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fluideli123 · 1 year ago

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The Depths Of Our Heart Have Blackened the Sun (WIP)

So, when OFMD first came out, I read a fanfic where Alma and Louis board Edward's ship and thought it was an amazing concept that I wanted to try and develop in multiple directions!

The Main Idea of the story:

Blackbeard comes across Alma and Louis by accident, in a strange change of events Blackbeard takes it upon himself to care for Stede’s children and get them back to their home land. On the venture there Edward learns about Stede through their eyes and Alma catches on to Edward’s pain in ways Blackbeard never expected. The crew watches as the children lighten up the ship and Edward’s suffering, even for just a little while.

But I'm also going to dig much deeper into the concepts, explorations, and perceptions of characters. So, if you don't want to read that skip this part and read below the cut!

Character Dynamics:

Alma & Louis: Alma is quite an outstanding, headstrong, brave character who is the complete opposite of her timid, shy, caring brother. In this story, I wanted to dive into their childhood, how Alma and Louis become the siblings they are now, how they view each other, their family, and, most importantly, pirates. On top of this, I wanted to show the hobbies, interests, and special skills they possess, not only Stede's kids but Mary's too.

Alma, Louis & Edward: Most people know the intention of most fics is the dynamic between Stede's Broken Hearted Man:tm: and his kids, but I wanted to dive deeper than just the kids getting to know Edward and Edward getting to know the kids. In fact, I wanted to show Edward's past pirating rules through them, his childhood, what made him carefree and childish, and what made the kids strong, fearless, and so on. They are reflections of Stede just as they are of Mary and now everyone else on board. There is nothing like seeing the world through two different eyes when the world has been shattered to pieces.

Alma & Jim: Two stubborn hotheads who don't back down to care for those they love? The fact they mirror each other in many ways and possess aspects that cause hidden characteristics in the other to stand out? The SHEER CHAOS? HOW CAN I NOT EXPLORE ONE OF MY FAVORITE DYNAMICS EVER MAN?! Also, the inside jokes could rule all the seas man, all of them!

Louis & Izzy Hands: Now, this one may or may not take a lot of people by surprise, but I have never thought that this dynamic couldn't be seen through because it SO can. Externally they are complete opposites; izzy hands is selfish, immature, a dick, and the definition of toxic masculinity. Louis on the other hand is overly worried about others, observant, fragile, and just a young boy who hasn't been tainted by the world the same way izzy has been. There is so much under the surface however that make these two one of my favorite dynamic to explore in this concept.

It's been quite a while since I wrote this (since it's been a year AND WE STILL DON'T HAVE A SECOND SEASON) but my love for the characters and ideas still burn strong! So, if you ever want to send in asks concerning this story, go on ahead! I'm more than excited to discuss and answer questions in regards to it!

Thunder rumbled and roared from the harsh, heavy, hoary sky, flashes of lightning illuminating the intimidating clouds, leaving an electrical sensation in its wake with each strike across the sky and towards the sea. The ocean rolled dangerously in response, leaving The Revenge creaking and groaning as each wave repeatedly pounded against the ship's sides. Rain smacked down like bullets on its deck as its new crew tried to save the sails and masts from the merciless, chilled winds, changing course to sail at an angle, causing the waves to attack the strongest areas of the vessel.

Throughout the chaos, a single silhouette stood, tied to the base of the mast, dagger dug within the tough Brazilian wood, holding onto the weapon with an iron grip. Long hair snaps with the wind as the kohl painting his face smears, dripping and trailing across his face in a newly deranged style, falling away with sharp breaths of air. Blackbeard stands clenching his teeth, staring forward with unnerving malice at the storm as Izzy continuously barks their Captain's orders over the booming culmination of noises on the main deck in front of him.

It was satisfying and utterly irritating how the storm reflected Blackbeard's fervor. Numbingly cold, bone-rattling, and absolutely, catastrophically, furious.

The storm had snuck up on them, nearly causing the ship to take on water before Blackbeard appeared from his chambers to save this god-forsaken ship from sinking before Izzy could make his way into the Captain's quarters to screech at him for allowing them all to die. All because he was too busy locking himself away to use his 'excellent' sailor skills to predict this stupid fucking squall.

Blackbeard ran on rage and the downpour only fed into his quickly dwindling supply. He was angry, so fucking angry, and with every bolt of light that lit up the sky like an explosion, Blackbeard felt his chest take on every beating the world gave to fill the aching emptiness that settled there.

He was a dangerous, heartless monster and the sea knew it.

An exhausted voice in the back of his mind hoped the rope and dagger tying him to safety would snap so he wouldn't have to depend on this burning, heated, thrashing feeling any longer. The idea of drowning was almost pleasant; he would never stand a chance against the waves in this storm.

"Captain! I can't see the weak point!" Fang shouts from behind him, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life. Blackbeard's head snaps around, trying to peer through his hair for the calmest part of the storm they'd seen only moments ago. All he's met with is a roar of thunder and dark, inky water rolling towards them.

"Fuck! There!" Jim responds, limbs intertwined within the netting at the bow, a hand barely able to keep their hat on as they point toward the ship's left, obscured by the mast Blackbeard had attached himself to.

They start to turn towards the calm of the storm as swiftly as possible, tipping to the right at the sudden turn, the sea's tormenting only aiding its motion, though dangerously.

Izzy slides with the last few objects that hadn't been consumed by the ocean, hitting the taffrail with a pained groan as he ties himself to the rails. Frenchie and Ivan had secured themselves on the Quarter Deck directly behind Fang. Frenchie practically hyperventilates himself to death as he trips, trying to stand on the soaked, tilting deck as Ivan tries to keep Fang from fucking up the steering so they don't flip over.

Blackbeard feels his wrist and muscles burn as he pulls himself toward the mast by his dagger against the wind and a tidbit of gravity. "Hold!"

Fear and tension mix with the crackling of the skylight as Fang and Ivan groan and clamor to get hold of the situation as they start entering dangerous territory. Jim hides their face in their arms and hat, protecting their face from another fierce splash of water onto the forecastle deck. Izzy bellows at Ivan and Fang to get their asses in gear as Frenchie squeezes his eyes shut and screams bloody murder in nearly incomprehensible English about magic and sea witches.

"Hold!"

Izzy scurries away from the edge of the railing, Jim starts swearing in Spanish, and the panicked shouting from behind drowns together.

Blackbeard turns his gaze to the ocean they were slowly tilting away from, cold and remorseless, ready to engulf everyone on board with a single lashing wave. His hold on the dagger falters as he continues to stare, the whisper in the back of his head growing louder. The storm wouldn't make him feel irate forever; the anger would dip away; he couldn't chase those feelings locked deep down in his gut when they reached safety.

A spine-chilling wind whistles against the vessel, a dark promise only solidified by the salty water sending another threatening spout that washes away half the kohl left on the right of Edward's face. Leaving him spitting the water that had made its way into his mouth, turning a sneer towards the murky waters.

Edward shifts his gaze towards the mast, to the only other scar in the wood, smaller than the one Edward's dagger would leave behind, yet not as deep.

"Did I do it right? He missed all the important bits."

Edward rips his gaze away as lightning strikes. Waves swell as he clutches the dagger tight, quickly grasping the rope tied around his waist, breath hitching, ignoring the screaming of his arms at their use.

With a last knee-weakening rock, the ship rights itself as the waters soften and settle, the pitter-patter of rain turning into droplets, the wind no longer infused with electricity. They're in the calm of the storm.

Relief floods through the air.

They wouldn't die today.

Blackbeard rips his dagger from the mast with three sharp, wrangling tugs, sheathing his weapon and looking towards the worst of the squall they had just escaped. Most of his kohl is gone, barely staining odd bits and parts of his skin, entirely doused in sea and sky water.

