#bdas

Bald Hobie revamped because the first one was just a 15min sketch. As promised @the-kr8tor !! Tried to match it to the masterlist pictures so you can change it if you want! If you're confused as to why Hobie's bald, go read Between the Devil and the Sea from @the-kr8tor on either Tumblr or AO3, the second book is coming out now as we speak!!

And it's not your ship, it's a navy ship that thought they could mess with the bloodsail pirates just because your numbers have dwindled. That's true and sometimes you're afraid of acknowledging it, but the crew is as fierce as ever. It's been three months since it all happened— Mathias, the truth of your lineage, and the declaration of your love for your pirate captain in front of hundreds. Three months, it still feels like a fever dream concocted in your mind. But it's all real, from the new scars and memories— both good and bad ones. It all happened, and you'd choose to do it all over again just to end up right here on this flaming ship with your family and your captain.

Your shoulder hits the door of the lower deck, leaving the flickering flames behind as you climb up with two sacks of supplies over your shoulders. The fire is truly not your fault after a lit candle accidentally got knocked down by a sailor who tried to grab you by the neck. It's their fault for leaving it lit in a wooden boat no less. The sailor is no more and also the whole ship quarters. The flesh around your neck still aches as you dodge bullets left and right.

Eyes skimming over to the small battlefield, you breathe a sigh of relief to find the crew still in one piece while the navy sailors find themselves on the edge of their cutlasses and blunderbusses. The navy ranks have fallen out of order ever since the people sacked the palace walls and kicked the royals out of the country. So much so that even the large ships lack the men to fill it with only a handful left on board. And yet there's no lack of ego on the blasted navy ship after they shot a cannon right at you first.

Grunts and yells fill the ship as more and more sailors fall to the crew's hands. The Osprey— still a temporary name for the bloodsail pirates’ home, is a formidable opponent in the tides. Its façade is laden with gold that glimmers in the waters and the searing sun above. Its bird figurehead stands tall on the bow, wings outstretched as if it's about to fly away, a reminder of your heritage. The cannons boom around you, splintered wood flying about, gunpowder singeing your nose— you're in your element. Within flames that burn, amongst the waves that you've come to revere.

Fast footsteps thud against the floorboards as the fire slowly consumes below deck, flames licking at the soles of your worn out boots, and acrid smoke filtering through the cracks. The embers slither up to the sails, burning it together with their navy flag. Flecks of ashes stick to your sweaty skin as blade clashes against blade. The cutlass in your hand has grown familiar, calloused palms tight around the pommel, fiery eyes staring at your opponent. You quickly toss the supplies at your feet, eyeing the man down.

The sailor is stronger than you, taller, and with the same fury you have. But you have more to lose if you let his blade cut you down. You're a pirate, and you refuse to play fair by polite society rules.

The man tries to swipe at you, but you dodge it, blade nearly nicking your arm. With a swift hard kick to the man's shin, he buckles, staggering on the floorboards before his stomach is met with your sword. Flesh and blood squelches as crimson coats your cutlass. You try not to dwell on it. Don't let them try to kill you for the second time.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Hobie, your captain, guffaws from the upper deck whilst he's steering the massive flaming navy ship away from the Osprey as everyone on board flings to the side. Your back hits the bannister, but you shake it off. “You alright, love?!”

There he is just across the chaos, the destruction and the bloody battlefield— your angel shaped by a hurricane.

He's covered in soot and crimson, and yet his smile doesn't waver. With a red bandana around his head, silver chains dangling on his chest together with your black pearl that's proudly displayed, he looks like a picture perfect pirate captain. The giant spider tattoo on his chest is in full display while his linen shirt is open and blowing in the breeze. With the sun behind him, and the fog of gunpowder at his feet, he looks right at home.

“One to ten?!” You ask, adrenaline flowing through you as you quickly shoot down a navy man trying to climb up towards Hobie while you hold onto the bannisters. The uniformed man falls on the stairs, flopping down into the deck. “I'd say a nine on being fine, but I accidentally knocked down a candle below deck so a seven, I think!” Just as you say it, more smoke rises through the floorboards.

His loud cackle reigns above the booming canons. “That's my bloody arsonist!” Eyes widening, he warns you with a simple look.

You turn around, dodging an axe thrown your way. It hits the wood behind you, splitting it. “Shit!” The navy man charges towards you, and you quickly scramble away but he still ends up snatching your ankle, making you fall as your body hits the hot floor with a thud. Ankle in flames, the pain ebbing through your leg and head pounding. You're in between a rock and a hard place. Your vision swirls as you see him raise his fist, gold rings covering each finger. Before it hits your face in a smattering of blood, he gets flung away by a familiar pair of boots.

“Up your pretty arse, scuttlebutt!” Your captain stands before you in all his glory, the burning sails fluttering behind his back, and cutlass soaked in crimson. He's holding onto a rigging rope tightly with the other hand. He swung down to you, hence how he managed to get down from the helm that quick and how far the man flew just by a kick.

You're immediately on your feet, adrenaline pumping in your veins, heartbeat sounding like a drum in your ears. You take your fallen blade, standing side by side with Hobie just as when the man charges again, shoulder first, yelling a battle cry.

Hobie side steps away, using the pull of the rope to lift him up from the floor, and using the momentum to cut the uniformed man's back. Simultaneously, you drop down to your knees, swinging the cutlass in a line and slashing the man's joints down to his bone.

The shared enemy tumbles down, bleeding on the floor, twitching for a second before he stills, unmoving.

Hobie sprints towards your crouched form as you watch the blood soak the floorboards, and the flames lick at the man's face. He lifts you up by the armpit, and away from the fire just underneath you. He turns your head towards him, hands smelling of gunpowder and iron.

“You alright?!” He asks frantically, afraid that you've broken something based on your far away stare.

You shake your thoughts away and the trembling in your legs as you nod. “I'm fine—” The ship lurches to the side of the osprey, almost making you fall backwards if not for Hobie's hand. “Shit, the fire’s gonna spread.” You worry for the remaining crew on board.

“I need to get back up there!” Hobie talks of the helm, the wheel wildly shifting around when no one's taking control of it while the waves flings the ship back and forth.

“Go!” You yell, and you're abruptly met with his lips upon your own for a brief yet affectionate kiss in the heat of battle.

He sends you off with a wink, swinging away towards the helm with the rigging rope around his fist, raising him up and dropping him to the helm. Taking control of the wheel, you brace yourself as he corrects the ship's course away from the osprey.

There's a sudden shriek, and then a high pitched whistle that has your ears ringing.

“Chain shot!” Miles yells and tackles you to the ground before a metal chain shoots out towards the deck, breaking its mast and taking a few navy along with it. They only leave a mist of blood as the mast cracks and slowly falls, but is still held up by the sails. Burning cloth floats all around you, ash mixing in with blood and sweat.

“Shit!” You heave, hearing nothing for a second before the sound of chaos returns, ears still ringing. Your eyes are wild and bloodshot from the smoke as Miles helps you stand up with a hand. “Thanks, Miles.”

“Fucking Yuri and her goddamn chains! This ship isn't long for this world, doc!” He yells above the chaos. “We need to get the rest of the loot and get off it!”

Looking around, the flames have reached up to the deck now, eating quickly at the cracking wood. Hobie fights off two men simultaneously with his cutlass, barely breaking a sweat. His wide grin has you shaking scandalous thoughts away. He shoots one with your father's lilac blunderbuss, and the remaining man almost falters from the sight of a cracked open skull. Bodies lay on the floor, some falling through the deck as the fire drags them down. Thankfully, none of them are your crew, especially that you can count them all in one hand.

