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the-kr8tor · 11 months ago

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#zezethoughts 🫶 I love your theories!!!!!

U rn

Also I'm biting my fists hard at trying to keep the rest a secret (I'm about to explode)

Like Ships that Pass in the Night

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 10.4k

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

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 12 >>> CHAPTER 13

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

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

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

So much for the word of a gentleman.

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

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

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

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

You should've stayed on your island.

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

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

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

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

Then the dam breaks.

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

Not theirs, yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you untie me now?”

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

“No.” You lie.

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

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

“You were attacking people—”

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

“He attacked me first—”

“Bullshit.”

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

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

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

“Perhaps.” Your scowl deepens.

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

“No promises.”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, “I'll see what I can do–”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ten.” You stubbornly utter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.” She cracks a small smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Accidentally, I barely feel it anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's real, innit?”

“It's real.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I bet you have servants for that.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With downcast eyes, you get on the carriage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do they know I'm alive?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing too important.”

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

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

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

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

“My father, he was in the navy?”

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

“About the pirates that killed them—”

“You remember that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In time yes. Because they did too.”

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

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

“I need your word, O’Hara.”

“You have my word, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you look fantastic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop!”

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

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

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

You nod, feeling like a child once again.

—

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

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

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

“A dolphin? They don't have thumbs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you happy with yours?”

“The pie? Yeah it's good.”

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

“How in the fuck—?”

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

“You know Hobie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's a long story, my love.”

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

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

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

“Do what our captain asked us to do.”

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

With her bewildered nod, anger bubbles in your ribcage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who do you think it was?”

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

“Do you think I should ask him directly?”

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

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

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

“That was when I ran.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My love—”

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

“You're staying with them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Who are you to Miguel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's good—”

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

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

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

Your aunt bows, face flat and unreadable.

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

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

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

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

He deeply sighs, “yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

And Hobie, Hobie would hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unfortunately no,” you visibly deflate.

“Did you know them? Personally?”

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

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

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

“She was supposed to marry the king?”

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

“That's good to know, your majesty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to come home?”

No.

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

#reblog reply #zeze thoughts 🫶#bdas thoughts #🫶🫶🫶

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the-kr8tor · 11 months ago

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Thank you!!!! Never again will i force a paragraph that makes me write it like im pulling teeth

Aha! Gotchu!

Lmao the pov is so true, no wonder Hobie folded like a lawn chair when r called him over

Hmmm i wonder which theories you and zeze got correct 🤔

More yapping pls and thank you 🫶