The emptiness creeps around his heart like a familiar sickness as he watches his merciless death and surge of zeal pass. Hopelessness stings his eyes before he gently closes them. He clenches his jaw.

No one would notice the warm tears that blend perfectly into the storm's residue like a disguise.

He was so tired. So fucking tired.

The cheers of ease from his crew are short-lived by a snarl from Izzy, followed by quick steps towards the first mate.

When would this end?

The sound of Izzy wincing in pain. Ivan shouts for someone to help him bring his first mate to the infirmary. Unsteady steps.

When would it fucking end?

A door closes.

The subtle clap of thunder and glint of lightning echo the throb of Edward Teach's heart as the overfamiliar deep-seated pain returns to coat the emptiness in a virulent shell casing.

He silently wishes he let go instead. He wishes he could feel anything other than this.

The sea knew its Kraken well. But it also knew Edward Teach.

The storm responds with a gust of icy wind, chilling his tears, whipping them away.

"We've spotted a small passenger vessel approaching, Captain. It seems to have been set off course by the storm we passed a few days ago."

Blackbeard mindlessly watches his crew from the rails of the quarter-deck, holding his second bottle of brandy that morning as Izzy stands tall and attentive beside him despite his nasty bruised ribs and side. He was still healing, but he never outwardly showed any pain he might be experiencing, being idiotically stubborn about being bedridden as always.

"Are we low on anything?"

"No, Captain."

"Board the ship, loot it for any valuables to trade-off once we reach land."

"Will you be joining us this time around?"

Blackbeard downs his alcohol, marveling at the burn as he shifts to walk down the steps, shooting Izzy a threatening expression the moment the drink settles in his stomach. He doesn't answer his first mate's question.

A pair of eyes burn into the back of his head as he descends, the sensation leaving his stomach churning. He doesn't acknowledge any of it as his heavy steps send a warning everyone knows by heart, a familiar thrum. Don't bother the Captain unless absolutely necessary.

It was only a portion of the wordless tunes the crew had learned to listen for and follow, a dance everyone had to learn to survive Blackbeard's ever-shifting melody, his state of mind. The crew responded with distance and sure footsteps with every thundering bellow of his boots. A crescendo of broken glass bottles and furniture, the ostinato of their Captain's unbridled rage to be swiftly answered with shared looks, a sign to speak to the man only after an hour and a half of eerie silence. The Revenge was a stage, and the Captain's Chambers was the backroom. Whatever happened behind the curtains, no one dared to acknowledge past the cues and resounding echoes of whatever had turned the ship dim and mourning.

However, whatever happened at night when everyone settled to sleep was a different world altogether. A time when the show didn't exist, and with each hushed conversation, the crew would utter a discussion formed on how to escape, to shut the performance down, and theories about what happened behind closed doors.

The Revenge was a hell of a place to be for the three weeks following Edward's sudden change of heart, and it showed.

The burning sensation of Izzy Hand's gaze as Blackbeard makes his way through the doors to the hallway eases. The moment Edward is free from prying eyes, he presses his back to the door, letting out a shaky sigh, trying to hold himself together with pins and needles.

He gulps down the remaining brandy in his grasp to help dull the erratic, nauseating emotions clawing at his insides as he makes his way to his quarters. He sets the empty bottle down when he closes the door and reaches the desk in the middle of the room, grabbing for the others littering the window stools as he passes them. He pops the cork off and doesn't hesitate to take another swing as he all but carelessly throws himself across the length of the bed, eyes easily finding the lighthouse painting he couldn't toss away with the rest of Stede's things.

His heart clenches painfully at the memories attached to its existence, from the plan to become a lighthouse to fool the Spanish to the late heart-felt, soul-wrenching breakdowns Edward has experienced more than once following Stede's absence. The ones that left him conversing with the lighthouse as if it was the only company he'd ever had. The only thing that has seen and heard everything Edward has ever uttered in this room. Aware of the depths in which the pain rooted itself into his being. The only object that would listen without him needing to fear the possibility of being pitied or hated.

Edward Teach may not know who he is without the Kraken, Blackbeard, or Ed, but if anything were to grasp an idea of who that person would be, it would be that stupid fucking painting. He's laid himself bare and shielded himself in front of it more times than he can count.

Would it be silly if he'd somehow become attached to the one thing that embodied everything that boils his blood, tortures his heart, and frees him all at once?

The Kraken would say that attachment led to heartbreak, the one thing he desperately wanted to escape from. So why would he stoop so low as to keep this useless object around? It wasn't anything to him. It wouldn't fuel his path of destruction or aid him in his quest to show the world how monstrous he truly was. It wouldn't make those around him tremble at his mere name or make the blood staining his hands taste any sweeter.

Blackbeard would say that he didn't deserve the reminders, that warm longing that slithered its way between his ribs at the thought of the Gentleman Pirate's shenanigans, the odd way he did things. The way his eyes widened, looking at Blackbeard with the kind of awe that festered without fear, unlike anything he's ever encountered before. The way the Gentleman Pirate's words were the only weapon that cut people down ten sizes and set fires.

And Ed? Ed would say nothing else mattered when Stede's kind smiles shone brighter than the sun. When his tongue dripped of golden honey and white clovers with every sickeningly sweet phrase, he'd utter about the places within Ed that no one else bothered to set tender eyes upon. If he could keep Stede's soft, caring, and clumsy fingers caressing his heart to settle the most vulnerable parts of him securely in his palms, then there would be nothing to think through for the rest of his life.

Edward guessed the question didn't matter in the end, he was torn apart from the very seams in three separate directions, and not one of them could give him the answers he yearned for.

He takes a sip from his drink, eyes never leaving the lighthouse.

"I hate you," Edward whispers. "But I hate you less than him. Consider that the closest thing you'll ever get to a compliment from me."

The image leans back and forth with the rock of the waves.

The man looks out the window, barely acknowledging the glint of the sun's rays across the ocean's surface. "I do hate him, right?"

The picture's silence is all he needs.

Edward downs the rest of the bottle.

Blank

The muffled sound of terror-stricken screams fills the pauses between each boom of the canons and faint splashes of bodies hitting the water. The raid had been going on for a while now, long enough to leave Edward's inebriated mind to wander through memory lane like it wasn't one of the worst parts of his mind to stroll through.

He'd already done the usual emotion-infused ramble towards the lighthouse and nearly killed himself with his own dagger while sloppily performing tricks with it. He is playing a pitiful excuse of Russian roulette with himself to scratch at the growing itch to feel nothing. So, what's adding walks down memory lane to his routine? Surely it only got worse from here. Why prolong the inevitable?

A single stifled gunshot finds its way past the walls of The Revenge, and a memory spills into his consciousness like black ink.

Blackbeard snaps his head back, eyes easily finding the young man holding the gun that had just saved his ass. Israel steps beside him, shoving the crumpled body to the side with a sharp kick, shooting Blackbeard with a dark, cautionary look.

"Watch your ass, Captain, or we won't be coming out of this one alive."

Blackbeard grins something wicked. "Come on, Israel, look who you're talking to."

"Precisely why I have to remind you."

The pirate Captain barks out a laugh that sends a chill through the air, stilling a few of the poor souls who'd crossed paths with him on their venture across the seas, leaving his crew to deal a fatal blow at their short bout of fear. Bodies fall to the floor coldly, staining the deck red.

Blackbeard clasps a large hand on his crewman's shoulder, the glint in his eyes morphing into something vile. "I need to get below deck, watch my ass for me then, mate." He tosses the crewman a grin as he turns, cleanly slicing at a man's arm, the appendage falling to the ground with a sickening thump. The man's scream of pain never comes as a bullet between his eyes swiftly ends his pathetic life.

Blackbeard cackles.

Israel does exactly as he was told.

The Pirate Captain sidesteps when someone chances a slash at him. Israel quickly blocks the recovery attack, giving Blackbeard enough time to rip out his gun and blast the motherfucker in the torso, sending him flying back and crashing into another fellow.

