#pirate!silco
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To the Depths - Part Six - NSFW
(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader)
Promises and Pomegranates
AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4 - Part 5
Rating: Explicit/MDNI
Chapter Summary: You come face to face against an impossible creature and it royally screws with your understanding of reality. Will Silco help you?
Chapter Warnings/Tags: this chapter is SFW. Don't you worry, more smut is coming <3
A/N: Not beta'd because I'm trying to feed my momentum monster. She's starving and she's mean.
You stand in place, still staring up at the towering monster of living water. A part of your mind understands that it is about to snap at the ship like a wild animal but the thought is simply too impossible to comprehend.
“Torches!” Sevika shouts sharply enough to drag your attention back to the deck and crew. You are not the only one frozen with fear and disbelief. Most of the crew cannot seem to believe their eyes either.
“Torches!” Sevika snarls and shoves the nearest crewmember. This sends them scurrying off to illuminate the ship as much as possible. Your gaze drags back up the column of water to the beastly head and glowing eyes. Its neck reminds you somewhat of a snake, coiled to strike.
When its head darts forward toward the deck, you at least have the good sense to brace yourself. The beast thuds against the ship as though it is made of pure, solid matter. You are knocked clean off your feet, unable to stop yourself from colliding with the railing. Breath leaves your lungs in a sharp gust just in time for a rush of water to slam against your body.
Gasping, sputtering, and dazed, the only thing you can think to do is look for Silco but you don’t see him. An unexpected stab of pain blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with the physical blows your body just experienced.
He left you to fend for yourself.
You should not be surprised. Why would you expect anything different? So what if he danced with you and briefly participated in a conversation that didn’t consist of throwing insults at each other? That does not change the fact that you are a prisoner. Less than that, even. You’re a stolen commodity.
A lump rises in your throat and you tell yourself it’s because the pain in your right side is growing more intense by the moment. No other reason.
You know why you are here. You know where you stand.
The water creature lets out another shrill roar as its glowing eyes scan the deck. Your eyes follow the serpentine curve of its neck to where its body meets the deck and continues, rising over the railing, not unlike the way a snake’s body slides over a branch. Yet, as water pours off of its form, it never changes size.
It strikes again, aiming at Locke who manages to dive out of the way. Like before, the brace of its impact rocks the ship. This time, you are able to see the way water bursts from its body and rolls across the deck the way a rogue wave would roll across a calm sea.
What in the hell is it?
“Princess, you either need to get moving or get fighting. I don’t care which one you do. Just don’t get in the way.” Sevika brushes by you with a vicious look in her eyes as she attaches what looks to be some kind of miniature harpoon to the end of her mechanical arm.
You nod, though Sevika has already moved her attention back to the water creature.
“Bring its head down!” She barks at whoever is within earshot.
You try to make yourself move in any direction for any purpose but you simply can’t. Your mind is racing and grappling with the reality in front of you, leaving your body stuck in a state of awe and terror. It is only when a crewmate, the same one who nearly came to blows with Locke, crashes against the deck in front of you.
“Fuckin’ waterwyrms,” he grumbles as he scrambles to his feet just in time to avoid another wave rolling off the body of the beast.
A waterwyrm. An apt name that scratches along the outer edge of your frazzled memory. You cannot chase after it just now.
The clatter of metal pulls your attention and you realize a thick dagger has fallen from the belt of the swearing crewmate. You call out for him, realizing too late that you never learned his name. Not that it matters. You can’t see him anymore.
You reach for the dagger, figuring it’s better to arm yourself in one way or another while you decide what you’re going to do.
The storm the other day was frightening but familiar. You’d sailed through storms before. You knew what to do, to an extent and if you didn’t, the crew was there to set you right. But that isn’t the case now.
Only a handful of the crewmates crisscrossing the deck seem to know what they’re dealing with. The rest wear expressions you imagine are similar to the one on your face right now. You are not the only one out of your depth with this.
The dagger is heavier than you expected and, truth be told, you do not know how to wield it. The closest thing you’ve held to this is an engraved letter opener that you keep on your bedside table at home, just in case.
You struggle to decide whether or not to keep the dagger or discard it but you cannot remain rooted in place like this. You are completely unprotected. Once you find a bit of shelter, you can organize your thoughts, and pull yourself together.
A flickering instinct tugs at your mind. It whispers to you, urging you to find Captain Silco. He’s supposed to keep you from harm until you are returned safely to your father and fiance. That was the agreement.
A cruel stab of logic reminds you that not even Silco could offer absolute protection against a creature of myth and magic, especially not one that is determined to flood the ship with its watery form. Besides, Silco did not hesitate to abandon you once the waterwyrm rose from the black sea.
Another flash of hurt sears into your chest and you quickly replace the hurt with anger, unwilling to allow your ego to be bruised by that man more than it already has. Enough is enough. The familiar clarity of anger awakens the part of your mind that had gone hazy with shock at the sight of the waterwyrm.
You need to get to a safe place. Quickly. You flee, heading toward the stern, nearly tripping with every step as you do so. As much as you do not want to look at it, you keep your eyes fixed on the waterwyrm. Perhaps, if you were seeing it in a painting or sketch, you would find it beautiful but not here. Not when it’s real and dangerous and hell-bent on fracturing your reality. Things like this only exist in stories.
Then again, you thought Silco only existed in stories, and look how that has panned out for you.
With a soft groan, you keep moving forward. Even in the most dire of situations, the Captain still manages to snake his way to the forefront of your mind. The thought stokes your anger and you cling to it as you navigate around the scrambling crewmates and thrashing waterwyrm. It has slithered around to the port side of the ship, an equal distance from the bow and stern. This would be a good thing if you didn’t feel a spray of water coming from behind you. You look over your shoulder to see its watery, snake-like tail rising on the opposite side of the ship.
You’ve seen plenty of sketches of mythical krakens wrapping their tentacles around ships to squeeze them into splitters. Could a waterwyrm do such a thing?
The tail swings like a whip, heading right toward you. You dive forward, evading the tail but you’ve realized you’re now scrambling to find your footing right beside the great neck of the beast. You gaze up, tipping your face all the way back to look at its head. Its attention is drawn elsewhere, for the moment. Instead of moving away, you feel the weight of the dagger in your hand.
You look at the rippling, translucent body of the waterwyrm. Surely, if it is solid enough to perch on the deck as it wreaks havoc, it is solid enough to feel the pierce of a blade. Without thinking twice, you lift the dagger and stab it into the side of the waterwyrm. The dagger pieces its watery hide like a hot knife through butter.
It does…nothing.
No, that isn’t true. It’s done something. It’s gotten the beast's attention. The waterwyrm’s serpentine neck swivels and bends, bringing its head down until it is looking you right in the eye. Those blue orbs glow and shine like fire. It has no pupils but you know it’s looking right at you, into you.
With a low, gurgling hiss, it opens its mouth.
The anger that propelled you forward evaporates, leaving you with nothing but a cold, hollow sense of fear. You cannot move. You are vaguely aware that the dagger has slipped from your hand and has clattered onto the deck.
Every inch of your skin, every drop of blood, every bone screams at you to run but you can’t. You can’t look away from the waterwyrm’s eyes. Now you see the beauty of such a creature, though the notion is far from soothing.
You will be swallowed up by its hungry maw.
You wonder if it will kill you by drowning or if its teeth are more solid than they appear. You wonder which you’d prefer. Probably the latter. You’ve never seen someone drown, but enough of your father’s men have had close enough brushes with such a watery death that you know it’s unpleasant.
It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve pondered your own death. It always seemed like such a faraway thing. An inevitable thing, like a candle blowing out. You would be here and then you would be gone. You never gave much thought to what happened in between. The act of dying itself.
A crack rings out and it doesn’t fully register with you that something has happened before the waterwyrm’s head reels back. It snarls and snaps, howling with rage. Something bright and sparkling falls in front of your face.
“Yes!” Jinx’s delighted laugh is out of place with everything happening around you as she appears by your side. She scoops up the bright, shining thing. With a slow blink, you realize it’s one of the waterwyrm’s eyes. She slips it into her pocket. Its glow is so intense it shines through the fabric of her pants.
“You should probably move,” Jinx says, putting a hand on your shoulder and tugging you back toward the weather deck. “I just made that thing really angry and I still need the other eye.”
She turns you a little and gives you a small shove in the direction of the weather deck. There, at the top of the steps, you see Silco with a rifle in hand. As always, he looks eerily still amongst the chaos. His ocean eye is bright and focused as he watches the waterwyrm.
You dart forward and start to climb the stairs, but your legs have gone wobbly. You stumble near the top, reaching out and catching yourself on his leg to keep yourself from sliding down the steep steps.
“You’re alright, treasure.” You feel a large, gentle hand on the back of your head. “Stay right there. This will be over and done with soon.”
Several words leap into your mouth but none of them make it past your tongue. You find that you can do nothing but cling to his leg and hope his words ring true.
“Line it up for me, minnow,” Silco orders. You see a flash of blue as Jinx scrambles up the nearest mast and begins to wave and shout at the waterwyrm. The half-blind beast whips its head around, teeth bared and snarling with fury. You close your eyes, not wanting to look upon it anymore but that is worse. The moment you close your eyes, all you see is the waterwyrm bearing down on you, ready to devour you. Your eyes snap back open just as the waterwyrm strikes at Jinx. Its head moves into the perfect position for Silco to take the shot, and he does. Another crack rings out, shooting right into your bones. The second glowing eye comes loose. This time, Jinx is able to catch it before it hits the deck.
And then, you aren’t fully sure what happens. The waterwyrm moans weakly, its head swaying as it struggles to keep itself upright. It begins to collapse, as though it’s been mortally wounded rather than blinded. You cling harder to Silco’s leg, bracing for an impact that could be severe enough to damage the ship. Just before the waterwyrm’s limp body hits the deck, it melts into water. Thick droplets of seawater smash into the surface of the deck like a vicious rain, but that’s all that happens.
Your brow furrows with confusion before you look up at Silco. He sets the rifle aside before reaching down to help you to your feet. Around you, the crew checks for damage to the ship. Some look exhausted and annoyed. Most look as confused as you feel. Sevika looks as though she’s just eaten a whole lemon. You briefly wonder what she must have seen in her life for something like the waterwyrm to be considered little more than an inconvenience.
“Those glowing stones gave life to the water,” Silco explains, his voice gentle and filled with patience that makes something hurt inside of your chest. “Remove the stones, remove the problem. The stones are very valuable as well, as you can probably imagine.”
You nod, though it’s a jerky, automatic response to his words. You hear them. You know what you saw. But your mind just refuses to accept that something like that can exist in your world.
“Are you hurt?” Silco keeps speaking to you in that low, gentle voice. You hate it. You don’t want to see that softness in him. You don’t want it to steady you or soothe you.
“I’m fine,” you manage, though you’re not certain that’s the truth. You feel like you are going to keel over at any second.
“You’re bleeding.” Jinx glides up to your side, ever the helpful little wraith, and lightly touches your arm. Sure enough, there is a gash stretching nearly from elbow to wrist on the underside of your forearm. You can’t even feel it, though you decide that’s a good thing for now.
“Get her down to the doctor, minnow.” Silco’s good eye fills with something you refuse to acknowledge as regret, possibly even worry, when he looks at the wound on your arm.
“So much for not allowing damage to your cargo,” you mutter as you let Jinx lead you below deck. She takes you to the bottom level of the ship. You pass dozens of hammocks strung up and layered over each other as well as an assortment of trunks and personal belongings.
“Do you sleep down here?” You ask her.
“I bunk on my own,” Jinx explains, but does not offer more details.
You pass three iron cells, each fitted with several pairs of shackles. They are all empty and, thankfully, look as though they’ve been empty for a while. You briefly wonder if you were meant to occupy one of the cells. Why did Silco insist on watching over you so closely when he could have thrown you down here and been done with it?
Just past the cells is a solid wall made from spare bits of wood. Though it looks sturdy enough, it’s quite slapdash. Gaps between planks allow you to see glimpses into the room beyond. The wood bulges and indents in strange ways. With a small start, you realize the wall is made of pieces of other ships. Perhaps, ships the Zaun’s Revenge attacked and scuttled while looking for goods.
There are two crude doors set into the makeshift wall.
“I sleep there.” Jinx points to one of the doors. Its placement against the wall implies that it’s the smaller of the two rooms. She points to the other door. “That leads to the laboratory. It’s best if you wait for me or the Captain to bring you down here if you ever have a need to see the doctor.”
“Oh?”
“He’s nice, usually,” Jinx shrugs. “But he gets very annoyed if his work is interrupted. He’ll always help you if you need it, though.”
Jinx raps her knuckles against the door. Through the gaps in the slats, you see warm candlelight but also some kind of glowing, purplish light you cannot envision a source for. There is no answer from inside the laboratory but that doesn’t stop Jinx from pushing in.
The room is small, though the curved hull of the ship that makes up one wall allows for a little extra space. All manner of indistinguishable items have been cleverly stored where the room comes together to form the underside of the bow.
Tucked against the curved wall is a desk cast in shadow by a tall, thin figure whose black coat seems to eat the light around him. Shelves fitted to the curve of the hull contain jar after jar of that strange purple powder. The jars glow faintly in the darkness of the room.
The man does not look up from his desk nor does he acknowledge the presence of two new people in the cramped space.
“This is where I work on projects.” Jinx taps a cluttered workbench stocked to the point of overflowing with metal bits and bobs, screws, nuts, bolts, and plenty more objects that you can’t identify. The walls around her workbench are covered in sketches and schematics, designs of a mechanical nature. You spot a page with the words ‘MAGNETIC CANNONBALL’ scrawled across the top in big, messy letters surrounded by complex equations you can’t ever hope to untangle. The sight makes you smile a little.
“Mr. Doctor, we are in need of your assistance,” Jinx chirps and taps on the bony shoulder of the man. He glances back at her with a foggy look that is somehow both dazed and focused. He wears a cloth tied around the lower half of his face in some kind of makeshift mask.
“Hm,” he grunts softly before turning around to face you fully. You bite the inside of your cheek so you do not react to the severe burns covering the previously hidden side of his face. His other eye is surrounded by scar tissue so thick he can barely open it, which doesn’t seem to matter since the eye itself is a pale, milky color. Despite that, you can still make out dark hollows under both of his eyes.
His functional eye quickly examines your body, spotting the laceration on your arm.
“What happened there?”
You open your mouth to explain, but you aren’t actually sure how you injured yourself. “I’m not sure. I fell a few times during the waterwyrm’s attack.”
The doctor’s nonexistent eyebrows shift upward. “Waterwyrm?”
“Yes, one just gave us a hell of a fight.” Jinx’s eyes spark with pride. “Nothing we couldn’t handle though. It looks like everything held up in here just fine.”
She looks toward the shelves and she’s right. Despite the viciousness of the waterwyrm’s attack, not even a single pen looks as if it’s rolled out of place.
“Good, good,” he nods, taking a step forward on spindly legs. “Come into the light, please.”
You do as you are asked, holding out your arm for him to examine. His long fingers wrap around your wrist and put the icy grip of the reaper to shame with their coldness.
“You truly did not notice that the ship was under attack Mr…Doctor?”
“I have learned how to maintain focus in even the most unlikely situations. Besides, the Captain and crew are more than capable of handling any dangers the sea flings at us.” He chuckles softly, the sound reminiscent of scraping bones, before speaking again. “Singed. Only the little one calls me Mr. Doctor.”
Singed. Surely, that is not his true name. You find yourself staring at the ruin of his face until you remember yourself and force your eyes down.
“It’s quite alright,” Singed says as he moves to one of the heavily stocked shelves and retrieves squares of pristine white cloth and two glass vials each the size of your thumb. “For all of my faults, vanity was never one of them.”
He holds up the first vial filled with clear liquid. “Clean your wound with this first and wait for the bleeding to stop.” He holds up the second vial, half filled with liquid the same vibrant purple as the powder. “This will encourage healing. I suggest you ask the Captain for assistance. It is most potent in its liquid form.”
“But what is it?” You ask softly, taking both of the vials as well as the scraps of clean cloth.
“Have you received advanced education in biology, chemistry, anatomy, pathology, and alchemy?”
Your eyes widen. “I have not.”
“Then all you need to know is that this is something that will help you.” There is a slightly condescending tone in the doctor’s voice but you don’t have the energy to let it pinch your pride.