Lyla dropkicks a uniformed man towards the depths, and George Stacy shoots down two men with a single bullet. Wait, Stacy? He shouldn't even be on board when he was supposed to help steer the Osprey together with Pavitr and Gwen. You'll deal with him later as you nod at Miles and help him haul the sacks of supplies over your shoulders while he covers for you like always. Flicking your eyes towards Hobie on the helm, checking if he's alright, you find that the number of his opponents has dwindled to zero. Your chest fills with pride.

Bullets whizz past, but you ignore it as you toss the sacks over to the dinghy where James lies in wait. A grappling hook helps keep the small boat in place with the navy ship, reminding you that you still haven't figured out how to properly toss the bloody thing.

“Over here, doc!” James raises his arms, catching all the loot you lob at him.

Your eyes widen at someone barreling towards Miles, who's occupied with another. With quick thinking, throwing the sack haphazardly off the ship, you grab a dagger from your belt and fling it towards the enemy. A harsh thud follows and Miles takes down the last sailor with a quick slash to the throat.

“Damn, you're getting good at that.” Miles smiles and shoots at the same man who tried to stand up with a dagger embedded in his chest cavity. “Still room for improvement though.”

“I've got a good teacher.”

Hobie swings towards you, rigging rope in hand as he uses it to get down to you quickly from the upper deck. “That was bloody perfect, love!” He gravitates towards you, eyes roaming to check for injuries, and when he finds none, he resists the urge to kiss you. So instead, he squeezes you once for good measure, a promise that he'll give you a proper one later.

He smells like adrenaline and sea salt— like home.

Lyla suddenly appears with a bruise on her cheek, tapping it and wincing. “Yeah, yeah, you two are so in love with each other! Let's get the fuck out before we become barbeque for the dolphins!” She clasps your shoulder before plunging down on the side of the ship.

She's followed by Stacy, who only managed a few scratches on his arms. His blond hair is soaked in crimson, and his hands still shake from the fight. Before you could ask what the hell he was doing on board with the attack group instead of being defense, he jumps off the side and swims towards the dinghy without sparing you or Hobie a glance.

Miles chuckles, “I hate that she's right.” He notices your heavy gaze on the older man and pats your bicep. “He'll come around, don't worry.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he jumps off the ship and the sounds of splashes echo above the roar of the fire.

Tucking it in the back of your mind, you turn towards Hobie, whom you already know is thinking the same thing as you are.

“Is she right about us becoming barbecue or that we're so in love with each other?” You nudge him and in turn he takes your hand in his blood soaked one. Taking inventory of his injuries, it doesn't seem like he's even injured. Not even a nick nor a bruise.

“I can confirm that the latter is right.”

You roll your eyes with a chuckle, stepping further, precariously teetering over the edge. “I see that you’ve been peeking through the osprey's library.” All your late night reading has gotten to him, and it has made you feel closer to him than ever after he decided to read together with you.

He shrugs and points at his temples with shining grey eyes. “I need to keep up with you, love.” As if he ever needed to.

With mirrored smiles, the two of you take a plunge into the cold depths. Your stomach falls as you fly for a second, all the while still holding onto his hand.

Briefly, you see him under the water. He's as handsome as ever, piercings shining around the bitter blue of the water, and as the fire rages above, he even manages to smugly wink at you.

Bubbles escape from your lips as you let out a chuckle, almost forgetting that you're underwater. Hobie takes your hand in his again, melded around your own as if his hands were sculpted together with yours. Rising above the tides, you gasp for air.

Before you could wipe away the salty water from your eyes, he takes your face gently and kisses you right there and then. Oh the things adrenaline does to a person in love.

Your eyes open as he parts, and all you could see is him, smiling at you, dimples in full show, and grey eyes swimming with affection. None of the rage or sorrow, just love and happiness, the very things he deserves.

“C’mon, scuttlebutt, let's get back—” You cup his cheek and kiss him again, he smiles against the kiss as his arms wrap around you. Legs embracing him, you lean away with a giggle. “Fuck…”

“Mm–mhm, now we can go.” Satisfied, you wipe water away from his eyes and loop your arms around his neck, fingertips brushing along the baby hairs above his nape.

“Do we have to?”

“Do you want to be fish food, captain?”

“‘m flirtin’ and you hit me with somethin’ grim.” Hobie leans again, but this time he pecks your jaw, peppering it with dozens of kisses.

“Just reminding you of reality—”

“Oi!” James curses under his breath, and Hobie seizes his barrage of kisses. “Get the fuck on, we don't have all day!”

You and Hobie share a look and a chuckle before swimming towards the dinghy filled with supplies and a very annoyed crew.

“Come on, right in front of us?” Miles groans, rubbing his temples while James and Stacy help the two of you up.

“Seriously, I should drop you.” James says as he hauls the captain on board. “And you,” he points accusingly at you once you're on the boat. “You almost dropped the sack on my head! I could've died!”

Your hands are on the side of your head, surrendering. “I've got a really good excuse, James.” You explain while Hobie shrugs off his vest and puts it over your shoulders for warmth or comfort, either way it works. James waits with a raised brow, “I saved Miles.”

James groans, “‘I saved Miles.’” He mocks your tone, huffing and puffing as he sits down and rows the dinghy with Hobie sitting beside him. “Last time it was Pav!”

“I really did!” You defend, and as you look at Miles and Lyla, who are rowing the boat behind you, they just shrug with a glint in their eyes. Sitting down with a huff, you squeeze yourself in between them. Hobie gives you a look as the Osprey looms over the dinghy. “Alright, I'm really sorry, James. I'll be careful next time.”

James frowns but nods his head. “Fine, this just proves that we need a new crew, Hobie. I can't be down here catching sacks forever.”

“I heard you, James.” Hobie clasps his shoulder, wiggling him in place until the man manages a small smile. You stare at them with fondness. “Once we get to the mermaid's head, that'll be the first thing we do.”

The mermaid's head, it's a one and a half day sail away now. After not feeling solid ground for the whole three months, too afraid to dock and face whatever's waiting for you at the shore after what happened at the capitol, you're more than ready to dock once again.

“Right, love?” Hobie smiles as the dinghy hits the side of the Osprey with a light bump.

“Yeah, you won't be on sack duty anymore, James.” With a nod and a reassuring pat on James’ knee, you roam your eyes around the crew. “Everyone’s alright, right? No need for my services?” They look at themselves, taking note if there's anything to be patched by you. After a minute, they shake their heads and you sigh in relief.

There's shuffling from above, a metallic clink, and then a familiar click of tongue.

“Took you lot long enough!” Yuri peeks over the cannon hole, waving at you while Gwen and Pavitr lower the ropes, which Stacy and Lyla attach to the dinghy. “Did you all see the chain shot?!” Her shouting is probably caused by the loud canons.

“Yuri! I told you to protect your ears!” You and Lyla simultaneously say, a bit eerie as the two of you give each other a glance.

“I love you too!” She calls out and slithers her way inside the ship.

“She meant me by the way.” Lyla whispers to you as the boat gets lifted up.

“Calm down, Lyla, I'm not trying to steal her from you.”

“Sure, sure, your grace.” She teases, patting your bicep. “We all know that between the two of us, I won.” Her eyes flick over to Hobie and he scrunches his nose.

You roll your shoulders, feeling the adrenaline start to ebb out. “I know, Lyla, you were definitely the first choice.” Sarcasm drips from your lips.

A chorus of laughter echoes from the small boat as it slowly rises up with a squeak. You wink at Hobie as reassurance and he knows that you meant it as a joke by tapping his boot with your own. He answers with a smile, sunlight illuminating the side of his face, grey eyes glowing while the double blunderbusses on his hips shines in the light.

