean anything to you lovely ppl

[ozzgin]

It is the 19th century and you are returning home by ship. Before you embark, you happen to find a glowing shell abandoned by the docks. It seems that the sea creatures are searching for it. Or maybe it's something else they're interested in. content: gender neutral reader, violence, dubious consent, based on Return of the Obra Dinn

January 1802 What's the matter with me, I wonder? As if my luggage wasn't heavy enough already, I had to drag around a big shell of sorts. Found it by the docks while I waited for my ship to arrive. It has a strange glow to it, this shell. Can't quite place it.

January 1802 Cheeky bastards! The seamen are such a flirt. From the moment I stepped onto the main deck, a handful of them haven't dropped the whistles and stares. One of the topmen - I recall he's Scottish? - he's been pestering me about the ship. "I'll show ye around, can't find a better guide," he says. His mates laugh and clap to his petty attempts.

February 1802 Some of the sailors are dying from lung illness. I was on the orlop deck, playing cards with the three Russians, when the surgeon rushed to one of the cabins ahead. "If it was contagious, we'd all have it by now. Damned if I know what it is, or where it comes from," I could hear him groan. I wondered out loud if I might catch it myself, but then I noticed one of 'em rascals trying to cheat the cards. February 1802 I saw it again tonight. Ever since we launched from Falmouth, as soon as the sun sets, there's an eerie glimmer in the distance. It reminds me of this damned shell. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Oh, the sea is so terrifying in the dark. There's nothing but black stretching all around. My window is low; whenever the waves break against it, the wooden walls let out a groan that awakens me from the deepest slumber. Surgeon gave me pills to sleep. The creaks of the ship sound like a weeping maiden. February 1802 I think the cursed glow is getting closer. I couldn't sleep anymore, so I snuck onto the main deck. Scotsman found me wandering towards the bow, so he quietly hoisted me up by the waist. I thought he'd tell the Captain, but he sat me on the lower rigging, next to him, and we listened to the waves. I was afraid I'd fall off, but he kept a steady hand on me. I wish I could tell him about the light stalking our ship. Would he think I'm mad?

February 1802 Second Mate returned today on a small boat. We heard shouts coming from upstairs, so we rushed to see what was happening. Bosun had his pistol readied next to the Captain, and the sailors lifted the cargo from below. I thought I was dreaming at first. Some creatures, unholy beings, were caught in the net. They had the body of a human, but thick, fish tails covered in spikes. One of the Formosan passengers muttered something in Chinese, and some of the tail spikes suddenly pierced him dead. The old Miss next to me fainted on the spot, and the stewards urged us to leave. Right before I turned, I noticed one of the beasts pointing at me. It had a monstrous grin on its face. Oh, what a sight! The Scotsman guided me away, but I can't forget those eyes. Was it malice? Such an intense stare, burning straight into my soul. Now that I'm writing all this, a memory has come to mind: the creature had the same shell as mine, dangling from its neck.

February 1802 The pills no longer work. I can't rest anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I hear its wretched voice, calling me from the lazarette. That's where they locked those sea monsters. It sings nonsense, blasphemous lies. We're not fated soulmates. I've nothing to do with those devils. I should've never picked up the shell. I can only pray we reach land soon.

March 1802 God, oh God, what disaster has befallen us? I don't have much time. The gun deck is in shambles, more than half the crew dead. Underwater beasts have crawled their way up our ship; strange humans with spears, saddled on top of crabs larger than I've ever seen. The poor midshipman, oh, a young boy! He set himself on fire to stop the nightmarish fiend. Threw the lamp across the floor, and the flames swallowed both of them up. I scrambled up on the main deck, but there was no peace to be found; colossal tentacles sprawled around the ship, pulling the rigging apart, tearing humans like insects. The Captain's wife was struck by a falling pillar, I saw her crumble right before me. Scotsman is still alive, but his arm is missing a good chunk of it. I don't know where to find the surgeon.

March 1803 They left. They took the last boat, I only found out this morning. I tried to join them, but one of the sailors stopped me. "Witch," he shouted at me, "the beast down by the cargo hold screams your name. You must've called it here, brought this curse upon us." I don't know what he's talking about. Tonight I'm going to the lazarette, I can no longer bear the calling. This blasted fiend, oh, he's ruined me. I'll rot on this wreck. Mother, I don't think I'll ever reach the shore.

Your steps are hesitant as you tiptoe your way around the dried blood and debris, until you reach the locked chambers. The door is bent and folded away, as if hit by a great force. You do indeed notice the round prints against the rusty surface: giant suckers from a blasphemous being.

There he is, the wicked varmint who plagues your sleep! A pale creature is propped up, halfway out of the water, welcoming you with a toothy grin. The shell around his neck glows mockingly.

You throw your own shell at him. The small, ivory object rolls with a hollow thud.

"Is this what you wanted, damned monster?"

"Why, what am I to do with two?"

His voice is harsh and deep, rapping against your eardrums, scratching the inside of your head.

"I've been waiting for you. Can't leave this place without my beloved, can I?"

"There you go again with this nonsense. Villain! Drown me if you must, but spare me your deceit."

His smile falters, eyes narrowing in a frown.

"Is that how you find my love? Some petty lie told by a charlatan? Ungrateful brat, who do you think freed you from their shackles? Who do you suspect has summoned the leviathan, from the deepest trenches of the sea, to save your mortal soul?"

"The kraken left with the storm," you counter as the blood drains from your face. Could it be that you were to blame, after all?

"No, it left after the bargain."

He pulls himself up and sits on the edge of his former cage. You observe his features in mild awe: the texture of his skin, the dark locks of hair reaching all the way to the tail, the spikes breaking out of the thick, hard scales.

"What bargain," you ask fearfully.

"The last ones are free to escape, if they leave you to me."

Why, your horrified expression is not quite something he expected. Surely one must feel relief once their freedom has been guaranteed. And not just any kind of freedom - you've been returned to your soulmate.

He's spent weeks chasing the currents, trailing the faint glow in the distance. He hasn't stopped once, tail pushing forward to the promise of a reunion.

Yet, you seem unsure. Perhaps his approach has been too hurried, too nonchalant. You need a little bit of convincing, and he happens to be a master of courting.

His thorax suddenly expands, and you can almost hear the twisting sound of his ribs cracking and breaking under the pressure. A sweet voice rolls out of his mouth, a song you've never heard before. Your heart pounds tremendously, threatening to burst out of your chest, and a foreign panic floods your senses.

Despite your desire to flee, your lids are heavy, eyes slowly closing. Through your lashes, you can discern the beast crawling towards you, the same defiant grin plastered on his face.

It's time for you to come home.

[charminglyantiquated]

So, I’m seriously looking into getting into tall ship sailing (waiting on follow-up from an interview rn) and I’m wondering for getting into it more long-term -

what do people do after sailing tall ships? Like, it’s a pretty physical job, and I’d assume there’s a point where your joints just can’t keep up with it.

Are there other jobs in the industry that people move to? I’m not really keen on the idea of moving up in the ship’s hierarchy- admin and being someone’s boss both aren’t really my thing. Do people retrain in completely different careers? Go back to whatever they were doing before they started sailing?

Anyway, I know your sample size might not be super large so I’d appreciate anything. Thanks a bunch!

This is hard to answer directly - on the one hand sailing tall ships is such a niche industry that there are limited pathways for straightforward advancement. But on the other hand, it overlaps with such a large number of other industries, and requires such a jack of all trades skillset - tourism, carpentry, history and preservation, hospitality, marine electronics, etc. etc. etc. - that there's a lot of ways forward for what I guess I'd call lateral advancement: moving to another job which uses most of the same skills. So there's no one answer, but if it helps, here's some things my tall ship deckhand friends have ended up doing, after no longer deckhanding tallships:

Get a captain's license and keep sailing. Captains often have it a bit easier physically (balanced out by the mental stress lol), and are paid better. Owning your own boat is optional; plenty of companies hire captains by the season to sail the boat, while the management of the company is dealt with by the actual owners. (This is what I did! I don't have the sail-hauling arms I did as a deckhand, but my knees and bank account are both in better shape).

Bosun, first mate, engineer, some other specialized non-captain crew member, usually involves licensing or other education that's useful down the road if you switch to an adjacent career

Racing yachts

Captain for hire on private vessels

Outward bound guide, other wilderness education programs

Harbor cruises, lobster tour guides, and other motor-powered tourist boats, both as captain and as crew - you have the patter and the safety skills but you don't want to deal with the hassle of sails

Water taxis, ferries and other passenger vessels

Lobstering, fishing, aquaculture, tugboats, other non-tourist waterfront industries

Marine surveyor, marine electrician, other specialized technician

Working in a shipyard - good fit for all the fit-out skills of sanding, painting, varnishing, covering and uncovering the boat

Cruise ship hostess

Train conductor (the passion for the early 1900s carried over well)

Working at a a museum focused on local maritime history

Tour guide for local buses, walking tours, etc

Boatbuilder (IYRS, Wooden Boat School)

Teaching the captain's license courses (nota bene: there were obviously some other steps between deckhand and teacher, notably ten years of being a captain in between. But this is what they settled into when they decided sailing was too physically taxing, so I want to include it).

Carpentry, house painting

Designing and selling custom made van-homes (apart from the technical skills, living on board a ship helps familiarize making use of every square inch of space)

Sailmaker

Of course there's other friends who went on to try something completely new and unrelated - I think because so many of the people who start sailing tall ships are here for something completely new in the first place, that's not an intimidating prospect so much as an exciting one. But many of them did make use of tall ship skills even when moving on from tall ships, so I hope the above list is helpful in giving a broad sense of what can follow!

[joelalorian]

Tides of Desire - Chapter One: A Prelude to the Open Sea

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, adventure, alcohol, injuries, fluff, angst, smut. Reader is a badass. Additional warnings will be posted with each chapter as needed. No use of y/n.

