#im the simple answer the one you can always throw overboard.

[malka-lisitsa]

[sameheart-sameblood]

Turn of the Tide

pairing: wojchek x f!reader

summary: wojchek discovers you've disguised yourself as a man to work aboard the demeter and agrees to keep your secret. he begins treating you different than the other crewmates and you confront him about his unfair behavior

words: 2.8k

warnings: angst, mentions of reader's sad background, chest binding, fluff, me not knowing anything about ships and what happens on them

a/n: popping in to say i'm not dead, just depressed and busy lol. truly grateful to this character for pulling me out of my fic slump. im back to once again make a grumpy fictional man way softer than he was ever meant to be hahaha. also guess im obsessed with david dastmalchian now?? didn't have that on my 2023 bingo card tbh

read on ao3!

Sailors believe in many things. A red sunrise can send them into a panic, anticipating the swells and overbearing winds they’re so sure are to come. Red skies at night, however, can make even the most pessimistic crewmate believe there’s fair weather on the way. Captains refuse to set sail on Fridays, sailors place coins under the mast for good fortune and mariners daren’t whistle lest they summon a storm. Many vessels even have a cat aboard, the little creatures seen to bring luck (and sharp teeth to lessen the rat population). 

Sailors believe in many things but above all they can agree that a woman on board is bad luck. Which seems silly to you because here you are, a woman who’s been on board The Demeter for many months now. Your presence had not brought ill fortune to the vessel. In fact, the weather had remained pleasant, despite the late summer month’s usual downpours and hurricanes. 

Granted none of the crew knew you were a woman. You had disguised yourself as a man, hair cut short and chest bound tightly, but that didn’t change the fact of your sex. A life of adventure on the seas had always called to you but there was no possibility of you being granted work on a ship. The only woman allowed onboard was the carved wooden figurehead of a mermaid that decorated the bow of a vessel. There was no place for you at sea. 

Not one to take no for an answer, you found your own way to get work as a sailor. You had spent time aboard trading ships, learning the ways of the trade and earning the trust of the men you crewed alongside. Your last posting had gone so well that the captain of that ship had recommended you to a friend for your next job. 

That friend had turned out to be Captain Eliot of The Demeter. Captain Eliot and his First Mate, Wojchek, had asked you a few questions, all of which you answered confidently. The Captain was a kind man who remarked positively at your experience. The First Mate, however, was standoffish, challenging your every answer. Wojchek frowned slightly as the Captain offered you the posting and as they walked away you heard him mutter, “He’s too scrawny, Captain. He won’t be able to pull his weight.” 

Captain Eliot had only chuckled, “I thought the same thing when I hired you. Look how wrong I was. You must learn to give people chances, Mr. Wojchek.”

While you appreciated the Captain’s confidence, you made it your mission to show this Mr. Wojchek just how mistaken he was. And for a time, your life aboard the ship was simple. You performed your duties well, befriended the men, took initiative and came to be seen as one of the more ambitious members of the crew. Even Wojchek had to admit, although never to your face, that your were one of the better sailors who had worked under him. 

That good will you had earned was probably the only thing that kept the First Mate from throwing you overboard when he found out who you really were. Your secret was discovered when Wojchek had walked in on you unannounced and had discovered you securing your chest binding. After much fussing, he had threatened to toss you off at the next port. 

You had pleaded with him to show some kindness and let you stay. Eventually, Wojchek reluctantly agreed to let you remain aboard but warned that he couldn’t help you if the rest of the crew found the truth about you. You had promised him that if you were discovered, you would never let on that he had been any the wiser.

The two of you came to an uneasy agreement and work continued, albeit now with a strained air between you. The men would often remark how the first mate would give you the hardest tasks. You had to agree with them. It did feel like Wojchek was taking out his frustration on you. After one particularly grueling day where he had assigned you to a back to back deck watch, you knew you had no choice but to confront him. 

******

You find him in the tiny room assigned to the First Mate of the ship . It was one of the few luxuries he was given on the boat. Whereas you and the other sailors slept where they could in hammocks tied between posts and amongst the cargo, Wojchek had a tiny room all to himself. He even had a porthole, something he takes great pride in.  