“We call it shimmer,” Jinx says with a helpful smile.
“You call it shimmer,” Singed corrects, turning his attention back to his desk. “That is an inaccurate and purely cosmetic name.”
“It’s catching on with the crew so you should get used to it,” Jinx shrugs before ushering you out of the cramped laboratory.
“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder but Singed is already engrossed in his work once more. You follow Jinx above deck, staring at the little vial of glowing purple liquid. The crew has largely recovered from dealing with the waterwyrm. Considering the violence of the attack, it did little damage to the ship.
“Oh, rats!” Jinx groans softly, lightly placing her fingers over the glowing stones in her pocket. “I forgot to give these to Mr. Doctor.” She hurries back below deck, leaving you alone. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful for the solitude or not.
Your mind still feels caught, stretched thin over the gap between what you thought you knew and what you now know to be true. You move toward the Captain’s cabin without thinking about it.
There are stones that somehow bring water to life. You grew up listening to myths and legends from all corners of the world. While many were soaked in magic and impossibility, you also knew the ocean still held many secrets and mysteries. You just didn’t think the secrets would be so close to the myths.
Desperate for something to occupy your mind, you dig through your memories for scraps of any myth containing the waterwyrm. Nothing comes to mind. Frustrated, you push into the Captain’s cabin to find it empty. Both relief and disappointment settle like stones on your chest. You toss the stone of disappointment away and will yourself to be happy for a moment to tend to your wounds alone.
While the bed looks welcoming, you choose to perch on the desk instead. You briefly consider sitting in Silco’s chair but you can’t bring yourself to do it.
It’s…his. Somehow, sitting in that chair feels more intimate than sharing a bed.
You place the vials and the cloth on an empty part of the desk.
Heat rushes to your cheeks as the image of your hands intertwined with his, bent over the desk, as he took you from behind fills your mind. Something tugs low in your belly as the need for a distraction attempts to disguise itself as desire.
Your upper lip curls in forced disgust, but you cannot summon any anger behind the motion. You call your anger over and over, wishing to wrap yourself in it to shield yourself from the strange feelings fighting to form within you. It does not come.
With a slow, deep breath, you turn your attention to the clean cloth squares and the first vial of clear liquid. You open it and take a sniff. It’s nothing more than a simple disinfectant if your nose is to be trusted.
Singed instructed you to ask the Captain for help with the shimmer. Even if the idea of asking Silco for help was palatable, you aren’t sure you want to put shimmer anywhere near an open wound without a better understanding of what it is.
You soak one of the cloths in a small amount of disinfectant and brace yourself as you press it to your wound. The stinging pain rips through you, far worse than the pain of the injury itself.
Tears prick at the backs of your eyes and you go stone still, keeping the cloth pressed to your wound. The threat of tears has allowed a tiny spark of anger to rise. You clutch those sparks hard and throw them against the feeling your tears wish to bring forth. The sting grows until you can’t stand it anymore.
Just as you remove the cloth from your wound with a small sound of frustration and anguish, the cabin door opens.
“There you are.” Silco steps into the room and lets the door swing shut behind him. He locks it with mindless movements as his eye focuses on the sight of you sitting on the edge of his desk. Worry flickers behind his ocean eye. “What are you doing?”
“The kind doctor gave me something to patch myself up with.” You hold up the cloth as though it’s obvious. “The experience has been less than pleasant.”
“Have you ever had to tend to a wound like that before?” He asks, that horrible softness returning to his voice as he approaches you.
“I think you know the answer to that.” You try to put a little bite in your voice but fail to do so.
“Perhaps, but I’ve learned several times now that underestimating you is a foolish thing to do.” He takes the cloth from your hand without a word and frowns. “Did you dilute this at all?”
Your cheeks feel hot. “The doctor didn’t mention that I’d need to do so.”
Silco removes the seal on the water pitcher near the vanity and wets the cloth before adding a drop or two of the disinfectant. “This will get the job done and sting far, far less.”
You hold out your hand to take the cloth but he ignores it. He moves close once more and holds your injured arm in his free hand before gently cleaning the rest of the gash. The sting is still there, but its bite is far less vicious. You find that you are able to breathe with some normalcy again, though something heavy still sits on your chest.
“Ah,” Silco murmurs as he spots the vial of shimmer. “Excellent.”
“I don’t want…whatever that is,” you say quickly.
“It’s perfectly safe when administered correctly, I assure you.” He opens the vial and the cabin is soon filled with a sweet, medicinal scent that makes your nose tingle. “I use it every day.”
You tilt your head. “You do?”
He meets your gaze before bringing his fingertips to the scars around his ruined eye. “It is the only thing that keeps the infection from progressing. It dulls the pain as well. I wouldn’t be fit to man a rowboat let alone captain a vessel without it.”
“Oh.” Your gaze dips to the vial in his hand before falling silent.
Silco leans forward, bending down a little so his face is level with yours. “What, no quips? Surely, you can think of some remark to make about such a substance turning me inhuman.”
You say nothing.
“Not even a little jab at my charming personality and wonderful temperament?” There is a teasing lilt to his voice but that softness still remains.
You shake your head. You aren’t in the mood to trade barbed remarks, not that your mind would cooperate with you if you were.
Silco sighs softly and returns his attention to the shimmer vial. He moves away from you for a moment to fish something out of one of the desk drawers. You hear something clinking and glance over from the corner of your eye. He holds a small glass eyedropper, which he cleans thoroughly with the remaining disinfectant.
“This will make it easier,” he explains. “You really won’t need more than a drop or two.”
“Will…?” You start to ask but you swallow your question down, hoping he’ll be gracious enough to pretend you hadn’t spoken at all.
“Will what, treasure?” He finishes cleaning the eyedropper and dries it off before giving you an expectant look.
“Will it hurt?” The sting of the disinfectant nearly brought you to tears. Another strike of pain would be too much for you to fight through and you were not going to cry. Certainly, not in front of Silco.
“Yes, but it’s an unusual sort of pain,” he explains. “It’s intense, but it’s quick. A bit like someone flashing a bright light in your eyes unexpectedly. Your senses will feel scrambled but, like I said, it’s quick.”
He loads up the eyedropper with just two drops of the violent purple liquid and takes hold of your arm once more. He looks at you, waiting for permission. You nod.
A single shining drop falls from the end of the eyedropper onto your wound. You feel a tingling sensation for a fraction of a moment before something unlike anything you’ve ever felt before wracks through your body. Too much air is crammed into your lungs yet it also feels as though the wind has been knocked from your chest. Your veins feel as though they widening and narrowing, wriggling beneath your skin. It’s unbearable.
And then it’s gone.
You gasp hard and brace on the desk.
“Easy, treasure,” Silco’s voice tethers you to reality.
Your mind scrambles to right itself. You feel exposed, vulnerable. Your anger has failed you so you fight to call forth anything else that will shield you from the terrible weight on your chest and the tightness in your throat.
His quick hands wrap your forearm in soft, clean bandages before you have a chance to see what your wound looks like now. Already, you note the absence of physical pain.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of your shirt. Tears spring forth but you quickly scoot off the desk to stand in the middle of the room, out of his reach.
“I’m rather tired.” You keep your back to him as you blink and blink and blink.
“I imagine so.” His boots thud against the wooden floor as he moves to stand behind you but he does not try to touch you again. “You’ve had quite a fright.”
Once again, you feel a tiny spark of your anger ignite but it’s not enough to catch fire and burn away the terrible feeling that creeps in around you. You are not yet in control of your emotions enough to speak, to deny his words.
“Most of the crew is in the same boat as you are, so to speak,” he says. “Waterwyrms are incredibly rare. I’ve only seen three, myself. Seeing something like that for the first time can be rattling.”
“I am not rattled,” you hiss. You clench your hands into fists to hide how much they shake as you move toward the bed. You sit down and fumble with the lacings of your boots until you’re able to shuck them off. “I’m tired.”
For a moment, Silco looks as though he’s going to press the matter. A small part of you, one that you’d like to squash beneath your heel, wishes he would.
He takes a half step back and nods. “Get some sleep, then. You’ve earned it.”
He takes a seat at his desk and goes through the motions of clipping and lighting a fresh cigar. The warm, spiced smell of it banishes the lingering scent of disinfectant and shimmer from the cabin. Something in your chest loosens, but you’re not sure if it’s a good thing.
You slip out of your breeches and crawl under the covers, pressing yourself as close to the wall as you can with your back to Silco. The only sounds in the room are the faint scratching of his pen across parchment and his soft exhales whenever he takes a puff of his cigar. It’s not enough to hold your focus.
Your mind begins to spin again. Your heart slams against your ribs but you tell yourself it’s nothing more than your body responding to the shimmer.
You are not rattled. You are not frightened. You can handle this. You have handled everything life has flung cruelly into your path and you will continue to do so. You will remain in control, just as you always have.
But you know that’s not true. The words float through your mind like a lullaby despite the threat they pose to your quickly fracturing resolve. It’s never been true.
It becomes harder to keep your breathing slow and even. That horrible feeling continues to tighten its grip around your throat, growing stronger and stronger until you fear you won’t be able to break loose. You won’t be able to keep it at bay. You’ll have to feel it and know the truth of it.
You are not rattled. You are not frightened.
You’re terrified.
And the moment you let yourself feel that terror, you’ll be lost.
Fear claws at your throat and sits on your chest, prepared to suffocate you. Already, you can feel it seeping through your skin and stealing your breath.
Fear has come for you before, but you fought it off. It pounced on you the day your mother died but you evaded it, letting grief shield you. It tried to ambush you again the day your father abandoned you at the family estate but your anger was so great and so fierce that fear could not touch you.
Now, your grief was a quiet, content creature resting near your heart alongside the memory of your mother. And your anger…where was it? How could it have abandoned you and left you so vulnerable?
There had to be something you could do. Fear would not reach you this time. It never had and it never will.
Not true. Not true. Not true. The words skitter across your brain, less gentle than they were before.
You fight the urge to scream, choosing to bite the inside of your cheek instead. It's no use. The truth has started to seep through the cracks of your mind and you have nowhere left to run. No place to hide.
How close will you allow yourself to come to madness for the sake of clinging to such a fragile illusion?
You only believed yourself to be capable because you had never faced a true challenge. Now that you had, now that you stared the waterwyrm in the eyes and saw death, you can no longer hide from what you are. A small, scared, stupid girl who doesn’t know a single thing about the world.
You do not have the strength or skills to survive on your own without your father’s money and protection. If you fled your engagement, you might as well forfeit your life. If you allowed yourself to be caged within the gilded bars of marriage and societal expectations, you would never feel alive again.
One way or another, death surrounds you. It does not matter if it’s a death of your body or a death of your spirit. Both are equally devastating in your eyes. There is no escape.
You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood as you keep fighting the cold sense of fear that tries to wrap you in its embrace. You can’t give in to it. You can’t allow yourself to feel it. You’d never be able to pull yourself out if you did. You don’t bother trying to call on your anger to help you keep fear at bay. You realize now that it did not abandon you. You’ve simply burned it all up.
Only the faintest scrap of pride allows you to hold yourself together. If you are going to fall apart, it will not be on this damn ship surrounded by these damn pirates.
You are so caught up in your own mind that you do not realize Silco has moved until you feel the bed shift beside you. You stay still, pretending to be asleep, not that it matters. Aside from your failed attempt to bring yourself some relief last night, Silco keeps his distance from you in bed.
He shifts and rolls a bit before he seems to settle. Thinking he has fallen asleep, you allow your mind to resume its heavy task of stopping your fears from consuming you.
A hand presses against your back. Your breath catches in your throat and it takes every bit of your frayed self-control to keep up the act of pretending to sleep.
“Brave girl,” comes Silco’s soft whisper, so quiet you are unsure if you were meant to hear those words or not.
Warmth spreads across your back, radiating from his palm. If you focus, you can feel the shape of every long, thin finger. It may be exhaustion, the shimmer, or the fact that you had your toe over the line of madness just a moment ago but you swear you feel him pressing against your back with every breath you take. His movements, if he’s moving at all, are slow and faint. When you feel him press, you extend your exhale. When he lightens the pressure, you inhale. Over and over until your breathing slows and your heart calms.
The urge to check if he’s awake or say his name gently pulls at you, but you let it pass. The peace of this moment is a fragile, hard-won thing that you aren’t ready to give up. Besides, if he actually is asleep and this is all in your head, you’d rather keep that to yourself. You continue to breathe slowly, focused on the way his hand feels against your back, and eventually allow sleep to take you.
********
When you wake, you roll over to find an empty bed. You open your eyes, expecting to see Silco sitting at his desk like he usually does but he isn’t there. A small amount of relief fills you. You’re spared from confronting him after…whatever that was last night.
Maybe you sent yourself into such a deep state of distress that you imagined it. But then that means that you imagined him for comfort, which might be worse.
Your mind still feels clouded and sluggish as you dress and leave the cabin. Above deck, the air is still and there is not a cloud in the sky. The Zaun’s Revenge bobs gently on a calm sea. To the west, you spot a strip of land but no distinguishing landmarks that might tell you where you are. Your eyes scan the deck for Silco, but you do not see him. There does not seem to be any work to be done so you head below deck to the galley.
Arlo has already started preparing for the evening meal, causing you to realize just how late you’ve slept in. You offer to help, he accepts. Soon, you are chopping onions. Your eyes burn and your mincing skills leave much to be desired, but your mind is occupied. Plus, you are learning something new. That always makes you feel better, more in control of yourself.
“You seem a bit out of sorts,” Arlo says. “Something on your mind?”
“That waterwyrm has rudely forced me to reexamine my understanding of the world and my place in it,” you answer. “It’s been horribly inconvenient.”
“Oh, I see. That happened to me the first time I saw something like that. It wasn’t a waterwyrm, though. The carcass of an ushkya floated to the surface. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
“A what?” You hope you won’t regret asking.
“An ushkya. Merfolk use them similar to the way humans use horses. They’re actually quite gentle by nature. I’ve seen a few wild ones before. Their fangs make them look scarier than they are. I’d go as far as to say they’re more docile than horses.”
Your mouth drops open. You regret asking. “I am not in a position to take in that information.”
“Fair. How are you getting along with those onions?”
“Badly, I’m afraid.” You dab at your onion tears with the back of your hand. “I hope you like a bit of a rough chop.”
“It’ll do just fine. You aren’t cooking for the Council,” he chuckles and rests an affirming hand on your shoulder. “Keep at it. I have plenty of work for you when you’re done.”
Time ticks by in the kitchen as you and Arlo take turns teaching each other things. It will be a while before he can read properly, but he knows how certain words look written down, which is an excellent start. The two of you make a plan to redo all of the labels in the scullery. Having a plan like that makes you smile. It’ll keep you occupied during the days and will hopefully make your imprisonment pass quicker.
“Ah, so is this where I can expect to find you when you vanish from the cabin?” At the sound of Silco’s voice, you are flooded with memories of his hand on your back. You can feel the pressure between your shoulders as you turn around to face him.
“If I say yes, does that mean the longboats will be left unattended?” You fire back.
“Glad to see the stress of last night has not dulled your wit. You’re going to need it.”
“Why?”
“We’re going ashore. I have to meet with an associate of mine and I know better than to leave you to your own devices.” A small smirk twitches in the corner of his mouth but it is not accompanied by the usual mean glint in his eye.
“Scared I’ll ambush you with another oar attack, pirate?” You say, moving out of the kitchen with an indifferent look though you are glad to be back in the familiar territory of banter and quick remarks.
“If I remember correctly, I was the one who snuck up on you,” he says.
“But my first instinct was still to give you a good whack,” you point out, earning a quiet chuckle from him.
“True.”
Silco starts to lead you out of the galley but you pause and look over your shoulder.
“Will you get on without me, Arlo?” you ask.
“I’ll be fine. We can start our labeling project when you return if you’re up for it.” Arlo’s gaze darts to Silco and his face pales a little bit. “With the Captain’s permission, of course.”
You turn your head and look up at Silco, arching a brow.
“Hm,” he mutters before ushering you above deck. He lowers his head so his mouth is close to your ear. “Should I be concerned by how well you are ingratiating yourself with my crew?”
“Probably,” you shrug. “Do I need to put on that beloved harlot costume again?”