Death trails heavily behind them like a warning. Lifeless eyes stare after leather boots caked in crimson, a flintlock's echoing boom and a foil sword's piercing whistle. The two fought together perfectly, covering each other's blind spots and filling the spaces where the others' skills faltered.

Destruction had met calamity, and it was anything but sweet. The taste of iron and sweat hung too heavy on the men's tongues to imitate anything but irreconcilable power, piquant and tangy.

The two made it below deck to the galley with a few enraged stragglers betting their chance at surviving. Israel fended them off as his Captain searched the room only to deflect a killing blow to the head by a cunning foe; grabbing a pan at his side, Blackbeard smashes the assailant's face with a hideous crunch. With a glance around to ensure there was no one else Israel couldn't deal with, Blackbeard rummaged through the room for only a few moments before seeing it.

What followed next was a burst of flame and heavy smoke filling the dreary sky as the ship slowly sank the remaining men that hadn't been kept as hostages. Blackbeard's crew watched from the safety of their vessel, the blaze warming the quickly chilling night, the frantic yelling barely recognizable over the sounds of the fire.

And there, watching the aftermath of their handiwork as the helmsman steers the crew away and out towards the endless sea, Israel stands at Blackbeard's side.

With the smell of burning flesh in the air and the itchy, sticky feeling of dried blood on his leather and skin, the Captain realized how easy his crewman fell into the role. His ability to match Blackbeard to a T, to follow through with unwavering fidelity and obedience, the voice who always stood on Blackbeard's side when no one else would and without hesitance.

It was the night Blackbeard made Israel Hands his first mate.

"Above all else is loyalty to your Captain, Israel," he'd stated, leaning against the rails, smoking as his newly appointed first-mate watched him in earnest. "Remember that."

"Of course, Blackbeard."

The door slams open with a violent bang.

"Stop the raid!"

Blackbeard unsheathes his gun on instinct, pointing it towards the person with the balls to burst into his quarters and demand anything from him. He shoves away the insecurities bubbling in his chest. Having been found vulnerable and unguarded, the tear stains standing out from the kohl smearing his face, burning as an unwanted reminder at the pairs of eyes suddenly in his presence.

"It was in Blackbeard's authority to loot and raid that vessel. Get back on deck!" Izzy barks, sneering at Jim as he steps towards them only to have a dagger swiftly placed at his throat, blood trickling down his neck.

"Don't," Jim growls at the first-mate, turning their gaze back to Blackbeard. "Call off the fucking raid now! There are children on that ship-"

"Jimenez-" Izzy bites out in warning, but Blackbeard's already lowering his gun and rushing past them both, shoving Izzy to the side as he dashes up to the deck, Jim hot on his heels.

His mind fills with curses as fierce anger licks at his insides, igniting the embers in his chest, fueling his urgency without the help of his unsteady steps as the alcohol makes the world tilt.

He doesn't acknowledge the pain in his shoulder as he harshly stumbles into the door frame as he passes through it, too occupied by the sight of the two children sitting on his vessel in front of Fang and Ivan, shielding the kids from the passenger ship.

Eerily familiar shouting and shattering bottles mesh with the battle's unfiltered outcries and impacts.

"Worthless goddamn woman!"

His hands tremor with the sudden adrenaline of the faint memory, breath catching in his throat. It doesn't last long when a piercing wail buried underneath the bluster snaps the recollection away as fast as it had appeared.

Blackbeard calls for the raid to stop immediately. Ordering his men back onto the ship, trying his best to cover their asses alongside some of his crew as guards appear from the upper deck of the other vessel, raining down bullets on the pirates trying to leave at their Captain's orders. When Blackbeard's informed that everyone's on board, including his injured men, he shoots the remaining guard's up-top himself. He may be drunk off his ass, but he still knew how to use a gun, unlike Calico Jack. The motherfucker.

With no one else to worry about, Blackbeard orders Fang to get them as far away from the ship as possible, eyes quickly scanning the crowded deck for a particular person.

The Kraken makes his way towards Izzy, grabbing him by the shirt and shoving him into the nearest mast with a snarl that matches the magma warming his insides, lava leaking from his mouth, searing the man in his clutches from the white-hot fury churning in his belly. "What the fuck were you thinking?! You know the rules when looting vessels! And don't feed me that shit about you just following my fucking orders! You've done everything but listen to me ever since we set foot on this ship!" He unsheathes his dagger and stabs it into the mast at the side of his first mate's head as he turns dark, steely eyes to pick out Jim in the mess of his crew, "And you, don't you ever fucking barge in like that again, or I'll grind your fucking bones to a pulp!"

Jim doesn't even bat an eye at his threat, and it only fans his rage as he turns back to Izzy. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't tie you up and leave you on the doorstep of the fucking English!"

"Blackbeard-"

The Kraken tugs the dagger out to ram it harder into the mast nearer to Izzy's neck and roars, "Tell me, dog!"

When the shorter man only sputters nonsense, the Kraken shoves his first mate to the side, forcing him to the ground, standing above him.

His breath reeks of booze as his hands tremble. The kohl still marks traces of weakness down his cheeks as his messy hair falls across his tense shoulders and face, framing fierce eyes that bore into Izzy with an intensity that would have anyone else shit themselves. But not Izzy, never Izzy. His first mate never backed away when he was violent. It used to be a comforting quality, but now it just made him want to rip the man apart.

Izzy growls, scowling, "You're not yourself!" The smears on his face sting at the statement, leaving the Kraken suddenly overly aware of the eyes watching them, the tension settling thick in the air. "It's my job to make you, you again!"

"Oh, by disobeying and betraying me every chance you fucking get?!"

"I'm doing this for you!"

"Fuck off!" Blackbeard snaps and quickly unsheathes his gun, cocking it at Izzy, who lets out a sputtering breath at the weapon. Edward's eyes start to sting, the anger in his chest wavering as shame, self-loathing, and insecurity mix into a concoction of nerves. "I said give me a reason!"

"The English are still after both of us! If you toss me to the sharks, there's no way for me to help you with them! Even if you can deal with them alone, there's no telling what would happen! You need me," Izzy boldly states, "You fucking need me, Captain."

The Kraken bares his teeth at his near smugness and pushes a leather boot to his first mate's neck, choking him. "One more mess up, and I'll kill you my fucking self. Do you understand?"

A pained groan escapes Izzy's lips.

"Do you understand?!"

"Yes, Blackbeard."

The Captain removes his foot, and Izzy moves to his side, coughing as he holds his throat, face red. Blackbeard glares at the rest of his crew. "Back to work!"

No one needs to be told twice as the deck busies itself with ship maintenance, fixing what had been damaged in the semi-failed looting.

Blackbeard peers over at the children taken aboard and out of the skirmish. He glances down at the gun in his hand, noting how hard he's shaking, thinking better about approaching them. He was drunk and had just reamed his first mate a new one in front of the entire crew, minus those in the infirmary. Now wasn't the time to be dealing with children. Instead, he motions Jim over from where they were staring him down from across the deck and charges them with the responsibility of watching over the kids.

Neither of them says anything as Blackbeard retreats back below deck, not gracing Izzy so much as a glance as he passes by him as the shorter man holds his wounds that had undoubtedly been worsened in their little confrontation.

The Kraken couldn't care less about his state. The bastard didn't deserve his concern.

"Izzy?" Blackbeard repeats, a small ghost of a smile forming on his lips, raising a brow at his first mate.

Leaning against the mast of the quarter-deck, Israel glances at Blackbeard, narrowing his eyes, instantly defensive. "What?"