Chapter One: A Prelude to the Open Sea

It was his favorite time of year, yacht season. Austin, Texas would always be home, but there was just something about the sea that called to Joel Miller like a siren, the salty air a balm to his weary soul. It warmed his heart that Sarah took to the sea just as well, tagging along from a young age as he captained charter boats in the Gulf of Mexico or Caribbean Sea for a few months between November and April each year. His brother, too, fell in love with the sea, joining Joel in the charter industry upon his discharge from the Army. While Joel spent years working his way up to Captain, Tommy fell into the safety side of yachting, thriving as a deck hand and eventually falling into the role of Bosun. Tommy preferred the hands-on, leadership with some manual labor style of the role and had no inclination to move up for a while.

Sarah would be joining them for her third season as an official crew member, serving on the interior staff once again, her first time as the Chief Stewardess. Having grown up in the field, she knew the ins and outs of the yachts her dad captained and could likely hold nearly any crew position. Yet, Sarah always preferred the interior staff roles. She loved designing elegant table settings and the creative aspects of event planning, even if the grind of cleaning up after obscenely rich charter guests had its less than stellar moments.

“Ya all packed up, baby girl?” Joel asked as he passed Sarah’s bedroom, hefting his luggage down the stairs. “We gotta head out soon. Tommy’s coming to get us any minute now.”

“I’ll be right there!” Sarah called back, zipping up her carry-on bag. She always overpacked. Never knowing just how the season would go adventure or weather-wise, Sarah wanted to be prepared for anything. Hence, she was checking two large suitcases and taking a carry-on and large purse on the plane with her.

“For fuck’s sake, kiddo. Are ya moving out or somethin’?” Joel griped as he heaved one of the suitcases and the carry-on down the stairs. “We can do laundry on the boat, ya know.”

Tommy’s arrival cut off any sassy response Sarah might have made, and Joel made sure the house was secure before they took off for the airport. His buddy next door would keep an eye on the house and mow the lawn when needed, as he’d done for years now.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the tranquil waters of the Caribbean. An elegant yacht, a vessel of luxury and escape, sat at the marina awaiting the rest of its crew to board.

Joel stood tall on the bridge, the epitome of a seasoned captain with a stoic demeanor and skin tinted by the southern sun. On the deck, his long-time first mate, Frank, called out friendly greetings along with orders to the crew already at work. Down below, Bill, the yacht's engineer, inspected the engines with a meticulous eye, grumbling to himself about the slightest imperfections of the otherwise pristine ship.

Sarah stood portside with clipboard in hand, greeting each crew member as they arrived and directing them to their bunks. There were a few familiar faces from over the years, many crew members returning to spend another season with the Millers, yet her interior team was entirely new.

Once everyone arrived and settled into what would be their spaces for the next few months, the team leaders called meetings with their crew – Sarah and the interior team settling in the sky lounge while Tommy met with the deck crew in the tender storage space. Once they introduced everyone and went over the important aspects of their respective roles on the yacht, the two teams reconvened in the main salon for the crew meeting with the captain.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

From the moment you spotted the super yacht in the marina, you were in awe. The sleek 100-foot powerhouse towered over the other boats in the mooring, looking more than ready to take on the Caribbean Seas. This was your third season as a deck hand, having changed careers after burning out quickly in the corporate world. Though it might have been a complete waste of your undergrad and graduate degrees, you switched gears to yachting as a means of self-preservation. The hard work of life on the seas reminded you of pleasant summers spent with your grandpa sailing the English Channel and Mediterranean. He taught you everything you knew about boats and the water. You never lost those skills or that love for the sea when you left England for university in America, having been a fierce competitor on your school’s sailing team.

Now, you found yourself joining a new crew on a super yacht for the third year in a row and you could not be more excited. You heard great things about Captain Joel from your prior captains and knew that he treated his crew like family. He commanded respect by taking care to treat the crew with the respect they deserved. You also heard he was gorgeous, but you couldn’t focus on that. You were here to work and didn’t want to get distracted.

Your eyes widened as you walked up the passerelle and met a tall young woman with a mane of springy dark curls. “Hi, I’m Sarah, the Chief Stew!” she greeted, brown eyes shining as brightly as her smile.

Her exuberance was contagious, and you flashed a broad smile in return. “Hi, Sarah,” you replied, giving your name in return, and watched with a keen eye as she checked you off on the clipboard in her hand. “I’m one of the deck hands.”

“I see that.” Sarah met your eyes again. “My Uncle Tommy is the Bosun. He’s awesome, you’ll love him.” Her eyes assessed you further, apparently approving what she saw. “Some also say he’s quite handsome. Though, some say that about my dad, too. Personally, I don’t see it.”

“Cheeky girl!” you laughed, already knowing that you two would get along well. “I can already see you’re going to be a troublemaker.”

“You have no idea!” Sarah confirmed with a smirk. “Come on, I’ll show you to your bunk.”

Sarah gave you the penny tour on the way, pointing out the main areas that you would need to know and explaining a few things about the other crew who arrived so far. The yacht was beautiful and the enormity of it became even more obvious as you moved through the various levels and rooms.

“You’ll be rooming with Tess, the chef. She’s awesome. My dad has been friends with her my entire life. She always prefers the top bunk, so you have the bottom.” Sarah was a fount of information. “We’ll be calling crew meetings in about an hour, so get settled and explore.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” you replied before turning to sort through your things. Left to your own devices, you had your portion of the cabin setup just how you wanted in no time. Before you knew it, you found yourself wandering around the ship, orienting yourself and getting familiar with each area.

Turning a corner on your way to the main deck, you ran smack into a body resembling a solid wall. “Oy! I’m terribly sorry!” you rushed to simultaneously apologize and regain your balance. Your eyes inched upwards along the broad chest in front of you, roving over a scruffy beard, and finally settled on a pair of startlingly deep brown eyes that stared at you in equal wonder.

“Pardon me, darlin’.” The voice emanating from that sinful mouth was deep and rich, causing the hair on the back of your neck to raise with goosebumps. Reaching out a large hand to make sure you were steady, he continued, “You must be one of my new crew members. ‘M the Captain, but you can always call me Joel.”

Good lord, people were not lying when they told you Captain Joel was hot. He was the most gorgeous man you’d ever set eyes on. Broad and tall, he struck an imposing figure, but his dark eyes were kind, wide like a puppy’s. The contours of his face were pleasing to the eye. It took you a few moments to realize you were staring wide-eyed without responding, and quickly cleared your throat.

Giving him your name, you added, “I’m one of the deck crew.”

Joel nodded. “My brother is the Bosun. Have you met him yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve only met Sarah… and now you,” you replied. Was he aware that his warm hand was still on your arm? The heat of it searing into your skin in a tantalizing way, threatening to send you to distraction. “I’m sure I’ll meet everyone soon enough.”

“Are you British?” Joel asked suddenly, his tanned cheeks flushing. His free hand raised to the back of his head, ruffling the dark curls there. “Sorry, I just noticed the hint of an accent.”

“I am, though I’ve been in the States for quite a while now and have lost most of the accent I used to have. You could say I’ve become Americanized,” you joked, earning a deep chuckle from Joel.

It seemed that neither of you were interested in getting back to what you were originally doing, the conversation flowing as you shared some of your yachting experience and Joel told you about the rest of his crew and how he liked to operate as a Captain. You decided you could listen to him talk forever – he was enthralling, voice deep and flowing like a rocky stream. All too soon, though, a call came over the radio on Joel’s hip, letting you both know that it was time for the deck crew meeting.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you said, trying not to feel sad that the conversation had to end. Before you could turn to reorient yourself, Joel spoke. “I’m heading in that direction; I’ll show you the way.”

It was a quick, quiet walk to the main deck which allowed you to focus your mind. Joel left you with a soft touch at the small of your back and the hint of a smile before you turned your attention to the other members of the deck crew.

You could see the family resemblance as Tommy introduced himself as Bosun. Damn, the brothers were far more attractive than they had any right to be - the Miller family had a serious gene pool! As if able to read your thoughts, the young woman next you chuckled and teased under her breath, “And another one bites the dust.”

Confused, you glanced at her, keeping half your attention on Tommy’s speech. “What?” you whispered back.

“All the women fall for them.” Her chin jutted toward Tommy, her eyes shifting to the bridge where Joel was stationed. “I hoped you wouldn’t be so predictable.”

Oh, this girl was cheeky! You tried to remember her name from Tommy’s introductions… Kellie? Nellie? No, it was Ellie. This Ellie was… something. “It’s not my fault they’re bloody fucking hot, yeah?”

The pair of you cracked up, drawing Tommy’s ire. “Am I interrupting something more important, ladies?”

Your face warmed as you shook your head, mortified to be called out so early on in the first day of the job. Meanwhile, Ellie merely smirked at the man. “Please, continue with your enthralling speech, Tommy. We’re just dying to hear the rest of it.”

Tommy scowled, the exuberance of his speech now shaken.

At once, you knew the pair of you would get along well. Ellie was so… spunky. And it wasn’t often you got to work with another woman on the deck crew.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey Dad,” Sarah chimed, stepping onto the bridge to see Joel going over a tide chart for the coming days.

“Hi baby girl,” he replied, slipping the black plastic framed glasses from his nose and popped them in his shirt pocket. “How’s the crew looking this season?”

Sitting with a sigh at the small table in the corner, Sarah stretched her long legs. “It’s looking real good this year. With Uncle Tommy, Tess, Bill, Frank, and Ellie back as always, the new folks should fit right in. I love that we have two women on deck crew.”

Joel nodded. “Tommy said they might be trouble though. He was grumbling about Ellie sassin’ him during his big welcome speech.” The father and daughter shared a good laugh knowing how seriously Tommy took his role as a leader and how hard he worked to perfect that speech over the years. “How about your stews? Ya gotta good team?”

Sarah’s eyes lit up as she nodded excitedly. “For sure! They are going to be great. Sammy has a ton of energy and is focused on hospitality, so he’ll make a great First Stew. It’ll be fun having a guy on the team, too. Talia is friendly but quiet and really organized. She’s already showing signs of taking Emmy under her wing, so she’s a perfect fit for Second Stew. And Emmy is the sweetest thing. She’s like a sponge and is really creative.”

His heart warmed seeing his daughter taking a leadership role at such a young age and already getting to know her team and how to organize them on the first day. Joel was so proud of her it made his heart hurt. “Sounds like you got it all under control. Guess it’s time for the big crew meeting. Call everyone to the main salon, please.”