“Beloved indeed,” he chuckles lowly. “But no. Port Squawkfeather is not quite as…colorful as Port Fairna. You are perfectly fine as you are. Unless, of course, you secretly liked playing the harlot and wish to do so again.”
“Hold your breath and find out.” You smile sweetly before turning your attention to the port in question.
“Ever the charmer.” Silco stands by your side as the Zaun’s Revenge docks and the gangplank is lowered.
Despite its unusual name, Port Squawkfeather looks orderly and clean for a pirate haven. From what you can see, there is some form of authority patrolling the docks and the shore. They bear a discreet insignia that looks strikingly similar to a waterwyrm.
The small port town is clustered on a spit of land between a narrow, pebbly beach and sandstone rock formations that vary in height. A few structures stand on plateaus scattered across the cliff faces, but most of the buildings appear to be concentrated around the mouth of the port.
“What business do you have here?” You ask, glancing at Silco from the corner of your eye. You don’t expect an answer but you can’t help but ask. Silco is certainly making quite a few stops for someone with a valuable hostage underfoot.
“I’m sure you recall the blue stones that served as the waterwyrm’s eyes. I plan to sell them. They are extremely valuable,” he replies. “Even more valuable than you.”
“I am worth less than a pair of glowing rocks?” You scoff.
“These are not just rocks. The power they contain is unlike anything else in the world. Those stones contain pure arcane energy.”
“And you would sell them to the highest bidder?” You arch a brow.
“Of course. I do not have the resources to harness their power myself so I may as well make a profit from them.”
He offers his arm, which you take, and the two of you disembark.
“Are you going to make me sit in your lap in a dingy tavern again?” You ask.
“No,” he replies. “You aren’t wearing a skirt. I won’t be able to have any fun.”
His words bring a hot blush to your cheeks. You fix your gaze straight ahead and hope he does not notice. Once more, you feel the ghost of his hand on your back, guiding you through your breaths.
The entrance of the docks feeds into a well-maintained dirt road that leads right to a lively market. Instead of walking down that road, Silco cuts to the left and walks along the shore for a time.
“I hope you can handle a small climb, treasure,” he says before turning off the path onto a thin trail that snakes up the side of a sandstone formation. “I won’t carry you if you feel faint.”
“I’d rather be left in the dust than rely on you to carry me,” you reply, though a touch of worry reaches your heart. You nibbled on a few things while assisting Arlo, but you haven’t had a proper meal since last night’s dinner.
The trail isn’t steep but it snakes back and forth along the side of the cliff, carrying you higher and higher with each twist. The trail dips into a valley dotted with scraggly bushes before traveling up the side of another sandstone formation.
Sweat breaks out across your forehead and your throat feels scratchy and dry, but you don’t say anything. Silco doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear. It’s unlikely he has anything on his person that can relieve your discomfort so there is no point in opening yourself up to ridicule, especially after he saw you in such a vulnerable state last night.
It is a hot day and the air is dry. Your legs ache from walking at an incline for so long. As much as you want to ask Silco for a moment to stop and catch your breath, you push onward.
Each step gives you a frail sense of reassurance.
You aren’t weak. You aren’t helpless. You’re capable.
Even as your lungs burn and sparks tease the corners of your vision, you take comfort in your ability to keep pushing.
You are resilient.
The panic brought on by the waterwyrm was a fluke. A perfectly reasonable lapse in judgment, all things considered.
You are fine. You have always been fine. You will continue to be fine.
Is there not something better than fine? That wicked little voice whispers to you but you shut it out. Now is not the time. You must focus all of your energy on not collapsing on this forsaken trail.
“Steady now, treasure. Our destination is atop the plateau, just there.” Silco seems a little out of breath himself when he gestures to where the path curves just up ahead.
“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply, ignoring the slight wheeze in your voice as you speak. If Silco noticed, he has enough grace to refrain from commenting on it.
You round the bend and the land flattens. Straight ahead, the path extends into a flat stretch that overlooks the port below and the ocean beyond. To the left, there is a small, slapdash house that looks to be made of driftwood, thatch, and other salvaged materials but that isn’t what captures your attention. The trees surrounding the home are filled with brilliant-colored parrots. Their feathers are a deep ruby shade that almost seems unnatural. They chitter and squawk as you and Silco approach. They fix you in their beady gazes but do nothing.
Now you know how Port Squawkfeather got its name.
“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” You ask, moving a little closer to Silco.
“An old associate of mine,” Silco says.
Just before he knocks on the door, another parrot flutters over and perches on a specially-made stand near the door. Unlike the others, this parrot is a deep azure, blue as the sea.
“Oooh, visitors!” It screeches as it flaps its wings. “Get your ass out here, ya drunk!”
“Good heavens,” you chuckle softly at the bird. “I wonder where he learned to say such a thing.”
“You’re about to find out, treasure.”
The door to the driftwood cabin flings open and in the doorway stands the oddest man you have ever seen. Spindly legs support a bloated belly that leads to narrow shoulders and skinny arms. He wears a shirt of bold coral splashed with an assortment of random, vibrant colors that resemble tropical blooms. A hat of woven straw sits atop his head, blocking the sun from a leathery face and brilliant blue eyes that are almost white. He also wears trousers shorn choppily to knee-length. On his feet are sandals that look to be made of the same material as his hat.
“Captain Jimmy,” Silco says with a sense of familiarity and a warm smile. “You haven’t aged a day.”
“Damn right, I haven’t!” The man cackles. When Silco extends his hand for a shake, Captain Jimmy pulls him into a tight hug. “Glad to see you aren’t dead, my lad!”
You bite back a laugh at the display. Silco looks like a cat that has just been doused with cold water.
“I could say the same to you.” His discomfort is palpable and you see no reason to intervene. The azure parrot makes a squawking noise that sounds like a human chuckle. You glance at the bird with a fond smile. It gazes back at you as if it can read your thoughts. Its gaze is so intense that you find yourself looking away.
Silco has managed to extract himself from the eccentric man’s embrace. “I’m not here on a social call, I’m afraid. I have something for you.”
“Oh?” Captain Jimmy raises a bushy grey brow before sliding his gaze over to you. “Well, she’s pretty but I don’t deal in that sort of trade. You know that.”
“Oh! No,” Silco shakes his head and stammers. “Not her. She’s a different sort of investment.”
You huff with indignation at his choice of words but say nothing.
“I’d prefer to discuss this inside,” Silco presses.
“Shady deal! Shady deal!” The azure parrot screeches.
“Hush now, Barnaby!” Captain Jimmy snaps. “I know damn well Captain Silco brings me nothing but shady deals. You needn’t insult me by stating the obvious.”
The parrot looks abashed. You did not know a parrot could convey such an expression.
“Come in,” Captain Jimmy steps to the side and ushers you and Silco into his home.
The inside of the small home reminds you of Silco’s cabin. It is crammed to the gills with interesting baubles, trinkets, and artifacts.
You try to hide your surprise when Captain Jimmy waits for the blue parrot, Barnaby, to fly into the sitting room. The parrot settles on a perch in the corner of the room.
“You look thirsty, lass,” Captain Jimmy says to you. “May I offer you a refreshment?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” you say, summoning your most charming smile. Once Captain Jimmy has moved out of sight, you turn to Silco. “You should take notes in regards to manners.”
“Oh, I think I’ve been more than generous with you, treasure,” he murmurs with a glimmer in his eye. “At least, that’s the impression I got when you screamed my name-”
“Hush!” You snap just before Captain Jimmy returns carrying two hollowed-out coconuts.
“One for you and one for me, lass,” he grins, showing off several missing teeth.
“You’re too kind,” you say as you take in the fruity fragrances of the drink he offered. You take a sip and can’t help but sigh at the sensation of sweet flavors exploding on your tongue. “Oh, this is lovely! What is it?”
“A carefully curated and blended assortment of fruit juices from the surrounding land. Though it looks rather barren, this place is a treasure trove of natural wonder.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” you nod as you take another deep sip of the delicious juice. “I can’t imagine those parrots would stick around otherwise.”
Through the window, you can see clusters of ruby-red parrots chirping at each other and fluttering their striking wings.
“True enough!” Captain Jimmy cackles. “Shame I can’t get rid of this one.” He jerks a thumb toward Barnaby, who fluffs up his feathers as though he’s heard every word.
“Old bastard,” Barnaby croaks.
“Waste of poultry,” Captain Jimmy fires back.
Before you can comment on the odd exchange, Silco speaks up.
“As much as I’d like to chat, I am here for a reason.” He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a pouch. You recognize the faint blue glow bleeding through the fabric.
“What sort of trouble have you brought me now?” Captain Jimmy grumbles as he sets down his hollow coconut. You sip at your drink while Silco spills the two glowing blue stones into his palm.
“We ran into a waterwyrm and got these for our trouble,” he says. “Any chance you can give me gold in exchange for them?”
Captain Jimmy thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “No gold but I have a decent trade, I believe. Let me see.” He gets to his feet and walks toward an empty wall before pulling down a sheet of canvas covered in writing. There is so much information and you struggle to understand what you read.
You see a list of creatures listed out in a neat collum, the waterwyrm among them. When it is all laid out in front of you, you understand. The night in the tavern at Port Fairna, you believed Silco and his associates to be speaking in code. Now, you realize you were mistaken. Every mythical creature you heard mentioned that night is plastered on the canvas in front of you. If the waterwyrm is real, you cannot deny that the others must be real, too.
So, what does that make Silco? Is he a pirate? Does he poach creatures of myth for money? Is he more than that? Is he less than that?
“They’re all real?” You murmur softly, more to yourself than either of the men as you take another refreshing sip of the sweet juice.
“All these?” Captain Jimmy responds, rapping his bony knuckles against the canvas sheet. “Of course!” He shoots Silco a withering look. “Have you taught her nothing?”
“She has a talent for learning things on her own,” Silco replies.
You are too caught up in reading the list of creatures to throw a verbal barb back at Silco. At first, you’re pleased that you recognize most of the creatures listed from studying various mythologies but you quickly withdraw your enthusiasm.
After witnessing the waterwyrm, nothing should give you much of a shock but seeing just how many fairytales are actually true makes you feel uneasy. That horrible feeling of uncertainty and imbalance squeezes at your throat again. Your breath comes a little quicker but you hide it by taking quick sips of your drink. You feel lightheaded but you are determined to breathe through it.
“Would you like another drink, lass?” Captain Jimmy offers.
“Yes, thank you,” you say. “It is quite a trek to get to your hidden abode.”
Captain Jimmy takes your hollow coconut to refill it. When he’s out of sight, Silco places his hand over yours.
“Are you alright?” He asks.
“Just tired. Out of breath. I’m not used to walking over such challenging terrain,” you say. Silco’s good eye narrows just a touch and you can tell he doesn’t fully believe you. Before he can press the matter, Captain Jimmy returns.
“Here you are, lass. Careful now,” he cautions. “Few can handle more than three servings of my juice.”
“Why is that?” You ask before taking a long sip, allowing the sweetness to settle your nerves.
“Well, I mix it with the most potent rum found west of Ionia,” he replies. “It’s not for the faint of heart nor drink.”
You swallow your last swig and summon a smile. “Is that so? I can’t taste anything other than fruit juice.”
“That’s the trick of it,” Captain Jimmy lets out a wheezing laugh. “It sneaks up on you.”
“May we return to business, please?” Silco cuts in, a soft snarl in his voice. You fall silent, more than happy to let the attention move away from you.
Barnaby flutters over, his wings creating small gusts that send your loose hair flying.
“Drink up, pretty one,” he chitters. “Drink up!”
“You are a very clever bird,” you murmur to him. “Do you like to be pet?”
“Pretty lady pet pretty bird.”
“Oh, I see,” you chuckle softly and run a fingertip over Barnaby’s sapphire head. He rumbles softly as you lavish affection upon him.
“I don’t have enough gold to buy a mermaid’s wish, but I can arrange a trade.”
At the word mermaid, you return your attention to the conversation between Captain Jimmy and Silco. Silco’s upper lip twitches as he shakes his head.
“I need gold, Jimmy. I can’t go through the trouble of trade after trade,” he says.
Captain Jimmy frowns. “Then I can’t help you today, old friend. I can check up on some old contacts but you know that will take time.”
Silco goes silent for a moment. He looks at his hands as he appears to be lost in thought. After a while, he looks up. “No trades, but I will leave one wish with you and see if I can’t put the other to use.”
“Wish?” You blurt without thinking.
Silco turns to you with an expression of annoyance. “I’ll explain it later, treasure. Finish your drink. There is no reason to linger here.”
“Are you sure?” Captain Jimmy says. “You look like you could use a drink, Silco.”
“You aren’t wrong, but now that you’ve given my companion two servings of your special juice, I need to ensure she gets back to the ship safely.”
“I’m fine!” You protest with a frown.
“Oh? Stand up for me,” Silco challenges.
With a haughty sigh, you do as he asks. The moment you are standing tall, the world spins. You wobble and make several futile attempts to right yourself before Silco reaches out to steady you.
You are thoroughly drunk. That damn juice was more deceptive than your captor.
“What is it with pirates and their inability to offer any drinks that aren’t spiked with something or other?” You grumble as you finish off the last of your drink. You’re already sauced. There is no sense in letting it go to waste. You do not wish to be a rude guest.
“Why do you keep drinking things without checking to see what’s in them? That seems like the better question from where I stand,” Silco says.
“I never had to think about that until now,” you huff.
“She’s a bit of a mess, isn’t she?” Barnaby asks, looking at Captain Jimmy with an almost human level of intelligence.
“What did that bird just say?” you whisper to Silco. The rum obviously had more of an effect on you than you realized.
“You’re a mess,” the blue parrot repeats.
“Now, see here-”
“Treasure, you do realize you’re about to argue with a parrot, right?” Silco gently takes hold of your chin and redirects your gaze so you are looking into his eyes.
“Right,” you stammer, giving your head a little shake. “You’re right. I apologize.”
“You’re fine, lass. The rum is strong and Barnaby likes to provoke,” Captain Jimmy says before turning to Silco. “I’ll contact you if I get any gold for your mermaid’s wish. Don’t hold your breath, though. Very few have that kind of gold.”
“You know me, Jimmy. I always have to try,” Silco says. “Besides, I still have the other one. I can make something of this.”
“If anyone can, it’s you. Heading out, I suppose?”
“I should get this one to a place where she can’t get into trouble,” Silco says, giving you a gentle nudge.
“Let the pretty mess stay,” Barnaby squawks before landing close to you. You reach out and gently pet his head. He blinks slowly and leans into your touch.
“We have to catch the tide,” Silco says. “I’ll be in touch, Captain.”
“Of course!”
Captain Jimmy waves you off with a flourish as Silco helps you down the trail leading away from the slapdash homestead.
“Is it just me or is something off about that parrot?” You whisper as you lean on Silco, allowing him to guide you.
He looks over his shoulder and takes a few more steps before whispering back to you, “just between you and me, I think Barnaby is a man trapped in a parrot’s body.”
You look up at him with wide eyes. “You’re joking, surely.”
“He’s always been more vocal than the other parrots and he doesn’t seem to mimic phrases. Captain Jimmy specializes in trading rare goods. A parrot with the intelligence of a man would fall into that category.”
“Oh, that makes me uneasy.”
The sandstone landscape pitches and you cling to Silco to keep yourself upright. “Why didn’t you warn me about the juice?”
“Honestly? I figured you needed a drink after your ordeal last night. I didn’t think you’d gulp it down and asked for seconds. That’s not very heiress-like of you.”
“I was parched after the trek up here!” You protest. “Of course, I was thirsty.”
Silco chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re right. I miscalculated. I should have said something. But how do you feel?”
You go still and pay attention to your body. Your limbs feel loose and your mind is pleasantly fuzzy. You know there are many things you should feel stressed about but you can’t bring yourself to care.
“This is a nice respite from coherent thought, I won’t lie,” you admit.
It is later in the day that you initially realized. The late afternoon sun has broken through a thin patch of clouds and now shines on the ocean, turning the water into liquid gold. You move toward the light, forcing Silco to follow you. You do not even notice the edge of the plateau until he prevents you from moving forward and pulls you closer to him.
“I would prefer it if you didn’t fall to your death, treasure,” he says, his voice low and velvety.
“How gallant,” you murmur back. Your gaze settles on the dark silhouette of the Zaun’s Revenge, bobbing peacefully against the dock. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Are you sure? Last time I brought up this particular subject I’m certain you envisioned all the ways you could end my life.”
