#lots of fun pirate and sailor research under the cut

[birdmomblogs]

wind waker link redesign!

[ID: character reference sheet for a redesign of wind waker link, nicknamed waker (he/him). waker has warm, light skin tone with freckles and green eyes. his long blond hair is braided. there is a burn up his left arm and left side of his neck and palm of his right hand. he has several sailor tattoos: a sailor’s cross on the upper chest, a nautical star on the right forearm, rope on the left wrist, a seagull on the lower left arm, a cucco on the right foot and a pig on the left foot. there is a lineup of the three layers to the outfit design. the underwear layer is short, puffy, white cotton drawers and undershirt with dark beige stays. the base clothing layer is a roomy, beige pirate shirt with red ties, pants made from his sister’s old poppy dress, leather boots and suspenders and the iconic belt from the hero clothes. the final layer has the addition of a vest and headband made from his grandmother’s purple waist band, tetra’s red neckerchief and a pirate charm hanging from his belt. additional information included on the sheet are: waker is 17, 5’3” and has an east coast canadian accent, waker is a descendant of four swords link and ancestor of spirit tracks zelda, and he is dating pirate captain tetra. on the right side of the page is a colour palette, a trans flag and a heterosexual flag. end ID]

fun bonus info:

waker and tetra will be t4t

i took some inspiration from mary read and anne bonny, two famous women pirates that posed as men for much of their lives to avoid persecution. transgender wasn't a term around until two centuries after the golden age of piracy but there is a strong history of pirates being gender nonconforming, as demonstrated with mary and anne. i wanted to take that small piece of history and include it in waker and tetra. at its core (and ignoring the bad stuff), being a pirate is all about camaraderie and being proud that you are outcasts together. with those beliefs, i felt it was more well-suited that waker and tetra feel comfortable and supported in the bodies they already exist in and don't see the need to change and conform to any gender binary. i also thought it would be nice trans rep for those that don’t seek out gender affirming surgery👍

info on visible sailor tattoos: the cucco and pig are representative of rooster and pig tattoos sailors would put on their feet as good luck to find shore, should they go overboard. if a ship were to go down, crates of pigs and roosters would still float ashore because a wooden box is like a small boat :). the seagull tattoo is actually sparrows irl. each sparrow represents every 5000 nautical miles you sail. tetra has several more than waker obvi. a nautical star or compass rose tattoo is good luck to never get lost at sea. rope on the wrist represents his past job as a deckhand. the sailor’s cross is dedicated to a lover, which is tetra in this case.

info on non-visible tattoos which i couldn't add because they were too detailed: another use of sparrows in tattoos, is a sparrow with a dagger dedicated to someone you have lost. he has that as a tattoo for the king of red lions. it would be located on the back side of the same arm. the knuckles have "HOLD FAST" spelled out as a reminder to always have a tight grip on the rigging. on the webbing of his right hand, there is a crossed anchor tattoo showing his current status as a boatswain. a boatswain is like a manager of the ship but still under the captain in the hierarchy.

future tattoo: this one is funny but it is common for sailors to get tattoos of twin propellers on their ass cheeks. if you were to go overboard, they were said to be good luck for you to find shore quickly. waker does not have this tattoo yet but he thinks they are funny and really wants them because propellers make him think of linebeck's ship.

[lurking-latinist]

I am sure everyone has been biting their nails waiting to find out what the next Hornblower fic premise that I’ll never write is. It is below the cut.

Retribution fix-it, obviously. Nobody is dying and if anybody tries to confess to anything and sacrifice himself (I don’t trust Hornblower not to pull this stunt either) the other two will sit on his head until he stops being silly.

So the lieutenants all stick to their story and as far as the court-martial can tell there’s not a pin to choose among them. Hammond argues that in that case they should hang the lot but Pellew is pulling every string in the British Empire to save their necks, and he has a lot of strings. The compromise they come to eventually is that they will all of them be stripped of rank and dismissed the service. (I don’t know if this is historical. I haven’t done any research at all. That’s why I’m not actually writing it.)

So our boys (and Buckland I guess; I wonder just how many times Buckland’s name has been followed up with “I guess”? Anyway he goes off and does his own thing) are cast adrift, metaphorically, they are on land, that’s the problem, in Kingston. There will be opportunities for fun (for the reader) and chaos (for the characters) if they are drifting around penniless for a bit; I imagine Hornblower’s one remunerative land-based skill, which is card-playing, takes him to rather less posh surroundings than in Portsmouth.

But anyways obviously they are still sailors and they eventually find a short-handed privateer that will take them no questions asked under the names of Smith, Jones, and Robinson. Only to find a few days out of port that she is less of what you might call a privateer and more of what you might call a pirate, and her captain is a drunken murderous tyrant… During a particularly horrible moment Bush sees Hornblower and Kennedy exchange one of their telepathic glances, realizes he too knows what they’re thinking, and thinks, when did this become my life?

With practice and without Buckland, and with a captain none of them had any respect for in the first place, they’re a lot quicker. If they have a reputation as desperate men now they might as well use it. So they explain to the pirate captain very softly, very politely—well, Kennedy’s very polite; Hornblower’s blunter, and the headlock Bush has the pirate in would definitely not be accepted in any drawing-room—that they are the Renown mutineers, they find they don’t like how he runs his ship, and if he doesn’t care to accept their advice he is welcome to find out what happened to their last captain.