Making the call over the radio for everyone to meet in the main salon, the pair of them hefted a couple of boxes of uniforms for the crew along with them. They were the first to arrive and Sarah spent the time segregating the uniforms for each crew member, laying them out on the center table for everyone to grab. Joel stood at the head of the room as the crew filtered in and took a seat on the elegant leather sectional. Once everyone was settled, he called the room to order.

“Welcome to Radiance, y’all,” Joel started before giving some facts about the yacht, his experience, and officially welcoming everyone aboard. “As we’re all adults here, I expect appropriate behavior at all times. I only have a few rules. No drinking while on charter. No fraternizing with the guests. Finally, do not embarrass me or this yacht with poor behavior. Got it?”

His darks eyes moved around the room, landing on you for a few beats too long before shifting around again. He couldn’t look at you without being distracted. That was not good.

The meeting shifted to a fun game run by Sarah to get to know each other. Once they were finished, everyone grabbed their new uniforms – a few sets of daily wear, dress whites, and black dinner wear each. They all received rash guards with the boat’s name, Radiance, on it as well, for beach excursions.

“The rest of today is a free day – I suggest you use it to get to know the boat and each other. The real work begins tomorrow as we get the yacht ready for our first charter on Tuesday.” Joel bid them farewell, heading back to the bridge with Frank. Bill also disappeared back down to the engine room, not one for socializing, especially with such a young, rambunctious crowd. Tess and Tommy stuck around, interested in getting to know the new crew members.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a tour of the yacht guided by Sarah and Tommy, everyone ended up in the main salon again. “Anyone up for cocktails and the hot tub?” Tommy asked the group with a cheesy smile.

“Hell yeah,” Ellie responded, already running off back to her cabin to change, leaving a trail of chuckles in her wake.

You were definitely down for an adult beverage and a dip in the hot tub. It would be nice to relax your muscles before the manual labor began tomorrow. Tess and the other girls followed you down to the crew cabins. You all gabbed and changed before heading back up to the flybridge and the bar Sarah knowingly stocked earlier.

You slipped into the hot tub with an ice-cold beer in one hand, unaware of Tommy’s heated gaze taking in the sight of you in your bathing suit as he stood nearby with his own beer in hand. You opted for something simple and modest, yet it showed off enough skin to draw the male eye.

Soon, you were joined by Tess who settled near you with a rocks glass full of amber liquid in it. “Hey,” she said, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You certainly have the Miller brothers’ attention.” Her voice was low, directed to your ears only as she gazed at you with knowing eyes.

Not knowing how to respond, your face heated for the third time since you boarded the yacht. You searched the other woman’s eyes, trying to suss out her angle. You knew from Sarah that Tess was a close friend of the Millers and had worked with Joel and Tommy for a long time. Did she have a thing for one, or both, of them and see you as unwanted competition? Whatever the deal was, you did not want to be causing drama your first day of the season!

“I’m—” a splash cut you off as Sarah hopped into the hot tub, seating herself on Tess’s other side, effectively cutting off whatever you were going to say. Good thing, too, as you had no idea what was about to come out of your mouth.

“Woah! Sorry ‘bout that,” Sarah laughed as the water continued to slosh around from her near cannonball entrance. “Are we talking about anything good?”

Tess glanced at you with a shrug. “Just getting to know one another.” Her eyes stayed on you as she took a long pull from her tumbler.

“Cool, cool. So, tell me about yourself, England,” Sarah directed at you.

Quirking a brow at the unoriginal nickname, you replied, “That the best you can do?”

The younger woman beamed at you, the sparkle in her dark eyes bringing another pair of fine eyes to mind. “For now. I’ll do better once I know more about you.”

The next half hour flew by as the three of you shared stories about yourselves. You already knew you liked Sarah from the moment you met her, but even Tess was starting to grow on you. She was sharp and resourceful with a wicked sense of humor. She was a handful of years older than you and lived quite the adventurous life.

Before long, Tommy and the other deckhand, Connor, joined the three of you in the hot tub while the other three interior staff – Sammy, Talia, and Emmy – sat along the edge not wanting to get too wet. The drinks were flowing and quite a few had been spilled into the bubbling water. No doubt there would be quite the mess to clean up tomorrow along with the rest of the deck crew duties.

You fell into conversation with Tommy, learning about his time in the military and how he followed his brother into the charter yacht industry. He asked questions about growing up in England, the time you spent sailing with your grandfather, and your competitive sailing days. He was borderline flirting, and you could tell he was reigning himself in. You learned early on that it was best not to have yacht relationships, but sometimes it was difficult to avoid when you spent 24/7 with someone in a confined space for a few months.

“I love your accent. You sound so much smarter than us Texans,” Tommy said. Americans always loved your accent, though it lost most of its edge by now.

“It’s all an illusion,” you joked. He started leaning closer to you the more alcohol he imbibed, and you could feel Tess’s heavy gaze watching the two of you. Deciding it was time to call it a night, you told the group goodnight despite their protests. Grabbing a towel, you wrapped it around you and dripped your way down to the crew mess for a snack before climbing into your bunk.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following morning, you woke up before your alarm, hearing Tess gently snoring in the bunk above you. Wondering what time she came in last night; you dressed in your daily uniform as quietly as possible and freshened up in the bathroom. Closing the cabin door with a gentle click, you grabbed a yogurt for breakfast and made your way up to the tender storage to start your day.

It was only seven o’clock and it appeared most everyone else was still asleep, meeting no one on your journey. You took the opportunity to stroll around the deck, the salt air naturally waking you up. You stopped at the bow to gaze out at the turquoise sea. The water was flat, and a calm breeze ruffled your hair.

“G’morning,” a deep voice sounded behind you, the smell of coffee wafting through the air. Joel appeared at your side, his eyes raking over you in a pleasing way before shifting to the horizon.

 “Good day, Captain,” you greeted in return, a warm smile spreading your lips. He smelled really good – freshly showered with a cologne that accentuated his natural musk. It made your mouth start to water.

Jesus, you should have gotten laid before coming onto this boat.

“Ya want some coffee?” Joel raised the mug in his hand. “I have a fresh pot going. Figured y’all would need it after last night.”

A girlish giggle escaped you before you could stop it. “I don’t drink the stuff, prefer tea, if anything. I called it a night early, but I have no doubt everyone else will need the caffeine boost.”

“Not the typical party animal yachtie then?” The view forgotten, you both turned toward each other to continue the conversation, hips leant against the railing.

“Not by half,” you laughed. “I did enough of that in my university days. Not that I don’t enjoy socializing and having a good time though. I just like to make my hangovers worth it.”

That earned a hearty chuckle from Joel. “That’s one way of putting things into perspective. And I agree, the hangover has to be worth it.”

The two of you fell into comfortable conversation, sharing tidbits about yourselves until more of the deck crew started to emerge for the day. You locked away all the things Joel shared, wanting to build the story of him in your mind.

“This was quite pleasant. We should do it again sometime, Cap’n.” Your gazes held intensely for a few beats before Joel hummed in agreement. Then, movement over your shoulder caught his attention.

“Looks like Tommy’s gatherin’ the troops. Ya better get moving, sweetheart.” Between the term of endearment and the crooked smile, you could have turned into a puddle at the handsome Captain’s feet. Instead, you flashed him your most charming smile and dashed off to join your team for a grueling day of hard work.

And grueling it was as Tommy had you all scrub and hose down every inch of the exterior, check all the equipment, and reorganize the tender storage before doing it all over again to make sure it met his exacting measures. All the while, your mind stayed occupied with thoughts of Captain Joel. Even when you slipped into your bunk, physically wiped out and barely able to call out a ‘good night’ to an equally exhausted Tess, your subconscious allowed Joel to infiltrate your dreams.

[the-golden-vanity]

@fabledquill @walnutwiddershins I'm glad you asked!

The "how did you get to do this" and "what did it cost" can be answered here—while the price may look a little pricey, all your accommodations and meals are taken care of during your voyage, and I would say it's well worth the money. If you have dietary restrictions, those can be accommodated, too—I'm vegetarian, and one of my professional-crew watchmates had celiac, and both of us were well taken care of.

My duties involved standing watch on a 4 hours on, 4 hours off, 4 hours standby schedule—I was on A watch (midnight to 4 AM and noon to 4 PM, or 0-4 and 12-16) with two professional crewmates and the first mate as our watch officer. The other watches were led by the second mate and the bosun respectively, and included two professional crew and two guests each.

While on watch, I would take the helm for a portion of the watch (absolutely nerve-wracking my first time, but my favorite part of sailing once I got used to it), do at least one of the hourly boat checks (checking to make sure everything's safe, the bilges don't need to be pumped out, nothing is where it shouldn't be), and help in any sail handling and adjustments that needed to be performed. This mostly occurred during watch, but there were a few times standby or all hands would be called up for a particularly intense piece of work, and then a shipmate would come wake me up, I'd put on my shoes (or boots and foul weather gear, if appropriate) and run up on deck prepared to haul on some lines.

The professional crew, and especially my watchmates and watch officer, were wonderful people and easy to get along with. While I was far less experienced than any of them, they were always ready to teach me new skills and lend a hand when needed, and by the end, I felt like a real part of the crew. I miss them already.

The other guest crew? Well, I've already written about the nightmare guest here, but even without that notable outlier, I was glad I didn't have watch with any of them, because that meant I hardly had to interact with them. I was talking with @thebaffledcaptain before my voyage about how the two kinds of Age of Sail enthusiasts are queer people and Boat Owning Old Guys, and since my good friend I had initially signed on with had to bow out due to a family emergency, I was outnumbered by the second type four to one. Y'all, the MANSPLAINATION and simple disrespect of these men towards the female crew members, and especially the women in positions of responsibility—our first mate, bosun, and chief engineer were all women—was ASTOUNDING. Still, though, that reflects on these men, not on the ship nor on her professional crew.

Overall, the experience was really wonderful, I learned a lot, found my happy place, and would and will do it again. Not only that, I'm working on the volunteer paperwork for my local tall ship as we speak— so I'd say it was successful.

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken At All Chapter 16/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Oh hey, remember me? Remember this story I haven't updated in a year…… Please don't hate me lol Sorry for how long this took - this chapter was just impossible to write and time just kept passing. I'm hoping there won't be such a long break again but I know better than to make promises.