You hear him groan as you continuously knock on the door, disrupting his peace. Footsteps approach and the door squeaks open. Wojchek grimaces down at you. 

“What is it, sailor?”

“I need to speak with you, sir.”

“I don’t have time. Neither do you. It’s nearly your watch.”

“I’m not due on deck for a good while yet.”

“We can talk later. Be on your way.”

He starts to close the door but you push against it, anger surging through you at his dismissal. You barge into his room, slamming the door behind you. Wojchek’s eyes widen for a moment, caught off guard by your boldness. But a moment later, he’s back to his usual gruff self. He glowers, backing away from you like you carry a disease he’s worried is catching. 

“This isn’t appropriate.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“Keep your voice down!”

“It’s not a dirty word.”

“It is when you are disguised as a man on a ship. I’ve kept your secret and I’ll continue to do so. If any of the others were to find out, though…”

“I’ve been sailing with these men for nearly a year. They’re my friends but they’re not the most observant. I think my secret is safe. Besides, if they found out…” you lead off, shrugging your shoulders. 

Wojchek’s face darkens at your blasé attitude. “You think these men are your friends? They would turn on you the second they found out the truth about you.”

“That’s not true,” you retort, “just because you hate me doesn’t mean they would.”

“When did I ever say I hate you?”

“You don’t have to. The way you treat me is proof enough. The others may not have realized I’m a woman but they have started to notice you seem to give me the worst tasks and the most watches.  They know you don’t like me. Sooner or later, they’ll really try and figure out why. You might be the one that reveals my secret to them without meaning to.”

“I don’t hate you, I…”

He looks at you. Really looks at you, something he tried not to do very often once he noticed how catching sight of you made his heart skip a beat. His shoulders tense as he stares into your bright, vulnerable eyes, so out of place in a sailor. 

“You have no idea what a life at sea does to you.” He anticipates the retort you have ready to throw at him and holds up a silencing hand, imploring you to let him finish. “You’ve been on The Demeter for almost a year. No small feat for anyone, man or woman. You’re a good sailor. One of my best. People like you all start out the same, hungry for adventure. They see a life sailing from place to place as an answer to all their problems. And for a time, they’re happy. But eventually, the work breaks you. It keeps you from your family, from your friends. People on land move on while you’re away for months, even years at a time. ” 

Wojchek pauses, all the fight leaving him. “When you come back to port, you look for those who promised they’d always be there for you but one day they don’t come back. The ship’s arrival to land no longer brings hope and the sea can no longer mend the hurt that’s inside you. ” He lowers his gaze, perhaps remembering those whom he’s lost over the years. 

“The light leaves the men’s eyes once they realize that their world has shrunk to the size of this ship. They have nowhere else they belong. It’s suffocating. They grow resentful. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want to see the light leave your eyes.”

The whiplash of it all makes your head spin. You’ve been so convinced these last few months that this man hates you. Now he’s speaking to you more than he has this whole year. Not only that, it seems the worry over your wellbeing has cost him sleep. More so than a First Mate is supposed to spend worrying about a subordinate… 

The light in your eyes? Honestly, you didn’t know that was something you possessed. Maybe a glint of steely determination but you would never have called it anything akin to hope. Your life had always been hard. Being born a woman made life a constant struggle. Being born a poor one made it near impossible. 

Wojchek hasn’t moved, still close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of him in the crisp autumn night air that seeps through the tiny cracks in the ship. His eyes, however, keep jumping between your face and the floor. What he’s said has finally sunk in and along with it, his shame of wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

You keep your voice low as not to scare him. Seeing the usual rock of a man so skittish makes you approach your next words with the same precision as someone handling explosives. “I was born  in squalor to a family that saw my existence as nothing more than a burden. I spent most of my days wondering where my next meal would come from and if I’d have somewhere to sleep. I learned to deal with my lack of means. The thing I never could get over was the fact that I had no one in my life who cared if I lived or died.”