“Now you’ve made me truly curious. Out with it.”
What you thought was a confident question evaporates on your tongue and you’re left scrambling for words through a fruity rum haze.
“The life you’ve given Jinx is a life I would kill to have. You, and those serving on your ship, have the freedom that so many dream of. Why would you work against that in search of what you think is a real home?”
Silco stiffens at your words and you worry you’ve pinched a nerve but he eventually lets out a long sigh.
“Why do you think we are free?” He asks.
“I spent many years at sea with my father. During those years, I felt the most free. I felt like my true self.”
“But during those years, did you not have an estate you could return to whenever you pleased?”
“Well, yes,” you answer. “But I do not like the family estate.”
“Whether you like it or not is irrelevant.” A sharp edge sneaks into his voice. “When you played at being a seafarer, there was always a safe option. You could return to a plush home filled with luxuries.”
“But I didn’t want to,” you reiterate.
“But you were also never in real danger,” Silco points out. “Jinx has no other home. She has nowhere to flee if things become too dangerous. If something happens to me, no one will go out of their way to make sure she’s okay. We need to have a place away from the ship, away from everything we do. I need to give her a home that can never be taken from her, even if something happens to me.”
A horrible sense of guilt fills you. Shame colors your cheeks as you watch the golden water dance.
“I didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say. When Silco says nothing for a long while, a horrible feeling makes your stomach twist up in knots. “It’s good of you to want Jinx to have a safe haven to flee to. Will my ransom go toward that?”
Your question seems to catch him off guard.
“In a way,” he answers. “There are some debts to be paid and some investments to be made, but yes. Your ransom will put us closer to a safe home.”
“And the stone eye from the waterwyrm? What will that do for you?” You ask.
“Eventually, Captain Jimmy will find someone prepared to pay its worth in gold. I expect that will take months, even years. But those profits will go towards making a safe haven for me and mine.”
“But there are two stones. What will you do with the other one?”
Silco looks down at you with a faint smile. “I think you’ve had a little bit too much rum to worry about my trade. We need to head back to the ship. We already docked far later in the day than I would have liked.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Yes, I am,” he grins as he guides you back down the trail. He keeps you close as you navigate the winding path, hugging the sandstone formation. You wobble and trip over your own feet often but he never gives you grief for it. At most, he chuckles and tucks you under his arm more securely.
“Why did you call those glowing stones mermaid’s wishes?” You ask.
“Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, treasure,” Silco urges. “I can’t have you tumbling down a canyon. It’s bad enough you were injured when the waterwyrm made its appearance.”
“Oh, do you care about me, pirate?” You taunt.
“If I have to trek through a valley to find you when you fall victim to your carelessness, I’ll have to carry you back to the ship. If I have to do that, I’ll miss the opportunity to scope the market. That’s bad for business. I dislike practices that are bad for business.”
“Lucky for you, I enjoy exploring markets more than I enjoy falling into valleys,” you say, though you need his constant support as you navigate the thin trail toward Port Squawkfeather.
The sun is just barely kissing the horizon when you and Silco reach the market. He browses silently with a look of deep concentration nestled between his furrowed brows. You stay quiet, not wishing to interrupt him as you take in your surroundings.
As you pass a table filled with exotic fruits, Silco stops. He picks up a pomegranate and inspects it as though he were assessing a diamond.
“One crate, please,” he says to the shopkeeper, who looks both shocked and delighted at such a request. They quickly set about packaging an entire crate of pomegranates while you stare at the one Silco holds in his hand.
Pomegranates are your favorite. Your rum-addled mind can’t conjure a more enticing prize.
“Here, treasure.” Silco tosses the pomegranate to you and you manage to catch it. You bring it to your chest like some greedy little scavenger as he gives the vendor the information they need.
You marvel at the color of the fruit like it’s some kind of precious jewel. You are so absorbed in your examination that your mind barely registers the flash of pink in the corner of your eye.
You go still. You lift your gaze. You turn your head slowly until you spot someone familiar.
Violet. Captain Vander’s first mate. You recognize her hair and her steely demeanor. She does not face you directly, but she is clearly searching the market for signs of you. She must have seen the Zaun’s Revenge docked and idle.
Beside her is a slender young woman with a shiny sheet of deep blue hair. She clutches a pristine rifle in her hands as she scans the market with sharp eyes.
For a split second, you prepare to call out to them. They can take you back to Vander, back to your father. But the words get stuck in your throat.
You look at Silco as he arranges for the crate of pomegranates to be delivered to his ship. You hear his words about wanting a safe place for Jinx echo through your mind. Your ransom will help with that.
“Captain,” you murmur softly. Your tongue feels like lead as you tug on his sleeve.
“Treasure?” He looks at you, arching a brow.
“I…feel ill from that juice. I’d like to return to the ship, please.”
His ocean eye fills with sympathy before he gives you a quick nod. He gives instructions to the fruit seller before tucking you under his arm and guiding you back toward the docks.
“I shouldn’t have let you have that second drink,” he says quietly.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you say. “Perhaps Arlo can funnel some solid food into my system and give me some water.”
“I’m sure he can,” Silco nods.
You are returned to the ship and quickly disappear below deck. You flee to the galley under the guise of helping Arlo, as you promised. You do just that, but as you work on making new labels for everything in the scullery, you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake not seizing your chance to escape. Worse than that, you wonder why you didn’t want to seize such a chance in the first place.
#silco#arcane#silco x reader#arcane silco#silco arcane#silco fanfic#pirate!silco#silco fic#to the depths#silco smut
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A Drop In The Ocean - Pirate!Silco x reader
mentions of :
blood, wounds (reader is a debutant surgeon), stitching skin, blood transfusion, bad hygiene, use of that eye-stab silco uses in Arcane
summary :
reader is good with their hands, which is perfect as the kid of a surgeon. but one day they get attacked and are taken as the new surgeon of The Last Drop of which Silco is the Captain. and while his daughter Jinx is out of the ship, he asks for reader to come in his quarters.
some extra information on this :
gender neutral-reader, Pirate!Silco, I know nothing about medicine nor surgery so this is DEFINITELY not a great representation of the actual work of a surgeon nor doctor, tried to be pirate accurate... don't know if it worked ckenxjeqddk
author's note :
hi besties, hope y'all are doing great ! After writing that Machine Herald x reader thingy I wanted to try a similar format with our man Silco sooo I give u this 11,2k words long thingy :D
hope you'll enjoy !
also, i think that if you just want to skip the background and just go for the more silco-stuff you can start after the end of the trigger warning !
(and sorry if you find any grammar mistakes English is not my native language so jcejxje yeah)
( @wincestisasincest here's the treat hehe)
It's been nine days since you've been on The Last Drop, and you know for sure that you'll never, ever go back to your old life. How could you go back? The time seems as far away as the end of the horizon in the open sea.
Nine days that you knew no other floor than red oak, no other horizon than blue water, no other weather than the proud sun, no other smell than deplorable hygiene, no other music than the greasy voices of most of the crew, and no other meal than bacon as strong as a sole and as salty as the ocean.
Nine days since the last vision you had of home was a landscape painting of the burning harbour, fire licking the water, smoke as black as the sails of the Last Drop emanating a smell of suffocation and burnt flesh flying like scarves into the grey sky.
You didn't end up on that damn ship of your own free will, no. Nine days ago, you were actually sitting peacefully in the workshop, sculpting a piece of stone. Your hands had always been delicate, but not without strength, they were fussy, detail-oriented: perfect for a surgeon's kid.
Your father was a renowned surgeon in the city, appreciated by his clients, generous, always ready to receive even in an emergency. A man who loved his work and who left you a little more of his knowledge every day.
Although medicine was not necessarily the path you wanted to take, you saw no harm in him teaching you. It's always an asset to know how to take care of yourself and others, so how could you refuse when that same advice came from an expert?
He taught you how to make balms, showed you how to deal with wounds of various sizes and depths, taught you how to react to symptoms and how to act on them. He was dedicated, and probably imagined that you would succeed him when he retired.
Only his retirement never came, because on the way to the market that morning he was sliced in half, his head falling into an apple crate as his body crumbled to the wet pavement of St. Anne Street.
You didn't realize the attack until the screaming outside intensified and you soon realized that no party was supposed to be taking place: at least no party that included running and screaming like death itself was chasing you.
People were knocking on the door of your house, people you knew, people your father received as clients. You quickly let them in, closing the door again as if you were stopping too many snowflakes from coming in during a snowstorm.
You had guided them directly to the workshop, to get away from the street and the accessibility of the pirates to the first part of the house. You had all gathered, tightly clustered in a corner of the room like a grape.
You sat beside them, there must have been only five of you in all. You were so close that you could smell the stench of dust clinging to their clothes. Especially one patient who smelled of sourleaf. You had met her once before a consultation, she had smiled at you and you remembered her teeth reddened by her constant consumption of the plant.
And in truth, you were so close that you could have heard their breath if everyone wasn't holding it in at the time. It was as if the house had cloth walls: able to hide you fairly well but not preventing the sound from concealing its presence properly.
Your heart was beating so loudly in your throat and ears that the others could probably hear it, and you cursed yourself for fear that it would alert your presence. You want to silence that heart, to slow it down in its frenzy, but it seems to intensify when you can hear the door to your house being kicked in and its hinges ricocheting off the floor like coins.
And the seconds seem to stretch out. You heard footsteps, crashing against the floor various pots and other trinkets decorating the house. The cutlery drawer was opened to take the silverware, empty the cupboards, you heard them making a trip to your father's cabinet to take anything that might have been useful.
And just when you think the noise has died down and they're about to leave, the door to the workshop shattered and one of the people in the little group gurgles a scream that cuts off everyone here's chance to get out.
A guy with a pronounced squint and a lean body entered the room. He charges towards you as you enter his field of vision, grabbing a guy by the collar who is squawking and wriggling in panic like a fish being held in his hands.
"Sevika, come over here," he yells, spittle splashing like foam on the face of the poor man he's holding. "Tell me handsome, we were told below that this was the doc's house, can't you tell us wher' he is?"
"I-I" his words strangled in his throat like a basket of freshly caught eel.
"He's dead," interrupts the lady with the sourleaf breath, "was killed him at the market."
The words fell on your heart like an anchor in the sand, you would not have thought that to stop hearing the beating of the latter would mean that the price to pay was pain. You glance at the woman, her bottom teeth showing as thin tears roll down her cheeks, washing away the layer of smoke that had settled there.
Your heart wasn't choking you anymore, it was choking itself. It's weird, isn't it? You thought that as usual he would come back from the market, that you would help him put away everything he had taken and that you would let him go back to his office.
You didn't imagine, however, that the loss of his life would change yours so dramatically, in every sense of it.
You had no time to mourn, not a moment's respite as the news tore a gaping hole in your chest, as a tall woman with a bluish scar and a sword replacing her arm strode toward you.
"Sev, there's no more doc, he's kaput."
His remark seems to make the scar of this woman gleam that you suspected therefore to be Sevika by following his nickname.
"Didn't he have a wife this doc, hum?" So asks again the same guy, in the direction of the woman who had given him an answer.
"No sir, but he has a child, of age, and who sometimes took his consultations when he couldn't." Squeaks the man he was holding in his black and dirty hands.
No, no, no! The poor fool was looking for words that could satisfy the pirates and allow him to get out of this affair. A particular glow ran through the woman's eyes in an instant.
She approached him, coming so close to the face of the trapped man that despite the firm grip the squinting man had, he could not back down any further.
"And so where is this child, hmm?"
"Th-Th-That's them right there!" he said, then pointing frantically in your direction.
Damn it, what the hell. Of course he was going to tell on you, it was as big as the nose in the middle of your face. It was predictable that he would report you, since the only thing he had to think about right now was saving his life, getting out of the embrace of this man whose neither eyes were looking at you.
He looked like a chameleon, with off-center eyes, but you should probably give credit to the fact that chameleons must have a more developed intelligence than this individual. So the said Sevika turned to you, her eyes shining like the blade replacing her arm.
You were the youngest person in the group, so it wasn't hard to figure out who this doctor's child was: all the others were easily over forty.
She grabbed your shoulder with an arm so firm and strong that you could feel the seams of your clothes ripping under her grip.
"I guess you're the kid, huh?"
You swallowed, nodding, trying to stop the tremors that run through your body as though the different tsunamis of your emotions were clashing fiercely to take over your thoughts. Everything was colliding like huge waves against blackened cliffs, carved at their roots by the salt and heaviness of pain.
"What can you do? Amputation? Care for cuts? Determining symptoms and preventing diseases from spreading?"
You nodded vigorously, all of which you were capable of of course.
"What's up? Did someone cut out your tongue? Answer!"
"I can do it!" You gasp, your tongue feeling like it's about to fly out of your mouth. "I can do it, madam!"
"Ma'am?" She giggles, bursting into a low, charcoal laugh. "You can simply call me Sevika from now on. Kort? I'll take them, be done with it."
He gave her a strange grin, as if he could only ever smile properly on one side of his mouth, revealing yellow teeth like a line of overlapping raw corn grains.
When you left your workshop, you didn't have time to take anything with you other than the only thing you had in one of your pockets: a scalpel.
When your father bought a new set of surgical tools, he left you his old ones. He knew you wouldn't use them for their original purpose, since you only took part in operations infrequently. However, that didn't stop you from finding a new use for them.
You were good with your hands, so you used the reminiscences of these tools as a painting knife, as a means of precision carving in stone or as a tool for carving wood. All these objects were very versatile, so you kept them handy when you were bored to find a way to pass the time other than counting seagulls from your window.
There were books, and you didn't mind reading, but your father only had dictionaries on diseases or writings on body studies and anatomy in his library. So you were obviously bored quickly after you got through the chapter on leg bones with all its muscles and nerves blending into a mush of blue and red pencil strokes.
You look around. Your house is trashed, upside down, as if a hurricane had passed and left bits of memories and broken glass in its wake.
The screams of people with whom you shared such a thin space a few moments ago are muffled even more as you walk out the door, Sevika's hand still gripping your shoulder firmly.
You had wondered if you wouldn't have been better off putting your little scalpel in your pocket under her throat, threatening to use it if she didn't let you live. But this idea quickly fell into the deep and endless pit of bad ideas that will never take place when Sevika stood in front of you.
"Listen to me, little one, from now on you are part of the crew of The Last Drop. If you try to run away, I'll make sure it" she pointed to the sword forming her left arm, "catches you. If you try anything against me or any member of the crew, you'll be thrown overboard after the Captain takes care of you. Do your job as a surgeon, and you'll have no problem, you might even get paid if you do it right. But if you take one wrong step, just one, you're dead. Got it?"
How can you refuse that, when the person facing you is a pirate, has a sword to replace one of her arms, and you probably don't have the strength and no instruction in the art of combat that could get you out of this situation?
Besides, where else could you have went? No more home, no more father, probably no more assets to sell that would allow you to subsist and selling your body was the last option you considered.
You would have to get used to not having anything of your own. No fixed home besides the ship, no fixed situation besides being a surgeon, nothing but the unpredictable. Nothing but yourself and that scalpel, though you are now pirate property.
"Got it."
She licked one of her canines before spitting on the dusty floor.
" Good," she gave a nod towards the harbor, "follow me."
After following Sevika through the ruins of the city where the houses had been blown up with cannons and bricks littered the ground like a new cobblestone pavement, you found yourself in front of a boat where some pirates were already staying.
"What did you get us, Sev'?" one of them asked, detailing you as if you were the strangest person he had ever seen.
"Our new doc." She said before urging you with her chin to get on the boat.
"New doc? You must be joking. Have you seen this shrimp? They won't last long."
"They may not last long, but they' ll do for now. You want your infection to get worse, do you?"
The sailor grumbled in his beard, his hand instinctively going to his face covered with a sticky, oozing bandage, seeming to cover a wound turning blue and yellow.
Without further ado, they rowed towards a ship in the distance, imposing and dark.
The Last Drop was an inky, almost black frigate, its sides dotted with thirty cannon holes. Dark sails, slightly attacked by age, were gradually unfurled to take the sea when you put your feet on the red oak floor, varnished but lightened in places on the ground, the passage of its inhabitants having worn it out.