"Nothing, I just didn't know you had a nickname, mate." Blackbeard crosses his arms, peering down at the shorter man, amused by the roll of his eyes. Always so easily ruffled, no wonder people loved to talk shit about him behind his back. "You told the boys you prefer it over your actual name. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It isn't important," Israel firmly reasons. Blackbeard takes note of the suppressed connotations hidden in his words. "It doesn't change anything about my role as your first mate."

Blackbeard leans against the mast beside Israel. The man looks up at him, brows furrowing. "I don't know about that, Israel," Blackbeard states, shifting to look up at the evening sky. Israel watches him, studying his amused expression. "Calling you Izzy isn't taking away from your role as my first mate either. If everyone's calling you Izzy, isn't it really fucking weird that I don't? You're my first mate and frankly the only first mate I'd trust with my life and with my name."

"Your name?" Israel repeats, taken aback.

"Yeah, my name," Blackbeard confirms, face contorting into its natural cold, stoic state. "You know what happens to those who call me by my real name. You were there for most of the executions, which should tell you how much I trust you, Israel. You've proven yourself to me on more than one occasion." Blackbeard turns his gaze to Isreal, "So, let's make a deal."

"I'm listening," Israel states.

"If I get to call you Iz, then you can call me Edward," Blackbeard proposes.

"Deal."

"You've always been a reasonable man, Iz." He claps Izzy on the shoulder as selfish glee leaks into Izzy's expression.

"I learned from the best, Edward."

Blackbeard chuckles. Izzy's lips nearly twitch into a smile.

A gentle, caring hand wipes a tear from her cheek, barely brushing the bruise already forming there. "Alma, look at me."

The girl forces herself to do as she's told, turning her gaze toward her mother, who kneels down in the grass. Alma bites down on her bottom lip, trying her hardest to keep the lump in her throat down. Her hair waves ever so slightly in the warm summer wind. The shadows of leaves dance across them.

"Do you know the difference between someone stupid and someone brave?" Alma shrugs her shoulders, shifting her gaze to stare at her mother's cravat, fiddling with the black cloth. Mary settles her hands on her daughter's forearms, eyes scanning her expression.

"An idiot doesn't care about who gets hurt. They don't think about anyone else but themselves. And, to be honest, they don't think about the consequences of their actions either. But someone brave?" Mary shifts, holding her daughter's hands securely in her grasp, leaving the cravat to fall from Alma's fingers as her mother tries to catch her gaze. "She does what she knows is the right thing to do. Not just for herself but for everyone she cares about, those who matter. She doesn't back down even when it's scary, even if she's made a mistake. She follows through, faces it head-on, and isn't afraid of admitting that she did something wrong, that she's scared."

Alma meets her mother's determined, understanding eyes, unspilled tears blurring her vision.

"You're brave, Alma. Never allow anyone to tell you any different."

Louis's hands are clammy as he grips her hand and arm, clinging to her tightly as he hides his face, hiccuping between each sob. Alma holds her brother as close as possible, watching as the man with the black face paint stomps away.

"Alma, what do we do?" Louis asks in a small, unsteady voice. He peeks up at her, rubbing his cheek on her arm, staining her with warm tears.

Alma turns her gaze away from the pirates to glance at her brother, uncertainty making her eyebrows pinch together, trembling lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't know."

"I want to go back home, Alma," Louis pleads, tugging at her.

"I know," She states, eyes catching sight of someone walking towards them. She impulsively tugs Louis behind her, glaring up at the person as she stands tall in front of her cowering brother.

The pirate wearing a hat narrows their eyes at her. "Follow me."

Louis releases a terrified gasp at the words, digging his fingers into Alma's dress and pulling the two away from the person watching them like a hawk. "They're going to kill us!" Louis weeps frantically, starting to hyperventilate at the alarming situation they both found themselves in. "Alma, we can't go down there, please, we can't- Alma, I'm scared."

Alma pales and stares up with wide eyes at the person, suddenly hit with the same realization.

They were going to die, weren't they? They had just been hiding in a room what felt like seconds ago before being spotted by two leather-clad men. The same men forced them to board the ship while protecting them from most of the sights and sounds of whatever was happening before being called away, leaving them alone hesitantly. Alone to be approached by this person who was surely about to take them downstairs and end their lives. Because these were pirates. The real pirates their father had read to them. The pirates that left Louis waking up in the middle of the night crying after Alma had indulged Stede's endless stories of fearsome outlaws in lawless seas.

They were about to die by real, true pirates, and there was nothing Alma could do to stop it.

"You're not going to die."

The words cause Alma and Louis' tear-stained faces to blink up at the pirate, not quite understanding.

"I said, you're not going to die." The words are less harsh, softening around the edges, though barely.

"T-Then where," Alma swallows down her stutter, "Where are we going then?"

The pirate crouches, looking the two children in the eyes as Louis steps back in fright. "My room, if you can call it that," The pirate half mutters to themself.

The children share a look, brows knitting.

The person raises a brow almost light-heartedly. "Would you rather stay out here and fry yourself in the sun and piss everyone off when you get in their way instead?"

The words leave Alma studying the pirate, face scrunching up in consideration.

They seemed odd, like how the men who brought them aboard were strange. The one with the white hair and beard had tried to calm them, and the one in the striped shirt and dreadlocks had physically shielded them more than once following every big boom. The pirate standing in front of her now seemed desperately trying to look approachable despite appearing unsure, annoyed, awkward, and determined.

All three might have acted the way they did to build a false sense of safety, so this stranger could lure them downstairs to kill them, but that didn't feel like an accurate assessment.

So, that really only left one other possibility. These were perhaps somewhat friendly pirates, and if that was the case, following this pirate might be the best thing for her and Louis. They had, after all, pointed out what would happen if they stayed here.

Alma swiftly thinks through their options.

"Alright, we'll follow you."

The stranger nods their head and stands back up, walking towards a flight of stairs. It takes a moment of quick explanation for Louis to not panic and instead cling to Alma, following after the person, shoes clicking against the floor, watching each leather-wearing pirate walking past in fear and suspicion.

When the three step down further into the boat, Alma experiences the same feeling most characters in her favorite books do. She recognizes the uneasiness in her shoulders as she scans the nearly bare hall. As Alma studies a broken cabinet lying against a wall and a covered mirror, something drops in her stomach. She even experiences the tug in her chest when she notices the shadows that dull the warm sunlight that creeps in from the wooden floorboards and windows.

It looks like a place a monster would hide, the kind that was once an ordinary person cursed to hurt others. Like La Belle et La Bête by Beaumont, a vampire or a werewolf, maybe even a vengeful ghost who fractures or hides things around them to feel better about what's happened.

Alma quietly wonders if that's what these pirates were, cursed seamen wondering the tombs of a life they once belonged to and longed for. She can't help but find comfort in the thought of all this being one of the stories she'd sneak into her bag and read when no one was looking. Even the ones Alma would read under the tree near the creek a little ways away from her home, the little spot when she didn't want anyone around, especially her brother.

She loves him dearly, but Alma always wished he wasn't with her all the time, wanting to do and be a part of everything she did. But, ironically, she didn't want Louis to be anywhere else but with her right now. She wasn't sure she could stay brave without him here to become a living, breathing reminder of what brave big sisters did; protect their little brothers.

They eventually reach a room deeper in the ship, and the pirate ushers them inside, instructing them to sit down on a nook. Louis holds Alma's hand tightly, squeezing it as he leans his head against her shoulder. His wide, teary eyes follow the stranger's every move, flinching as the person squats in front of them.

"Are you guy's hurt at all?" The pirate asks, shifting their hat back to better look at the kid's physical state.

Alma shakes her head, "No."

The stranger acknowledges this and stands back up, gracefully taking a seat on the bed across from them, crossing their legs and slouching. Uncomfortable, tense silence fills the space between them, only interrupted by Louis' sniffles and horse coughs from wailing loud enough that even the man in the face paint could hear him over the fighting when he emerged.