“Wait, what does that mean?!” Lyla gasps out just as you face the warmth of the sun.

“It means that Yuri is so smitten with you, Lyla.” Gwen says as she secures the ropes with the help of Pav by her side. Her comment drips with sarcasm, earning snickers from the rest of the crew.

Lyla huffs, glancing at you. “When will the hazing end, your grace?”

“When you stop calling me that.” You pat her shoulder reassuringly before standing up and taking Hobie's helping hand to get you on board.

His hand is warm against you, damp with sweat, and slick with crimson. You don't mind it one bit when your hands are just the same as his. Your calluses meet with his own, clicking into place with each indent.

As you find penchant on the foot hold, standing on the firm bannister, you get a good look at the decks of the mighty Osprey. She has three balconies on each end, railings painted with gold leaves, wood carved immaculately into violet flowers and into the shape of hazelnuts. The whole place reminds you of what could've been, it's a floating Hazelside. Apples are etched on doors, birds, both perched on trees and flying— they're all occasionally seen on the walls. It's opulent, but intimidating at sea with its size. There are two dozen cannons all lined up on each side, and swivel guns on each balcony for added defense. The ship is a man-of-war, a force to be reckoned with, and an honour to sail beside with her allies, if you ever do find allies. But it doesn't quite feel like a pirate's ship just yet, or a bloodsail pirates’ home. It's missing the iconic crimson sails, and its spider skeleton jolly roger flag.

Hobie will shape her into his vision once you dock at the mermaid's head.

“Careful now, love, your leg.” With a hand on your hip, he lifts you off the bannister and onto the deck.

“Thank you, captain.” You're chest to chest with him, hand in hand as you gaze at him as the sunlight kisses his skin. “I left my dagger on board again,” wincing, you apologize to him for losing another blade.

“I told you, I'll keep givin’ you one until it sticks.” Squeezing your hand twice for good measure, his attention turns to Gwen who's fussing over her father, half chastising him and half dotting.

You follow his gaze. “Well, they're adorable, annoying but adorable.”

“He's overbearin’” Hobie says with a shake of his head, still holding onto you while George checks on Gwen's healing injury.

“I heard that most fathers are.” You whisper to him with slight sadness.

“He needs to get off the ship, that's what he is.”

“Hey, cut him some slack. His daughter is a bloody pirate.” You poke his cheek, turning his attention back to you as he raises a brow.

“He's a shit cook.”

“Well he's no Finn, but he's not exactly navy material either. Give him some time.” Patting his jaw, Hobie huffs at you.

As quickly as his annoyance came, it fades when he meets with the softness of your eyes. He smiles at you like he had on your little island. “You hurtin’ anywhere?”

“No, nothing unusual, you?” Hobie's hand rubs at your back lovingly while he shakes his head, relief felt through his touch as he gives you another once over before helping the others off the dinghy.

The second Hobie leaves your side, Pavitr embraces you from behind. “I'm okay, Pav!” You giggle as he sighs in relief. He has gotten taller than Miles now, and he always takes the opportunity to remind the navigator. You pat his hand and he releases you. “I told you, there was nothing to be worried about.”

“Yeah, but then I saw the fire—”

“She's an arsonist, innit?” Hobie adds while dragging the supplies to the middle of the deck.

“Again, landlubber?” Gwen raises a brow as she does final checks on her father's scratches.

“It was an accident!” Exclaiming, you help haul the rest of the bags before Hobie grabs it from your arms. “C’mon, Hobie, tell them.”

He pauses, eyes all on him. Smacking his lips together, he looks between you and the crew. “I wouldn't bloody know, I was above deck—” a resounding groan echoes around the deck. “I wouldn't fuckin' know! I wasn't there!”

“Always the favouritism with you!” Lyla stomps away, hauling a sack over her shoulder. “I mean, I get it, but come on!”

James makes a gagging sound. “I'm gonna be at the crow's nest if you need me.” He then starts to climb on the mast with a huff.

“Just to be sure though,” Yuri suddenly appears from below deck and places her arms over your shoulder and Hobie's casually. “You're not allowed to have a lit candle every night, right?”

Lyla chuckles together with Pav. And you swear you heard James chortle while climbing the ladder.

Gwen shakes her head with a smile, still tending to her father by using the knowledge you taught on basic wound care. He grumbles but with one glare from his daughter, he surrenders. Miles watches them with a fond smile, but stays slightly away from the duo. Gwen notices his stare, smiling affectionately at him before crossing the distance and takes Miles’ waiting hands, whispering something to him. George looks away, finding the pile of loot more interesting.

You roll your eyes at the woman behind you, flinging Yuri's arm away while Hobie drops the remaining bags together with the rest. Everyone stands around it while Hobie, Miles and Pavitr dig through each bag for the contents. All the while Yuri and Lyla sort through it, opening boxes and cans as they're all crouched down next to the pile. There are beans of coffee that's just enough for the whole crew, a couple blocks of tea that would last the everyone a whole year, and navy uniforms that need a wash.

“Ew,” Gwen winces when Miles lifts a pair of dirty trousers from the bag. “Is there anything that we can sell?”

“Not that I could see, Gwendy.” Hobie says, voice muffled while his body is halfway inside the sack. You crack a smile.

“Let me.” Gwen clicks her tongue in mild annoyance and decides to help.

She begins to crouch down, but she winces immediately, trying to hide the ache but her contorted face betrays her. Her hand flies to her chest, and you quickly go to her side with a careful arm wrapped around her middle. Her father joins you on her other side, furrowed brows and frowning deeply with concern.

Miles stands up but Gwen stops him with a hand braced on his shoulder. You and Hobie share a worried look. Pavitr shares the same worry, and Yuri's eyes drop towards the pile, distracting herself from Gwen's pained flinch.

“You should rest, kid.” Her dad whispers kindly to her.

“You shouldn't force yourself, Gwen.” You utter with the same concern in your tone. “Besides we got this, you can do inventory later once we sort it all out.”

She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply before opening her baby blue eyes. “I'm so sick of this. I should be better by now.”

“You got shot, it'll take some time.” You say while wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Give yourself some time.”

“We need to sit her down.” Stacy looks over Gwen to address you. With a nod, the two of you sit her down on a nearby crate.

“I'm the goddamn quartermaster, I should be helping more.” She's not entirely wrong, with a large ship like this, it needs a bigger crew to operate it. The whole place is barely functioning because of the lack of manpower, and it frustrates her to always be placed on the sidelines while everyone else does the heavy lifting. “I want to help more.”

Hobie stands up, “Pav, can you go over to the helm and make sure we're still on course?” Pav nods with a small smile and heads over to the wheel. You can tell that he's hiding his concern for Gwen too from the slouch of his shoulders, and deep frown.

The captain crosses the small distance and hands you a medium sized box filled with medical supplies. The two of you communicate with your eyes, and he takes your place beside Gwen as you join Miles next on the pile.

“— We'll find a reliable crew once we port.”

You catch the tail end of their conversation as you crack open the box that's filled with labelled vials, they're sparse, but you'll find some use for it. You know that Hobie's reassuring her as a friend, all the while telling her to go easy like a captain should with his ship's quartermaster.

“Is she alright?” Miles whispers to you while checking each trouser pocket.

The sun beats down upon you, already drying you, and the humidity almost chokes you. The heavy look on Miles' face doesn't help. “Yeah, I check on her everyday. She's getting better, it's just—” you inhale, remembering her warm blood splattered on your face in the capitol square. “With an injury like that, it'll take more than three months for it to fully heal.” Or maybe not at all. You shudder at the thought.

“The surgeon who saved her said that it was a miracle that she even survived through the whole thing.” He sniffs, finding a large clinking pouch.