(They don’t really mean to kill him in cold blood. Probably. But he thinks they do. Hornblower will be miserable about this ambiguity later—more so, weirdly, than the big ones like “we are technically also pirates now.” The loss of identity he has suffered through loss of his rank and position in the Royal Navy has not even begun to reach the surface of his labyrinthine subconscious. If you were wondering, Bush is just straightforwardly sad and angry about it and Kennedy is mostly worried about the practical aspects, i.e. what are they actually gonna do.)

They don’t kill him and he does agree to their terms. But very soon they take a small French prize and he tells the three of them, you take her, take a small crew and she’s yours, just get off MY ship, and they take some of the more decent-minded and/or ex-Navy sailors who were amenable to their attempted reforms, and they do, and now they have their own ship. They probably pick one of themselves to be officially in command but they are really a triumvirate and everyone knows it. And they work really, really well together.

I wish I could make them go properly ideologically rogue but I am afraid they will still mainly want to harass the French. (Hornblower is despite his own repeated assertions chock full of revolutionary sympathies but they’re not democratic, they’re aristocratic-republican, and he was born 150 years too late to be an English aristocratic republican.) But it’s a start.

As I said this is probably deeply unhistorical in some way and anyhow I am not actually writing it. But it brings me pleasure.

[commanderthalys]

Kepp lore real??? Under the cut bc it’s kinda long :)

Keppu thoughts

- they were a very well known professor in Rata Sum and had several works published about the studies of various aquatic creatures. They were also an activist working and protesting against the cruel experiments the inquest performed on the races they deemed lesser (with a focus on helping Hylek and Quaggan in the local area that were affected by the inquest's pollution and poisoning)

- they were a slippery little fellow and would catch the inquest up in little loopholes and was the head of a more direct activist group that would steal and sabotage inquest experiments and knowledge and make them known to the public. The inquest did not like this, and kidnapped him, staging his death.

- They befriended some of the other captives there that had similar body modifications, and all of them were eventually able to escape, although not all survived.

Kepp was able to escape through the sewage system and swam until they found a friendly place to get their bearings. From there they returned to Rata Sum and disguised as a student, entered their own office and tried to recover as much of their research as they could, and destroying the rest as for when the inquest inevitably came looking for them. They took a boat to LA and under the new identity of "Skipper" started anew

- They've been living in LA since around the start of PS and are middleaged for an asura (like 50? I think they live longer than humans so idk).

The first couple years were rough and they had to to a lot of odd jobs to survive. Once they discovered their affinity for water magic it was easier to find consistent work and they became more valuable for sailors and pirates/smugglers, etc.

- personality wise they're just some guy!! They enjoy life and are very witty, they were the professor at college that taught a good course, but was also interesting and fun to talk to. They are also very passionate about their research and keep it safely in their home, locked up tight.

They love hearing and telling tall tales, and have a great appreciation for good food and drink. They're also a huge nerd and while diving/fishing will freak out at every little fish they see.

- they enjoy the heist and burglary jobs just as an excuse to do something exciting and meet new people! That's also why they offer their services as a sailor, it lets them travel! And also catch up occasionally with the other former inquest captives, the few that survived keep in touch, they were cooped up together for about a year and bonded. They tend to juggle jobs, often taking passengers and smuggling goods at the same time.

I think they also have a little stash of treasure they keep from whoever they work for, just in case the inquest ever does find them again. Also it makes for good emergency gifts, most people like shinies right?

Meet Keppu/Skipper!

Experimented on by the inquest, this asura now has gills and an affinity for water magic! They live in LA and make a dishonest living as a fisherman and treasure hunter, along with the occasional thievery and criminal activity!

[quilloftheclouds]

Happy STS! Besides fencing (and pryomania) what other types of fighting styles/weapons are in OSS? Who uses them and why?

Storyteller Saturday! Ready for a long historical weaponry rant? c: I actually have to do more research into this for draft two, but here’s what I got so far~

Majority-wise fencing is very common, yeah, although for some (pirates especially) it’s less formal training and more brandishing about a blade and being brash and loud to intimidate people into surrendering without actually needing bloodshed.Types of longer blades in my cast: backswords (sabers or cutlasses), broadswords, smallswords, and in one special case, rapier. Basket-hilts are more common (shells especially), though quillons still make an appearance. Xuân’s the odd one out in that she prefers her dao blades, which have disc guards and are heckin’ massive.

Axes were also fairly common during this time period for boarding fights especially, more specifically tomahawks. Colin and George both carry boarding axes, and this is Colin’s main weapon aside from his pistol.

For ranged, flintlocks are the usual. Phoenix is well known for the dual pistols she carries, while many other characters carry a single pistol. Sindre carries a musket rifle slung across his back---he’s more a sharpshooter type, but uses the bayonet on the end when in close combat because there’s usually not enough time to reload.

Many sailors during this era also carried a dirk (long-thrusting dagger) or smaller dagger both for cutting rope/other non-combat tasks as well as fighting. Rose is a bit of an odd one out because she doesn’t carry any blades except for her jambiya (although I’m starting to realize that maybe the term ‘khanjar’ would be more accurate, here... hm). This is not only highly unusual, most would just say it’s plain stupid.

Rose tends to use her agility and flexibility to dodge and incapacitate by hand-to-hand combat, often using a modified version of kushti. Even though, it’s rather interesting how few scars she carries when she gets hurt so frequently...

And then, of course: magic!! As is expected, Dione primarily relies on her magic in combat, though she much prefers incapacitating by non-lethal means---usually just blowing people’s weapons away and knocking them down rather than... zapping them with lightning or something. That said, her ultimate goal is usually to avoid combat entirely (especially since her magic type isn’t really meant for it), so she’s much more likely to use persuasion or memory-erase charms and then flee if she has the option.