Alma's brows knit in thought as a question comes to mind. She glances at the pirate chewing at their bottom lip, looking somewhere to their left, uneasy and restless. This stranger might be the best and only person Alma can voice her question to, considering they haven't done anything terrible yet.

Uncertainty eats at her as she tries to frame her question. Stealing her expression and squeezing Louis' hand, she repeats her mother's words in her head.

You are brave, you are brave, you are brave…

"The man-" The stranger looks at her, "-with the black face paint and the one he was yelling at. Who are they?"

The pirate huffs, lazily shrugging their shoulder, answering the girl’s question. “The whiny guy practically trying to get himself stepped on was Izzy, Blackbeard’s—or the Kraken’s, fuck knows what he’s calling himself now—first mate.”

Alma sits up at the familiar name, "Blackbeard's on this ship?"

"Yeah, he's the Captain," They nonchalantly gesture to their face in a fluid motion, "Black face paint guy."

Alma blinks, suddenly overcome with curiosity.

She knew about Blackbeard, especially since her father had read stories about the Pirate Captain to her months ago before he'd abandoned her and their family. But, even when Stede returned, he'd spoken about his adventures with Blackbeard.

Alma hadn't necessarily believed him at the time, more because he'd decided to come back as if nothing had happened and less so that he may be making up the tale. Her father was always a bad liar regarding things he was passionate about, making it easy to pick up if his stories were false.

But, even if her father might not have lied about his pirate life, there was no way her father could have gone on an adventure with the man she'd just witnessed minutes ago. Stede ran away from geese like her grandfather had told on countless occasions and became increasingly disturbed when confronted with the idea of violence.

A nervous, eccentric man like her father couldn't breathe in the same room as the Blackbeard she'd seen without most likely fainting. She was certain.

"Wow," Alma breathes, staring off into the distance. "My father was more courageous than I thought." The stranger raises a brow, and Alma clarifies. "My father told us he had met Blackbeard on a Spanish ship, the two of them going on adventures together."

The pirate's eyes widen, multiple emotions playing out across their face all at once, eyes glancing between the two children, realization quickly dawning on them.

"What were your names again?"

"Alma and Louis Bonnet."

"Mierda…"

Alma's face scrunches up. "Did you know my father?"

"Know your father?!" The stranger exclaims, standing up sharply, causing Louis to press himself closer to Alma, flinching. "He was my Captain por el amor de dios! And he just flat-out disappeared! Are you saying he's alive? Is he coming?" The pirate waves their hands wildly. "Wait, no, don't answer that question. We can't get caught talking about him." They quickly make their way over to the kids, leaning in close, causing Louis to hide his face, a frightened squeak leaving him. Alma just stares, completely lost. "Never talk about him, especially in front of Dickbag Captain. He'll toss you off the ship quicker than you can blink. ¿Comprendido?"

The two kids share a look.

"Jesucristo," They rub a hand across their face, "Do you understand, numbnuts?"

"Why doesn't Blackbeard like our father-" Alma's question is drowned out by a series of loud shushes, a hand slapping over her mouth.

"What did I just say?!"

Alma grumbles, her irritated comment muffled against the person's hand.

Louis looks between the two a little ways away, having quickly scooted away from the pirate when they quieted Alma, turning pleading eyes towards his sister. "Alma! You're going to make the pirates mad! Stop it!"

The girl pry's the hand off her mouth, "Well, it's not my fault! It was just a question!"

"A question that'll get you killed, now zip it, or I'll zip it for you!" The pirate warns, matching the glare Alma turns their way.

"Make me banana breath!"

"Alma!"

"Banana breath?!"

"Hey, Jim, are you in there?" The three turn their eyes towards the door as a rhythmic knock follows. "I don't want to get threatened to death again, so, if you can, let me know when to come in."

The stranger rolls their eyes, walking over to the door and swinging it open to show a man standing on the other side, his eyes glancing between the three of them and the floor, head bowed.

"What?" The pirate asks, harsh and direct.

"Ivan and Fang sent me," The man looks around at the floor, never looking the pirate in the eye for long. "They wanted to know if the children were alright. Since you know," He vaguely waves his hand.

"They're fine, though I think Señorita bocaza here will get herself killed before the night's end."

Alma puffs, glaring daggers at the back of the pirate's head. The man at the door snickers as the pirate whips their head around and shakes their head mockingly, sticking their tongue out at Alma. Louis looks like he's about to cry again as he shakes his sister's shoulder, silently pleading for her to stop.

"You never told us your name," Alma points out, ignoring her brother again.

The pirate opens their mouth to respond in annoyance when the man in the doorway interrupts. Pointing to himself and then the stranger with a smile. "I'm Frenchie. This is Jim."

"Alma and Louis Bonnet," She responds, gesturing between her and her brother.

Frenchie's eyebrows raise as his mouth goes slack, "I'm sorry, did you say, Bonnet?"

"Does no one here know how to shut up?!" Jim shouts, throwing their arms up, exasperated.

"It's polite to introduce yourself," Alma argues.

"We're on a ship! This isn't some fancy little tea party, so can you all just stop risking everyone's lives for a second!"

"Uh," Frenchie glances between Jim and the children, face pulling into a worried expression, "If you're his kids, what do we do about that little problem, then? I'm not sure we have any more things on board he can break."

"Easy," Jim responds through gritted teeth, "Don't. Say. Anything. About it."

"And if he finds out anyway?" Frenchie asks, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Well, they're not my kids, so…."

"Hey!"

Jim waves Alma off, "I'm half-joking; I'll just go through with my original plan." That catches the little girl's attention, and Jim instantly shuts her down. "And no, I am not telling you about it." They push Frenchie into the hall. "Now, it's the grownup's time to talk. If you come out of this room at any point, I will hunt you down and stab you, got it?"

"Uh-huh, sure you will," Alma groans as the door slams shut.

A muffled shout answers her through the door, "Don't make me regret keeping your asses safe!"

There's a short pause before Louis speaks up from the nook, knees to his chest, half of his face hidden in his arms. "You're really brash, you know that?"

Alma turns to her brother, the joy from the interaction slipping at her brother's frightened voice, her smile faltering. "Yeah, well, at least we know more than before."

"Oh, do we really? I learned that pirates are just as scary as I thought and that you're the worst sister ever!" Louis cries, chin trembling as he curls into himself, hiding the rest of his head in his arms.

Alma's shoulders drop, guilt turning in her tummy as she watches Louis start to shake again. She slowly makes her way over, taking a seat next to him, letting him shuffle away from her as she crosses her legs. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be…brash, as you put it. I mean it."

Louis sniffs, using his sleeve to wipe at his face. "I know. It's just what you do." Alma lowers her head, playing with the ends of her hair. "You did the same thing when our cousin visited last fall when you got in trouble for throwing mud at her face." Louis glances at Alma with a shy expression. "It was kinda funny."

Alma smiles, "Yeah. Just not something you'd appreciate, right?"

Louis lets out a wet sigh. "I just don't know how you do it, Alma. Aren't you afraid that you'll just make people angry? Or that you'll be hurt if you keep talking and acting all tough? Those people could have killed you right now because you wouldn't stop being nosy!"

"But, they didn't, did they?"

"That's not the point!"

"Then what's the point?"

"Aren't you scared of what could happen? Don't you ever think things through?" Louis stresses.

"I think things through," Alma states, "And I just know that the worst possible thing I could ever think up is what won't happen. Remember what Doug taught us? Always remember the most realistic outcome when thinking of the worst possible scenario. If Jim and Frenchie wanted to kill us, they wouldn't have been kind enough to ask if we were okay and introduce themselves. Even though Jim didn't particularly like talking to us, they still answered some of our questions."

"And what were those?"