This is nothing you haven’t thought before but something about saying it aloud takes your breath away. A pressure grows in your chest as you fight the emotion that comes with revealing your own secrets. Wojchek doesn’t make it any easier, his once darting gaze now fixed intently on you. It’s your turn to avoid his dark eyes, staring at your shoes as you continue. 

“I was never truly happy until I came on The Demeter. I have food, my own bed, purpose, adventure…friends,” the last word almost doesn’t make it past your throat, now tight with emotion. “I finally feel like I have a home.”

It’s only fair that you tell him the whole of your truth seeing how he’d kept your secret for the last few months. He deserves that much. The tension in the room swirls thick but you aren’t sure if it’s because the First Mate is preparing to send you away or not. You wouldn’t blame him if he did throw you off the ship. With you gone, everything could return to the way it was. It might be better for everyone. 

You become lost in your own dark thoughts. Wojchek reaches out a hand, brushing your hair, shorn short and shaggy as part of your disguise, off of your face. You close your eyes at the touch, savoring the feel of his calloused fingers skimming so gently across your skin. All too soon, he’s pulling his hand away, remembering himself. 

“The Demeter is also the only home I’ve ever known,” Wojchek admits, “It’s a good ship and she’s been strong and true to me. If you’re sure this is where you want to be then you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

You nod your thanks, tears threatening to spill again at the relief of knowing you don’t have to leave. When they begin to roll down your cheeks despite your efforts to keep them hidden, Wojchek tuts softly, “Everything will be alright, kotku.”

You may not know the meaning of the word but you can understand from the tenderness in his eyes that it’s a term of endearment in his native tongue. The realization makes you bold. 

“It’s not just the ship or the crew that make The Demeter my home. It’s you.” You force yourself to maintain eye contact with Wojchek, fighting the instinct to look away. The though that he may not return the strength of your feelings sends a shiver of fear through you but you need him to understand how you feel. 

Wojchek searches your face for some deceit but finds only raw truth. He takes a step forward mere inches between you now. His hands twitch to reach for you again but he holds himself back. Above all else, Wojchek is a professional. Just because he thinks you want him doesn’t mean he’ll take the risk of abusing the power imbalance between you. 

Instead, you take the initiative. “May I kiss you, Mr. Wojchek?” It comes out as nothing more than a whisper but he nods. You lean in, teetering on your toes, never realizing how tall he actually was until now. A particularly strong wave hits the ship and you lose your balance. Before you can lose your footing, he has you in his arms. 

Wojchek hikes you up, bringing your face level to his. Years of working the ship have made him strong as an ox and he thanks the gods that he finally has good use for the muscles that hide beneath his tunic.

You press your lips to his and it takes you a few moments to remember to breathe. The kiss is trepidatious and sweet but leaves your stomach swirling with butterflies. Wojchek’s grip tightens on you, scared he’ll find that you’ve been some sprite in his dream that the morning sun will chase away. It feels good to be pressed together like this, limbs intertwined so you’re not sure where you end and he begins.

All too soon, he breaks away, gasping slightly. It seems you weren’t the only one who forgot how breathing works. The sight of the usually stern man so undone by a chaste kiss makes you chuckle.  Your hand grazes his cheek, running over his stubble. It’s strange to remember that just an hour ago you were convinced Wojchek wanted nothing more than to throw you overboard. Now he’s holding you like he’ll never let you go. How quickly life can change for the better. 

The tranquility is broken by the banging of Olgaren resonating through the wood of the ship. Your watch will soon begin and if you aren’t there to take your post, someone will come looking for you. The ship won’t sail itself and you sigh, realizing you can’t put off your responsibilities in favor of staying with Wojchek all night. 

The First Mate groans, “Stay a little longer.”

“I’m late as it is!” You smile at his pout. It’s a new expression you’ve never seen from his before and you push him down onto his tiny bed, kissing him once again. Another bang resounds through the ship and you whine, getting back to your feet. 

“I’ll make Abrams cover your watch.” Wojchek offers, staring up at you with comically pleading eyes. 

“You’ll have a mutiny on your hands if you come between that man and his sleep. Besides, it’s only four hours. You can even come visit me on deck if you like. It’s single watch so there won’t be anyone around to wonder why we’re together.”