“I'm guessing that the money you gave him helped with his determination to save her.”

“Our guns too.” He opens the pouch, eyes widening and face lighting up. “And speaking of money.” Showing you the contents, you see enough coins to weather the whole crew for at least a whole season.

“Shit.” You chuckle, and you notice similar looking pouches on the bottom of the sack. “Wait, maybe there's more.” Handing Miles one while you open the other, the two of you mirror each other's expression. “I guess they weren't out here to just protect our national waters.”

Yuri and Lyla notices your hushed tones and looks over each of your shoulders for a peek.

In each bag contains a dozen or so of gold and silver jewellery. Each looks fancier and more intricate than the other. Rings, bracelets, brooches, you name it and the pouch carries it. They were probably out here trying to survive just like you and the crew are. With the government in shambles, and the crown separated from the country, the branches of military— especially the ones who remained loyal to the crown, are left to fend for themselves. If only Mathias could see them now, he's probably rolling in his watery grave.

“Captain!” Yuri yells, and Hobie almost jumps in his skin. “Get your flat ass over here!”

—

“It's not much.” Gwen says, sitting down on Hobie's desk as she jots down the supplies on the ship logbook. “But with all of these plus the one we got from the merchant ship last week and the privateer ship we raided a month ago, we're set.”

“Thank fuck.” Yuri exclaims, placing her arm over Lyla's shoulder, waking her up from her nap on the plush couch.

Lyla lays her head on Yuri's shoulder, fondly gazing at the side of her face before dozing off.

Miles sits beside Pavitr, who is oiling up your blunderbuss for you when you've told him countless times that you could do it yourself. He insists, telling you that he worries that it'll one day blow up in your face if you don't take care of your guns. He's a sweetheart, and you think he just likes to keep his hands occupied ever since the whole crew started working overtime for the large ship. You take a mental note to check up on him every once in a while. Miles continues to scribble on his scrapbook, almost filled by the looks of it and you remind yourself again to get him a new one once you dock. Just above you on the deck, you can hear James hum at the helm, keeping watch at night together with George.

This is all hard work, you think as you sit on Hobie's bed that's situated in a cubby with a heart shape engraved on top of it, to which he called it fitting the first time you two shared it. The bed is all plush pillows and velvet covers that's all shoved on the foot of the bed in favour of a simple linen under it and a couple of pillows for his head to rest upon. A pair of blue velvet curtains are tucked and tied on the side of the bed, and more than once it has been closed during your journey. You're the main reason why he closes it whenever you come slinking towards his cabins at night since you haven't fully left your own cabin. Sometimes you think the crew knows that the curtains around his bed are being put to good use and not just for sleep.

The captain's quarters is bigger than the one on the first people's revenge, much larger. And it functions as the captain's office too. There's a sitting room, its own bucket with a silk partition depicting a garden with lotus flowers in a pond. And a water basin that Hobie always refills whenever you're around, which is always. The place is just under the bow of the ship where there are large windows that face the glimmering sea. He has his own table and bookshelves filled with books and logbooks of the osprey. Your own history that you have flipped through in hopes of seeing your parent's handwriting in them.

There are various knicknacks all over the place, conch shells on the shelves, bones of sea creatures— a hammerhead shark, dried pufferfish, a few starfishes and a bone of a swordfish on display just above his desk. *It's all gaudy, he said, too aristocratic for his taste with all the naval themed tapestries and silver candelabra. He stopped complaining after he realized he could make it his own space. His bandolier is hanging from a fancy oak coat rack with your father's blunderbuss safely tucked inside, one that you gave to him for good luck. Musket balls are freely rolling around the shelves together with the gold inlaid picture frames of the countryside. And of course his clothes are in the wardrobe and shoes under the bed. He tries his best to make it his own when that's all he could do until he has the opportunity to make the ship more to the bloodsail pirates' tastes.

As you take note of the floor with a bear rug on it, you notice a nick on the back of your hand. It's small, not even hurting you in the slightest. The adrenaline has fully weaned off, and the oncoming crash would have you falling back on the bed. Then you see the shaking of your palms as you stretch your hands that were meant to sew flesh close and not rip them open. You know what will follow the trembling, and it's just tears. But it had to be done, they were just surviving but so were you, so were your family. Sometimes you wish it doesn't have to be this way. But the world is built over the bloodsoaked dirt and corpse ridden sea that you now call home. And sometimes, fighting back is just a means to survive. Maybe one day it doesn't have to be like that, that the world could be better for everyone to just live and not kill.

A world where he could just sail and explore the seas without the threat of death.

“Love.” The man occupying your thoughts calls for you. “You alright?”

You exhale out, stretching your aching ankle. “Yes, why? We're good, right?”

Hobie smiles, resisting the urge to beckon you over to his side. “Can you ask Stacy to help you prepare supper if you're alright to do it for tonight?”

“I'm always up for it, captain.” Hopping off the bed, you point at Lyla and Yuri on the settee. “Besides, whenever those two get inside the galley we always end up eating hardtack instead.”

Gwen manages to crack a smile while still doing the numbers on the ledger, her longer hair annoying her as she blows at the strands in front of her face. And Miles shakes his head with a knowing grin. Pavitr makes a face and scooches away from Yuri, making the said woman scrunch her nose at him.

Hobie chuckles, and spares you a knowing glance. “Right, go back to your stations, we've got a long night if we want to get to the head at dawn.”

Yuri spreads her arms and legs, waking up Lyla, who rolls her eyes and yawns, glasses askew on her face. “Fucking finally!” The ravenette reaches over Lyla to nudge at Pav playfully. “Can you believe it? We'll be home by tomorrow!”

Pavitr nods and pats the back of her hand politely. “Yeah, yeah, we all know you're excited to see Riri.” The second the name leaves Pav's lips, he regrets it.

Lyla jumps awake, head turning quickly at Yuri. “Who's Riri?”

You clamp your mouth shut from letting out a laugh. Hobie tells you to leave and save yourself with a gesture, and as you close the door behind you, you hear Yuri's stuttered explanation.

Shaking your head with a wince, you head up towards the deck. The halls are as confusing and winding as the revenge, but multiplied tenfold when it has more floors than the older ship. The walls of the osprey are shinier, all smooth oak with its perfect packing to prevent drafts from getting in. Its floors are just as smooth, albeit scruffed now from all the walking around it by the crew. You'd smoothen it out with wax, but doing that isn't on top of the list of chores when it's just you and a handful of people that help maintain the gigantic ship so it could keep sailing.

Your muscles ache, and your throbbing leg and ankle aren't of any help either. Whenever fatigue rolls over you, your old injuries flare up, the bullet wound on your leg that was entirely an accident. The sprained ankle from running away from your godfather Miguel, and the sharp phantom pain around your neck and on your hip. As always, you tend to ignore it when the day isn't quite done yet. As you reach the doors to the deck, you swing it open, and the hinges don't even announce your presence when it's well oiled.

James, still on the wheel, immediately finds you, trained eyes already honing in on you. His days in the crow's nest helped give him that experience. He waves at you from the helm, smiling tiredly. Everyone is too tired these days, as much as you're apprehensive about a new batch of crew coming in, you need the extra hands.

“Hi, James.” You say above the sea wind as the ship rocks in the calm waves. The full moon looks down at you, a guiding light in the night filled with stars. “You okay up there?”

“Better than up there.” The blonde points at the crow's nest up on the mast. “That fucking wind is terrifying, doc.”

“Do you think you can manage on your own for a bit?” You look apologetically at him. “The trio will relieve you in a few minutes, I just need help in the galley.”

“Sure, I might spot a mermaid here and this time I won't tell anyone.” Chuckling, he sends you off to fetch Stacy up on the raven's nest.