"Blackbeard is on this ship, and if what father said was true, they used to be friends. Jim and Frenchie knew our father. And there's also a rule about not speaking about him in front of Blackbeard." Alma turns a contemplating look to Louis. "The ship must have been looting ours, and that's why they attacked us, which was by accident. Or at least, I'm guessing, based on what Blackbeard said while scolding his first mate."

Louis nods, rubbing his arms. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

Alma shifts closer to Louis and wraps her arms around him, squeezing him in the hopes of comforting him, squashing every ounce of fear that plagued her little brother. "We're going to be alright."

Louis leans heavily into her sister's embrace, a warm, wet smile appearing, closing his eyes at her reassuring words and confidence.

"I trust you."

"Don't make me regret keeping your asses safe!" Jim shouts at the door with a huff, fixing their hat as they turn back to face an amused-looking Frenchie. They curl their lip, "What?"

"I didn't peg you as an 'I'm actually not that bad with kids' type," Frenchie comments, cocking his head to the side.

Jim crosses their arms, rolling their eyes. "I'm not good with kids either. They're loud, obnoxious, stupid little attention seekers, and I want nothing to do with them. If I didn't want Captain Dickbag on my ass, I wouldn't have come within fifty feet of them."

"That's not what it looked like," Frenchie remarks, smile growing.

"Shut up and get your eyes checked," Jim grumbles non-threateningly, grabbing Frenchie's sleeve, pulling him further into the hall until the door leading to their room is farther away but not out of sight. Their eyes check their surroundings briefly before settling back on Frenchie. "Now start talking."

"Well, there isn't much to talk about, really." Frenchie fidgets with his green scarf. "Captain has locked himself up again, and everyone is busy with the ship and tending to the rest of the Kraken's crew."

"And Izzy?"

"Forced back into the infirmary," Frenchie answers, frowning. "You were serious, weren't you? You're thinking about going through with your original plan."

"With these kids on board, I might not have a choice," Jim admits. "He's lost it. He fucking marooned our crew! He isn't getting out of this unscathed!"

"Yeah, but it's Blackbeard, not only that but now the Kraken. You're going to get ripped to shreds."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Well, unless you've spoken with a very powerful sorcerer and don't get turned into a snail, I think going up against the best, scariest sea captain alive isn't the best move."

"Mira, tonto, he's already left our crew to die. What's to stop him from killing us all because he wants to?" Jim pointedly gestures towards their room, venom dripping with each hushed word. "These kids are now onboard a floating fucking prison, and I will not stand here waiting for the off chance we can escape!"

Frenchie raises his hands, backing a step away from Jim. "Nope, you're right, totally."

Jim huffs, muttering something under their breath before slipping their thumb through the holder around their hips. "Look, I'm not stupid; I know what I'm doing. Just make sure to stay out of his fucking radar unless absolutely necessary, got it?"

"Uh-huh, got it."

"Great, glad we're on the same page."

"Right, like we ever were."

His shoulder is sore from running into a doorway from his rage-infused drunken stupor, having given up massaging it. Trying to use the slight pain to ground him and make the nausea in his gut settle.

Edward is peering through the only window he dares to unveil, holding his legs to his chest, cheek pressed to his knees, eyes glazed over. He half-mindedly watches the ocean sloshing against the ship and witnesses the first seconds of dawn, painting the sky in a deep amethyst purple. There are specks of glistening white stars standing against the slowly retreating night, clouds mixing between dark navy and lavender blues that caress the gentle sky. He can feel the ship rock underneath him and the red robe wrapping him in familiar smooth velvet, pooling around him.

It's been hours since he was last on deck, the door locked shut, barricaded with the piano he hadn't tossed off the ship's edge. He didn't want another repeat of one of the crew members barging in, not when he felt raw.

Izzy had been right, the English was sooner or later going to become a pest, and it was better to keep Izzy close, under wraps, so to speak. His first mate had pledged himself to the king and fought for an agreement to save Blackbeard from biting the bullet, leaving the English now pissed off with their broken allegiance. They were in danger of getting their asses blown to hell worse than before, and if the Kraken had gone through with his warning of tossing Izzy to the English, God knew what would happen. Izzy might drag Edward down with him given a chance or lose Izzy's usefulness when push came to shove.

Nothing with his first mate was as 'simple' as it used to be. Nothing snapped into place anymore; they didn't click. Everything they had at the beginning of their partnership has dissolved and left nothing but a frustrating thorn in his side.

The only thing he had to fall back on was his old life, the predictable, legend-infused pirating he can never seem to escape from for too long. He has been met with defiance whenever he's ever tried to be anything other than a bloodthirsty, born-of-the-devil monster. It's a lesson he's learned early in life, but somehow he'd forgotten all about it.

God decided Edward wouldn't be a man surrounded by anything soft and beautiful. He was meant to be a poor, worthless little boy who grew into the role of a monster with age, and she wasn't about to flip the script now. There is nothing for Edward here. The Kraken is everything he's meant to be. So why try anymore? What's the point?

Edward closes his eyes.

He was tired, and it wasn't just emotionally and mentally this time. His eyes ached, and his bones felt like anchors, leaving him unable to move from his seated position deep down in his ever-restless mind despite the faint ache in his shoulder and the oncoming protest of his knee.

His mind kept consuming question after question, thought after thought, never leaving a second of peace for Edward to sleep longer than a few short hours. Yet again, it's hard to sleep when every dream is accompanied by soft, gentle smiles and sweetness so thick it always leaves Edward sick to his stomach.

Despite Edward's best efforts, he can't escape Stede, even when unconscious. He has recurring dreams, ones where the smell of salty seas is thick, and Edward can hear Stede's voice reading to him over the gentle whistle of the wind. Sometimes the scent changes into scented candles, and the feeling of the wind turns soft and cozy like thick blankets pressing against his body and the warmth of Stede's own at his side.

The dreams reflect a memory that makes his heart swell, squeeze, and weep each time he remembers it. Most people think Edward—much like every other pirate—can't read, and they wouldn't be entirely wrong. Stede had never assumed; he always seemed to excel in curiosity but never made blatant assumptions regarding Edward.

So the night they'd been talking about his ship's library, the topic of conversation had elegantly changed over to Stede's favorite books. His preferences, how he'd read to his children every chance he got, and how much his daughter enjoyed the adventure stories he'd read. Most were stories about pirates because it was Stede, and Stede had latched onto piracy with every inch of his being. Inserting it into his daily life with his children to share his interests with them, set an example to follow so that they'd share what they loved with him, too, or something along those lines since it usually never went as planned, or so Stede explained.

Then Stede had asked if Edward had any favorite books, and if he didn't, what would have been a book he had always wanted to read.

If it were any other person, Edward would have answered with the usual fib that he couldn't read at all, that he'd never been taught, too poor to get a decent education. But it'd been Stede, and he never judged Edward. Yes, Stede was an insane idiot who was a total dork, but Stede never once pushed Edward or asked anything from him that wasn't Stede's weird way of making Edward happy, comfortable, or reassured. At least, before the English, so he told him the blatant truth.

He had taught himself how to read in his youth with a sheer 'fuck you' mindset when someone had told him he wasn't smart enough or capable before Izzy came around and taught him everything else he hadn't learned by himself. Blackbeard could read, and it came to his advantage when everyone around him believed he couldn't understand a scrap of it. Carelessly leaving out documents and not sparing him a glance when he inspected pieces of paper, studying his enemies, gaining information.

That, however, didn't dissuade the second truth of the matter. Blackbeard was 'word blind,' or as Stede had helpfully given on the academic term, Dyslexic. Edward had only ever known the phrase 'word blind' because his mother's boss had some kid who couldn't read or write like everyone else. His mother had explained it had something to do with the eyes since it was a visual deficit. The eyes couldn't see words right, messing up what they saw to the point that some people can't read, even when taught by the best schools.

Stede had given him one of his many warm smiles when he caught on, politely dismantling the false explanation for the disability. Explaining how it had more to do with the brain and how it interprets language.