And no sooner had your feet touched the floor of the ship than most of the eyes not busy loading the new treasures and stolen things had converged on you. You were probably quite detached from the atmosphere in the middle of all these people used to crime and looting, or were they just discovering an unknown face.
However, none of them took their eyes off you when a young girl came bombing onto the ship with a laugh that bounced off the ship's masts, her blue braids blending into the jungle of vines formed by the ropes methodically unwound and tied as the last of the pirate boats returned with boxes and sacks full of stolen goods.
The vibrant, euphoric young woman made her way to the opening of what appeared to be the captain's quarters and opened the doors wide. Sevika followed her, stopping near the entrance to the quarters and observing the crew from her elevated vantage point, inviting the crew to gather around to hear what their Captain had to say.
Out of those doors with glass similar to church windows, emerged a man in a long black coat, tall, very thin and angular.
From where you stood, you could make out his hair combed neatly back, a sea-blue eye hidden by a frown. His cheekbones were prominent, his nose aquiline and elongated, and his lips asymmetrical and beautiful to speak.
The presence the man possessed was more powerful and subduing than any being you had ever encountered in your life so far. He was a man who exuded authority, power and control, who could probably make you do anything and whose demands you could not refuse. A man whose every word you waited for like the last drops of your flask in the middle of the desert, and whose nectar of the gods you relished as if it had been offered to you by the flow of his words and lips.
But what probably struck you most about this being straight out of the mouth of Lucifer himself was his eye patch over his left eye.
Not that an eye patch was anything out of the ordinary, of course, it was probably even common among pirates, but it seemed to hide an eye whose surrounding flesh was blackened, as if several layers of skin were gradually digging into the precipice of its eyelids, and that throwing yourself into it would mean a one-way trip.
The crew stood still in their task, putting down the golden candlesticks they had in their hands or the oranges whose acidic and sweet juice was beading abundantly on their hands to stick their fingers between the dirt and the sweat.
They all waited for the captain's words, and the words he spoke had the same effect as an ice cube on a burning body in constant need of cooling.
"My friends, once again it is a raid of the height of my expectations that you bring aboard this ship, and I thank you for it. You all deserve a reward, so we set sail for Obsidian Harbor."
A roar of joy rises from the throats of all the pirates who share a contentment that does not reach you. Everything you feel in the moment is mixed into a mush, some of which you can see, but you can never quite figure out what it is.
You try to force yourself to forget that the life you had a few minutes ago will never come back to you again, your heart's memory had been punctured with a gun and no amount of surgery could bring that missing piece back.
Silco's visible eye scanned the crew amidst the tumult and the forest of raised fists before falling on you. Without shifting his gaze from yours, his lips moved without you being able to hear, Sevika leaning closer to him to hear what he had to say. She answered him, and Silco ended up giving a simple nod before turning to the young woman with braided hair who was also looking in your direction. Silco offered her a charming smile, before holding out an object that you couldn't see, a highly extended fist preventing you from seeing more.
Within seconds, Silco returned to his quarters with the braided girl, and Sevika came down the stairs to the deck and into your direction.
"Follow me," she said.
She then opened a hatch leading to the first hold. She found you some loose clothing that seemed to be too big for strictly anyone and that no matter what happened you would float in it. A big belt was given to you at your waist to hold all those lengths of clothes, the top itself looked more like a dress than a simple shirt.
Then she starts to tell you the rules and your activity on the ship.
First of all, concerning your activities, it's simple: Sevika will make sure that the whole crew knows that you are the surgeon and even the doctor. You'll just have to stay alert at all times, because the thing about pirates is that it doesn't work in appointments like it did with your father. The members would come in as soon as the problem crossed their mind and you would take care of it in the moment.
All the necessary utensils would be given to you later, because with all the loot the ship had at its disposal, your father's belongings and his working tools would be in one of the bags.
She showed you around the ship, or at least what you were allowed to access, showing you your hammock to sleep in and ending with the rules.
You were not allowed to enter the apartments of the captain and his daughter without the permission of the quartermaster, the captain's daughter whose name you learned - Jinx - or the captain himself. You don't steal, you don't fight, you don't bet money when you play and everything else.
One of the things she gave you was a little extra advice being, "Don't pay attention to Jinx, she's nuts, just do your job if she asks and don't say anything."
You kept that in mind, only you didn't have to be too wary of her because of a particular event.
You had become a surgeon on the ship, consulting the sailors when signs of unusual symptoms took place or when some returned from boarding and pillaging with cuts or more serious injuries. You recommended that they constantly eat oranges for Scurvy and drink lemon water for Dysentery as they wondered why their teeth and nails were falling out and their breath stank from miles.
And although you probably didn't look like a pirate at all, nor threatening or anything that would let them shoot you, you had managed to gain their respect.
It was during the first boarding they did with you on board, and you had your first real verbal exchange with Silco, the Captain of The Last Drop.
A Piltovian ship was the target in question, and after the ships finally broke up following the battle, many of the members were badly and severely injured.
_____________________________
Trigger Warning (the scene contains mentions of blood, open wounds, stitching skin, blood transfusion) for a summary of the scene – so that you’re not lost with what happened – i put a summary of it at the end of the part
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You found yourself in the hold, mopping your forehead under the heat and pressure, while finishing stitching up a wound you had managed to stop bleeding, the pirate having a wooden plate between his teeth to better pass the pain and prevent him from breaking his jaw.
Your hands reeked of metal and rum as you concluded your work meticulously while a crowd of pirates were around you whimpering in pain, some screaming as some of their colleagues habitually repositioned their ankle or shoulder.
" Move!" Sevika growled as she rushed toward you, one person in her arms.
The member got up from the table you were using to deal with the limbs as soon as he saw the quartermaster coming. But what made him stand up was probably not the fact that she was screaming, but rather who she had in her arms: Jinx.
A long wound was splitting her belly and blood was flowing under the sheet that Sevika had put down to stop the bleeding.
You cleared some utensils on the table, letting Sevika put the girl down while silence was around you and the crew members didn't say anything more.
You blew out a big breath.
"I want four people to hold her arms and legs," you said turning to the members who without further ado for the lesser reached grabbed arms and knees of the girl who was squirming. "Sevika, you'll help me press right after, but first ... "
You raised your sleeves, grabbing a new bottle of rum and removing the cork with your teeth, first pouring it on your hands and then on Jinx's belly, who was wiggling and grunting insults. Thus first of all it disinfected the wound, but it allowed you to have a cleaner view on the latter, which between the mixed threads of sweat and blood formed a fog of red filth.
You inhale, then blow gently before taking the sheet and starting to insert it into the open wound. Jinx began to scream as you inserted the cloth several inches under the flesh for the entire length of the opening.
The members worked to hold it in place while Sevika watched you with round eyes. When you had finished inserting the fabric properly into her pulpit, you folded the rest of the garment on itself before starting to press it.
Having pushed the tissue into the flesh would make it easier to stop the bleeding, which was your goal for the moment. Now you had to press until the bleeding stopped and you could sew it up.
"Sevika, please help me apply pressure," you say, and she follows your instructions on the spot, "make sure you press well, keeping your elbows straight. In a few moments, the bleeding will stop.
You looked at Jinx's face, which didn't look as tortured as she did a few seconds ago, for the moment she seemed to be drifting.
"Can either of you read?" you asked, raising your voice so the members could hear you.
They all looked at each other confused, their eyes suddenly finding the floor very interesting. You press your tongue against your teeth, lips parted, the sound made the same as when you scratch a match.
Your eyes meet a guy's.
"You see that little bag over there?" you say, pointing with your chin to a box with a large leather purse on it, he nods. "Take it, there's a vial inside, bring it to me."
He followed your instructions, trotting off to find the vial, which he quickly retrieved. He came back to you.
"Now open the bottle, put some on your fingers, and let her smell it."
He looked you straight in the eye as if asked the forbidden.
"Is this a joke?" He stammers.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" You say, constantly pressing the same pressure on Jinx's body as she seemed to slowly flutter her eyes shut.
He frowned, turning to Sevika as if asking her permission.
"Do what she tells you." She ordered.
So he complied, soaking his fingers in the oil. A cool, fresh smell was beginning to mix with that of blood and sweat. So he put his blackened fingers in front of Jinx's nose, who immediately came back to herself almost in a startle.
"We must keep her awake." You explained, your eyes plunged into those of Sevika.
She watched you. You obviously felt that you surprised her. She must have thought for a while that you wouldn't last long on this ship, that you wouldn't have the guts to ensure operations like these. But no, you kept your cool, you were stable, and for that, she offered you a simple nod.
It was after a few minutes that hurried footsteps were heard, and the crew in the hold became tense.
Silco.
He hurried to the table, standing next to Sevika and facing you. He seemed out of breath, angry but afraid. He was watching his daughter, who was breathing heavily and who had meanwhile been put another wooden plate between her teeth under your instructions.
His eye drifted inevitably on your hands pressed against her belly, going up thereafter on your reddened arms and on your face of which you made yourself violence not to let show the fear which vibrated in all your body.
You had never realized until now, with your arms half-covered with this red liquid that keeps you alive, how much power this job gave you: the power of life and death, of joy and bitterness, of might and fear.
You literally had a life in your hands, and what you did in the moment could inevitably cause Jinx's demise.
A god among humans, you were creating a dependency of this crew on yourself that made you stronger than anywhere else at that very moment when your hands were forcing on this girl's skin. You were the real power in that moment, not Sevika, not Silco, you.
Silco's eye was watching you with such insistence that it was as if the world around you no longer existed. The blue of his gaze scanned you, eyebrows furrowed, with so many conflicting and powerful emotions in it that you ended up looking away from him, down at your hands.
He seemed visibly displeased with the situation. He probably didn't appreciate his daughter being hurt and held against a table by his own crew like a madwoman or like someone who was about to be tortured.
No, he probably didn't appreciate it, and he seemed as angry and upset as a bag of bees.
The cloth didn't seem to soak in for a while, so you instructed Sevika:
"I'm going to start removing the cloth, keep pressing."
She nodded, you turned your head to Jinx.
"Sorry, this is going to hurt again."
But you didn't wait for any nod from her and began to painstakingly remove the cloth, slowly. The pain must have been horrible, but to do it with too much force would have probably risked to start the bleeding again, which would have thrown away all the efforts you had previously made.
All along your practice, you felt Silco's eye on you like a lighthouse in the middle of the night, he was watching you to the point that it was suffocating, even though it was only an eye.
The sheet was finally removed, and the bleeding had effectively stopped. You let out a huge sigh of relief, and so did some of the crew. The hardest part was over.
You took the bottle of alcohol again, pouring it once more on Jinx's belly who was growling and squealing, unable to move as she wanted to with her arms and legs well guarded by the pirates.
You took your previously used needle, passing it over the flame of the candle that was near you, wiping it, then bathing it with alcohol. You put it on Jinx's belly, cleaning your hands again with the rum.
Maybe Silco was wincing because you were making him lose a lot of rum in your operations, who knows, but his displeasure was not dislodged from his face.
So you moved closer to Jinx's belly, looking at her. She had lost consciousness, which at the time was not as bad as before. You brought one of your hands to her wrist and another to her neck to make sure there was a pulse. And once you were sure it was present and correct, you took a deep breath, filling your lungs with all the air you could muster, and grabbed the needle to start sewing.
Some people looked away, as if most of them had not just spent the previous fifteen minutes ripping their enemies apart. But if there was one eye that never left you, it was Silco's.
Disgruntled was not really the expression that adorned his face from what you could see in your peripheral vision. He seemed mostly surprised, curious...
Impressed.
You were like a dolphin in a shark's sea, faster, smarter, less brute and wiser; a star of the sea among the morays, a pearl among the oysters.
There was something in you more precious than the treasures he possessed and coveted, something he did not possess, which made him as doubtful as it made him curious, which frightened him but in which he trusted.
You finish sewing Jinx up fairly quickly, placing the needle and thread to the side.
"Last step," you said, turning to the box where your kit had been stored, "she's lost a lot of blood, she needs a transfusion." You pulled out a very thin tube with two needles on each end that would allow you to give a transfusion. "Any volunteers?"
Arms go up, some agreeing verbally.
You soon realize that it is not out of a genuine desire to save Jinx that they are offering themselves, but so that the Captain will think of them as honorable men deserving of extra good.
Their greed seems ridiculous as you watch them offer themselves, but Silco himself begins to roll up his sleeve.
"That will be me."
But Sevika stops him in his tracks.
"No, it will be me."
And so the captain and his first mate begin to haggle, one suggesting that the captain is too important to donate blood himself, the other insisting that it is his daughter first and foremost and that he must do this for her.
These negotiations were childish, and you didn't dare interrupt them during their exchange, so you sighed, took the needle in hand and found Jinx's vein. Then you roll up the sleeve of your arm of choice and find your own vein for the transfusion.
You then sit down on the next bench, the Captain and Sevika still talking. You look at them, slightly exasperated, that in a situation like this they still find a way to negotiate. They are pirates, they are the ones who normally take immediate action, right?
"I won't allow it," you finally hear from Silco before turning to you, "I will-"
But his words melt off his tongue like butter as his eye falls on the tube already connecting your arm and Jinx's, the exchange of blood having already begun.
______________________________
end of the trigger warning
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He looked even more stunned than if an enemy ship had been waiting patiently for him and was willingly surrendering.
"All she needs now is some rest," you confirm.
"Alright guys, let's step aside a little and let her breathe." Sevika orders concerning Jinx.
You had almost swept into the back of your head the simple fact that you were surrounded and watched by so many eyes. But only one mattered, only one persisted, Silco's.
Because under his eye you feel special, like a lapidary contemplating the multiple reflections of a fantasy-coloured diamond he cuts. Its girdles, its stars, its breaks, its countless facets, all shining differently. And it is as if he wanted to know all of them.
What would he do with this diamond once he knew every facet? Would he sell it to a higher bidder? Would he find a diamond even more beautiful than this one? Or would he keep it preciously near him?
You think about this eye of which they say so much on the seas, of which the currents brought so many stories that the sailors drank until they were always thirsty. This eye that has this glow similar to the starry sky under which you stand.
You can't sleep. You've been on this boat for nine days.
Your hammock, although more or less comfortable, was not able to lull you to sleep. The night had fallen, the stars dotted the blue velvet sky like rivers of white stones and pearls.
The air is fresh, crisp like the first bite of a chilled apple, with hints of burnt sugar weaving through the charcoal night air, and the small candle placed in a lantern next to you serves as a lamp for your carving.
On one of the last raids, you asked for something made of wood, anything as long as it was made of wood. No one really understood why, but you were brought back a few table legs, chair legs, and even the arms of the helm.
You had your scalpel in hand, scraping away at the wood you were holding. You had managed to form a thick disk that fit in your hand the size of a large pineapple slice. On it you carved a tree.
It seemed like you hadn't seen a tree in forever. Your status as an unwitting pirate prevented you from landing on an island when The Last Drop approached, lest you finally decide to escape. So you allowed yourself to dream a little by sculpting one.
The ocean is beautiful, powerful, graceful, but it doesn't help that after days of being on a boat with nothing but blue on top of another shade of blue could drive you crazy and make you believe that nothing in the world exists anymore.
The ocean has paths that aren't land, signs that aren't written, guides that aren't human, and as much as you try to learn and understand navigation and compass use, you get lost because the ocean and the sky are two mirrors reflecting each other.
The ship is quiet, it's almost as if you are standing alone on it, the small splash of water on the hull being the only sound accompanying your scalpel as it cuts slivers of wood that eventually fly away into the air like petals.
If you don't concentrate hard enough, you sometimes feel like you're seeing something other than wood in your hands, something more human, more tender and less hard, but you pull yourself together every time to keep your mind from thinking about those horrors that are part of the reasons why you can't get a full night.
The silence is gone when heavy footsteps sound on the deck. You look up, Sevika has just come out of Silco's apartments. She looks at you for a moment, before saying loudly but not too strongly:
"Silco wants to see you."
You stop all movement, watching Sevika as if you were seeing a ghost. You are almost tempted to stick your scalpel in your finger to make sure that what is happening is really happening.
You turn around to see if there was someone behind you who might have been the real person called. But there is no one else on the deck but you and Sevika. This is absurd, why would Silco want to see you?
You tighten your fingers around the wooden disc until your knuckles are white, it allowed you to refocus and hold on to something real to make sure this was actually happening.
"I don't have all night." she exhales.