And then you have several sirens who’s fighting styles consist of surging waves or hypnotizing songs and “munch”.

Since this is getting fairly long anyways, check under the cut for a recap bullet point list of what the major cast uses~

Celestine: Avoids combat if possible, otherwise: saber or magic defense once she gets the hang of it.

Colin: Tomahawk, pistol.

Dione: Magic defense/offense, knife if she absolutely has to.

Phoenix: Officer’s saber, dual pistols, small dagger. Grenades. (Also yes fire yup.)

Captain Io: Officer’s saber (later a Spanish rapier), pistol, dirk.

Captain Xuân: Check the full list out here, but mainly: dual dao blades, dual pistols, throwing knives, and her special push dagger. Many of these are poisoned.

Rose: Pistol, khanjar and modified kushti.

Sindre: Musket with bayonet, dirk.

Isabel: Cutlass (that’s??? heckin’ massive???? Isa, why????), small dagger.

George: (Used to be Officer’s) saber, tomahawk, pistol.

That was very long but a good recap for me! Also I had a lot of fun researching this so Thank You for the excuse to rant~ ^u^

[lovely-qualms]

Royed Gift Exchange 2017

Hello all! So, this is my secret santa gift for @stargazerlilith for @royedgiftexchange ‘s 2017 Gift Exchange! This was my first year participating in the exchange, and I had a lot of fun coming u with an idea for my gift, especially since they gave me very broad parameters! Basically, when I recieved my partner, my class was reading Herman Mellvile’s Moby Dick, so I was inspired to do a nautical/ age of sail AU. I hope you like it, stargazerlilith!

Plight Aboard The Match-stick

by: lovely-qualms (on AO3 by the name Zozo0_219)

rating: T (language)

relationships: Roy Mustang/ Edward Elric; Maes Hughes/ Gracia Hughes

Summary: On a late- 18th-century cruise ship with Al and Winry, Ed falls out and is rescued by a notorious pirate crew aboard The Match-stick. Drawn to the slightly rag-tag crew, Ed finds himself especially drawn to the Captain, Roy Mustang.

Hark: whalers, merchantmen, and militia vessels! Gaze towards the setting sun, then a mite to the left. See there, a ship- cousin to the rest, but invariably different. Many have perished under the flags of red; even the most hardened of sailor men wish not to see the ghastly animal of a figurehead, less mermaid than the warped ancestor to a mermaid.

Now, just beyond eyesight opposite this ghastly roving tar glided a true Amestrian beauty. The orange glare of sunset glinted off of her shining metal walls and monstrously large steam pipes. Smoke roared out of these pipes like air from a popped balloon. One of the very first steam-powered ships to carry leisurely passengers across an ocean, The Plight (as she was christened upon the end of construction) cut through the waves as if it were as easy as taking a lovely stroll on a paved trail.

On the vast main deck of The Plight, many men and women strode about, having just dined in the lavish dining rooms (or having avoided the dining rooms in sea sickness). It was on this deck that two young men and a young woman sat about a pristine white table, discussing several papers strewn about betwixt them.

The oldest of the two men was rather violently gesturing to a few of the pictures, which depicted several different alchemical arrays with one hand; the other arm in the clinical grasp of the young woman.

“… And that,” He exclaimed, slamming his free hand down on the small table, “Is why plant alchemy is, by a significant degree, lamer than metal alchemies.”

The younger man raised a skeptical eyebrow, “Brother, your entire argument was, and I quote, ‘plants are lame, metal is cool’.”

“So?”

“So, it’s a weak argument! Plant alchemy is super interesting, as well as a specialization open for a lot of research!”

The older brother rolled his eyes and tried to shift in his seat, but was prevented from doing thus by a screwdriver jabbing him in the side.

“Stop moving, Ed. You’ll make me mess up.” The lady huffed.

“Hey, what was that for?” Ed asked the young woman, affronted. “You and Al are just out to get me today, huh. How much longer is that going to take anyways, Win?”

“You should have asked that before you punched a wall, maybe I’d want to give you an answer then.” Winry snapped.

Ed scoffed, throwing his flesh arm up in exasperation, “How was I supposed to know that there was a screw loose?”

Both of his comrades looked at him blandly, saying in unison, “Daily maintenance.” They broke down into chuckles while Ed grumbled and pointedly looked down at the arrays laid out in front of him.

All three looked up as, from the dark clouds quickly moving towards the setting sun, thunder rumbled. Several people looked up similarly and turned to head back into their living quarters, but the trio stayed outside, content to ignore the thunder for the time.

---------------------------(several hours later)------------------

As the deep, bruise-like clouds rolled ever further in, it almost made the foreboding ship, The Esperanza (re-christened The Match-stick by much less artful minds), lose sight of The Plight, were it not for the few rays of sun that glinted off of her gargantuan metal sidings.

From the prow of The Match-stick, a woman stood fixedly, squinting at the clouds with cold eyes. She held back her burgundy skirts and thick front-lock of blond hair with her hands, arm looped around a rope as to keep herself from being knocked overboard by the turbulent storm. Despite the wild rocking of the ship, the lady stood seemingly effortlessly, never blinking from the clouds that built up in the sky.

Suddenly, she turned and, using the ropes as steadying forces, brought herself down a steep staircase to the main deck, and then through a door to the Captain’s Quarters.

“Sir,” She said, drawing the attention of a silhouette that stood in the middle of the small room, in front of the only lantern present. A curtain was drawn over the one small window, which surely only showed the various tumultuous waves outside.

The silhouette turned at his address, waving down her military salute, “Riza, what do you have?”