“Four hours?” he grumbles.

“You’re the one who assigned me double watch!” 

Wojchek leans back, watching you button your jacket, trying your best to look presentable. He can’t help but smile at the commitment to your work ethic. “I’ll be up as soon as you relieve Olgaren.”

You nod, trying to remove the smile plastered on your face but failing miserably. Hopefully Olgaren is too tired to ask questions when he sees you. “See you soon.”

You’re about to open the door when you remember something. “What does kotku mean?”

Wojchek smiles, “Little cat.”

Once again you’re struck by the sweetness of a man so eager to have the world call him unfeeling. The nickname makes sense. You yourself believe that your presence seems to bring fair weather and good luck to the boat. The Demeter might not have a four legged feline to bring fair fortune but you’re the next best thing; positive, tenacious and willing to do anything for the good of the ship and crew. 

You grin at Wojchek, who now lounges happily on his tiny bed, looking somewhat feline himself. “Are you sure you want to call me that? A ship can never be without a cat. It’s bad luck. You’ll never be rid of me.”

Wojchek smiles contentedly, blinking slowly, sleep seemingly not far off. The chances of him joining you on deck for the evening appear to be dwindling. You’d be devastated if he didn’t look so adorable. He nods, beckoning you for one last kiss goodbye. “Good. I’ll keep calling you kotku so we never have to be apart.”

******

[captkirkland]

so i dont write stuff on tumblr very often cause im embarrassed about my writing but i got a drabble in mind based off of something else i wrote (tw for drowning but he’s fine. its fine) ~

Water pelts the deck of the ship below Arthur's boots, angry as it beats and batters the sails. He can hardly even hear himself over the whistling wind and the sharp, stinging rain, and he knows how loudly he must be yelling to his other crew members. Where even are they..? He's not got a clue, but the storm the ship's sailing through makes the main mast creak and groan with wooden fatigue. 

Every ear-piercing cry threatens its eventual snap. God, where the hell is everyone?! Have they all lost their minds, there's no way anyone's asleep below deck like this! Arthur doesn't think about it any longer than that, he's got to loosen the ropes and lower the sails, which by God is a lot easier said than done. The Captain sloshes through water that's up to his knees, it and the wind both doing their damnedest to push him down. He's soaked to the bone, and colder than ice, but he can't stop. Or rather, he wont. They're nowhere near land, and if this mast--or any other for that matter--breaks everyone on board is promised to the sea and her hunger. It feels like ages before Arthur reaches the mast, grabbing the ropes around both of his hands and his wrists, just so he can pull with all of his might. Bad form, he knows, as the ropes feel like they burn into his skin from their excruciating protests, but that wont keep the man from pulling the sails closed. 

Inching and inching and inching, the ocean soaked sails are so heavy even they object their movement against the angry wind-- this is a job meant for many men, not one. The only thing Arthur's got on his side is the fact that he's a not a simple man. He’s a damned country, and with burning green eyes he yanks the ropes as taut as they can be, twisting them about a hold to keep them there. Steady. There's another though, the foresail needs to be closed too lest the ship just start spinning off course in the storm. Obviously his body screams for him to stop, but the deep mix of emotions in England’s chest push him through it. Those hardly ever make it out of him in the best of ways, and this isn’t exactly an exception either, but that’s beyond the point. He’s got to make it out of this, not just for himself, but for everyone else in the world he needs to see after. The crew can receive a stern talking to later, but this situation is now way beyond that which could be quelled by reason, or even by shouting. All he can do is rely on himself now. Arthur pushes through the water, which smacks and beats at his thighs as the wind pushes at him from what feels like all angles just to keep him from reaching the foremast. But something wraps itself around his leg in the sea that angrily invites itself aboard like its trying to flood the place. Is it a rope? Arthur can’t particularly tell, but he moves to drag his foot out of it with a loud grunt of effort as he trips starboard towards the bowsprit despite the effort. It takes everything he has not to be swept away, grabbing his arms around the mast he’s reached, fingers slipping against the slick wood. If he weren’t smarter, he’d think the ocean wanted him to fail. But he is smarter.. and it still seems that way.