You finally get down from the crate you were sitting on, trying to rearrange your clothes as if it would change anything about the appearance of the rags you were wearing. So you walked towards Sevika, and before you could enter the apartments, she stopped you.
"Knife."
Knife? Oh, right, the scalpel. She must have thought that someone as new to the ship as you were, and who was about to interact with the Captain for the second time in their life, might have been malicious and able to get to him.
After all, you were a "surgeon", you knew the points that would be enough to kill a man in only twenty seconds. But you didn't understand why she was asking you to do it when she would be at her side, right?
So you hand her your scalpel, and she grabs your wrist firmly.
"Don't try anything weird, scallop, understand?"
You look her straight in the eye, nodding simply. So she takes the scalpel, loosening her grip on your wrist until she lets go, then grabbing the wooden disc from you.
"I'm going to put this in your hammock," she says, before walking down the few steps leading to the deck that separate Silco's quarters from the rest of the ship.
You stand there for a moment.
Silco has requested an audience.
With you.
Alone.
For a moment, you are terrified to enter his quarters, simply because you don't know what you are about to experience. He could hurt you, he could kill you, he could torture you the way he thought you had tortured his daughter the other day.
The possibilities were endless, but fearing that the longer you made him wait the more serious the sentence would be, you entered his quarters. You swallowed, completely confused and not knowing what to expect.
You had probably never seen such simple and dark luxury as the room had.
You found yourself at the top of a small staircase that split in two to go along the sides of the room and reach the level where a mini living room was located. The walls were as deep blue as the abyss, the heavy velvet curtains were black, and the water-green stained glass window behind Silco gave him the appearance of a saint with its convoluted shapes although slightly hidden by the thick curtains covering a large part of the room.
The ceiling was as high as the room was long, a beautiful chandelier hung proudly from it, all in silver. The air was filled with the scent of tobacco, powdered sugar and a warm raspberry smell.
You might have expected his quarters to look more golden, seeing all the gold the members were bringing in, but no. It was all cool toned, and you had never been in a room that was as warm as it was cold.
"Close the door, please." He says.
The back of his seat faces you, giving you a slight glimpse of Silco's back and the scroll he is reading.
You comply, not questioning the orders of your Captain.
Order, the word in your thoughts right now makes you feel like you've changed clothes all at once.
Order can mean so many things, that something is in order, that everything is back in order. But this order is different, it controls, it does not ask, it forces. The order is a proof of obedience, and for the moment you don't intend to disobey any order from Silco.
The double door closes, and you turn around, not daring to take another step. You wait for his instructions, his next order.
"We're not going to discuss this far, come over here."
His tone seems... light. You would have expected a bit of the same kind of discussion as when the principal of your school called you into his office for some reason you knew or had no idea about, but no.
He seems most relaxed as you walk down the stairs. You almost fall off a step as he turns to look at you. The advantage of having more than two people in a room is that you can always look for someone else's gaze, as you might have done with Sevika.
But you find yourself alone at the bottom of the stairs. When you arrive at the foot of it, you realize through a slit that the curtained wall on the side hides a bed, and that it is perhaps the bed in which Silco sleeps. But this one has in its interior all kind of trinkets and multicolored drawings that make you understand quickly that it is Jinx's bed.
The Captain's daughter had left the ship this very morning with a handful of the crew, borrowing one of the boats that had been located not far from The Last Drop. You had shown her how to take care of her wound so that it would not get infected, prescribing her other things to take morning, noon and night to speed up her recovery. You had managed to find some very useful medicines that had been brought back to you during the boarding, so you had given her some of them.
She didn't mind. You hadn't been around Jinx much, but the whole crew feared her for her unpredictability, which everyone considered dangerous, and it was apparently a miracle that she listened to you carefully when you explained everything about her injuries.
According to the rumors going around the crew, Jinx had found her sister during the first raid you had witnessed, and that the reason she had been so badly injured was the simple fact that when she found her during the battle, she had let her guard down.
She would have had a long talk with Silco after that, and he would have allowed her to take one of his ships to look for her. Silco didn't mind parting with one of his ships, it all depended on which one of course, but the idea of parting with his daughter however didn't seem to fill his heart with joy.
At the bottom of the stairs were two sofas and four armchairs facing each other, a black wooden coffee table placed to separate them.
"Come closer." he said, indicating with a simple gesture for you to come nearer to his desk.
You hide your hands behind your back, you don't have anything blunt, but fiddling with your fingers in the moment reassures you somehow.
You come to a distance of more than a meter from the desk. You don't dare to come any closer.
It's ironic, Sevika could expect you to attack Silco but you couldn't get any closer than that, like asking a lamb to scratch the big bad wolf.
You contemplate his vast office, under a layer of glass extends the map of Runeterra, illuminated by a lamp with a lampshade formed by an assembly of orange tinted glass, contrasting with the cold tones of the rest of the room. On the rest of the surface are spread out various objects like books or flasks whose contents you suspect to be alcoholic. Objects that were probably previously dull and ordinary are covered with vibrant pastel drawings such as the cup, his flask or his ashtray in which some ashes are falling.
He has a cigar in hand, giving off a sweet smell of wood and spices.
He looks at you, and there under his eye you feel like a statue facing him in a museum. His eye seems to be looking for the smallest details under the blows of mallets hitting the gravel, the smallest shape different from the rest of this art gallery, where you are the only statue in the middle of a hundred paintings. The only difference is that you are a statue full of colour, and all the other paintings are grey.
Only you don't know if he is a mere spectator or if he is your creator.
"I'd like to thank you for your responsiveness the other day in saving my daughter, I'm grateful."
So did he only bring you here to thank you for doing that? It's true that you could be proud, after all you had saved someone's life and not in the most convenient conditions.
"I was just doing my job, Captain," which wasn't really wrong.
You didn't save her because you wanted to save her, you did it because it was your job and if she died you would die too.
He gave you a smirk, and you could tell he was satisfied, but you were still confused as he said nothing more, continuing his observation. Uncertain, you asked:
"With all due respect Captain, why did you ask to see me?"
He smiled, taking a drag on his cigar and blowing out a gray smoke.
"For several reasons. The first is that I do prefer to know my crew and interest myself in its mates, whether new or old, and as you are undoubtedly the newest member, I had to talk to you. As for the other reasons... I'll see at the end of our exchange if you can access them."
You found this answer to be a double-edged sword, as you found it both honourable that he was supposedly interested in his crew, but at the same time you feared that your answers would not live up to his expectations and that something bad would come of it.
For a moment you forget the eye you see and who sees you, your own curiously observing the dark, hollowed and gnawed skin that adorned his cheeks and forehead like a shadowy, acidic river flowing over his face and scarring it.
But you don't watch discreetly enough, or at least too insistently, for his honey-coated lightning voice to ask you:
"Do you know why pirates usually wear eye-patches?"
The question felt tricky, as if it held a meaning unknown to you.
"Because when they move around the ship and alternate between hold and deck, one eye is used to daylight while the other is used to darker places. Or perhaps they are simply hiding their eyes because of injuries."
He slowly closes his eyelid before opening it again to show you a piercing eye, pointing with his free fingers at his cheek where the streaks of his scars ran like streams.
"What do you think is under that eye patch, hmm?"
The question catches you off guard. You might have thought he would simply dismiss the fact that you were watching his hidden eye since he must have received that kind of look quite often. But no, he had decided otherwise. You don't dare answer honestly, so you simply say this:
"There are a lot of rumours."
"What are they?"
Of course, you knew about Silco before you were on his ship, the few soldiers who came to your father's office talked a lot about the "Sea Devil" and his "eye that never sleeps".
So you try to gather all the stories that the crew was saying about him, mixing them with what you had heard from the rest.
"They say that you went near the Willow Peninsula, where the trees are white and the fruit is golden, and that a mermaid scratched your eye when you were hungry for an apple. Later realizing that you were coveting the fruit out of hunger and not out of lust, she returned the fruit and dived into the deep waters. She came back to the surface with a pearl which she gave you to replace your eye."
His eye seemed to soften as he listened to your story.
"They say that a nymph put a curse on you that makes your eye blossom and that you must wear this eye patch to prevent them from spreading everywhere, that somehow it will overpour. They say that your eye is a diamond you got from the legendary treasure of Linley 'Striker' Byron, that blinds your enemies and allows you to attack them easily. They say that Callipso, one night while crying, dropped a star tear that landed in your eye."
Listing all these stories is like going back to your childhood and standing at the blackboard reciting a poem you learned by heart. Your audience seemed to enjoy it.
"The stories are nice," he confirmed, "but what do you really think?
The questions he asked all seemed to have a real heaviness to them, a particular weight that gave them an extra importance.
"I think you are the only one that holds the truth about this," you say. You know very well that all these stories are not close to reality. "About your eye and your activities."
"And, what are the stories about my activities?"
He seems deeply amused by all this, but you answer his question.
"They say that you possess merman scales, that you hide a shell on an island that counts your future when you put it near your ear, that you have a crystal boat that glitters so brightly that seeing it in the middle of the ocean is like seeing an extra sun on a noon sky. They say," you swallow, "that you stuff your enemies' mouths and throats with leeches. They even say..." you inhale softly "they even say that you conversed with a woman with eyes and lips as red as pomegranate seeds, that she was said to be able to learn everything about your life by kissing you, and that by kissing your lips..." your eyes inevitably slide to his, thin, blowing a light veil of smoke, "she had become paler than the moon."
And his eye bites you, every long look without a blink makes you burn with a sweet fire in your cheeks and neck.
"What do you think about these stories? Why do you think they create all these tales about me?" he asks without leaving you, taking another drag from his cigar.
You don't think his eye is all that legendary, but you sense that it sees through people, through their lives, through their lies, that it can see nightmare and dream, which makes him the most feared lord of the seas. But repeating this out loud doesn't seem like the right thing to do at the time, so you simply reply:
"I think they are just rumours to make you feared and important, people love stories, especially the ones that are about legends. Ignorance is the mother of fear, so they fear not knowing what the truth is."
You weren't wrong after all. These tales are like strawberries of lies dipped in a big bowl of sweet cream, words of sugar easy to eat, and of which you want more after each bite. Bitter drink than the truth.
"Who can rule without wealth or fear or love?
Lucky man, he had almost all of them. He undoubtedly possessed some of the greatest wealth in the world of piracy today.
Fear? Oh, fear, no sailor doesn't tremble when he hears his name spoken like a curse whose mere hearing condemns you for life.
Love? Love...
He certainly loved his daughter, but family love is a special kind of love that cannot be compared to any other love. Many things were said about Jinx, that storms are less fickle than her, seas less capricious. Silco was an ocean, and Jinx an ardent fire that might burn his ship down to ashes. But you weren't going to say that out loud, the love Silco had for his daughter was obvious.
It was a glint in his eye, a glint you had seen when you were stitching Jinx up, it never stopped when he looked at her, and nothing but fear could stop it from glowing constantly.
"Do you want to see what's under that eye patch?"
You stand still, and for some reason you don't know, you're as scared as you are curious. What if the legends are true after all? What if you find yourself cursed just by looking at that eye? What if... What if the eye was just another eye and the scars around its cheekbones never reached its lids?
You feel as if you've been walking on a cobbled floor for a while now, and that if you don't respond in the right way, the floor will collapse under you and close in without you ever being able to get out. And you feel that now the chances of you being wrong are ten times greater.
" Can I?" you say softly, your voice skimming over the murmur as if he were about to whisper a secret to you.
"I wouldn't have offered it to you if you didn't have the right." He confirms.
Your skin tingles as a fluttery feeling invades your belly. You don't even dare say anything more, lest speaking too loudly would burst a dream bubble, so you simply nod.
"Come closer," he says, taking one last drag of smoke to crush the tip of his cigar in the ashtray.
So you step closer to the desk, and you're scared. What if he asks you to come closer and stick a knife in your stomach? Maybe he felt humiliated after telling you all the stories you'd heard?
"Go round the desk," he points with a weary finger, "you're the one who's going to take it off of me."
You stop, your body tenses, a shiver runs through it like cool water. You must have misheard him, right?
"That I take off your eye patch? Me?"
"Is there anyone else in this room I'm talking to?" he says, turning his seat to make you face the side of the desk.
You feel your hands getting sweaty, you wipe them on your thighs. No amount of surgery or stitches seems to equal having to remove that innocent piece of cloth.
You move closer until your knees are almost touching.
You look at the eye patch, and Silco looks at you as if the same statue in that museum he was walking through had come to life.
Shyly, you bring both hands up to his face, and are almost surprised to feel that his skin is as warm as any other human's when your palms brush against his cheeks.
You let your fingers slide slowly along the leather strips that loop back. Silco's eye patch is not held in place by a knot that you can simply pull on to undo, but has a belt-like mechanism.
The seconds seem to stretch out, and he doesn't stop looking at you for a moment. You pull the tab slightly, dislodging the little metal arm that pierces it before finally letting the eye patch loosen on its own.
An eye as black as a storm, covered with a red flame, reveals itself to you. His gaze, it stings like heaven and caresses like hell. You feel like snow catching fire as your two gazes look at each other. No, they don't look at each other.
Looking is not seeing, and Silco isn't looking at you, he's seeing you. And for a moment, it's only that look that occupies your whole world. His eye is like the crater of a volcano, humming with warmth and heat and death and mystery and so much more that you feel like you're plunging into the depths of a petroleum lake about to burst into flames.
"Do you want to know the real story?"
Your thumb slowly and calmly traces the shape of the eye patch loop you hold in your hands, nodding before leaning back slightly against his desk, listening to him.
"Years ago, before I owned The Last Drop, it was in the hands of my friend Vander. We were... very close, and one day when we were about to storm Piltover and make a major coup for the piracy world," he'd looked away from the map on his desk, his eye like the head of his cigar, dark with its burning orange ring, "he betrayed me, and left me with this as a souvenir." he counted as he brought his fingers up to his cracked and blackened skin. "No matter how many stories we tell about monsters, the greatest ones will always be humans."
Both his eyes seemed full of unspoken words, as if he wondered if he had said too much or not enough.
Bitter drink than the truth.
Then his gaze returned to yours, and he asked you:
"Now that you've seen it, and you know its story, what do you think?"
It is true that you had just witnessed the true story of the Eye of Silco, the Devil of the Seas, the Eye that Never Sleeps. You didn't really expect anything spectacular, or terrifying. You thought it was beautiful, this eye, it looked like a sun in a night sky.
You basked in it like a fire in a dark place, you warmed your soul and found comfort in it in a way.
Then you tenderly replied, cracking a tiny smile:
"Legends don't compare to it, I prefer it, it has a real story."
He raised his eyebrows slightly, looking for any sign of lies in your eyes, but he found none, and let his lips split his face in a soft smile.
The truth is, you thought Silco was complete now. You could see him truly, fully, without any filters or props that might have prevented you from seeing him in his entirety.
You could have stood there for a moment without saying anything, just gazing at each other and talking to each other with your eyes and listening with your hearts.
You were thinking about the reasons you could access after your exchange, because you deeply doubted that he had invited you simply to make small talk.
"Why do I have the right to know all this?
The request was sincere, and Silco saw no ill intent in answering you, opening a drawer in his desk.
"I'm on medication, this eye from hell is hurting me so I have to ease the pain it's causing me." He pulls out a cylinder shaped object that you might have mistaken for a candlestick. "Usually Jinx is in charge of administering it, but since she's not here right now, I thought it would be good with your status as a surgeon to have you do it."
He handed you the object, you placed the eye patch on the desk before taking the utensil in hand as if it were made of porcelain. You examined it, the needle centred inside the tool sending a shiver down your spine.
"The rounded end goes over the eye, then you just press here. You just have to aim at the centre of the pupil. He indicates to you as you place the object correctly in your hands. "My body will cringe after you press it, so don't worry, that means it worked," he confirms.
You're not too keen on the idea of sticking a needle in his eye. You swallow as Silco sinks further into his seat. You can't really back out of this one.
Yet it scares you more than any other operation. In fact, what scares you in the moment is the fact that you have to do this to him.
That you had to do this to someone else would have been unpleasant, but you wouldn't have been so scared.
Silco has his head back, looking at his ceiling. You come even closer than when you took off his eye patch. He has one hand on his chest, the other moving away from his face to rest on his leg.