Riza entered the room and sat at the table across from her Captain, noting from the new angle of him how the lantern light made him look much more tired than he probably was. “She’s The Plight, sir. I don’t think it wise to go after her.”

The Captain raised the eyebrow not hidden by a dark eye patch and replied, “Why?”

Riza stared at him blankly, “Sir, have you been outside today?”

“…”

“There’s a thunderstorm a’ brewing, sir, and The Plight is sided with metal. That’s all not to mention that The Plight is about two times taller than The Match-stick.”

The Captain scoffed, “Miss, I’ve watched you raid voyagers five times taller than our lovely Match-stick.” He waved his gloved hand up and down to signify the irrelevance of the comment.

“Captain Mustang, sir, that doesn’t discredit that the ship is made out of metal, and there’s a storm approaching.”

Mustang crossed his arms, “I say we go for it.”

“And I say we don’t kill ourselves for extra supplies.”

Roy scoffed, “We only have half a year’s worth of stock left!”

Riza replied, standing from her seat, “We just raided The Meriwether for her limes, armory, and fresh water so we are very well set on the essentials at the moment. Also, we quite literally have ten fishing nets and an ocean’s worth of fish to fry! And don’t even think about saying that ‘we don’t have the means to fry fish’ because there is always fire on this ship, sir.”

The Captain and First Mate locked gazes for a minute, as if in silent competition. Eventually, Mustang looked down with a sigh, and Riza knew she’d won.

“Very well, Hawkeye, but tell the lookouts to keep The Plight in their eyesight. I don’t want to lose her because of a damn storm.”

Riza saluted again with a “Sir,” before turning and leaving Roy to his business. She tugged her thick brown coat tighter over her loose burgundy bodice as she stepped outside, the wind having gone cold during her time in-quarters.

She smiled just slightly over her victory and headed towards the middle of the ship, to where oil vats used to stand, as the Esperanza was once an Amestrian whaler. The carpenter’s table and blacksmith’s forge were still in place, but held less distinct uses than before, as this crew was not interested in hunting sperm whales.

The main deck was very expansive, and it took very careful footing for Riza to not get tossed side to side as she made her way to the old carpenter’s bench. There, Third Mate Jean Havoc sat with a mug of liquor and a smoking pipe, apparently not keeping an eye out on the distant luxury voyager.

“Jean,” Riza called, receiving a short wave from the redhead, “Inform the crew that Captain Mustang has ordered us to keep The Plight in sight, but not to move forward until the storm has passed.”

Jean mock-saluted Riza with a lazy smile before standing to bid her orders. A large wave promptly knocked the side of The Match-stick and caused Jean to spill his liquor onto his baggy blue shirt and grey coat. He cursed loudly in embarrassment, shuffling past Riza to avoid looking at her, which made the blonde woman almost chuckle. Almost.

Riza heard Jean’s commands of, “Oi! Don’t lose The Plight, we’re aiming to raid her when this weather clears!” and “Lads, lower the red flags until we’re ready to go at ‘em!” which were followed by various affirmative shouts.  

The night was nearly completely upon The Match-stick, with just a glimmer of sunset behind The Plight. Riza looked about, signaling to a few sailors that it was time to show the sea what The Match-stick was really capable of. Holding her skirts up to her mid-shins, Riza made her way back to the prow of the ship, fishing from her pocket a jar of whiskey. Up the spray-wet stairs (for it had not begun to rain quite yet) Riza carefully strode, cautious of her heeled boots on the slippery old wood. Once she reached the top of the prow, she came to a contraption that, on any other ship, would raise confusion.

Roy Mustang had an infamous flair for the dramatic, and the line of pipes that ran down the outside of the ship’s equally metallic bulwarks was proof of such. If one cared to take a closer look, they would notice many slots along these pipes, and from these slots, they would see whale-oil-tempered wood chips or rope (depending on that month’s raid). The pipes extended from either end of the ship, making a loop at the prow and further out, ending cupped in the hands of the ghastly mermaid.

At the prow, where Riza now stood with her large jar of alcohol, a spout of sorts was crafted which ended at a capped-off funnel. Riza uncapped the funnel and uncorked the jar of whiskey with her teeth.

“Aye! Away from the bulwarks!” She yelled, receiving shouts of ‘aye aye’ or ‘yes ma’am’ from the other sailors. She pulled that night’s length of rope a bit closer to the entrance of the funnel and poured half of the whiskey onto it for good measure, downing the rest with impressive ability. The blonde woman stomped very hard twice on the floor, as beneath her resided the captain’s quarters.

Despite the wind, Riza was sure everyone in immediate proximity of the prow could hear a distinctive ‘snap’ from inside the Quarters just before the metal piping burst into flames. The fire trailed in a snake’s path down the piping, bursting out of the many slits until the entirety of The Match-stick was surrounded in snaps of fire but for a few three-foot gaps for the small chance that one needed to grab the bulwarks.

This fire show is what gave The Esperanza the new, feared christening The Match-stick. In the night, Mustang’s crew had no fear of invaders or losing their sight, just as other ships doubly searched the ocean for a glint of flames, in order to steer clear in the opposite direction. It would seem that the fire was a poor choice, but the crew never alighted the flame on raiding nights, and the heat provided useful for cold stormy nights such as the one Riza and her comrades faced at present.

Done with her duties for the evening, Riza turned on her heel, striding down the top deck’s steps and onto the main deck. At the Captain’s Quarters’ door, she turned back to look at the sailors in her direct proximity. They all saluted with a sharp, “Ma’am!” She nodded, saluted back, and opened the door to the dark Captain’s Quarters.