You start to climb up carefully as the wind whips at your cheeks. The fatigue in your bones is multiplied by a hundred once you're dangling a dozen feet in the air. You can feel it in each step, in each grab on the ladder. Head falling on the metal, you take a breather, it seems that the air is much thinner up here where you can practically wave the clouds away. The mast back on the revenge didn't go as high as this, or is it your tiredness making your memory fail? As you heave, you feel something rubbing on the crown of your head.

Looking up, you see the frayed edges of a rope hanging above you, it's tied together like a noose, giving you a sense of dread just by the sight of it. “George?”

“It looked like you needed help.” He noticed your odd stare at the piece of hemp rope. “Put your wrist in, just in case you fall, you'll have me to hold you up.”

“You should've said that earlier,” you chuckle shakily, placing your hand inside as you continue to climb up. “It looks like a fucking noose, George.”

The older man smiles, lifting the rope up as you climb. “Sorry about that.” With a hand, he helps you up the last step.

“Fucking finally.” You stretch your back and aching wrists when you're finally on the nest. “I don't remember it being that high.”

Even with the climb being bothersome, the view can't be beat. There's not a cloud in sight, and you're thankful that there won't be any rain for tonight that'll rock the ship throughout the whole night. The glimmering sea is calm as a few gentle waves greet you from below. The sea stretches far and wide, everywhere you look there's nothing but the dark depths waiting for you. It's as if the salty sea water has swallowed the whole world while you and the crew were gone.

“You're just tired, kid.” He sits down on a stool, tucking the rope away back to where it's supposed to be. “Are you my relief?”

“No, I think Yuri will replace you.” You're still breathing heavily so the man gestures for you to sit down on the floor, which you gratefully do. Sweat dribbles from your temple, and your head swirls from the sudden surge in height. The sails wave just under you, a sea of white amidst the darkness. You spot a small hole in one of the sails, Ned would've noticed it earlier and patched it up already. “Can you help me in the galley?”

George furrows his brows. “Why? The crew doesn't like my cooking.”

“Well,” his eyes urge you to tell the truth. He has some sort of air around him that makes people tell him nothing but the truth. A good trait to have when you're a gambler like he is— or was according to him. You wonder what Gwen's childhood was like with him around as a father. No wonder why she's so good at lying. “You want the harsh truth?” He nods. “Hobie asked me to talk to you about today.”

“I left my post.”

“Yes. You're there with Gwen and the others for a reason. You're a good fighter, Stacy, we've established that. But with just us here, we can't afford to leave the ship unguarded with just them on board.” Your eyes bore into him, knocking some sense into the older man while a breeze passes by and blows at his blond windswept hair.

“We got lucky. Again. But next time we might not be. So please understand that the plan is there so that everyone is protected. That no one is alone during the fight.” He was noble, just like you were, and you understand how much he wants to prove himself to the crew. Especially that you were in his position just a few months ago. And your captain understands that, that's why he sent you to talk to the man, knowing that you and George have some sort of understanding. “Gwen's still out of commission, don't leave your daughter alone on board ever again.”

He nods, eyeing the crochet basket Yuri must've left on her last shift. “I— just… can I tell you something, doc?”

“Sure.”

“I’m planning on leaving the crew.” Your brows knit together. “I love my girl, she's my world. But this isn't my world.” George's shoulders slouch, like a weight has finally lifted off him. “I know what being a pirate entails, all the pillaging, the thievery… and I know that not a lot of you will live to see forty. And I'm more than forty, an old man like me can't survive this long out here.”

“Then why did you go and fight?” You blink and you see Miguel's face for a second. “Why are you letting your only daughter stay here if that's how you think will happen?”

“I guess I wanted to be useful before I leave. Admit it, I've been a burden to you and the crew.”

“More or less. You just haven't found your role here yet.”

He shakes his head, curling and unfurling his fists. “As for Gwen, I would be lying if I didn't try to persuade her into leaving.” His tone is small as he scratches off the caked blood on his knuckles. “I almost ruined what was left of our relationship by doing that and I— I don't want that. I don't want to bury her, but I don't want to push her away either. After seeing her—” He pauses, sniffing and clearing his throat. “—I never want to witness that ever again.”

“I'm sorry. This isn't a safe life, I know that. But it is a happy one, fulfilling? I don't know yet. And yet I'm still here when I had every opportunity to get out.” You smile softly at all the times you were supposed to leave but stayed instead. “It's the people, Mr. Stacy. For me it’s not the ship or the pillaging or the thievery. If you want an out, then Hobie will grant it to you, same goes for any crew member.”

Then you get a vision in your head, of another life where you're talking to your own father, his voice a mere imagination in your ears— is it high or as deep as Mr. Stacy's? But you know his face, seen it on a tiny portrait that used to hang around your mother's neck. But his face is young, probably the same age as you now, and you never got to see him grow old with her. It hurts to think about you being older than him now. That you never got to tend to his wounds or talk to him while the moon washes over you. You wonder if he's like the man before you, if he'd be conflicted about the life you're leading. Will he leave you too?

“I know this is something I shouldn't even be asking you but…” George's eyes soften as you seem to shrink in his eyes. “Can you look after my girl? Make sure that I go before her. If she's not planning to retire any time soon, at least it'll give me some comfort to know that she's being looked after.”

There's heat behind your eyes, legs shaking underneath you. “That's a hard ask, but yes, I'll do that— I'll keep doing that as long as I can't.” You begin to stand up on trembling legs, throat filled with heaviness. You know you can't promise him anything, but you'll try, not for him but for Gwen, for Miles, for Pav and Hobie. You can't lose another one.

“Thank you, doc.” He stands up in gratitude, sad blue eyes that mirrors his own daughter's stare at you with guilt and apologies.

“Just promise me something, George.” Your jaw clenches. “Write to her, and keep her in your mind even when she isn't writing back. At least you'll have that. You'll still have someone to come home to you.”

“I will, she's my daughter.” The word strikes an arrow right to your heart.

“Then don't forget her.” With your parting words, you start to climb down but you pause when he calls your name. “Yes?”

“Does this make me a bad person?”

“What do you think?”

Your words punch him in the gut. “At least let me help with supper.”

You shake your head, maybe some time alone will do you some good. Working with your hands would be a good distraction from your thoughts. “No, I think I'll be fine.” Your words come off as callous, his expression falls and you immediately think to explain yourself.

George fixes himself, exhaling and smiling softly as if he didn't drop a cannonball on you. “Maybe I should've just gone down instead of you coming up here, kid.” Chuckling, he hands you the rope again for extra security.

You blink and groan at the realization that you should've done just that and called him down instead. “Fucking idiot.” You thump your head on the ladder as the man above you tamps down his laughter lest he angers the ship doctor.

—

You were right, some alone time helped your mind ease down for tonight. With your hands occupied with the pot of stew, you shoulder the door to the deck open and you're immediately greeted by the captain himself.

“I was about to get you, scuttlebutt.” He takes the pot for you, careful not to spill a single drop of it. “Pav was worried you fell asleep on the counter again.” Propping the door open for you with his body, you exit below deck and hold onto the door until he and the stew are safely on the deck.

“Me? Never.” You chuckle and he nudges you gently as the stew sloshes inside the pot. “Careful!”

“Shit, we almost ate hardtack for supper again.” Hobie's laughter echoes through the night as the crew quickly sets up the makeshift table on the deck, just like back on the revenge. His grey eyes look tired, and yet the crinkle in them stays, still smiling amidst the fog of fatigue.