You move forward, checking to make sure you're aiming for the pupil and not slipping. To make sure you don't move, you grip the back of the chair, near Silco's head. You steady your hand, tighten your grip, and aim for the centre.
You are so close that your breaths land on each other's faces, your knees are between his, and you take a breath and block it.
And you press it.
A sound of metal quickly digging into fragile flesh echoes through the silence of the room.
Immediately Silco lets out a strangled sound in his throat as his head tilts rapidly forward. He twists and his hands immediately grab your forearms, squeezing them tightly.
You wrinkle your nose and clench your teeth slightly, Silco's grip is firm and he doesn't intend to let go for the moment.
His head tumbles against his hands, and his forehead wrecks against your forearms. He breathes heavily, his back rising and falling, his lungs swelling like sails bulging in the wind.
His breathing is heavy, and seems desperate, as if he's suffocated so far and has risen from a deep surface from which you' re not supposed to return.
Weak. That's what Silco looks like at the moment.
A weakness that he is ashamed of, that he hides under this eye patch, that he turns into a terror for the world and that he doesn't let anyone see except his daughter.
No one but his daughter? Not any more. He let you see his weakness.
He trusted you, enough to ask you to come and see him when you'd only met him twice before, enough to tell you what really happened instead of telling you stories like everyone else had. But had he been honest till the end? Or had he also set a trap for you by telling you another, more plausible scenario that would satisfy you?
You put these questions aside, you'll think about them later, this is not the right time. You don't want to see him in that state, hunched under you while you hold in your hand the object of his torment and pain.
You hesitate for a moment, then, with your free hand, you move your fingers to the top of his head and brush his hair.
He freezes, and for a moment you wonder if you might have made a mistake with this gesture, but you continue, waiting for him to tell you if he's bothered.
But nothing comes, he says nothing. You let your index finger and thumb mingle with the dark, greying strands of his hair, brushing your fingernails against his skull at times, letting your fingers tenderly caress his head.
His breathing steadies, and you feel a huge difference between the tense feeling he had before and the total release that runs through his body now. His hands have loosened their tight embrace on your arms, and his head is even more pressed against your palms.
Secretly, you know that this simple gesture makes him feel better.
It's only a few moments later that he breaks away from your hands to look at you, gently dropping the grip he has on your forearms, letting his hands slide down to your wrists, brushing your fingers before leaving his hand resting next to yours.
They don't touch, yet they're so close, so close that all you would have to do is lift your index finger slightly to touch them. He brings his other hand to his chest, still looking at the hand that is so close to yours.
"It's a pity that no balm or elixir can really heal," he says, his gaze was even softer than his voice. It reached out to the softest parts of you like a caress, like the wind in the trees, tickling those wonderful branches that bear the apple of your heart.
And his eyes, oh, his eyes - they are uniquely soft.
You might have expected the mismatched black of Silco's eyes to invariably put people to torture, and that he would play it virtuoso. But at the moment, it was nothing to be nervous about.
You can feel the warmth of his fingers next to yours, feel your hair stand up because his hand is so close to yours. You think it's selfish, but you want to close the gap between your fingers, to bring your index to his skin until they touch...
There's a knock at the door, and you gasp, turning towards it. Within seconds, you step aside, placing the tool carefully on the desk. Your heart sinks into your throat, and you feel your cheeks heat up violently.
"A crow."
You recognise Sevika's voice, and somehow it soothes you that it's her and not someone else.
You feel as if you have come close to the forbidden, and perhaps you have.
But the forbidden is too tempting.
"It's getting late, you should go to sleep." Silco says softly before moving closer to his desk with his chair, running a hand through his hair to comb it back properly.
You nodded, walking round the desk to take one of the stairs which you quickly climbed. As you reached the doors, he called you. You turned around and he looked you straight in the eye.
"Thank you," he said, a thin smile spreading across his face.
You nodded.
"Good night," you said before opening the doors.
The fresh air outside bites into your peonieshaded cheeks, your face all poppy. Outside, Sevika is waiting, a small roll of paper in her hand. You smiled at her, feeling very light, as if your heart had wings and was about to fly away like a sparrow freed from a cage.
You wished her good night, and then headed for the hold to your hammock. In it lay your wooden disc and your scalpel as Sevika had told you. You took the two objects in your hand and pulled yourself up inside.
In the half-light, you drew the relief of the branches you had pruned, ending up placing the disc against your heart, your scalpel now stored in a long pouch that you had hung on your belt.
Your eyes stared at the parallel lines of the planks before you fell asleep, and you remembered the last thing you'd thought of before sinking into the world of dreams: You didn't care what strawberries of lies he told you, you'd dip them in the cream without hesitation if he asked, and you wouldn't blink for a moment.
__________________________
Trigger part summary content :
Reader is in the hold taking care of the wounded members of the crew. Sevika comes in with jinx who's badly wounded on her stomach. Reader proceeds to press clothes on the cut to stop the bleeding. Silco comes, he's furious but mostly scared for his daughter. After the bleeding stops, reader cleans jinx's wound and stitch it, and then proceeds to giver her their blood.
#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#silco x y/n#silco#arcane#captain#silco x reader#silco arcane#pirate!silco#pirate silco#pirates#sevika#silco x you#silco arcane x reader#silco my beloved#arcane silco
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Silco: You seem familiar. Have I threatened you before?
#incorrect piltover quotes#incorrect quotes#arcane silco#silco#league of legends#arcane#riot games#source: pirates of the caribbean
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Having an Old Hollywood moment.
Now, I have visions of Silco fighting Marcus with a sword.
youtube
Or pirate Silco
youtube
God damnit, I'm going to have so many WIPs, I'll be drowning.
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—
Villains are real troopers, aren’t they?
Also, sorry, DV 😑🔥🔥🔥
—
#arcane#star wars#james bond#skyfall#spies in disguise#harry potter#pirates of the caribbean#silco#palpatine#silva#killian#lord voldemort#davy jones#darth vader
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Just thinkin’ bout a forced Reconciliation AU where Vander’s persuaded to take the deal and join forces after Silco takes an eye for an eye 😊
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the outpost had been easily taken over , it was the easiest job she'd ever been on that's for sure , a few holes in THE DEADLIGHT , a couple of scrapes that her crew members attained , that's to be expected , regular workplace hazard . certainly wasn't as bad as it could be , especially for attacking the military ( IN THEIR DEFENCE , THEY HAD NO RIGHT TO BE OUT HERE ... SO SHE'S BEEN TOLD . ) after telling the crew to collect their share , coraline seeks out silco , her temporary partner in crime .
when the twisting hallways finally lead her to him , a grin forms , announcing herself by jumping up hazardously on the table ❛ in a world without gold , we might have been heroes -- ❜ laughter seeps through easily , sword unsheathed as she dug the the finely crafted blade into the wood below feet ❛ frightening thought , isn't it ? ❜
𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 . @modestmuses / SILCO & CORALINE .
#v: pirate.#ic.#modestmuses#modestmuses * silco.#OSIFHSOIFHOSIFSIOFSF LISTEN... HEAR ME OUT ... I JUST HAD A VISION#AND THIS WAS IT#AGAIN LIKE I SAID LMK IF THIS DOESN'T WORK AND WE GOTTA PLOT OR SOMETHING#OR EVEN IF YOU NEED SOMETHING ELSE IM JUST ! : ) THEM
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To the Depths - Part Five - NSFW
(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader)
The Pirate's Waltz
AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4
Rating: Explicit/MDNI
Chapter Summary: You struggle with the terms of your punishment even as you begin to win over the crew. For a moment, all is well even though you are technically a prisoner. Will the sea allow a moment of peace?
Chapter Tags/Warnings: def a little nsfw but not nearly as much as other parts, nothing that hasn't been in past parts.
Not beta'd bc I was too impatient to get the update posted lol
*edited on 8/5 to fix mistakes that would have been caught with beta reading. There is a lesson here...*
You flee the cabin immediately without another word. Your entire body hums, rages, cries, and begs for release and you know you will not find it in that room. Something stings and burns in your chest, wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight. You’re reminded of Silco’s sea serpent tattoo but immediately shake the thought away. His body is the last thing you want to think about right now.
Especially since the ache between your legs only grows with each step. You briefly entertain the idea of finding a dark, shadowy corner of the ship to bring the relief denied you, but that thought flies out of your mind the moment you see the crew standing idle on the deck, their faces all turned toward the short stairwell you’ve just climbed. You freeze on the last step.
Before Silco dragged you back down to the cabin, you’d passionately declared for all to hear that you were the reason they had to spend the night fighting a violent storm and why thick pools of drying blood now stain the deck.
No doubt you’ve made an enemy of yourself to every single person staring at you now.
You could return to the cabin but the thought of being enclosed with Silco is unbearable. You are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Almost literally.
Luckily, you aren’t trapped in your frozen state for long. Jinx darts into your field of vision, her eyes wide and frantic.
“You look awful ,” she says, cupping your face in her dainty hands. The coolness of her skin alerts you to just how scorching your face is. No doubt flushed, too. “I hope he wasn’t too harsh with you.”
Harsh certainly isn’t the word you’d choose to describe what just happened in his cabin.
“I received the punishment I deserved for my error,” You say, hoping to avoid bringing up any particulars of that punishment, not when your ass still stung in the shape of his hand. Before Jinx can ask another question, you make your way across the deck to the poor crewmate you tricked.
“I owe you an apology.” You speak to him with the same grace and dignity you would reserve for a noble. “Tricking you wasn’t just wrong, it was cruel. If I thought for even one minute that things would turn out the way they did, I never would have done it but that does not make it acceptable.”
You bow your head and sink into a half-curtsy.
“Please, accept my sincerest apologies.”
The walleyed crewmember says nothing at first. Your cheeks grow red from embarrassment as you try to figure out what you ought to do next. He saves you from your discomfort when he lets out a loud, cawing laugh.
“All those fancy words for me, miss?” He guffaws. “In all me days I never thought a lady would speak so pretty to me.” He throws an arm around you in a friendly, but rough, manner and you straighten up to avoid falling over altogether.
“So, am I forgiven?”
“Ya ran a bad scheme and it bit us all in the ass. We’ve all done it,” he assures her. “But it’s nice to know you aren’t too high and mighty to take the consequences.”
Relief floods you as the other crewmates circle around. They give you approving nods, though you won’t go as far as to say they look upon you with trust or friendliness.
“Surely, the Captain requested more than just an apology,” Sevika says with a suspicious glint in her eyes.
“The apology was my own doing,” you say as you approach her. “His punishment dictates that I am to report to you. I am to clean the deck.”
Her eyebrows twitch as the corners of her mouth quiver like she’s trying not to laugh.
“I wouldn’t trust someone so soft-handed with the care of my deck but if the Captain insists…”
She trails off as she walks away. You realize you are meant to follow and hurry after her. She doesn’t offer anything by way of instruction. She tosses a bucket and a thick bristled brush towards you, which you fail to catch. The items clatter onto the floor. Your cheeks burn when you hear chuckles behind you.
“Get to it,” Sevika grunts.
You look at the empty bucket, noticing that it’s…well, empty.
“Where would I find water?” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realize your mistake. Everyone who heard begins to laugh.
“I think you can figure that one out on your own, princess,” Sevika smirks before heading below deck.
Jinx appears at your side, silent as a ghost but with the energy of a toddler who has had nothing but sweets all day.
“I rigged up a pulley system so you can fill your bucket. I’ll show you.”
She loops her arm through yours and pulls you across the deck. You fill your bucket with saltwater and approach one of the more gruesome remnants of the morning’s violence. Your stomach heaves as you spot something that might very well be a skull fragment.
Determined not to look foolish or weak, you get on your knees and scrub. You work diligently and without complaint, even when your arms start to ache and the wood remains stained despite your efforts.
It isn’t the approval of the crew you want, exactly. But you are going to be trapped on this ship for two weeks. While you aren’t looking to make friends with your captors, you also don’t want to find your throat slit in a moment of anger.
“How long are you going to keep doing that?” Jinx materializes by your side. Her braids fall into the puddle you’ve created with your scrubbing efforts. She doesn't seem to mind that she might be getting blood in her long hair.
“Is this a trick question?”
“No.”
You lift your head to find wide blue eyes staring at you with curiosity.
“I will keep doing this until the deck is clean.”
She barks out a laugh. “You’re never going to remove all the gross stuff with just water. Didn’t you know that?”
“I don’t often find myself in positions where I am scrubbing up gross stuff ,” you reply. “What else am I supposed to use?”
“Did Sevika not tell you?” Her brows knit together in a mix of concern and confusion.
“Tell me what?”
Jinx studies you for a moment longer before giggling. “Oh, I get it. Sevika’s having a go at you. Don’t worry. Everyone knows you’ll work without kicking up a fuss. I’ll be right back.”
She bounds off, leaving you confused. You take a moment to give your aching arms a break. You are aware of eyes on you, though the crewmates scattered around the deck do a decent job of not staring at you directly. You know this is some kind of test, one you’re determined to pass with flying colors even if the reward is earning the respect of pirates.
Jinx returns with a small tin.
“Watch this.” With a grin, she opens the tin to reveal vibrant purple powder. She sprinkles a little over the blood-soaked wood. “Pour a little water on that.”
You do as she instructs. With wide eyes, you watch the water hiss and bubble. It takes on a pale purple hue as it spreads. It eats away at the blood but leaves the wood unblemished.
“More water,” Jinx instructs. You comply. The bubbles wash away leaving behind smooth, clean wood.
“What is that?” You ask, eyeing the purple power.
“We’re still working on a name. I have several ideas but they always get shot down,” she says as she replaces the lid and tucks the tin into one of her many pockets.
“We?”
“The ship’s doctor. He likes to experiment.”
“This is the same doctor you got that strange drink from before, when I was first brought aboard?” You press.
“Yup!” Jinx beams.
“Well, the Captain tore that drink from my hands and threw it overboard before giving me water. What was wrong with it?”
You shudder at the thought of drinking a substance that is capable of dissolving blood and chunks of brain matter being served to you in a cup.
“Nothing!” Jinx raises her hands, palms facing you. “Sometimes it has side effects, but usually it’s completely safe.”
“Usually?” You arch a brow.
“Sometimes it makes your veins swell and glow and you can occasionally develop abnormal growths on your body,” she explains. “But that’s only if the batch is made wrong or you take way too much.”
“None of the words coming from your mouth are bringing me comfort.”
“It’s science! It’s all about trial and error,” she shrugs. “If I thought it would hurt you I wouldn’t have given it to you.”
Despite everything, you believe her. You haven’t seen a hint of malice in her since you were brought aboard.
“But you still haven’t told me what it is,” you press.
“It’s…a tool,” she says with thoughtful consideration. “Depending on how we process it, it can do a lot of things. It can be medicine and poison at the same time. It can clean wood with gentle precision but also dissolve bone. A tricky thing, it is. Truly fascinating.”
“Interesting,” you murmur as your mind wanders to a person who possesses that same versatility. Another tricky thing.
You see Silco’s face in your mind’s eye but quickly shake his image away. You don’t want to think about the Captain right now. You’re still cross from the way he teased you and denied you. You’re even more cross knowing how much you would have begged for your pleasure had he not chosen to punish you the way he did. “Thank you for the help. Can I have some of that powder to help me clean?”
Jinx almost seems like she’s going to agree but she holds back. “I’ll just stay with you. We can talk and I’ll sprinkle a little whenever you need it.”
“That works for me.” You offer her a warm smile, a genuine one. She smiles back and settles between two crates to keep you company as you clean.
********
Though you finish cleaning the blood and gore from the deck the very day they were spilled, Sevika isn’t shy about giving you extra tasks. She never gives you anything too difficult though you know it’s not out of consideration for you, but for the ship.
You’ve scrubbed the deck twice a day for three days. When you aren’t scrubbing, you put your sewing skills to use mending sails. The thick material is hard to work with and the needles are little more than scraps of half-rusted metal but you make do.
With the help of quick hands, fast learning, and the strange purple powder Jinx offers you soon have far too much idle time on your hands.
You aren’t particularly fond of aimlessly pacing the deck. The Captain’s cabin is always open to you, but you spend as little time there as you can manage.
Despite Captain Silco’s demanding schedule, he always manages to be in the cabin whenever you are. The room is small enough as it is, but when you are in there together, the very air seems to struggle for space. You don’t speak to him. You don’t look at him unless you can help it. Yet, he never misses a chance to brush close to you. You feel his eyes on you, always. Even when you sleep.