“Sir, I’m going to light more lamps in here, this is ridiculous.” Riza commented to Roy, who remained a silhouette.

As she held a match to one of the oil lamps right in front of the Captain and the spermaceti oil in the wick flared up, Roy whined childishly, “Hawkeye, it’s bright!”

“Sir, you were the one who wanted to raid The Samuel Enderby because, quote, ‘Sperm whale oil is damn well brighter than the vegetable swill we have right now’.” Riza said with an eye roll, “Also, if you’d stepped outside at all today it wouldn’t hurt your eyes to look at lamp fire. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Roy groaned, pulling his coat up over his face to block the light, “You’re worse than my mother was.”

Riza quirked an eyebrow, heading to another lamp, “Well, did you sleep?”

“…Not last night, no.”

“Well, then my mothering is justified. Clear off a spot on the table.”

Roy bade her order, pulling various sketches of arrays and maps, as well as some mathematical tools and a compass away from the spot in the middle of the table at which he sat. He deftly sorted the papers into a box that was nailed to the table as Riza set out a couple more lamps around the room.

“The last ship we ‘met with’ held quite a few alchemical texts, but they’re all in code. I’ve spent a lot of time this week decoding it. Luckily, the code is centered around geographical locations, and I happen to have an affinity to collecting maps from ‘meetings’.” Roy explained.

Riza moved to sit across from Roy. She wasn’t able to sit for half a second before Cain Furey, one of the Sailors closest to Riza, burst through the door, glasses askew and eyes frantic, “There’s an unconscious man overboard and Jean’s jumped in to save him.”

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

To say the least, Ed was surprised to wake up at all, much less to realize that he was no longer floating in frigid ocean water. If not for the meager lantern light, Ed probably wouldn’t have realized that he was below decks in a definitely-not-cruise ship. He didn’t hurt in any places except the usual automail port ache, nor did he feel particularly sick.

‘Wait,’ He thought, ‘I’m not on the cruise ship anymore.’ His stomach dropped. He had no idea where he was, nor whose company he was in, in the middle of an ocean and separated from his only friend and family member by who-knows-how-far.

“Just typical!” He said gruffly, punching the air in frustration. That was a bad move, as it displaced his weight on the hammock, and it tipped him over onto the slightly damp floor. “Shit!”

Ed heard a bark of laughter come from behind him, and he quickly stood and pivoted towards the sound. There stood a snickering, scruffy, redheaded man and a blonde woman who was looking disapprovingly at the redhead.

“Do you feel well?” The woman asked, not sounding entirely concerned.

Ed said, “Yeah, I’m doing alright, considering I fell out of a damn cruise ship.”

As the woman beckoned him to get up and follow, the redhead asked, “Were you on The Plight?”

“Yeah,” Ed replied. They exited the dark room, and after a short hallway, climbed up a ladder and through a hatch onto the ship’s chilly deck.

The sun stung Ed’s eyes a bit after the dark, but not enough that he couldn’t get a good look at his surroundings. They were on a large wooden ship, not unlike a whaling vessel, except all of the mechanisms for oil-extraction and harpoons were gone. At the remaining blacksmith’s furnace stood a brunette lady and a blonde man who looked around Ed’s age, both in grimy white button-downs and overalls. Behind them, a large table was filled with metal scrapings and paper. A man with glasses and a brunette lady in gypsy silks sat at a clear spot at the table, playing cards. High above, Ed could see two men in the lookout stands. Several other men ran bout the deck, doing various sailors’ duties.

It wasn’t the barrel of swords, excessive rope and whiskey, nor was it the generally loose garb of the crew, but the blood-red flag and black flag depicting a flaming skeleton that struck Ed as odd.

He turned around, finding the first blonde woman looking at him with slight amusement. He just now noted the intricate pistol tied around her red dress at the waist by a thick leather belt. “You’re pirates. I’m on a pirate ship.”

The redhead chuckled, “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, eh Riza?”

“Be quiet Jean.” She said back, prompting a smirk from Jean. She turned back to Ed, “You’re right. I’m First Mate Riza Hawkeye, that it Third Mate Jean Havoc. You’re on board The Match-stick.”

Ed snorted, “What kind of a name is that for a pirate ship?”

“You’ll understand come nightfall if Heiderich can fix the bulwark rigging in time. We set the sides of the ship on fire.” Riza said nonchalantly.

Ed balked, “I’m on a pirate ship with a bunch of lunatics.” He said, almost to himself.

Jean broke into laughter at the comment, “Not a bunch, just the Capt- ow! You’ve got a sharp elbow!” Riza nudged him quickly in the side, looking a bit over Ed’s shoulder.

“Captain Mustang, sir,” she said to the person she was looking at, gesturing to Ed, “The man we pulled from the water last night.”

Ed turned around to see the new arrival. The Captain didn’t look quite like Ed would have expected a ‘lunatic pirate captain’ to appear. He looked a bit older than Ed, but not OLD old, as most sea captains appeared. He had shiny black hair, one lock of which just barely covered a thick silk eye patch over his right eye (the other eye, Ed noted, looked at him rather smarmily). He wore a (rather gaudy, in Ed’s opinion) long, embellished, dark blue military coat, which was open to reveal a pristine white frock and leather belt like Riza’s, which held a sword as well as a pair of durable-looking gloves.

Ed didn’t quite know what to do as the Captain approached them, for he wasn’t quite versed in Pirate manners, so he simply stood there until the man was upon them.