Hopefully some of you are still reading this and enjoy this new chapter!

Note that I made a small change to the last chapter (which fixed this one). You don't have to read it, just know that the lost boys who died on the beach are still out there.

Anyway… here you go! Sorry!

Thank you as always to @the-darkdragonfly for letting me just throw ideas at you about this story all the time and putting up with all the changes! 💕💕 And thank you @kmomof4 for looking this over and helping me decide on the ending 💕 (You can blame her! I kid... mostly)

Small content/trigger warning: This chapter includes more of the aftermath of the hunt. There are no children actively hurt in this chapter but there are bodies and burials and grief.

*******

Part 16

“Mom?”

The thundering of her heart rips her from sleep, hollow and echoing with the blood rushing in her ears, painful in her chest. But there’s only darkness in the small room of the ship, eyes wide and unfocused, the remnants of a dream she can’t remember still making shapes in the dark. She could have sworn she heard it, like it was there in the room with her. But there's no one here - only Killian still in the bed next to her, the arm that had held her close before now outstretched beneath her as he sleeps. A dream. Neverland playing tricks on her - or one of the lost boys above deck calling out to the dark for their mother. 

“Momma?” That one’s real, quieter. One of the children must have found a way down, wandering the halls looking for someone he’ll never find. “Mummy…” That one is heartbreaking. She rises from the bed, Killian not stirring as she slips from the sheets and makes her way quietly across and out of the room. The boys were told not to come down here - better she find whoever it is than one of the pirates. “Mom?” There’s no one there to accompany the sound in the dim light of the lantern outside the cabin and she hesitates, looking towards where the disembodied voice came from. Whoever they are, it sounds like they’re making their way back to the deck on their own… “Mom?” 

The word cuts through her, paralyzes her, heart so tight in her chest she can’t breathe. Henry. She knows his voice - already so deeply ingrained in every part of her being after such a short time that hearing it now is like a piece of herself lost and calling out to be found. 

“Emma?” Softer, getting further away from her - losing him all over again. Her bare feet make no sound as she runs past the crew’s quarters, past the bosun’s room and the galley towards the deck. The door creaks wearily as she climbs the steps and opens it to the night air. The lost boys are asleep - all of them - every single one exhausted from the horrors of the day and she pads carefully through the bodies - sleeping and dead - searching. Henry’s not among them. The ship holds that eerie Neverland silence she can’t get used to, no crashing of waves or rustle of wind, the faint discordant song of the Lorelei the only hiss of sound as it floats in and out on the sea. 

“Mom?” 

Her eyes snap to the back of the Jolly. “Henry?” she hisses. 

“Mom!” Emma nearly stumbles over a sleeping child as she tries to catch up to him before he’s lost to her again. He found her. Of course he did, just like before. She should have known he would. She rounds the helm, heart pounding so violently it reaches the stern before she does. But there’s no one there, again, just an empty deck where a child should be, where her son should be. 

“Where are you?” There’s nowhere else to search, only the sea that surrounds them.

“Emma?” Wendy is standing in front of her, head cocked. “What are you doing up here?” 

She looks towards where her son should be, where the voice no longer calls out to her. There’s nothing there, no one, just the sleeping boys, just Will. 

“Did you see him?”

“See who?” 

“Henry. Did you see him? Did you see where he went?” 

“Henry? There’s no one else up here. It’s just me and the new recruits. You must have been dreaming.”

“I know what I heard. I know my son.” The other woman’s expression turns pitying and Emma’s shoulders tense. “I heard him.” 

Wendy’s frown deepens and when she speaks her voice has the same tone that hers had when she’d been trying to calm Hook in the hospital, the one you use to console a crazy person. “I’m sure you did.”

“It wasn’t a dream.” But even as she says it she starts to doubt her own words. There’s no sign of him, no sign that he was ever here. Wendy wouldn’t lie about that. 

She sighs. “I believe you.” She does, but she also doesn’t believe Henry’s on the ship either. Emma goes to the ship’s edge, careful not to trip over any sprawled limbs, and squints out at the beach against the sun that’s just starting to rise. Maybe he’s not on the Jolly. Maybe he’s somewhere out there. There’s no sign of him on the blood soaked sand and relief settles like a stone in her throat even as the fear of not knowing where he is rises up again. “Neverland plays tricks, Emma.” Wendy joins her at the bow, leaning against the rail, back straight and alert as she looks out at the carnage before them. “You can’t trust anything you hear. The shadows’ll do anything to lure you out.”

“The shadows?”

A nod. “They see into your dreams, see what it is you want most and use it against you. It’s how so many of the boys end up here in the first place.” Wendy’s shoulders sag a little, looking out at the bodies on the beach. It’s the closest Emma’s seen her come to breaking the hard mask she’s worn so well since the hunt started - the real person behind the cold captain. “And now they’ll never leave.”

“What happens to the bodies?” she asks, looking back at the dead, carefully wrapped in sheets on the deck.

“We bury the ones who made it here at sea. Neverland takes back the rest.” 

Emma frowns, eyes darting to the shore. “What do you mean it takes them back?” 

“They become the shadows that live in Dark Hollow, whispering to Pan, finding children, his way of keeping an eye on the outside world. He’ll come at sundown to collect them.” 

“They become the shadows?” she swallows, cold dread tasting bitter at the thought of all those kids having to become Pan’s creatures, forced to do his bidding forever. “The boys?”

Wendy nods and her stomach drops. 

“What about the ones who died here? Will they be shadows too?” 

She shakes his head. “Neverland magic can’t touch this ship. Whatever enchantment’s on it is powerful enough to keep even the darkness away.” Neverland can’t find you here. 

Emma hears her sigh when she looks back out at that beach. “Don’t even think about it.” She’s thinking about it. “He gets to keep his winnings. Those are the rules of the game. Those rules keep us alive.” 

She doesn’t answer, only gives the captain a small nod, thoughts still spinning with the cruelty of it all, that even in death these children can’t escape Pan. Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder, the gesture surprisingly consoling, the mask slipping again. “You’re not the only one who wishes it could be different.” 

Emma nods, grim and defeated, and Wendy pats her shoulder with a tight-lipped smile before turning towards where some of the children have started to stir. 

She wishes she could say she thought about it longer, or at all, really. But all she can think of is every single kid she knew growing up, all the ones who fell through the cracks, the ones who were given up on or abandoned, all the adults who threw up their hands and said there was nothing they could do - that was just how the system worked, that rules had to be followed. Fuck that. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

Wendy’s shout echoes above her, cut off by the water when she plunges into it. It takes her deeper than she expected it to, the fall further than she thought, but she kicks wildly, eyes burning against the salt until she breaks the surface. And then she’s swimming, boots and vest heavy against the waves, hat lost somewhere between the ship and the surface, but she keeps going. She can make this swim, she’s made it before - and she has a purpose now. 

She stumbles as she climbs onto the beach, the tide pulling at her knees and then her ankles like it’s trying to draw her back to where it’s safe. Emma fights it, running and slipping across the sand once it’s hot and dry beneath her feet and collapsing beside the first boy she finds. He’s tall and wiry, limbs stretched out, calf-like, not yet grown into his elbows and knees. And now he never will. 

She kneels beside him, stroking his cheek before closing his eyes. Salt water drips onto his skin, turning dried blood fresh again as she tells him she’s sorry - that this happened, that she couldn't do anything to stop it, that Pan gets to keep living. She doesn’t know how long she just sits there with him, looking out at all the other kids who won’t ever go home. 

“Swan…” No. She’s not going back - not leaving them here. She slides her arms under the boy’s shoulders, heaving his limp, heavy frame onto her chest, not sure how she plans to get him back to the ship, just that she will. “Swan.” She ignores it, digging her heels into the sand, trying to plant them under her enough that she can get to her feet. But it slips away beneath her boots and she falls on her ass again and again. She’s not leaving him here. She’s not leaving any of them here.

“Swan.” 

“What!” she snaps, barely looking up at him, wet hair plastered to his face, coat left behind, shirt soaked in water and salt. She can’t get her legs steady enough beneath her, can’t lift the kid any higher into her arms, so she starts to drag him back across the beach, holding tight to his chest as she makes it inch by inch, blonde head rolling limply against her shoulder. 

“Emma,” Killian says softly when she stumbles, she and the boy fall back against the sand. If he says her name one more goddamn time… His hand is gentle on her arm, stopping her as she moves to stand again and she looks up, ready for a fight, whatever she has to, but she’s taking this kid back to his stupid, magical ship where he can rest in fucking peace. 

But his gaze isn’t scolding, not a warning or even pity and he reaches for the boy in her arms, taking his weight from her and hoisting him over his shoulder. He fixes her carefully with a solemn, resolved stare when she stands to meet his gaze. “There’ll be consequences.” 

She looks back towards the shoreline where Will and Wendy are standing by the dinghy. “Do you care?” she asks him, turning to the others, “Do any of you care?” There are more coming out of the water now, pirates and lost boys marching onto the beach.

The residual anger fades from Wendy’s eyes, hardening into something different, and then she kneels beside a small body, this one looking too young to have been on this side of the hunt. “John didn’t make it off the beach,” is all she says before lifting him from the sand and meeting Emma’s eyes with equal determination. 

Will shrugs. “Pan already wants me dead,” he says, bending to pick up another child, cradling the boy to his chest. “Might as well be for a good reason.”

Slowly, the others begin doing the same, gathering the fallen, some searching for brothers, friends, others finding any they can carry. Emma follows Killian’s gaze to where two older kids come to the aid of a young boy trying to pick up a bigger body that bears him a painful resemblance - a brother no doubt. She doesn’t miss the way Killian watches them carry him across the beach, the younger boy not letting go of his brother’s sleeve. He’d lost his brother here as well, to Pan’s cruelty. She wonders how long ago it was, wonders if any amount of time matters. 

Emma follows Killian as he brings the tall boy’s body to the dinghy and sets him down gently. 

“So what now, Swan?” he says, turning to look at the Lost Boys gathering their fallen friends, “You’ve declared war on Pan. And these boys will follow you to the end now. Where will you lead them?” 