There’s curses as Arthur chokes against the salty water, the howling of the situation much too loud to even hear himself. Maybe that, or he’s gone deaf and the only sound that wants to meet his ears is the voice of God yelling in anger for the misdeeds of himself and others. Who really knows, and who really even bloody cares at this point?! Gritting his teeth, Arthur digs his nails into the ropes around the base of the foremast as he drags himself to his feet, and wraps the coarse sail ropes around his arms again. He heaves out in effort, pulling against the way the waves want to drag him, he’s got to pull back, not to the side. The waters all rushing to the right, but he digs his heels into the small cracks in the flooring beneath him, tugging back… and back.. and back... until finally he’s gone far enough. Upon reaching the next hold, Arthur wraps the rope around it so tight he can feel the muscles in his entire body burn from the effort of it all. Once he’s done, he looks around the ship for what he has to do next, but catches himself blindsided instead. A giant crate caught adrift in the water on the deck comes careening from his left side while he’s looking right, and it smacks directly into him, the momentum of it pushing Arthur over with enough force to drive him in the fearsome strength of the Eddy that’s been forming across the ship this entire time. It pulls him into its current, Arthur for once feeling so much less like a country and so much more like a man who can hardly save himself as it throws him overboard. First there’s nothing but the air and its chill.. and then there’s nothing but water and its even bitterer cold. He can’t breathe. He can’t swim. What the hell kind of pirate can’t swim!? Arthur’s never been able to, and his arms feel so tired and witless against the storming sea. Everything’s dark, salty, and nigh frozen... and he still can’t breathe. Is he choking? Is he dying? Is this what dying genuinely feels like? It’s horrifying. How many times do humans go through this? Once. He’s gone through “death” before in the past, but at least then he always knew he’d open his eyes again. He knew he’d feel his heart beating again. This is so much worse, all he can see is the filtered moonlight through the deepest darkness he’s ever witnessed.. and all of its closing in around him as his hand reaches upwards. And he still can’t breathe. Arthur wakes with a start suddenly, having fallen asleep at his desk again, surrounded in papers and pens that’ve fallen to the ground by now. His breath is so uneven, and he falls over out of his chair, like he should be trying to kick and swipe his hands. It isn’t till he’s on the ground and holding himself that he genuinely realizes he’s simply on the floor in his apartment, the clock ticking softly in the background like nothing happened. God, his throat burns, his wrists sting, and it’s still so hard to breathe. Arthur’s chest heaves as he tries to recall everything that just happened, panic rising in his chest in a manner he can’t help but despise. Its then that the thought races across the front of his mind that thinks he might be having a panic attack or something. This is so stupid! It was just a dream, what on Earth is this happening to him for? His heart feels as if its running laps in his chest, like a frightened rabbit trying to escape a hungry wolf that doesn’t even exist anymore, and hasn’t for hundreds of years at this point. Clammy, sweaty hands find the embroidered seat of a wooden chair as he pushes himself up to his feet against his body’s better judgement, like he’s forcing himself to be fine in the face of his own failings. Well, not just like, he is doing that really.  But then the phone rings, and the loud sound nearly sends England to the ceiling of his own office. “Fucking Christ,” he curses to himself, mumbling the words as he rubs the front of his face before dragging both hands down. Soon, he reaches over the desk for his phone and swipes it up into his hand. With a bit of fumbling from fingers that wont stop shaking, he answers the call. “Hello?” “Oh, Alfred, what is it?” “Hah, of course you’d want something like that.. yes, I can bring it by rather soon.” “Mhm.” “Really, is that so?” “Baffling.” “And how are you beyond that?” “That’s very nice, yes, I’m fine as well. Had a bit of a nap, I’m about to put on the afternoon tea, you really should come by my house soon so I can share a bit.” “Ahh.. of course, deal with that first then.” “Mhm, see you soon, goodbye.” He hangs up the phone, clicking the red button after a try or two, just letting it fall back down to the table with a sigh. At least getting something for Alfred done always takes his mind off of things, he can’t help but think of the American instead. God bless him, he doesn’t even know what he does.