Captain Mustang addressed the Mates first, “At ease, Havoc, Hawkeye. Continue with your duties.”

They replied with a sharp, “Aye aye!” before retreating to the top deck, gathering with a tall dark haired man next to the large steering wheel.

The Captain turned to Ed, extending his hand, “Captain Roy Mustang.”

Ed eyed him warily for a moment before shaking the hand with his automail one, “Edward Elric.”

“I trust you’re not too hurt?” Roy asked, releasing Ed’s hand.

Ed looked at him blankly, “I fell out of a cruise ship.”

To his surprise, Mustang laughed loudly, “You fell out of The Plight? How’d you manage that?”

Ed thought back to the evening previous, explaining on the way:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The thunder began to pick up around The Plight as Al, Ed, and Winry continued to sit at their round table.

“We should go inside.” Al said, eyeing the sky.

Ed waved him off, “We’ll be fine,” as Winry finished up on his arm and began to wrap her tools up in a durable canvas bag. As she was doing this, an exceptionally loud crash of thunder sounded very close by, causing her to jump and let go of the bag. It slid to the end of the deck.

Al, bless his soul, stood and ran to fetch the bag, but as luck would have it, a gigantic wave and wind hit the other side of the ship, throwing the younger Elric almost over the end of the ship.

“Al!” Ed shouted, running over to him. His foot caught a slippery patch of deck, and Ed went over the railing.  Instinctually, he managed to grab a lifesaver float that was tied to the railing, but the rope was loose, and it simply came down with him.

As he fell, Ed could make out Al and Winry looking over the side of the deck, screaming, and then his vision went black as he hit the freezing water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I was knocked out because of the force of the water on my head, and I didn’t wake up until just about now.” Ed finished his explanation. “You can fill in the rest from there.

Roy was silent for a moment before saying, “We’ve been eyeing The Plight for days. Once the storm lifted, we were going to raid her, but we lost her in the storm and subsequent chaos when Havoc lifted you out of the water.”

Ed made a frustrated noise, lacing his hands in his hair, “Damn.”

Roy turned on his heel, still looking back at Ed, “You hungry at all?”

Without blinking, Ed replied, “Starving.”

Roy chuckled at Ed’s quick response, “Go sit at the old carpenter’s bench behind the furnace.” He turned to the aforementioned table, calling for a ‘Noah’. The girl in gypsy clothes stood, coming towards them.

“We have leftovers, if that’s what you want.” Noah said to the Captain.

Roy nodded, “Just for Edward here, thanks.” Noah looked Ed up and down with a kind of mooned-out look, before retreating down the hatch. “She’s our cook and local telekinetic.” Roy explained lightly. “Come.”

They walked to the old carpenter’s bench and Roy pushed most of the metal and paper into an old basket before sitting down across from Ed. Ed was beside a dark-haired man who looked not incredibly older than he. The man put some cards he’d been playing with Noah back into a pile.

“Furey, care to play a round?” Mustang asked the man.

“Sure!” Furey replied, dealing some cards out. “Should I deal you in too?” he asked Ed.

Ed shook his head, “I suck ass at cards.”

Roy laughed, “Suit yourself.”

“Stop laughing at me, will ya? I’m grateful and shit that you didn’t leave me to die and all that, but it’s getting annoying.” Ed snapped.

Furey paled a bit at Ed’s gall, but Mustang just smirked behind his cards, “What can I say? You make me laugh, it’s not my fault.”

“It is your fault when you’re being damn annoying about it.” Ed muttered.

The Captain’s smile grew, “This is how you talk to one of the ocean’s most feared pirate captains?”

Ed looked at him blankly, “You are the ocean’s most feared pirate captain.”

“I said ‘one of’, Edward.” Roy commented nonchalantly, taking out a card and slapping it over Furey’s.

Noah appeared back on deck, and she set a plate of food in front of Ed, “Deal me in, please.” She said before sitting by Roy.

Ed dug into the food, commenting as he ate, “Still, I’d picture one of the most feared pirate ship’s crews to be, like, huge burly guys who punch sharks in their free time or some shit. Not some pretty-boy Captain and a generally happy crew, by the looks of it.”

The furnace sputtered in front of them as Roy’s smirk grew. Furey slapped another card over Roy’s, followed soon after by Noah’s own card.

“I, Edward, have something the other captains don’t.” Roy said simply, browsing his cards contemplatively.

Ed took another large bite of his food, “If you’re talking about setting the damn boat on fire every night, there’s a reason the other captains don’t do that.”

“Close, but not quite.” Roy responded. Slapping down another card, Roy quickly reached down, grabbing his gloves from his belt and tossing them next to Ed.

Ed was surprised to see matching red arrays on each glove, “You do fire alchemy. You know, that makes the whole ‘ship on fire called The Match-stick’ thing even dumber and more gimmicky. That’d be like if I went around telling everyone to call me ‘Full-metal’ or some shit because I have two automail limbs and do general elemental alchemy.”

Roy looked up from his hand of cards, “You’re an alchemist?”

“Yeah, that’s why I was on The Plight. My brother and I were going to a university in Munich to specify our alchemical talents.” Ed explained.

The blonde boy at the furnace turned around, pooling blue eyes surprised, “You said Munich? That’s where Gracia and I are from!” He commented, gesturing between himself and the woman next to him. She looked up and smiled, pushing back a bit of her short hair, and smudging soot along her temple in the process. The two were busy hammering away at some long curves of metal, which Ed could guess belonged to a part of the bulwarks that was missing some sheeting.

“Me too.” Noah said simply, not looking up from her cards.

“Really?” Ed asked, “Why did you all leave it?”