Everyone does their part in making the meal pretty. Gwen and Miles made paper flowers that are now on the dainty vases. And Pavitr with the help of Lyla folded all the napkins into cranes. Meanwhile James and George are placing each plate and bowl for every seat at the table, while Yuri is carefully placing all the utensils beside the plates. It's pretty quiet on deck, and it fills your chest with heaviness as you see all the empty spaces on the table.

The long table stretches down towards the helm, as if the crew has made space for the ones that can't be there. It's been like this since you left the capitol, grief weaves through every movement, guilt stained their every action. It's in the way they leave leftovers for them, place extra seats and plates just for them. It's in every squeeze of the trigger, every cut of their swords. They go on, for them.

There are candle lights flickering on the table, wax slowly melting off the cheap tallow candles and onto the silver plated candelabra. The plates are all porcelain, smooth with lilac inlays around it. Even the utensils are in solid silver, pretty but not exactly sustainable on the ship when you could get raided by other pirates looking exactly for what is spread around the table. There's an abundance of wine on board thanks to your ‘dear’ uncle Frederick, so everyone's goblets are all full with the sloshing drink. Lyla insisted that you all use the finer things one last time before docking at the mermaid's head in the morning since everyone voted to sell most of it for supplies and ship maintenance. You won't lie, you quite enjoyed the fine dining evenings every now and then.

“We're eating good tonight, we got some carrots—”

“Tiny ass carrots.” Yuri peeks inside the pot while she fixes the cutlery around the bowls.

“At least they're fresh…” you glance at the floating orange bits as Hobie places it down in the middle of the table. “...ish.”

“They're better than hardtack.” Pavitr defends your abysmal stew as he sits and places down a napkin on his lap.

“Thank you, Pav. Looks like someone still appreciates my cooking.” You clasp Pav's shoulder and he grins happily at you. You swear that boy always has enough energy for everyone.

“I've got bread here if anyone wants some.” Gwen passes the basket of day old rolls. She sits on Hobie's right and next to her father instead of Miles. You guess they already had a talk about him leaving, or else it'll get awkward once the ship ports.

Hobie sits at the head of the table, hand immediately grabbing your own bowl to scoop some stew for you. “Do you want some bread too, lovie?”

“Yes, please.” You say with a smile as you sit on his left.

“Can I have some too, cap’n?” James asks, hand already waiting for a roll. Hobie tosses him one that James catches effortlessly. A round of brief applause surrounds the table at the incredible feat. “Thank you, thank you, I take gold as payment.”

Yuri chuckles and shakes her head while Lyla tries to steal her bread roll. Miles snitches on Lyla with a simple tap on Yuri's shoulder, prompting the two to exchange bread. You guess they're on good terms now.

The sound of cutlery echoes around as the whole crew starts to devour their ration.

Hobie sits your bowl down in front of you, but before he sits, he helps himself with his own share of stew and bread. Sitting down with a groan and cracking joints, your hand reaches for his knee, patting him in thanks. He takes your hand from under the table and kisses your knuckles once, all the while gazing at you softly. Good thing the whole crew are all busy eating.

“Hi,” you smile at him as the silver moonlight hits his chiseled cheek. “You alright there, captain?”

“Better now, doc.” He kisses your knuckles again, grey eyes closed this time as you swoon.

“At least wait for supper to finish, man!” Gwen flings a carrot at Hobie's head.

“Alright, alright!” Hobie surrenders, releasing your hand and then raising his goblet. “To the bloodsail pirates!”

“Hear hear!”

“To staying alive!” Gwen adds as she clinks her glass with Hobie's then over to her father's, who is looking at her through sad eyes.

“To this stew!” Pavitr raises his glass and to your appreciation, clinking his glass with yours.

“And to the Mermaid's head we go!” James exclaims, raising his cup high.

“To the Mermaid's head!” Everyone yells out with a grin as excitement rolls off with every clink of glass as wine sloshes on the table.

Chairs scrape as you all sit back down, “what should us newcomers expect in the Mermaid's head exactly?” You ask, scooping a generous amount of stew on the spoon.

“Don't look at me, I've been there. Not a newcomer, remember?” Lyla scoffs, taking a huge bite of her bread. She glances at Hobie briefly, having a wordless conversation about their shared thieves guild.

“Are there rules there or is it actually lawless?” George asks the same question on the tip of your tongue.

“Rules? It's not the capital, Stacy.” Hobie says against the rim of his cup. “‘sides, the pirate code reigns there.”

“Oh I've heard about that, it's different for every ship and crew right?” You ask, taking a swig of your drink to water down the alright stew. Times like these, you miss Finn's cooking.

“Aye, all members have to swear by it, same goes for every pirate that sets foot in the place.” Hobie answers, nudging your foot with his own. “That reminds me, you haven't been sworn in yet, scuttlebutt.”

Pavitr gasps beside you, “that means you're not an actual pirate!”

“Is that still necessary?”

“Everyone does it, doc.” Gwen smiles, patting her dad's hand. “You have to do it too, dad.” You guessed wrong then.

“Yeah, kid, I will.” George scratches the back of his head. “Maybe once the captain gets it all written out, y’know make it legal.”

“It's not legally binding.” Miles adds, immediately clamping down when the older man looks at him. “I–I mean, technically it's not but we all honour it!”

“How about some bread, Miles!” Gwen shoves a roll in his mouth, wordlessly eyeing him.

“That's true,” James says with his mouth full. “You swear an oath and we all honour it. No questions asked, and then you're officially a pirate.” Yuri grimaces and hands him a napkin.

“George is right though, I have to draft it since we lost the copy.” He side eyes you, and you kick him under the table, earning chuckles around the table. “We’ll do the oath taking before we dock. The others can smell it if you're not sworn in yet.” Teasing, you roll your eyes at him.

“Other than that,” Yuri wipes her mouth daintily. “The Mermaid's head is just another settlement on an island, the only difference is that everyone's a no good scallywag.”

The original bloodsail pirates agree with a chuckle. And yet it doesn't curve your nerves. The last time you were in a town, it didn't end well. At least Miguel won't be there to run after you again now that it's all resolved. Just in case though, you'll keep your gun and cutlass by your side.

“You have nothin' to worry ‘bout, love.” Hobie seems to sense your worries as he holds your hand over the table. “You've got us, yeah?”

You nod, shoulders relaxing from his words. “Yeah, I've got all you.”

—

Hair washed, body scrubbed clean, you sit on your hammock in your own cabin. The place reeks of a surgeon's cabin, filled with thick medical manuals that you've already dug into. Pages of illustrations depicting illnesses and injuries, and even a whole skull on the shelf. You have a feeling that it's an actual human skull and not an imitation made of wood.

It's a weird looking room, as if you belong and don't at the same time. Maybe that's the bloodied wedding dress you keep in the closet that just makes you feel uneasy. You almost threw it out a dozen times, but the spare fabric has proved to be useful especially that you managed to clean some of the blood off it. The lace, or according to Lyla, is Italian made, which she has cut a few pieces of with your permission. Stating that Yuri might like it, the next day it's sewed around her bandana. She wears it better anyway. And the silk underneath it is made only in one small town in South America, this time, its according to Gwen's dad, who came from a wealthy merchant family once upon a time. You keep telling yourself that you kept it because it's expensive and could be sold someday, and not as a reminder of that grim day you almost lost it all. It proves that you lived through it, the same reason why you kept your threadbare shoes.

Hobie mentioned, cleverly and subtly at that, that you can always stay at his cabin since you always end up in there every night anyway. You want to move in, but something holds you back. Maybe it's such a huge step that you're afraid once you do there's nothing forward left? That your relationship with him would remain stagnant like a floating buoy. You don't want it to be a floating buoy, and maybe just maybe, you're still afraid that the other shoe will drop and that he doesn't love you as much as he thought back then now that there's peace. Your hand immediately gravitates towards the golden necklace around your neck for comfort. Thumb running along the engraving of a flying bird.