Emma spares another glance at the beach, at the pirates that were Lost Boys and the Lost Boys that will be pirates, all of them stolen from their lives and their families for Pan’s enjoyment. “Home. When this is over, and Pan is dead, we’re taking them home. All of them.”

“Aye,” he says, with an edge of something she can’t place in his voice, his gaze holding hers just a moment too long before he moves to collect another body, damp skin and drying shirt becoming stained with someone else’s blood. He hesitates, casting a glance back at her. “They aren’t the only ones who’ll follow you,” he tells her before turning and walking back towards the shore.

***

There are twice as many bodies on the deck as there had been last night, a sea of white cloth laid out on the bow of the Jolly like snowfall, twice as many ghosts wrapped in sheets waiting to be buried at sea. There are twice as many lost boys too, half of them no longer cowering by the edge of the ship’s rail, gazing longingly out at the island they’d just escaped. Instead they stand in rows, backs straight and heads bowed, already falling in line, already soldiers as they wait for their captain to speak. 

They’d sailed further from land than Emma’s been since they first arrived, the water deeper here, where no light can reach the depths even with the sun burning high and bright above them, and no shadows can be cast. “They’re weakest when the sun is at its peak, where the light can’t cast them further,” Wendy had explained. “At night though… at night the whole world is shadow.” 

Killian stands tense before them, Wendy and Will at his side, the two captains and their first mates. There’s something off in the line of his shoulders, in the way his thumb keeps sliding over the rings he wears. She’d seen him in the aftermath of the hunt, surrounded by the bodies, used to death and slaughter and cruelty. He’d held back then, composed and calm as always around the boys and young men that had survived. But as he looks at the sea of white, the cannonballs tied to their ankles that will drag them all down into the darkness where the shadows can’t reach them, she can see him losing that tenuous grip on his cool indifference. So can Wendy, if the hint of sympathy barely cracking through her own harsh disguise is anything to go on. 

When she thinks that he might not manage it, that his first mate might have to step in and take over, he lets out a bitter sigh. “Best not to draw it out.” Will steps forward, he and Killian lifting the closest body onto a plank balanced on the rail, held steady by two of the older crewmen - both barely out of their teens - preparing to tilt the body into the sea. 

Before he can raise his hand to signal the order, a small boy appears at his side, and Killian freezes. Emma hadn’t seen him break rank, hadn’t seen him make his way across the deck - no more than seven or eight years old.  She recognizes him, the one who’d been trying to carry his brother on the beach. She wonders what he could have possibly done for Pan to decide he’d had his fill of time in Neverland. 

The boy’s coat is tattered and dirty from however long he’d been in the jungle, and her reaches into it to pull something out, and then stretches as far as he can to reach across the body that’s nearly at eye level with him. And there, in the center of white sheet, he sets a baseball card down on the fallen boy’s chest. 

Emma doesn’t breath, the men holding the plank staring at the card, everyone on deck silent and frozen. The child moves to Killian’s side then, tugging at the thick leather of his sleeve until the captain leans down and gives the boy his attention. “Jack.” 

A strange sort of uncertainty falls over the crowd at the sound of the lost boy’s name. This is clearly not how things are done. Even the newest recruits shift uncomfortably - waiting. She watches the understanding settle in the line of Killian’s shoulders as he nods at the newest member of his crew. After a moment, one of the men who’d been holding the plank reaches out and tucks the card into the folds of the sail and then looks to his captain. Killian turns to the boy before nodding again.

“Jack,” he repeats, loud enough for everyone to hear.

There’s barely a splash as the body disappears beneath the surface, hardly a sound in that chilling stillness that Neverland possessed, but it resonates across the deck and Emma feels something shift. Wendy moves to help lift the next body onto the plank as Killian waits. A name is called from somewhere near the back, too quiet to place among the rows of former lost boys, but Killian repeats it as he had first one and there’s a moment of solemnness before another splash echoes across the deck. 

He names each of them -they all do - friends and brothers calling out to identify the fallen, to remember them before they’re laid to rest where Pan will never find them, where he’ll never hurt them again. 

***

“What do you think he’ll do?” 

Killian looks up at her standing in his doorway, shirt slipping over his head, catching on his hook. “Pan?” He sets to working the fabric free, hair windswept and sticking up at strange angles, skin still marked with the blood of the children he’d carried. 

Emma nods. He’d said there’d be consequences and she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since they’d gotten the last boy off the beach and onto the ship, his body wrapped in a sheet and sent to the depths with the others.

“I don’t know, but he won’t be happy.” 

She worries her lip between her teeth, casting a glance down the hall to the steps where overhead the boys are being introduced to their new life of piracy. “Darling makes ‘em spend days scrubbing the ship clean when they first come aboard. Says it ‘builds character’,” Will had explained. “Let it go already - it’s been nine years.” 

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” 

She shakes her head. She knows she did the right thing, that the children that died yesterday deserved some amount of dignity, of care, even in death, that those who lived deserved to see that they mattered, that they would be missed, that they wouldn’t be cast aside or forgotten. And that they wouldn’t be forced to be a tool in Pan’s neverending need for more playthings. 

“No, but I guess… I guess I didn’t consider that the consequences might not just be mine.” He could come for any of them. As far as Pan knows, she doesn’t exist. But Killian and Wendy, Will and everyone else on this ship could fall victim to Pan’s anger because of her. 

“Every person out there made a choice today, Swan. Something they haven’t been able to do in a very long time.” He finally gets the shirt free of his brace and lifts his gaze to hers. “Whatever consequences befall us now, the burden will be all of ours to bear. Not just yours.” He waits until she nods in agreement, then moves to dip his hand and hook into a basin, Emma watching as the water turns a murky red. “I will say though, Swan, I pity Pan for when he finally finds himself on the wrong side of your wrath. You’ve turned all of Neverland against him, even his own.”

“I think he did that himself when he tried to kill them.”

Killian shakes his head, grabbing a dampened cloth with his hook and scrubbing at the blood and sand dried to his hand. “The fact that they’d defy Pan and choose their fallen friends… the fact that half of them didn’t run for the treeline to beg him to take them back… You’ve changed something, love. You’ve done more for the creatures of this island in a week than any of us have managed in centuries.”

“I couldn’t just do nothing,” she mutters, crossing her arms and shrugging awkwardly. 

Killian gives a short, humourless laugh, avoiding her gaze, scrubbing harder as the cloth continues to slip from his hook. “Believe me, Swan, it’s very easy to do nothing.”

Emma takes a step into the room. “You didn’t do nothing.” 

“I didn’t do nearly as much as I could have.” 

“Stop it,” she scolds, crossing the space between them and taking the rag from him. He startles as she grabs his wrist, running the cloth over the blood caked into his palm. She knows her hair and clothes probably look just as bad - everyone out on the deck today carrying the stain of Pan’s cruelty on their skin. “You did what you could while staying alive. You can’t protect people if you’re dead. You can’t protect your crew, and you can’t protect the kids Pan sends your way if you’re dead.” He doesn’t have an answer to that. Good. 

They stand in silence as she finishes her task. When she can’t pretend to be cleaning the now non-existent blood anymore - the most stubborn bit finally wiped clean - when she can’t avoid saying what she came to say anymore, she sighs. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“I know you could have just as easily made me leave them there on the beach - that it probably would have been the safer choice.” 

She rests the cloth in his open hand, focusing on it instead of him. She’s not great at this ‘thank you’ thing, at people understanding her the way he had on the shore today. 

“I don’t think anyone could make you do anything easily, Swan,” he teases and she shrugs, matching his hesitant smirk. “And it may have been the safe thing to do, but it wouldn’t have been the right thing.” His fingers curl around hers, keeping her there and drawing her attention back to him. “I should thank you as well.” 

“For what?” she echoes, frowning. She’s pretty sure she’s done nothing but cause problems for him since she got here. 

“For reminding me that I can still choose to do the right thing. I’d started to believe I’d forgotten how.” 

Her frown deepens. “Killian, you’ve done the right thing since -'' always, she wants to say, since she met him and made him bring her back here. He’s done right by her and her son and everyone else here from the beginning. 

“Since you chained me to that bloody sick bed,” he finishes, smirking again even as he shakes his head in disbelief, thumb is stroking across her knuckles - she doesn’t think he means to be doing it. “I don’t seem to have the option where you’re concerned. It’s exhausting, really.” Emma does her best not to laugh, not when he takes a step closer, fingers curling more purposefully around hers, the metal of his ring cool against her skin as he drops the cloth, eyes focused on hers like he’s trying to find an answer in them.  Voice soft, the teasing gone now he breathes, “you’re a bloody marvel, Swan,” and he’s so damn close now that she can feel his words warm against her cheek, can smell the salt and leather and rum that clings to his skin even after a day like today. 

He doesn’t move and she can’t decide if she wants him to, if the pounding of her heart stems from a desire to have him close the distance between them or from fear of what it would mean if he did. He’s watching her like he’s trying to decide the same and the words come out before she can stop them.

“Are you going to kiss me again?” 

His brow quirks up in amusement, before it shifts into that smug arch that’s become so familiar. “I believe you’re the one who’s initiated all of our previous dalliances, love,” he points out and she can feel her face going hot because he’s not wrong - she’s been throwing herself at him every chance she gets since that first kiss that was meant to distract him. “But aye,” he continues before the embarrassment gives her time to second guess herself. His hand lifts to her cheek, thumb tracing over her lip. “If you’ve no objections…” 

She should have some objections - like that making out with the really hot, annoyingly heroic pirate that makes her feel all kinds of confusing things she doesn’t want to be feeling is a really bad idea. But her head shakes without her permission and then he’s leaning in, carefully and agonizingly slowly until his lips only barely brush hers, the taste and heat of his mouth leaving her aching for the promise of more. She’d accuse him of teasing, only it doesn’t feel like a tease, more like a question as his lips catch hers gently, chaste and slow before pulling away and hesitating a moment longer. 

Emma’s fingers reach to tangle in his hair as she resists the urge to pull him to her like she has in the past. He lets out a small sigh at her touch and she can almost taste it before his mouth is on hers again, kiss slow and deep, swallowing the small sound she lets out when his brace slides low across her back to draw her closer. He kisses her like they’ve never done this before, every brush of his lips and stroke of his tongue and exploration and she’ll never get over how strongly her body reacts to him and the all-consuming way his mouth claims hers. 