The blonde boy shrugged, “The city’s landlocked; I feel more at home surrounded by water than soil.” He and Gracia turned back to the furnace.

“Edward.” Roy said, drawing Ed’s attention back to the Captain, “Would you care to help me decode a few alchemical texts?”

This piqued Ed’s interest, “Well no shit I would; it’s not like I can be of any other use here.”

Roy stood, “Right then. Furey, Noah, take Breda and Fallman’s lookout posts for the time being. Edward, follow me.”

Ed stood as well, “You know you can just call me Ed. That’s what everyone else calls me.”

Roy stood, a look of contemplation on his face. Then he smiled, “Right then, Ed, let’s go.” The two walked across the expansive deck towards a door under the top deck labeled ‘Captain’s Quarters’. Roy stopped Ed at the door. “Wait here.”

The Captain went inside and came back out with an armful of papers. They then went in the opposite direction, back down the hatch and through the small hallway. Instead of going into the hammock room, they went down another ladder and into a decently sized room. There were two tables and three bookcases nailed to the floor. The cases all had locked glass doors, and books and papers filled most of the shelves.

“The Match-stick was once a whaling ship. This was where sailors would hang the blubber and stab at it until it separated from the skin. Now, I use it like a library of alchemical texts that I collect during various raids.” Roy explained, setting the papers down on one of the tables. They sat across from each other, Ed already picking up papers with interest. Mustang laughed, “Shall we start then?”

Ed looked up at him quickly, “Yeah, lets.”

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

Two weeks passed, and those two weeks turned into two months before Ed realized it, and he felt like he’d finally gotten used to life aboard The Match-stick.

He found himself more often than not bickering with Mustang about the coded notebooks or playing cards with Furey and Noah (who was much wittier once she became more familiar with Ed).

Despite being feared pirates, Ed found himself warming up to the rest of Mustang’s crew, as well. The three mates Riza Hawkeye, Maes Hughes, and Jean Havoc respectively were pretty decent company, but they were often busy with various responsibilities. The blacksmith Gracia Hughes (Maes’ wife) and her protégée, Alfons Heiderich, were always willing to talk to Ed about their home and trade. Heiderich was also skilled in automail, which Ed was happy to hear, as his arm had taken a beating-to by the waves. The lookouts, Fallman and Breda, Ed didn’t get to see as much, as most of their days were spent high above the rest. There were a few more men on board, but the rest of the sailors didn’t talk to Ed in favor of getting their work done to return to their hammocks to sleep.

At nights, Ed found himself up by the prow of the ship, losing himself in his thoughts and worries about Al and Winry, or burying himself in Mustang’s alchemy library.

Ed also found himself taking up a kind of repairman role aboard, as he wasn’t bogged down with work, he could easily transmute items back to their newest conditions. He refused to simply dwaddle around and be in the way of everyone while he was still an honorary crew member, so he took the job in a heartbeat. He usually took all of the work that Gracia and Alfons weren’t already able to blacksmith back to perfection, but they would also give him some of their work if they were ever feeling particularly lazy.