You sigh as you put your trousers on, sleep weighs heavy in your eyelids, jaw aching from yawning too much. Your leg doesn't help much when you feel a strike of pain ebbing through it. The fight and all the chores tired you out, and the sound of the trio above the deck makes you feel older than you seem to be since they're still as energetic as ever. Rubbing your tired eyes, and just like clockwork, you hear the rhythmic knock that he made just to tell you that it's him— two quick sharp knocks, followed by three long knockings.

“You know you could just open it.” Your tired voice bounces off the walls as the sea laps at the side of the ship.

Hobie peeks inside, still wearing the bandana on his head but without the leather vest and bandoliers on his torso. “That wouldn't be so gentlemanly of me, lovie.”

You chuckle, beckoning him over. “Come in, captain.”

With a smile, he enters the small space, head almost hitting the ceiling from how small the room is. “Can I interest you a place in my cabin?” He raises a pierced brow, leaning casually on the doorway, hands braced on top of it, shirt raised up and his stomach peeking in between his trousers and shirt.

“Why is it that you never sleep here? It's always me sleeping at your place.” You say with your arms crossed playfully, gently rocking on the hammock.

“Love.” He gestures at the one person hammock and the ceiling brushing against his head. “Really?”

“Really.” You repeat, “I guess if you really do love me, it won't matter—” you're abruptly quieted down by his whole body suddenly laying on top of you. “Hobie!” Giggling, you flick his ear. The hanging hammock teetered dangerously with the added weight.

“If it takes sleepin' with you in this gnome hole—”

“Gnome hole?!”

“Then so be it.” Hobie fakes a loud snore, laying his whole weight on you.

“Hobie, you're heavy!” Laughing, you lift his head up and he still feigns sleep, eyes shut and mouth agape. “Alright, fine, I'm getting up.”

His eyes immediately open, a smirk playing on his lips from his so-called victory. “This place doesn't even have windows, scuttlebutt.”

“Yes, it does!” You scoff out, glancing at the small porthole on your left.

“You call that a window?” He laughs out, pointing at the tiny thing. “I'll show you a real window.”

“Oh yeah? Like yours is so impressive and huge.” Rolling your eyes, he lifts himself by his elbows and gazes down at you fondly.

“It’s impressive, alright, got all the birds chuffed ‘bout its size.” He wiggles his brows, earning a giggle and a smack on his behind from you.

“What fucking birds?! I'm the only bird here, motherfucker!”

He takes your face, and places a quick yet affectionate kiss on your lips. “Exactly!” Jumping off of you, he knows that if he stays like that any longer he'll end up falling asleep and he'll never hear the end of it from you. Your body swings back and forth so he stops the hammock with a firm hand. “C’mon,” smacking your thigh, he can't help but smile at your flustered expression. “If I say please…” He bats his long lashes at you.

“If only the navy could see the red spider right now—!” You're lifted off your back, carried by him or more like dragged as your heels scrape on the floor while you purposely lay limp in his arms.

“‘m makin’ you walk the plank for insubordination!”

“Hollow threats, Captain! Hollow threats!” You exclaim, for sure waking up half of the sleeping crew with your guffaw.

—

“On your knees, cap’n.” You instruct him with a teasing glint in your eyes as you point at the space by your feet.

“Yes, ma’am.” Hobie sighs with a lopsided grin, hands on his hips as he does what you told him.

Laughing, you open your arms as he sits down by your feet while you're situated on his bed. “Makes me feel an ounce of your power, Hobie.”

“I don't have the power to make people kneel, love.” He twists in his seat, patting your knees as his back rests in between your legs. “No one does.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, cheek pressed on top of his head, kissing his crown before you lean away. “You're right, but I can when we're in here.”

“You're right ‘bout that, jus’ don't tell the rest of the crew, hm?” Hobie chuckles and tugs off the bandana on his head, revealing the small tuft of curly hair that's growing nicely.

Kissing the top of his head again, he holds the back of your hands while you let out a resounding smack. “It's getting longer by the week, Hobie, I can tell.”

“You're just gassin’ me up.” He sighs, fully relaxing in your arms.

Giving one last peck, you take a jar next to you filled with coconut oil, courtesy of Pavitr. “Well, it's true. It's looking good.”

“Really? Not patchy?” He sniffs, calloused palms running down your legs.

“Nope, looks like George and Miles did a good job fixing it.” You try to open the jar but it doesn't budge.

“Think we can put somethin' like shells in it? Like before?” He thumbs a loose thread on the hem of your trousers.

“I think we can try.” You struggle and he hears it as he gestures for you to give him the jar. Handing it to him, he opens it with less effort. “Thanks, speaking of George…”

“What ‘bout him now?” His annoyance ebbs away the moment you carefully run the coconut oil on his scalp. “Did you get to talk to him?”

“Yes.” Gently, you massage the slick thick oil into his scalp, fingers twisting around every curly hair strand. “I know you don't like him, but try not to curse his name again.”

He inhales once you brush your lips against the shell of his ear. “...Fine, what'd he do?”

“He's planning on leaving—”

“What?” Hobie's head swivels to look at you. “Why? How'd she react?”

With a deep inhale, you tell him exactly what the older man told you. “I guess he just doesn't want to see his daughter get hurt again.”

“That's fuckin' bullshit.” He says through gritted teeth, shaking his head.

“It is. But it's still his decision.” You gently tilt his head back around with your wrist so that you don't accidentally wipe oil on his chin. “We can't keep him here if he doesn't want to, at the same time…” biting the inside of your cheek, you pause for a moment and then continue. “We can't keep Gwen here either if she decides to come with him.”

Hobie clenches his jaw but deflates almost immediately. “‘m guessin’ he hasn’t told her yet.”

“No, not yet.” The cool oil trickles down your arm as you generously spread it above his nape.

“What if she leaves?” His grey eyes flick towards you, hand wrapped around your ankle protectively.

“Then we let her, as much as we don't want to see her go.” Your heart clenches at the thought.

“Yeah,” he sighs out, head ducked to give you space to work. “Men like him—” his grey eyes swim with sorrow. “Fathers.” He scoffs, untying your shoes and you let him take it off your feet. “They’re all the bloody same.”

“What do you mean by that?” Closing the jar, you grab a silk scarf found in one of the wardrobes here, probably your aunt's, and place it around his head, carefully tying it at the back.

“Nothin’” He shakes his head, patting down the scarf on his head and twisting around to face you. “We have to talk ‘bout your shoes, love.”

You click your tongue and grin as he lifts the thin shoe up. “We haven't exactly stopped by a town to shop around for new shoes.”

Hobie places the pair neatly next to his boots, right beside the bed. Then he places his chin on your knee, fondly staring up at you. “I'll get you a new pair, a nice one that won't let you slip on nothin’. And a new dagger too.” He reaches behind you and grabs a vial of ointment as he taps your hand, to which you open your dry palms for him.

“I'm sorry that I keep losing them.” You let him rub the ointment around the dried and cracked skin on your palms. He's careful and his warm fingers help spread the thick ointment better, melting it all over your skin as his fingers massage it over your lifeline.

He chuckles, reminiscing where the first dagger he gave you now lies. “And jus’ like what I told you back then, I'll keep gettin’ you a new one. A hundred more if you want.”

You have no words or rhetoric for him, so you lean down and kiss the tip of his nose sweetly. And in response, he turns your palms towards him, thumbs rubbing along the inside of your wrists and bringing them towards his lips, kissing and praising the very hands that helped put him back together. His bird— his peace that calms the storm inside him.