That night Edward learned what it felt like to have a deeper perception of himself, even if it was just a portion of who he was. The feeling of understanding settled snugly into his chest every time Stede brought up a struggle he'd experienced before, a characteristic he knew all too well or an ability he always prided himself on that was somehow linked to this learning disability. It was one of the conversations Edward kept close to his heart, the same part he'd placed in Stede's hands when the man told him he wore fine things well.

It made the empty, throbbing void where his heart used to be, ache worse every time he woke up from those dreams. That made Edward hide his face in his hands, eyes stinging with the lump in his throat from every replay of the same moment. The same feeling of consideration that struck him in the chest made every kiss to dream Stede's shoulder tender, a thousand 'thank yous' hidden in every single one of them.

It was one of the reasons he had to get rid of Stede's books. When he first returned to the ship, Edward had spent hours looking through Stede's library when he had the energy to do something more than lay in his own pit of despair. Damaging the pages with sticky marmalade fingers and thick tears before eventually giving up on trying and crying into the unfortunate pages he'd stop at to weep into like the pathetic heartbroken piece of shit he is.

He couldn't stand to look at them once he realized people like him didn't get libraries on ships. Not because he couldn't make it happen—he could��but because the Kraken didn't have any need for books and useless decorations. They reeked of Stede, and even that was enough reason to throw them out to end up at the bottom of the ocean, where everything that held Edward's fragile sensibilities is buried more and more every day.

Edward opens his eyes to shift his head to gaze at the empty shelves hidden in the pitch-black darkness that engulfed the cabin early in the morning. They looked as hollow and lifeless as Edward feels most days when even misery takes its leave to join anger somewhere far away from him. Leaving him with nothing but the echoing emptiness.

Everything was so fucking depressing, and Edward didn't have the energy to give a rat's ass anymore. The itch in the back of his mind makes itself known with the sudden longing to be at the bottom of the sea with Stede's things.

The sensation doesn't last long as his mind turns to the likelihood of the ship they'd nearly attacked being left at the bottom of the ocean with a sudden shock of dread. They hadn't done enough damage with their cannons to sink a ship, but God herself knew that that doesn't mean shit when you have Izzy Hands as your first mate.

Blackbeard rubs at his face, somehow reaching a new level of exhaustion. He would have to demand his first mate to tell him what damage he'd caused. Also, Blackbeard had to figure out what to do with the children on his ship.

The simplistic answer would be to drop them off somewhere safe as quickly as possible, but Edward isn't about to drop two fucking minors off anywhere. He'd have to talk with them about where their destination would have been or have someone else find out for him. But then again, after the shit Izzy pulled, he doesn't want anyone else to be given a chance to fuck things up around here.

Blackbeard groans as he shifts, flinching from the ache in his knee as he unfolds it, painfully stretching out the stupid fucking thing across the bed. Ignoring the chill that runs up his spine, forming goosebumps across his skin from the brisk morning air cooling his quarters.

Continuing to massage his knee, Blackbeard picks his clothes off of the floor near the broken dresser the lighthouse painting is settled on. Pulling on his pants, he fastened his brace, lifting his leg off the bed to move his knee around, grimacing with a sudden surge of pain from the movement.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself as he lets his leg drop sharply, going back to massaging it through the leather instead, hoping it's not going to be one of those days where it bugs him unless he boils some water and warms the son of a bitch with a rag.

It takes some time until it doesn't bug him as much anymore. Eventually, he can stand up and shuffle slightly towards Stede's secret closet, delicately folding up the red robe and storing it away, unable to look at anything directly as he shuts the hidden wardrobe behind him. He continues getting dressed, seating himself back on the bed when he's fully clothed, using the light of the only open window and the reflection of his dagger to apply kohl to his face and the growing beard before clipping on his single dangling earpiece.

With all the parts in place, Blackbeard lifts his dagger and stares into his reflection one last time, eyes cold and threatening, darkened by the black kohl staining his features. He slowly utters the phrase under his breath that rips Edward away from him.

"I am the Kraken, the killer in the flesh, a monstrous legend bound by nothing but rage and hatred..."

Sheathing his dagger, he stands, head held high as he makes his way out of his chambers, removing the piano and setting it in front of Stede's other closet carelessly. There's no sound besides the skeleton crew above deck as Blackbeard makes it towards the infirmary first.

The Captain keeps his eyes forward, actively avoiding the few broken and untouched decor pieces. The sight of the fractured paintings, maps, and the weapons and tools fastened to the walls all make his fingers twitch. The Kraken wants to rip each one with his bare hands. Feel how the metal bends in his fists, hear the crunch of wood, the tearing of canvases and frames. He doesn't indulge the urge; instead, he forces his attention on the few injured men occupying the beds as he walks into the ship's infirmary, making sure his steps barely stir the room's occupants from their slumber.

Blackbeard finds his first mate easily, dozing in the bed farthest from everyone else despite the room's size. He looms over Izzy like a shadow, mildly reminded of the day he severed the man's toe and fed it to him. Though he was much more dressed now than before with only his vest gone and his shirt unbuttoned to not constrict his healing ribs.

The Kraken pinches his first mate's forearm with a twist of skin, pleased when Izzy jolts awake, harsh words muffled by the gloved hand that swiftly finds its way over his mouth to ensure he doesn't wake the others. The remarks quickly die on the man's tongue when his eyes meet the Kraken's gaze, watching him with uncertainty as his Captain leans in close.

"You will answer every single one of my questions," The Kraken whispers into Izzy's ear, words thick with a warning. "Or I'll feed you more than your toes, got it?" The Kraken can feel how Izzy's throat bobs as he swallows, head nodding in understanding. "Good," The Kraken removes his hand from his first mate's mouth and pulls away from Izzy's immediate space. "Now, how much damage did you cause to the ship you attacked yesterday? Did you damage it enough to sink it?"

"No, Captain," Izzy whispers, shaking his head, "I merely ordered warning shots and ensured the crew disposed of the guards. Word has spread that we've been looting vessels left and right, and ships are starting to become infested with guards, making it harder to ensure that our remaining crew is kept alive."

The Kraken narrows his eyes, ignoring Izzy's observations, "Are you certain there's no way that ship could have sunk?"

"I'm certain, Captain."

"Good," Blackbeard half-heartedly mutters, moving to leave.

"It was never my intention to disobey you, Captain," Izzy states quickly, sitting up. Blackbeard pauses, head turned away from his first mate.

"You know I would never ignore your mandates without good reason, Blackbeard. Bonnet ruined you, turned you into something you're not," Izzy starts, exasperated. Blackbeard clenches his fists and jaw, body tensing as he snaps back to face his first mate with a burst of rage. Izzy simply never fucking gives up, does he? Edward is tired of hearing this spill, of this fucking excuse. "I have always done everything you have ever asked of me and more. He left, but I have never abandoned you!"

"Israel!" The Kraken barks, watching the flash of distress that swiftly appears across Izzy's face with satisfaction.

"It's my job to make sure you are content!"

"When have you ever made sure I was content?!"

"If that means disobeying," Izzy raises his voice, ignoring Blackbeard, "Or bending your commands to ensure that you remain yourself, remain my Captain, then I will! Even if that means protecting you from Stede's brats before they can destroy you too!"

Edward freezes, the air suddenly knocked out of his lungs, mind silent, body stiff. For a moment, all he can do is stare through his first mate, the world slowing down as the words ring in his mind like a piercing echo. All traces of his hungover state seem to evaporate with it.

Denial is the first emotion to arrive at the ludicrous mention of Stede's children on board The Revenge. Stede was never shy about speaking of the family he left behind when it was simply him and Edward. He knew of Mary's hatred for the sea and her disdain at Stede's idea of living out on the waters as a family. If these were the same children raised under her, then there was no way they'd be here at sea. Who was with them, if not Mary? Would the woman Stede described even allow her children near a boat, let alone on one?