Ed found himself living a life he’d never have thought he’d live two months ago.

`````````````````````````````````````````

On a warmer, cloudless night, Ed hung-sat from one of the rope ladders near the prow of the ship, staring up at the countless stars that dappled the sky. Because of the warmth, the crew had decided not to light the bulwarks that night, so Ed had a completely unobstructed view of the sky. On top of his usual thoughts about whether or not he’d ever see Al and Winry again, Ed’s mind was clouded with some confusion.

He had, as of recently, found himself looking at Roy Mustang more and more frequently. If it were just that he was simply seeing the Captain more, Ed wouldn’t have been confused. However, with every hard look Ed snuck at Roy, he had begun to notice little details that he’d somehow missed before.

For example, Ed had been helping Heiderich re-adjust parts on the furnace, and Roy had walked up to them just for a standard check-up. It was a warmer day, so Mustang had neglected his jacket and rolled his white frock sleeves to just above the elbow. Ed hadn’t been able to shake just how damn good Roy looked like that, and throughout the entire day he would catch glimpses of this very casual take on his Captain, and- ‘it’s warm and sunny that’s why my face feels like a damn volcano, yeah that’s it’.

Another time, Ed was talking to Roy at the prow one night, and they had eventually fallen into a comfortable silence. Ed made the mistake of peeking over at Mustang and nearly lost himself to how beautifully the stars reflected back into the Captain’s eye, and how incredibly deeply serene Roy looked in that moment.

Edward thought about these moments, the accidental bumps and touches that almost made Ed jump, the catches of light in Roy’s hair, everything that was clouding Ed’s mind and making it so damn hard to think about anything but fucking Roy Mustang.

Ed closed his eyes, focusing on the creaks of wood, the splashes of the ocean on the ship, and the rustle of wind in the sails that had become staple sounds in his current life. He chuckled, muttering, “Al, Winry, what you two wouldn’t give to see what I’ve turned into; I’m by all rights a pirate in love with my own damn Captain.”

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

Meanwhile, the three mates (plus Gracia) were below in their barracks, sitting around the lantern with bottles of whiskey and cards. They’d been playing poker for a good while and had since settled into a bored, almost sleepy daze.

“Hey,” Jean piped up, “Do you guys think Capt’n Patchy and Ed…well…”

Riza finished for him, “Have a thing for each other? Yes, I do. Undo my hair, will you?”

Jean reached out to fiddle with Riza’s intricate bun, and Gracia spoke, “I definitely see it on Edward’s side. He’s become really blushy recently.”

Maes nodded absentmindedly, “Yeah, Roy’s been acting weird, but I kind of summed that up to not having a raid for months. You know he gets antsy when we stay put for too long.”

They resumed their silence, Jean still working carefully and diligently on Riza’s hair.

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

Two more weeks passed, and in those two weeks, there was a raid. A merchant ship, The Grande Celeste, had been spotted just west of them one early morning, and by a dark and cloudy night, The Match-stick had snuck slowly in right beside the ship and had tied fast-lines to her sides. The next moment, The Match-stick was alight at the bulwarks, and the crew aboard The Grande Celeste stood no chance.

Roy boarded the merchant ship, followed by his mates and Furey, with great ease and demanded of them six month’s stock on any food and fresh water. They got their loot, and all but Mustang were back aboard The Match-stick when one brave young merchant-sailor took out a pistol, hitting Mustang in the arm.

Ed, who was waiting halfway up the lookout tower, went lightheaded when he heard the shot, having to grip the roped doubly to keep his balance.

Riza took the young man out cold with one shot, but when Mustang got back aboard, it was clear that his injury required some serious attention. The ship’s doctor, a reclusive man named Marcoh, had repaired the wound supremely, and Roy was out of the old man’s den in just a few hours.

When Ed saw Roy reemerge from the hatch, he had wanted to cry, scream at, hell, even kiss that damn bastard, but he remained in the ropes in hopes that when he came down he could keep his emotions in check.

He stayed in the same spot for the entire day.

At sunset, he felt the rope ladder shift, and another form climb up next to him.

“Hey.” Noah said simply, “I have food for you, you know. Come down so I don’t have to throw it out to the sharks.”

Ed looked into her concerned gaze, and he remembered that Noah was both telekinetic and incredibly sensible. She knew exactly why Ed was up here all day, but would never broach the subject until Ed mentioned it first.

He nodded, “Okay, I’ll be down in a bit. Thanks.”

Noah smiled, “Of course,” and carefully backtracked down the rope. Two plates of food awaited them on a barrel at the bottom of the ladder. Ed took one, and was about to turn and retreat below decks when Noah stopped him. “Edward, can you take this plate to Captain Mustang? He hasn’t come out of his Quarters for a while.

In honesty, Ed didn’t want to see Mustang at the moment, as he really didn’t know how his emotions would play out and he wanted to just hide away until he calmed down more (even if it took a damn century). However, he nodded and took the second plate, balancing both against the rocking of the ship as he walked the short distance to the Captain’s Quarters.

Ed paused outside of the door, still not really wanting to go in. Despite how close he and Roy had become in the past months, Ed had never actually stepped into the Captain’s Quarters. Now it seemed weirdly personal to Mustang himself, and Ed felt like he was breaching the Captain’s privacy (although he knew that was dumb, as Riza barged in all the time). Nevertheless, Ed followed through and was inside the dark room in a heartbeat. There was one lantern dimly lighting up the room, so it took Ed’s eyes a second to adjust.

“Ed?” Roy’s voice spoke from a silhouette standing near the lantern.

“Food.” Ed replied, lifting one plate in explanation. He quickly brought the plates to the table where the lantern sat, fidgeting around in his pocket for a matchbox, “I’m going to light some more lanterns in here.” Was he simply making excuses not to bring up his suppressed emotional turmoil? Yes. Was it working? Almost. His words thus far had come out a tad harsher than he’d intended, and he was sure Roy was suspicious of how little Ed was talking as he groped around the dark room to find lanterns.

When Ed had struggled around the room in silence for at least five minutes, only lighting two more lanterns, he felt two hands grab either of his arms and turn him around. Ed looked pointedly to the side, noticing that Roy’s sleeve was still drenched in blood. It made the blonde’s heart ache.

“You haven’t changed your damn shirt since the morning?” He asked in his best attempt at a measured tone.

“Are you angry at us because we shot the man on the merchant ship?” Roy asked, taking Ed completely by surprise. In honesty, Ed hadn’t even shed one thought over the poor soul, as he’d been so worried and upset over Roy’s injury.

“What?”

“Listen, I know you didn’t become a pirate by choice, per say, and maybe we should have just left you on some shoreline a while ago and let you rejoin your brother. We can still do that, by the way. But either way, a lot of people don’t take raiding ships all too well, especially when there’s bloodshed, so I’m sorry you had to experience that.” Roy said, his hands tightening just slightly around Ed’s arms.

Ed looked at Roy incredulously, “Roy fucking Mustang, do you really think I’d abandon ship because of one gunshot? Of course I miss Al and Win like shit, but I’ve had two limbs blown off, idiot, I can stand gunfire. I’m upset because your arm got gouged and there…” Ed stopped himself, though he knew it was far too late to turn around and just fucking run out of the room. ‘There was nothing I could do to stop it’.

“There what?”

Instead of finishing his thought, Ed let his emotions get the better of him. He reached up, holding onto Roy’s shoulders, and brought his lips up to meet his Captain’s. Ed was so surprised that he was actually kissing Roy Mustang that he froze up for a second, but then Roy was kissing him back, and- shit- he felt like he was floating.

Roy pulled away from Ed, and the blonde was afraid again, but that went away when, instead of moving away, Roy pulled Ed into a loose embrace.

“And here I thought you didn’t want to boot my ego, Edward.” Roy mumbled.

Ed let out a loud laugh, “Don’t make me take it back, bastard.” Sure, Ed missed Al and Winry to the moon and back and he would never not miss them, but Ed was damn happy on The Match-stick, and with Roy, he figured he’d stay pretty damn happy.