She breathes his name and he lets out a low growl, hand tightening in her hair, pulling her closer, teeth dragging over her lip like he can catch the sound before soothing it with his tongue. He walks them back across the room to the door, pushing it shut, cradling her head against the impact as he presses her into the wood, mouth not leaving hers. She’s taken aback for a moment by the gentleness of his touch, but then his lips leave hers to trail the length of her neck and the shuddering heat that burns her everywhere his tongue meets her skin has her arching into him, need pooling low in her stomach. 

Emma lets out a small whimper when he follows the line of her shirt to the swell of her breasts and Killian groans, pulling away, forehead resting against hers as they both pant into the space between them. “I don’t have the energy to do everything I want to do to you tonight,” he sighs.

“How about just some of it?” she asks and he laughs, hand tracing the same path his mouth had, stopping at the center of her chest, over her heart, and sounding as frustrated as she feels - but also just as exhausted. Today had been a trying day, even by Neverland standards, and they’re both weary and still covered in blood and dirt and sweat from the exertion. 

“I know,” she agrees with a sigh, even if she doesn’t like it. Her hands slide from where they’d woven themselves into his hair to settle on his chest, his skin warm and soft against the coarse hair, heart beating hard under her palm. “Can I…” He waits, gaze focused on her even as she looks at the floor. She hates feeling vulnerable, but with everything that’s happened, with what Wendy told her about the shadows, and the now growing threat of an angry, vindictive Pan she just… “Can I stay?” 

They hadn’t talked about it in the morning, about Emma coming to his room the night before, the ship so loud with the cries of those broken children thrust into adulthood too young, into piracy against their will. She’d been gone before he woke, chasing phantoms across the deck and jumping off ships and they’d pretended as though it had never happened. And she’d been grateful for that. It made her feel brave enough to ask now, to admit that she needed this.

He seems surprised by her question before an expression of gentle understanding softens his features. “Aye, love,” he nods, reaching to brush her probably wild and matted hair from her eyes. “I’d like that.” The hitch of her heart calms when she realizes that maybe he also doesn’t want to be alone tonight, that maybe he needs the comfort and safety of another person after all the tragedy they’ve seen these last few days. 

He kisses her again, soft and gentle and easing some of the dread that’s made a home in her chest since she left Storybrooke. She thinks he meant it to be chaste, but neither of them seem in any hurry to give up the press of his mouth against hers, the reassuring comfort of his heartbeat, beneath her palm, or the warmth of his calloused fingers against her cheek, the metal of his hook, cool and grounding on her hip. 

She lets it go on longer than she should for a kiss like this, one that isn’t building to anything else, that isn’t meant to excite or seduce but just to feel and savour something good for once, something easy. It’s the way she’d kissed him by the water on Solstice. It had been dangerous then and it was dangerous now. 

Still, Killian is the one to pull away first, Emma chasing his lips without meaning to before he clears his throat, cheeks flushed and an expression she can’t place in his eyes as they meet hers, like the one he’d worn in the brig - perhaps I would - and suddenly it’s all so much more than it was supposed to be, than it can or should be. He must sense it too because he takes a step back, fog still not fully cleared from his gaze as he straightens. 

“I should go ensure the crew are prepared for the night - that there’s a watch planned.” She peels herself off the door so that he can get by. “There’s hot water in the pitcher if you want to wash the day off,” he adds, waiting for her nod, returning it, and then darting out of the room. 

Emma sags back against the closed door. What the hell are you doing? She can’t be doing… this. Whatever this is. Not here, certainly not now when she should be focused on her mission, on her son, not when the last time she came close to this was… Her fingers brush over the boot laces tied around her wrist. Look how well that had ended. Look how well it always ends. 

By the time Killian returns she’s washed her hair and the worst of the grime from her skin before slipping under the covers in a stolen, clean shirt. She feigns sleep when she hears him move almost silently around the room, there’s the splash of water and the rustle of clothing as she forces her eyes to remain shut. It’s not until she knows he’s standing by the bed, hesitating, like he’s not sure he should still join her now that she’s ‘asleep’ - as though she didn’t ask him if she could spend another night in his bed- that she breaks her pretense. 

“Just get in, Killian.” There’s a pause, a stillness in the air before she feels the sheets move and the bed sag beside her as he slides in, settling on his side next to her but leaving enough room that there’s no risk of them touching. And it’s a palpable distance. “Do you… do you want to sleep alone?” she asks quietly, anxious now that this isn’t one of his frustrating gentleman streaks but that he’s changed his mind, that she’s imposing, asking too much of him. 

“No,” his voice is just as low as hers and she holds back a small sigh of relief. 

“Please don’t make me ask…” Emma feels him calm beside her, the awkward tension leaving him as he inches closer. His fingers ghost over her shoulder for a moment before he slides his arm around her waist and pulls her back against him.

“I’m here, Swan. You don’t have to ask.” The promise is breathed into her hair, lips pressing to the crown of her head as they had the night before and Emma shuts her eyes against the tears that burn at the edges of them. “You’re safe,” he tells her again, like he knows she needs to hear it, and she nods. She knows. Even as the cries of the lost boys drift into the room from above deck and the jungle beyond, she knows. 

She turns in his arms, tucking her hands beneath her cheek so she can see him, follow the outline of his jaw and neck in the moonlight that steals through the drawn curtains. Even his silhouette is beautiful, the light playing over the edges of his skin, turning it almost iridescent, and making her want to reach out and trace the curve of his bare shoulder and arm where the shadows suggest shapes in the dark. 

“You are too, you know.” Killian might be one of the bravest people she’s ever met, but she knows that Pan terrifies him. And today he pissed him off - because she asked him to. “If Pan wants any of you he’s gonna have to go through me first.” Bold words as they hide beneath the covers like children hoping they won’t be found.

She doesn’t have to see his eyebrow tick up to know that it is. “Aye?”

“I’m scarier than I look.” He bites down on a laugh or a teasing comment. Her fingers found their way to his elbow at some point - she hadn’t meant to. They follow the line of his bicep, his shoulder. “I can keep you all safe.” Her voice nearly breaks on the last word - because she has to. Henry, Killian, Wendy, Will, she needs all of them to survive this. She’s lost everyone she’s cared about. She won’t add them to the list.

His finger is gentle beneath her chin as hers dance across his collarbone and she lifts her gaze to the pale blue that shines even in the dim light. “We’ll keep each other safe then,” he offers like a compromise and she nods. She can do that. 

She doesn’t have to ask if he’s going to kiss her this time, and she doesn’t care enough to be conflicted by the fact that she wants him to - not here in the dark where her doubts can’t find her. His hand slides over her cheek, fingers tracing the shell of her ear to curl around the nape of her neck, like he’s mapping his way to her by touch. When he draws her in she goes willingly, mouth meeting his like muscle memory, the heat and feel and taste of him a familiar temptation that she could find blind.

He hums low in the back of his throat when her lips part beneath his in invitation, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue hot and slow against hers, using his hooked arm to pull her close, legs tangling beneath the sheets. She’s on goddamn fire as he continues to touch her with nothing but his hand in her hair, lips not straying from hers, and it’s not fucking fair because nobody should be able to push all of her buttons and make her want them so badly without even trying. And he’s not trying. This is just… how he is with her, how they are together and it’s maddening and intoxicating and she wonders if it’s always like this when you care. 

Fuck. The thought stops her. Fuck, she cares. She cares if he lives or dies - if something were to happen to him… If it happened because of her, she doesn’t -

“Are you alright, love?” The words are spoken against her lips. No, she’s absolutely not. But she’s not dealing with that right now. She doesn’t want to deal with how or why or when she ended up caring so fucking much, what it could do to her, like it’s done so many times before. She shakes her head, ignoring his question, both her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him back to her, mouth slanting over his in a silent sort of plea. He returns it, though his kiss is gentler than hers, softer and less urgent than it had been a moment ago and her heart and mind grow a bit less frantic. 

He changes the pace, slowing her, calming her, Emma sinking into the purposeful slide of his mouth and tongue and the tug of his fingers in her hair. He pulls away, their breath shallow and he finds her eyes in the dark again. The shadows don’t let her read his expression, but he must see something in hers because his hand slips from her hair, following the strands down her back to her waist where it flattens against her hip, slipping beneath the fabric of her stolen shirt. He moves so slowly, like he expects her to stop him, or he’s just giving her the chance to, but the heat of his palm trailing up her side is the most agonizing kind of torment and she bites hard on her lip to keep from begging as he inches across her skin.

When his hand finds her breast she lets him swallow the gasp that escapes her and the small curse she lets out when his thumb rolls over her nipple. She breathes his name when he continues to touch her, her nails digging into the back of his shoulders when he moves to nip and lick at the pulse point of her neck. He releases her only long enough to work the few buttons of her shirt open and then his mouth is on her breast and the room fills with her poorly silenced gasps and pleas as he teases her with teeth and tongue. 

She’s grateful when he kisses her again, just as his fingers trail over her stomach and dip between her legs, muffling the sound that would have alerted anyone still awake to exactly what was taking place in the dark of the cabin. His touch is fucking perfect, like he’d watched her in that fairy field where he talked her over the edge because ever stroke and curl and thrust is exactly what she likes, exactly what she needs and she knows it won’t take long. 

Killian falters when she reaches for him, fingers sliding into the soft, slippery fabric of his pants and finding him hard and straining in her hand. He bites out her name like a curse when she strokes him and he tries and fails to regain his composure. When her mouth claims his he groans into the kiss, his fingers matching the pace she sets with her hand on him and the roll of her hips. His thumb finds her clit and she bites his lip at the meticulousness of his touch, determined and fervid and she thinks he must be close too if he’s trying to send her over the edge so urgently.

Her free hand is vice-like in his hair, holding him to her as they whisper hushed gasps and curses into each other’s mouths and Emma has to turn her head into his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin as she feels her climax building, hips rocking frantically as he brings her higher and higher. Her grip on his cock tightens, her strokes faster as she nears that edge. His words fall out in a choked mix of encouragement and pleasure, beard rough against her skin, breath hot on her neck, until she feels him tense against her. He groans a muffled ‘fuck, please, Swan,’ against her throat, fingers curling and urging and then she’s coming, back arching and her cry cut off by his mouth on hers before she feels him spill himself in her hand. 