Uneasiness accompanies the thought of Stede having been on that ship. Was Stede the one who was watching over the children? Why was he there with them? Did Izzy know he was there too?

Had Stede been killed by his first mate in a supposed declaration of 'protecting' Blackbeard?

Multiple emotions come to life at the question: worry, hope, confusion, countless amalgamations of feelings he doesn't have the time to unpack as they eventually rapidly tunnel into that all too familiar searing outrage.

The Kraken takes Izzy's shirt with a tight fist, tossing him onto the floor carelessly, thoughtlessly, ravishing in the pained gasps, wheezes, and groans, the tremor that ignites Izzy's body in near-visible pain. The others in the infirmary do nothing but add to the satisfaction feeding the sea monster's wrath. Their bodies tense in fear from their beds at the chill that freezes the room with each thump of the Kraken's steps towards Izzy Hands.

"Don't fucking mess with me, Israel!" The Captain yells, the words booming, sharp enough to slice Izzy three feet shorter. "The next words out of you better be a god damn explanation, or your spleen and kidney will go nicely with your fucking rations!"

Izzy meets the Kraken's gaze without issue, "I was following your orders when Fang and Ivan reported spotting children aboard. I had been ready to cease the raid, as always, until I caught sight of their faces, and I knew I had to keep them away from you! I ordered the attack to continue, but Jim intervened before I could follow through. I would never harm those children, Blackbeard, but I had to protect you from them!"

Edward sucks in a sharp breath, knees starting to tremble as a lump forms at the back of his throat. The Kraken wants to tear Izzy apart limb by limb without mercy. Watch him squirm, cry out, bleed.

It must show on his face because Izzy's frozen in place, staring as if holding his breath. An unsettling calm settles over the Captain as something cruel slithers its way up Edward's spine and fixes itself tightly around his heart.

The Kraken sneers.

"You're worthless, Israel Hands. Not a spec of value in you."

Izzy's expression cracks. Edward's heart suffocates.

The Kraken looks away from the pathetic man and steps around him to the door, looking towards one of his injured crew members, pausing at the entrance.

"You," The Kraken barks at the bearded man, "Once you've recovered, you'll be filling Israel's place as my first mate, understood?"

"Understood, Captain!" The man repeats, voice deep, expression composed, sitting as straight as he can.

Blackbeard knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he had been on the boat the night the Spanish nearly killed Stede. He wielded an ax, checking the surroundings behind him as he spoke to the Gentleman Pirate.

The Kraken turns back to Izzy, watching the turmoil unfold across his face. Drinking in how his eyes turn desperately to him, stuttering out words that the Kraken didn't care enough to listen to as he shoots a glare that he hopes stops the man's heart for good before leaving Israel Hands lying on the floor, stripped of his name, title, and power.

Edward doesn't leave the cruel clutches of the Kraken's grasp until he's standing in the Captain's Quarters, knees hitting the ground, shoulders heaving with each stifled sob.

"You'd think getting kidnapped would be a lot more eventful," Alma states, spread out across the floor, staring up at the ceiling. "Maybe we are being tortured to death, but with bordeom." Jim rolls their eyes as Alma turns her head to face the pirate, lips pressed together tightly, nose scrunched up, “I’ve seen it done before! Charles at the all boys school has nearly repelled every other kid his age from hanging out with him because of his long explanations on different types of fungi.”

“Kid, don’t you have better things to do than talk my ear off?” Jim grumbles, sharpening their dagger with frustration.

“No, I just thought irritating you to death would be better than doing literally anything else,” Alma responds sarcastically, crossing her arms and looking back at the ceiling with a condescending shake of her head.

“Oh, you’re a little fucking shit.”

Alma doesn’t respond, trying to stifle a grin at Jim’s comment. Louis’ snores and the echo of footsteps around the boat are the only sounds filling the early morning between the pirate and girl.

It’s only been a day since they were taken, but Alma’s found out that despite how dark and depressing the ship is, speaking with Jim was always entertaining. They always acted so tough, mysterious, and annoyed by everything that it made poking and prodding at them unexpected fun.

“I’m sure you’re used to it by now, you sailed with my Dad after all,” Alma comments. Jim shoots Alma a glare as the girl let’s out an exaggerated sigh. ��‘Don’t talk about Stede aboard The Revenge or someone might hear you and tell Blackbeard and then he’ll get really mad,’ I know, I know.” Alma turns to face Jim, settling on her side with an annoyed huff, resting her cheek on her fist. “He talked a lot, right? And he had this weird habit of moving his mouth while saying or reacting to something? Did he ever kinda shut down while he was here?”

Jim blinks, brows knitted as their eyes shift over Alma’s guarded gaze. Something unspoken passes through the silence and Jim’s resolve crumbles ever so slightly within their expression. They rub their eyes and grunt out a string of spanish mutters, sheathing their dagger before laying down on their bed, a leg freely swinging back and forth at the side of the bed in uncertainty. “Okay, Señorita bocaza, you can only talk about your father in this room and I’ll answer what I’ll answer and that is going to be it unless said otherwise, got it?”

Alma grins triumphantly, “Okay!” She shifts closer, staring up at Jim expectantly. “Okay, so how was he as a Captain? Were all his stories true about the islands? The ships he’s been on? Did he really get into a sword fight with Blackbeard’s right hand man?”

Jim shakes their head, almost seemily regretting their decision already, “He was a terrible Captain. I don’t know which ones he’s told you about but we’ve been to a handful of places and ships, most of the time he was getting himself killed on them in one way or another. And yeah he did, probably the only time his idiocy was somewhat impressive.”

“He was still annoying, right? The talking, the weird mouth habit?”

“Dios Mio, yes.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Alma states in a contemplative tone, staring at the floor, drawing imaginary shapes into the wood with a frown. Jim glances at her expression before turning to look at the wall.

“He wasn’t always an idiot, though.”

Alma swiftly looks back up at Jim, raising a brow with a tilt of her head, opening her mouth to nudge Jim to continue as a harsh knock on the door stops her. Jim and Alma turn their gaze to the door, the pirate instantly standing, smoothly coming to stand in front of Alma and Louis, a hand resting on their freshly sharpened dagger. Alma’s eyes are glued to the door as her breathing picks up, a feeling in her tummy causing her to feel like there was suddenly something to be afraid of.

That something was wrong.

The white bearded man that had ushered her onto the ship comes bursting in, eyes wide, glancing around the room before landing on the two kids with a kind of half-hearted relief. “The boss wants to talk to the kids.”

“What about?” Jim prods, narrowing their eyes, hand resting at their hip instead of directly over their dagger.

“He’s found out they’re Stede’s,” The guy explains. Jim and Alma share a glance with a shared thought, did he hear about it from us? “I don’t know what happened but I think Izzy must have figured it out and told him because he’s no longer first mate.”

Jim’s expression flashes through different kinds of shock, hand falling to their side. “Dick face demoted him?”

“Yeah, and it’s not pretty, Izzy’s scary quiet and Blackbeard’s locked himself up again for a few hours now. He’s only recently ordered me to send the kids into his quarters.”

“Drunk?”

“Not black out but a little tipsy.”

“On a blind rage?”

“Nothing was broken when I was called in.”

Jim doesn’t look at Alma but she knows exactly what Jim’s worrying about. They have this subtle tell when something’s bothering them, they’ll clench their jaw and lean to the side while going from direct eye contact to a repeated ‘glance and look away’ or indirect eye contact. They did it everytime Alma tried to ask Jim questions about themself.

#fox speaks #fanfic #fanfiction #my wtiting #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fanfic #edward teach #izzy hands #jim jimenez #frenchie #alma bonnet #louis bonnet #mary bonnet #stede bonnet #fluff #angst #wip

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