The grey eyes in the shade of a lingering rain cloud gazes up at you, soft lips pressing a kiss with each staggered breath you let out.

“You'll be the death of me, Hobart Brown.”

“I hope not, trouble.” Smiling against your pulse, with the scent of aloe and chamomile wafting over your nose, he leans away and closes your palms for you. “Leg up.” Patting your leg, you bring your heel atop his thigh as he takes the same ointment and gently folds your pant leg for you, revealing the scar where his bullet met your flesh.

You watch with fond eyes as he runs his knuckles over the raised skin, then down to your ankle that never fully healed. “Are you going to keep admiring my leg or—?”

“Am I…” something passes by his stormy eyes, thumb carefully spreading the ointment on the bullet scar. “‘m sorry.”

“Hobie,” your heart aches at his sullen expression. “I told you a hundred times before, and I'll keep saying it to you over and over again, I forgive you. You could shoot me in the foot right now and I'll still forgive you.”

“That's it though, love.” Swallowing thickly, the pads of his fingers hover above your ankle, as if he's not worthy of touching you. “You'll keep forgivin’ me, no matter how many times I shoot at someone, how many people I kill—” he inhales, and he sees his hands caked in crimson. “You’ll always look at me like this, like ‘m made of stars.”

You take his face in your hands, gentle like you're holding water in your palms, careful not to spill all his love for you on the floor but tender enough to let him know that you're right there with him— like how the moon is there for the tides. A companion, a lover, someone to help stave off the raging hurricane inside him.

Your eyes grant him that same love he harbours for you. “My love for you isn't a reward for good behaviour.” Hobie gazes at you through glassy eyes. “I know you, all of you, the good and the bad. I stayed for both, loved all sides of you. Never have I thought that you weren't worthy of me. I'm just glad you let me in, that you let me know you.”

“If I was good—”

“You are every bit of good in this world, Hobie.”

“Better, if I was better— I jus’” His hands grip your shirt. He hopes that if he's ever judged in the afterlife, he'd end up in the same place as you are, or at least let him visit you, knowing that you'll go somewhere better than the place where he'll spend eternity in. “I look at you and I ask myself, ‘what did I do to deserve this?’ To deserve all this good, and yet I let you do all this bad shit.”

“Hobie, my thick headed pirate captain.” You coo with a smile, earning a small smile from him. “I had every opportunity to leave, and every time, I chose you, I chose the crew, and I chose to do all of that without coercion. This is where I belong. I’m not an angel either, we did it to live.” Your lips press to his forehead, letting it ease him further. The night brings worries to everyone it seems, not just you. “Nothing matters, just this.” Just this life that you'll choose every time. Even if it means you won't live to see forty, it'll be a good one, a well lived life and not everyone can say that.

Hobie moves closer, cheek pressed to your chest, arms wrapped around you. He's not just a pirate captain right then, just Hobie, a man trying to live his life without regrets, a man carrying the world on his shoulders. Just a man who's trying to love you the way he thinks you deserve.

The three words fall from his lips, muffled by your shirt as he melts in your arms. Back folded, you lean down to meet his lips, whispering the words back before showing the love you have for him right in the ship your family has owned for generations.

—

“Love.”

You sniff the air, coconut and sea salt permeating around you. Eyes still closed, you move closer to his warmth as the cold of the sea tries to smother you in the captain's bed.

Hobie chuckles, knuckles gently tracing along the curve of your spine whilst you're curled around him. “C’mon, you'll miss it.” His voice is deep with sleep.

“You keep massaging me like that as if it'll help in waking me up.” Your muffled words have him laughing quietly in the cold of dawn. Hand paused and now spread across the small of your back, gently poking you with a ringed finger.

“We’re ‘ere.”

Cracking one eye open, the first thing you see is his face painted in ocean blue. The sky hasn't fully woken up just like you have, the remnants of night still twinkling just outside the ship. The sea feels calm while the ship gently rocks in the waves, as if it's cradling you to fall asleep.

“Morning, captain.” Your voice cackles with sleep. “We're at where?”

Hobie chuckles softly, hand brushing away the hair off your pretty face. “Mermaid’s head, scuttlebutt. Time to become a pirate.”

You hum, hugging him closer, face nuzzling his bare chest. “Five minutes.”

“Don't make me carry you upstairs.”

“That sounds nice.” Your tone drifts off, and as the bed shifts, you think that he's about to leave but the way you feel his warmth above, he's not surrendering. The swinging black pearl brushes along the curve of your jaw, making you smile.

He flings your shirt above your stomach, and before you could flinch away, knowing what he's about to do, he places his frozen hands right on your belly.

Jumping awake, you almost hit your head on the ceiling as he cackles, wiggling his fingers menacingly.

“Fuck you and your weirdly cold hands!” Back hitting the wall, you point at him accusingly while he's still wiggling his hands and slowly moving closer. “Stop! I'm already awake!”

With a victorious guffaw, he jumps off the bed and extends a hand out for you. “C’mon, you'll see why it's called the Mermaid's head.”

You slap his hand away, and he feigns a frown. “Don't touch me with those icicles you call hands.”

“Please, you like these icicles all over you.” You just glare at him in return. “And ‘ere I thought I was supposed to be the grumpy one in the mornin’”

He scrunches his nose, eyes following you as you put on your shoes and clean the sleep off your face with the water basin in the corner. Judging by how warm it still is, Hobie just refilled it for you, waking up earlier than he was supposed to just to make sure that you have warm water to wash your face with.

Handing you a towel, he leans against the bannister of the bed as water splashes on your face. He wants to always have mornings like these, for your voice be the first thing he ever hears, and for him to wake up tangled in your limbs. He hopes that mornings with you will forever be like this as he twirls his fingers around the cool black pearl tied around his neck.

“What?” You ask, eyes still laden with sleep as you wipe your face. “Stop ogling and let's go.” With a giggle, you drop your angry façade and take his hand towards the door.

“Wait,” digging his heels in, he pulls you against him, pecking each of your cold cheeks and then placing a saccharine kiss on your lips that'll put honey to shame. “There, now ‘m ready.”

Fluttering your lashes in hopes you get another one, you smile victoriously when he moves in closer once again. Suddenly, you feel yourself getting lifted up from the floor and placed on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Hobie!” Your squeals fall on deaf ears as he cackles through the halls of the ship, definitely waking up the night shift from their slumber while he runs around, hauling you around until he gets on deck. “You little shit!”

Hobie drops you back to your feet, grinning widely like a schoolboy, who just commited mischief in class. You get a glimpse of what he was like when he was younger through his expression.

“Before you hit me,” as if you'd ever hit him with the sole purpose of hurting him and not for playing around. “Look behind you.” He twists you around with his cold hands on your shoulders, and as the sails part away in the breeze, you now see what all the fuss is all about.

A few miles away, situated in the backdrop of pink hues and cold blues, is a pair of lush islands, standing tall amidst the sea, a green pair of eyes right in the middle of all the ocean blue. The twins are connected by a rope bridge, and hidden within the smaller island is a shipwreck situated on top of it. You have no idea how that even got there, but you're too occupied with gawking at the larger piece of land. The stone façade seems to resemble a head, two eyes— or jagged holes adjacent to one another. A triangular nose and parted lips that opens up to a large port. The greenery above it spills over to the sides, acting like hair. Now you know how it got its name.

It's beautifully grotesque in a way, with every way you look at it, it does have a face of a woman carved into it. But the way you see it from where you stand, it's a hollowed skull welcoming you.

“Welcome to the Mermaid's head, scuttlebutt.”

Banners by @/cafekitsune

this was a redraw of something I drew a couple months ago btw