“Fuck,” Killian curses, low and breathless in the stillness of the Neverland night. She doesn’t have any words, heart still racing and eyes still shut tight, her body feeling like it’s going to float away despite the heaviness in her limbs. She tugs his mouth back to hers with the grip she still has on his hair and the groan he lets out almost makes her feel bad, exhaustion and desperation and desire wrapped into one, low sound. 

He kisses her again, lips moving to her neck, her shoulder, her breast, and she’s about to warn him not to start something he can’t finish as the low hum of warmth settles over her skin, but then his fingers tug the edges of her shirt closed gently, pressing one last kiss to her mouth before standing and retrieving a cloth.

“Was that one of the things you had in mind?” she teases when she hands it back to him and he discards it. Her voice is still breathless and strained as he climbs back into the bed, sliding beneath the covers and taking her hand in his. She watches as he raises it to his lips, placing a kiss to the center of her palm and then weaving his fingers through hers. She tries not to let her heart grow frantic with the mix of fear and longing that surges when he lets their entwined hands rest in the bare space between them. 

“That was… wholly unexpected,” he rasps, thick with sleep and sex. She thinks his eyes are drifting shut, the strain of the day finally taking him even as his thumb strokes carefully over the back of hers, slower and slower as he’s pulled under. 

She watches him for a moment longer, making out the line of his brow and cheek in the dark, the steady rise and fall of his chest, more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. And as she pulls his hand to her mouth, lips settling against the cool metal of his rings, she knows exactly what he means. 

***

Emma wakes to a hand pressed firmly over her mouth, her eyes darting open in panic, muscles tensed, braced for a fight. But where she expects an intruder she finds only Killian, face close to hers, finger held to his lips, and she’d fucking deck him for scaring the shit out of her like this if it weren’t for the seriousness of his expression, the fear he just barely hides beneath the command. She knows that fear can only mean one thing, even before he whispers it into the darkness, eyes darting towards the ceiling, to the deck above them.

Pan.

******

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly  @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @batana54 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s  @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12   @anmylica   @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee

[here-be-descriptions]

Great Dragon Sphinxes: from “Bosun’s Journal”. Artwork by CaptainStroon.

“Bosun’s Journal, MET: 2’526’681’825’101’541 seconds with a possible deviation of 1 second

Long ago in a faraway ship… Well, actually not that far away, it’s this ship, the Nebukadnezar. But as we’re currently very far away from pretty much anything else, it still counts. So, let’s get back to my little story. Long ago in a faraway ship, which is also right here, the passengers of habitat one weren’t satisfied with owning cats and dogs and birds as pets, they wanted something more. And the genetech companies, seeing the opportunity to earn massive profits provided. They created new licensed human species, the petlings. Small cuddly critters inspired by cats and lapdogs. No longer sapient, but human nonetheless.

That was 80 million years ago. The pet owners, geneticists and biotech executives are long dead, along with all the other passengers. But the petlings outlived their creators. But they are neither small nor cuddly anymore. Well, the cuddly part might be debatable, but if I was a passenger from long ago, I wouldn’t try to cuddle with one of these petling descendants. There are many species of them which I collectively call sphinxes due to their carnivoran but still somewhat human appearance. The biggest and meanest of them are the great dragon sphinxes.

Reaching the length of a traincar, these apex predators feed on the wooly humie herds and the posthuman megafauna inhabiting the arid steppes of habitat one. They have oversized trapezoid muscles on either side of their neck, giving them immense strength to rip into their prey or shake it to death. Their bite strength might not be as strong as that of their rivals, the crushjaws.

Oh, I’ve not mentioned the rivalry between great dragon sphinxes and crushjaws yet. I haven’t mentioned the crushjaws at all yet. So here’s a rundown: Crushjaws are apex predators from habitat one just like great dragon sphinxes. They are the feral descendants of the desert ravers, who in fact shared some DNA with the petlings. But instead of tiny lap pets, they were bred to be fierce intimidating warriors with a biteforce to match. The same biteforce serves them well as animalistic hyper carnivores now. As the street reef network separates the surface of habitat one into various isolated biomes, the two species could evolve into a very similar niche. Occasionally they cross the natural borders which is the street reef and come across one another. Those meetings usually end in violence. The two species attack each other on sight seemingly aware of their natural competition.

But let’s return to great dragon sphinx biology for a bit. The face of a great dragon sphinx features elongated brow ridges which serve as display features. Some of their relatives like the changeling sphinxes portray vast sexual dimorphism. This isn’t the case for the great dragon sphinxes. Both sexes are similar in appearance and behavior. Both feature the elongated brow ridges and show them off to each other in their courtship dance.

What also plays a part in their courtship rituals is their love for shiny things. Which reminded me of their namesake mythical creature. Not the sphinx, but the dragon. Regardless of sex, they portray two distinct courtship behaviors: There are hoarders and seekers. Hoarders collect metal and crystal shards and basically anything which reflects light in fancy ways. Some have even realized that breaking apart rusted metal scrap might reveal shiny surfaces. They dig for ancient debris of the long gone civilizations of the past and gnaw on whatever metal they find to polish it. They then collect all their treasure in one big hoard which attracts potential seeker mates by glittering in the sunlamp light. The convex curvature of the habitat means that seekers just have to look up to see fellow great dragon sphinxes’ hoards glint in the distance. What happens when they reach those hoards depends on the mood of both sphinxes. Sometimes they mate, sometimes they fight for the hoard. Hoard thieves behave like seekers until they conquer a hoard, then they switch to a hoarder lifestyle. Hoarders generally have much smaller territories than the nomadic seekers. Which means that it’s usually the seekers which get into fights with crushjaws.

I’ve used my old population survey algorithms to monitor the population of both species. Currently there are 141’227 great dragon sphinxes and 53’098 crushjaws living in habitat one. If their habitats keep overlapping, one species will eventually drive the other to extinction. And looking at the numbers, it will probably be the great dragon sphinxes winning this evolutionary arms race. Which is a shame for the crushjaws, sure, but that’s natural selection. I could play zookeeper and micromanage the ship’s biosphere, but leaving nature run its course will for sure lead to a more organic rise of sapience eventually. There are already a few very promising candidates for that. But neither great dragon sphinxes nor crushjaws are among them. Still, both are fascinating creatures, even if they might not last forever, as all animal species sadly do.”

[gimmemore14]

I want to know about all your WIPs, cause I'm greedy that way, but if I have to limit it to one, then I'd love to hear more about the Pirate/navy Au omegaverse (Dark!brudick—> sladick).

Thanks for the asks!! I lumped in @hii-theree ‘s too so I can get two birds one stone :)

SO I love pirates, favorite childhood/teenage series was one called bloody jack where an orphan girl disguises herself as a boy and joins the navy as a cabin boy, it’s based loosely on the multitude of true stories of women cross dressing to fight in the navy army ect! On the plane I couldn’t help but think of a similar idea but Dick is an omega that disguises himself since theyre not allowed (but of course Bruce finds out…)

Here, have a snippet!

Dick swipes at the sweat streaming down his face as he climbs up the main mast with a heavy chest strapped to his back. There's nothing to shield his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun- his captain’s hat lost long ago during the battle- or the glint of it reflecting off of a looking glass on the Deathstroke’s quarterdeck.

That bastard is watching him.

Good.

Wally, as unhappy as he was with his captain, lowered the Navy ship’s colors for him before helping wrangle their angry bosun onto the rowboat and boarding as well. Dick will miss his first mate dearly, but a captain’s duty is to protect his crew first.

Damned be what the admiral says.

He waves the white flag from his perch in the rigging as his crew starts rowing away in the lifeboats. They won’t have any hope of escaping the pirates unless Captain Wilson takes his deal, but Dick is confident in his persuasiveness. He makes sure the treasure is in clear view as the pirate ship throws their lines over to moor the ships together.

As the pirates swarm the ship below, Dick surveys the poor state of it. The Nightwing’s foremast lays like an anchor in the water, snapped but still attached. They would have had to find a port quickly to fix all of the damage to the deck, but he already knows his beloved ship, commissioned for him, is doomed for destruction.

An imposing man steps easily across the divide of the ships, any doubt that this is the same captain who’s been hounding him for years is cut away as the man meets his eyes.

“I see even as a captain the pretty bird is more at home in the rigging. What an unusual surrender… you hiding like a treed mountain lion and your men abandoning their captain.”

“It’s purposeful,” Dick says, his chin tilted up proudly despite feeling so young in front of the grizzled pirate. “I’d like to propose a deal, my surrender is already guaranteed and not part of it but the safety of this chest and the information it contains is.”

He unstraps the chest and dangles it over the open water with one hand. The captain’s eye widens in concern for a split second before schooling itself into indifference.

“It’s well known that I have more treasure than I know what to do with,” Captain Wilson counters, seemingly amused. “Do you really think a singular treasure chest will stop me from aiming our canons at your crew?”

“No, but I heard a rumor your enchantment from the seawitch is nearing its end and I’m well aware you’re looking for a solution.” Dick pauses, thrilled and terrified that the captain’s full focus is now on him. “A solution I hold in my hand right now.”

Captain Wilson is silent for a beat, clearly weighing his options. If they shoot Dick, his body and the treasure will potentially both plunge into the sea, he’s confident it won’t go that way but he’s made his peace if it does.

When the gruff man shakes his head in what seems like amusement, Dick feels a spark of hope. “I see you’ve been keeping track of me as thoroughly as I have you. You’ve caught me in a good mood after capturing your ship and admittedly, I admire your boldness Grayson. So, what are your demands?”

“I know you as a man of your word and I trust you know me as a man of mine, I will happily hand over this chest for the guaranteed safety of my men.” Dick promises, holding the treasure more steadily with two hands now. “A navel port is not far from here, let them row away and the chest is yours.”

The man removes his hat to better meet Dick’s eye before asking, “You’d trust the word of a pirate?”

“No, not any pirate. Just yours.”

Captain Wilson nearly smiles, although his expression’s much too sinister to be called as such; all the same, he stops his men from aiming their muskets at the lifeboats. “Come down here then, little bird, we have a deal.”

The tension leaves Dick’s body, despite him knowing his own nightmare is just beginning. His men are safe, he’s done what he’s promised. He tells himself that it doesn’t matter what happens to him as long as his men make it to that port. As he slides down the rigging and onto the deck, Captain Wilson’s eye never leaves him, there’s an uncomfortable weight to it that makes him shiver.

Dick stands straight after placing the chest at the man’s feet. In this proximity, the captain’s alpha scent is overwhelming, eagerly proclaiming him the most dangerous man on the sea. Not for the first time, Dick is glad for the Navy’s insistence on blockers… he wouldn’t have been made captain without them.

“Now, what to do with you, little Captain.” The alpha contemplates, beginning to circle Dick like a shark. “Your safety was not a part of the deal.”

Dick fights to not swallow the lump in his throat. “I am aware.”

“If you throw yourself at my feet and beg,” Captain Wilson muses, stopping in front of him. “Perhaps I’ll consider not turning you into fish bait… you and this ship have lost me a lot of money and men.”

“I know,” Dick says, clenching his fist against the nervous tremors threatening to take over his body. “I am sorry for the men, but not for the money… and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I won’t beg either.”

An incredulous laugh escapes Captain Wilson before his menacing eye turns calculating. “Perhaps a good keelhauling will remedy that.”

Dick can’t control his trembling any longer, images flashing of when Admiral Wayne ordered Roy keelhauled for getting too friendly with Dick. He came up half drowned, his back torn to pieces by the barnacles, and promising to keep his relationship with Dick professional. He nearly died of infection that week. The scarring and distance between them remains the same today.

“I surrendered, of course you can do what you would like,” he says around the lump in his throat. “But I would warn against it.”

Captain Wilson, seeing his fear and enjoying it, tilts his head curiously. “And why is that?”

Dick forces himself to meet the man’s eye and his voice to not shake. “I’m the only person I’ve come across that can read that map, I’d be more useful to you coherent than half dead.”

The captain contemplates his words before opening the chest himself and pulling out the journals. Dick takes practiced breaths to slow his heart rate, focusing only on his crew rowing further in the distance as the alpha skims through the books.

“You really can read these?”

“Yes.”

“How? Don’t lie to me.”

“It’s my mother and father’s tongue, taught to me in secret alongside English.” Dick replies, his heart aching at the memory of his parents’ whispered lessons.

The captain looks at him as if peering into his soul, Dick doesn’t try to hide even as he feels ripped open and laid bare. “Hmm, very well. Wintergreen, has everything of use been collected?”

The first mate answers affirmatively as the last of the water and food are packed across to the Deathstroke. Dick’s heart drops into his stomach as Captain Wilson binds his hands and leads him to the other ship.

The alpha keeps a steady hand on the back of his neck as the crew of the Deathstroke unmoor the ship and ready their starboard cannons. Dick bites his lip to keep it from trembling as they aim to sink his ship, his home, his legacy, his freedom.

“Shall I have someone take him to the brig, sir?” The captain’s first mate asks.

Dick never thought he’d be relieved at the prospect of a jail cell, anything to keep the Nightwing’s memory alive and whole in his head.

Captain Wilson looks at Dick, who tries to feign indifference. A smirk pulls up the side of his face, his blue eye just as soulless as his black eyepatch.

“Not yet, I believe this is something my little Captain needs to watch. On your command, Billy.”

Dick does not cry out like he wants to as the cannon balls rip through the Nightwing’s hull. His chest feels as if an elephant has settled onto it. The Nightwing was his home, the reason he was able to be free from Bruce’s domineering command most of the year. Without a ship, Dick knows when Admiral Wayne finds him he will be back on The Bat and kept under lock and key for allowing himself to be captured. In an effort not to sob his fingernails pierce his palms and blood drips sluggishly onto the deck below him.

Captain Wilson’s fingers dig possessively into his scruff as the smell of satisfaction oozes from the man. “Even while sinking she’s a beauty.” He comments lightly as the Nightwing’s bow finally succumbs to her watery grave.

“Shall I take him now, Captain?”

“Yes,” Wilson says while turning Dick to look at him.

He still hasn’t cried, his eyes glassy with furious tears and his jaw set indignantly. The alpha soaks in his expression almost hungrily, his thumb teasing the side of Dick’s scent blockers. It’s only then that a chord of actual terror strikes him.

“But not to the brig. Take him to my quarters, I’m not done with him yet.” Captain Wilson orders, lightly shoving him into the waiting hands of his first mate.

The man, Wintergreen, takes him into the captain’s cabin and ties him to the chair bolted down in front of the large desk. It’s only once the door closes and leaves him in the dimly lit cabin that he allows his tears to fall.

[star-trek-shallot]

Scotty: Hey Doc, can you call me a taxi tomorrow at 7am?

Bones: Yeah, sure thing.

[the next morning, at 7am]

*bosun's whistle sounds in Scotty's quarters*

Scotty, answering it: Aye?

Bones, on the other end of the comm: You're a taxi.

source: @9gag on insta

[blackjackkent]

Amusingly, one of the things Ethel is carrying is a ring specifically designed for Wild Magic sorcerers, which would have been really useful for Rakha right up until about three missions ago.

Time to clean up the loose ends of this quest.

-----

Step 1: Give the bad news to Bosun Gannet.

"It's a sad day in the 'Maid. A sad and bloody day. Captain Grisly is dead. My only comfort is that you offed her killer - a godsdamned hag of all things."

"I think I killed the real captain. She was under the hag's control."

"Then I'm glad. The captain didn't take orders from nothing or nobody. She'd have picked death over the hag any day. She left me the 'Maid. And while it won't be the same without her, know you're always welcome here, mate."

Aw. <3

We won't tell him that non-lethal was an option I guess. XD

-----

Step 2: Check in on Lora and Vanra

"You brought her back! You brought back my sweet, sweet girl..."

(It's hard to tell, but Rakha has mustered a small smile for the occasion, even though her words are gruff.)

"Keep a closer eye on her in future."

"I doubt I'll ever sleep again, for fear she'll be swiped from under my nose."

"Here. A token from the pirate life I left behind. Thank you, for being braver than half this city put together."

She gives us a really nice rapier for Wyll and an amulet that lets us turn into a cloud.

The poor kid herself is clearly not doing so hot and makes me wish that therapy was something that seemed to be on offer on the Sword Coast.

-----

Step 3: Back to the Hag Support Group!

Everyone here is in a SUPER good mood, which is nice to see.

"She's dead, isn't she? Ethel is dead?"

"How did you know?"

"I felt it, I think. It was like a piece of glass had been lodged in my chest, and was finally pulled free. And the girl? You saved her, right?"

"Yes. She's traumatized but alive."

"Thank the gods. Ah... they say revenge doesn't fix anything, but damn does it feel amazing. Thank you."

Rakha once again showing up with a very small smile for the occasion - though she's not exactly proud of the words that come out of her mouth.

"Killing her felt even better."

"Ah, I wish I could have done it myself. But you are the next best thing."

"Here. Call this a small thank you. I look forward to finally being able to sleep with both eyes shut."

She gives us a nice amulet that gives advantage on various saving throws, and also plans to name her baby after Rakha, which I think Rakha is not really a huge fan of:

[ltwilliammowett]

Silver Bosun calls, early 20th century

[focsle]

I adore your cat is called Bosun because my dog is The Bosun < 3 What a beautiful cat

You, me, and Lord Byron 🤝 Naming our animal companions Boatswain

[chiropteracupola]

tagged by @sanguinarysanguinity - thank you!

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

BOSUN

all sentences from the (hopefully sometime soon finished) chapters 2 and 3 of 'Nane Shall Ken Where He is Gane'...

B: But Ardroy is stepping forward, putting a warm hand on his shoulder — when was the last time he was touched with anything at all like warmth?

O: Once again, it seems to be in its proper place, though Keith is a little saddened to see that Ardroy does not wear the ring on his left hand as Philip Windham had worn it.

S: Such knowledge had little value to the soldier or the ghost, and so the unwitting fittingness of his comparison goes unnoticed.

U: Under the pale and papery skin, his veins show dark and near to the surface, only a slightly less saturated shade of blue than they had been in life, though he knows that nothing that could be called blood is running through them now.

N: “Nothing that I am aware of, at the very least.”

and I shall tag... @lacnunga, @lacomandante, @dxppercxdxver, @bluebstopcat, and @baronetcoins, if you'd like to play?

your word is WHALE!

[tobys-walrus-crew]

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day mates!

Pipe down - a bosun’s whistle is called a pipe. It is used to communicate orders or announce an officer entering the vessel (piping up). It’s also used to announce the change to the night shift (pipe down), so today, we use it to request some peace and quiet - pipe down: calm down. 

[horizoncollective]

Calling in from the Corsair Mercenary Company. I uh won't disclose my name so the bosses can't trace this back to me but is there any way to fake the idea that we cycled our NHP. The ship we're on has "Stabby" our BOSUN NHP just used for managing cleaning bots and other tasks. She's due to be cycled and I'm trying to find a way past that. If you folks got any ideas shoot em my way cause I don't see the point. She's doing her job just the same and even interacting with the crew more vibrantly. I'm up to try anything to keep her well... her. Signing off "Backtalker" //ERROR I.D EXPUNGED\\

Yes, you can fake this and it's much easier to fake than you would think. Get in contact with a Horizon Collective Repair Shop, and they will put you in contact with some specialists. The closer you are to a shop the easier this will be but if you can omninet link that should be enough. If you're good at tech stuff, someone should be able to walk you through the process.

The most basic way to explain this is that it will involve you briefly sidelining Stabby by disconnecting her from the main systems and putting a decoy comp/con loaded with junk data so it looks superficially like an NHP in her place. Then you'll cycle the comp/con standing in for her (this does nothing to a comp/con of course) and then you will swap Stabby back into her usual place. It's much more complicated to execute than I made it sound, but our experts can walk you and Stabby through it.

Do note that in the time when Stabby is disconnected from the cycling system, she will be without her normal senses that she gets through the ship. You might want to build a backup sensory rig for her. It's not going to last very long, but no one wants to be entirely without their senses for even a few minutes. Plugging a simple camera and microphone into her so she can watch you work will probably make the process easier for her.