Sharing his bed is a necessity but you keep your limbs tucked close to you and your body curled toward the cabin wall. He never touches you, which brings both relief and unimaginable frustration.
On the third night, you lay wide awake. Your entire body hums with pressure from the release that was denied days ago. The longing never went away but tonight it’s nearly unbearable.
You listen in the dark. Silco sleeps beside you. His breathing is deep and even. Though there is a soft glow from the ember of his ruined eye, you know he’s asleep.
Slowly, very slowly, you shift onto your back. You wear only a borrowed shirt to sleep in. Your legs are left bare and your undergarments never recovered from your unexpected dip in the ocean. Tonight, it’s an advantage.
With great care, you slowly lift the long hem of your shirt until you feel the skin of your lower belly. You part your legs only an inch or two before letting your hand slowly wander between your legs beneath the shared blankets.
You listen intently as you move. Silco’s breathing never changes and you keep the rustling of bedsheets to a minimum.
You find it safe to assume that Silco is a heavy sleeper. Between the winds and rocking of the ship, it would be difficult for a finicky sleeper to find peace here. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. As sound as your logic may be, logic is not what drives you at this moment.
The sensation of your fingertips against your skin is enough to make you shiver. You freeze, silently admonishing your lack of self-control before making another attempt. You don’t need much. Just a few light, indulgent touches. Just enough to remove the biting edge of desire that has taken up permanent residence in the back of your mind since Silco bent you over his knee.
The pad of a single fingertip brushes against that sensitive, soaked bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt. The pain is necessary if it keeps you from making even the softest of sounds.
You wait for a moment, listening to Silco’s breathing. When you are certain there is no change, you allow another slow drag of your fingertip. Then another. And another. Pleasure spins through your mind and soothes the needy ache you’ve carried in your core for days.
Fragmented images from the night of the storm slip through your mind. The memory of Silco’s soft groan when you rode him so slowly sends another ripple of warmth through your body. You can recall the exact sensation of his tongue as he teased your nipples. You can feel the way he throbbed inside of you when you drove each other to maddening releases.
Yet, somehow, you manage to keep your movements minimal, discrete, and silent. Even as your blood heats up and your heart pounds, you have enough self-control to keep yourself quiet as you relieve your desires.
An intoxicating sense of smugness adds another layer to your pleasure. Though it was memories of Silco that fueled that pleasure, he remains asleep beside you. Completely oblivious.
His ability to consistently underestimate you was truly something-
“What do we have here?” His velvet voice slides through the darkness and wraps around you as his hand finds yours. You’re grateful for the pitch blackness of the cabin so he cannot see the redness of your cheeks. Your mind, still caught in the haze of pleasure from your fingertip, struggles to come up with any sort of explanation.
There is nothing you can say for yourself. You’ve been caught.
His hand, still covering your hand, moves. He presses down on your fingers, forcing you to tease yourself. You push your hips down into the mattress to avoid the pressure of your own touch.
“Oh, now you wish to follow the rules?” He taunts lightly.
You roll so that your back is to him. You tell yourself that you remain silent because you will not sink so low as to dignify his taunts with a response. Yet, deep in your belly where that spring of desire sits tightly coiled, you know that you cannot trust your own tongue right now. If you open your mouth to slice him with scathing words, there is a chance you’ll simply end up begging for pleasure.
Hatred blooms within the blush on your cheeks. How dare he toy with you in such a way? How dare you struggle so much to keep yourself in control around him? What happened that night, within the violence of the storm, was about control more than it was about pleasure.
But now? You have your hand between your legs, sneaking pleasure when you’ve always been able to go without when it suited you.
He’s made you desperate.
You remove your hand from between your legs and tuck both arms against your chest. You clamp your thighs together and pray that the sweet ache between them fades soon.
“If I catch you doing that again, I will not hesitate to bind your hands behind your back.” Silco’s voice comes through the darkness once more before he falls silent. You continue to say nothing.
When the sun rises, you dress as quickly as you can and flee the cabin. Silco sits at his desk and you do not even have to look at him to know there is a smug smile on his mouth. Embarrassment and irritation propel you through your daily tasks in record time. It is not yet midday when you find that you have nothing to do.
The rest of the crew mill about at a comfortable pace. They don’t seem to be in any particular rush. Jinx is nowhere to be found. You assume she’s below decks with the strange doctor you have yet to meet. Disappointment flutters in your chest. As strange as it is, your favorite parts of the past few days were when she would perch near you ask you worked, and ramble on about everything and nothing. She often jumped from topic to topic without rhyme or reason and rarely bothered to make sure you had the proper context to understand anything she said, but you enjoyed listening. She helped you keep your mind busy.
When your mind is not busy, even for the briefest of moments, your thoughts always turn to Silco. More specifically Silcos’s hands. Or his mouth. Or his voice or his cock or his insufferable personality. Without care, it’s so easy for you to lose yourself in a whirlpool of obsessive, never-ending thoughts about that ridiculous, despicable, revolting pirate bastard.
Prickles of pure fury ripple over your skin. With a soft snarl of annoyance, you scan the deck for Sevika. You find her near the bow, watching the calm sea.
“I need something else to do,” you say.
She initially seems as though she does not hear you, but you’ve come to realize that it’s part of the game she plays. She makes you wait before turning slowly and looking at you as though you’re a piece of flotsam.
“Mend the sails,” she says.
“They’re all mended.” Despite their somewhat worn-down appearance, the sails are of remarkable quality. Even after that vicious beast of a storm, little mending was needed.
“And the deck?”
“As spotless as it can be with all of the wood rot.”
“And the spare line?”
“In perfect condition. It may as well be coils of silk.”
“How many pickled eggs are in the barrel?”
“Two-hundred and seventy-three.”
Her thick, dark brows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”
“If you want to double-check, you’re more than welcome but please give me something to do first before I throw myself overboard.”
Several emotions fight for dominance on Sevika’s stern face. You see flashes of surprise, humor, annoyance, and perhaps a little bit of respect though that might have been a trick of the light.
“Arlo is doing one of his big cooking hauls today,” Sevika says. “I’m sure he can use an extra set of hands.”
You had yet to venture below deck to meet the ship’s cook and see the mess deck. Jinx preferred to eat in the open air and had taken it upon herself to bring an extra serving for you at mealtimes.
You find the meal offerings of the Zaun’s Revenge to be, frankly, repulsive. At first, you assumed it was because your palate was used to Piltover’s fresh vegetables, vibrant spices, and choice cuts of meat. But you’d seen the way others look at their meals with disgust and longing and you knew you weren’t alone in your dislike of the cuisine.
Of course, could you truly expect to find something tasty aboard a pirate’s ship?
Sevika does not wait for you to answer. She turns away as though you are not there and focuses her gaze on the sea once more. You wonder if she’s looking for something or simply pondering. It’s not hard to imagine that those aboard this ship have had difficult lives filled with strife. You have more than most ever will, despite your losses, and you often need to take a moment to deal with the weight of it all by gazing at a soothing view. It clears the mind.
You make your way below deck, passing the crammed tables of the mess deck.
Arlo isn’t difficult to find. The mess deck and the kitchen are one and the same. A heavy-set man covered in a light sheen of sweat frantically tosses…something in a wide pan over a massive flame. The air carries a scent of burnt food and vinegar. Arlo watches the pan as though he believes the contents will jump out and bite him. To be fair, that doesn’t seem impossible.
“Hello?” You call softly, over the violent sizzle of the ill-fated meal.
Arlo looks over his shoulder and sets the pan aside, looking relieved to do so before a stern expression overtakes his somewhat doughy features. You can’t help but notice the red tinge to his watery grey eyes, irritated by the fumes of cooking such a creation.
“No early meals. You should know the rules by now, princess.”
“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I’m not here to beg for food. Sevika suggested you might need an extra hand. She said you were doing some kind of…food haul?” While you understand what each of those words mean separately, you are unsure of the combined meaning of them in this context.
“Aye?” He sniffs as he brings the corner of his apron up to rub at his eyes. “I like to cook big batches of things all at once and preserve them so it is easy to handle mealtimes. This lot is hard to feed.”
“Preserve them?” You ask. “You have enough salt for such a task?”
“Of a sort,” he says. “The good doctor below decks whipped up a preserving powder that works wonders. It tastes like nothing.”
Arlo jerks his chin towards a bowl sitting on one of the stained, cluttered counters. The bowl is filled with a grainy substance the same vibrant shade of purple as the powder that helped you get blood out of the deck.
“What is it?” You ask, leaning forward just a little.
“Beats me,” Arlo shrugs. “It’s not my place to ask questions, especially not when I’m given something helpful for free.”
“I can understand that,” you nod. “Do you need help with your food haul?”
“I won’t say no. Can you cook?”
You hesitate for a moment. “No. But if you have a recipe I can look at, I can surely figure it out.” You’ve always been a quick learner. And so many people know how to cook so how hard can it truly be? You doubt whatever concoctions Arlo makes take much skill.
“I don’t waste my time with recipes.”
“Then how do you cook?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer.
“I do what feels right.”
What feels right often leads to grey foods that are both mushy and crunchy at the same time.
“Did you study somewhere to become a cook?” Your training in polite conversation rears its head before you can stop it. Of course, he didn’t train anywhere. He’s a bloody pirate.
“People are trained to be cooks?” He looks at you with utter confusion.
“They prefer to be called chefs, but yes.”
“Ach,” he waves her off. “I’m no chef and I do not pretend to be. I just do my best to use whatever isn’t rotting or foul to keep the crew fed.”
Well, at least Arlo seems to have some sort of self-awareness.
“Were you not able to gather more ingredients when we stopped at Port Fairna?” You ask. You vividly remember plenty of spice sellers and bakers lining the dirt streets.
“No,” Arlo answers sharply. “I do not mess about with such things.”
You tilt your head in confusion. “You do not manage your own stock?”
“No.” Came another curt reply. The cook avoids your gaze, choosing instead to look at his own hands.
You decide not to push the matter and instead, turn your attention to the shelves of the well-stocked scullery. Unfortunately, your confusion only deepens. The shelves are lined with rich spices from all over the world that look untouched. You spy garlic, onions, potatoes, carrots, and all manner of staple ingredients labeled and stored with heaps of the purple preservative.
“What are all of these?” You ask.
Arlo looks at the shelves you point to but quickly looks away. “Don’t know. Never seen ‘em before. Don’t know how to cook with ‘em so I don’t use them.”
“But it says what they are right on the containers,” you point out. “Surely, you’ve heard of garlic and potatoes even if you’ve never had them. Right?”
Arlo goes quiet for a moment and you briefly wonder if you’ve made some unforgivable error in an innocent question. “Aye. Yes, I’ve heard of them but I did not know we had them.”
“But they’re labeled. Did you not label them yourself?” He controls the kitchen, does he not?
Arlo’s cheeks turn a patchy red color that is not from the fumes or heat. “No, no I didn’t. I…can’t.”
You stare in confusion before shame and embarrassment creep into your gut. “You do not know how to write?”
“Or read.”
Arlo can’t meet your gaze. He seems frozen in place. Though he is nearly the side of the large, tattooed crewmember that once pulled you from the sea, he looks like a small child.
“Oh,” you say softly. It’s clearly a point of tenderness for Arlo. You don’t wish to upset him even more. “Well, then this seems like a perfect arrangement.”
He lifts his head and looks at you with a quizzical expression. “What?”
“I can read but I cannot cook. You can cook but cannot read. It seems like an ideal pairing to me.” You offer him a smile.
For a brief moment, you wonder at your own actions. You’d never go out of your way to be unkind to someone who did not deserve it and you always try to do what’s right, but you know yourself. You have a temper and a spiteful streak that prevent you from ever calling yourself a nice person, though you like to think you are kind in all of the ways that matter.. Arlo is a pirate. Arlo likely knew of the plan to kidnap you and hold you for ransom. Arlo is one of Silco’s men and, therefore, cannot possibly be a good person.
Yet, you find it easy to be nice to him. Natural, even. He doesn’t seem like a scowling, sneering member of a villainous pirate crew determined to put you through hell before returning you to your father and fiance.
He’s just…a person.
So is Jinx.
You are surrounded by people. Just people.
You shake away the thought. Yes, the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge are people but they are people who willingly follow a terrible man capable of terrible things. There are no innocent people aboard this ship and you cannot allow sentimentality and loneliness to cloud that fact.
Still, if a little teamwork can yield some decent food, you’re willing to give it a go.
With Arlo’s approving nod, you push into the scullery and examine what you have to work with. The stock aboard this half-rotted ship rivals your larder back home. You gather up ingredients you know work well together and read the labels to Arlo. His eyes light up with inspiration.
“If I had known we had such things, I would have used them ages ago,” he says with an excited smile.
“No one helped you until now?” You press.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly a helpful bunch. We handle our own responsibilities and we don’t gripe to anyone else. No one wants to be seen as a weak link in the chainmail. Weak links don’t last long. Asking for help would mean dumping some of my responsibilities on someone else’s lap. It’s just not done, you see?”
“No, not really,” you answer. “Asking for help is not a weakness.”
“We can agree to disagree on that but let me ask you something.” Arlo took a head of garlic and began peeling and mincing the cloves with speed and precision. “When was the last time you answered a call for help?”
You open your mouth to answer but falter. You cannot remember a time you were last approached by someone in need of help.
“Well, no one has asked me for help in recent memory so I cannot say,” you answer.
“And that automatically means that no one around you needed help?”
“I-” you stammer. “I don’t know.”
“I bet you live in a big, fancy house. Yeah?”
“Yes,” you say, your cheeks coloring with embarrassment as you pass a vial of dried green herbs to Arlo.
“And lots of people get paid to be in that house and make your life easier?”
“Yes,” you repeat.
“And you don’t think those people have struggles that you could probably help with?”
You want to say no. You want to believe that everyone working for your family is happy and content with their job as well as their personal lives but you are not that naive.
Except…perhaps, you are.
“I never thought about it,” you admit.
“And they never asked because that’s not how it’s done. Their burdens are their own. My burdens are my own. It is the way of things.”
You let his words sit heavy on your chest as you rummage through the scullery. You’re almost grateful when you smell the thick stench of rot from ingredients kept too long. You clear out everything that doesn’t look right and shove it into a bin to be disposed of later.
You think of your lady’s maid and realize you know little about her. You do not know if she has siblings, a lover, a best friend, or even if her parents are alive. You have no idea why she applied for a position with your family. As much as you’d like to think your family are good employers, you know it’s foolish to believe her greatest joy in life is tightening your corset and brushing your hair.
“Would this be a tasty addition?” Arlo calls, bringing you out of your thoughts as he holds up a jar of dried peppers. You read the label and wince.
“Are spicy dishes popular among the crew?” You ask. “Just one of those would set your mouth on fire.”
“Better leave it for another day, then,” he shrugs. “I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with too many new flavors.”
Though Arlo never had any training, his instincts as a cook come to life the moment he fully realizes just what he has to take advantage of. Vegetables are minced and sauteed quickly. You find some bone broth tucked away in the scullery. There is no shortage of fishmeat to choose from. You read the labels to Arlo who looks on in wonder.
“I thought this was bass and this was carp,” he says, pointing to two containers of preserved fishmeat. “I never knew that was eel. It all looks so different when it’s sliced up and skinned.”
“Who does the fishing?”
“A few crewmembers have a knack for it. All of Sevika’s gadgets make her the obvious choice for skinning, deboning, and filleting,” Arlo explains. “It’s brought to me all packaged up like this.”
It seems odd to you that the systems around food are so sloppy, especially since Silco seems to thrive on order. Upon further reflection, you realize you haven’t actually seen him eat. He left his plate untouched at the tavern. He let you eat his bread and potatoes. You saw him drink from his tankard but you cannot recall him taking a bite of his food.
Surely, he must eat. Though he is a pirate, he’s displayed a sense of elegance and taste on more than one occasion. You simply cannot see him eating the food prepared by his illiterate cook.
But why does it matter to you? He’s obviously eating enough to keep himself alive. Why would you care what he eats?
You don’t care. And you don’t want to think about him. You have an important task on hand that is, truthfully, quite fun. You’ve come across many of the spices and herbs stored in the scullery during your travels. Smelling them brings pleasant memories. While you do not know how to cook, you know how to describe what things taste like. In the event Arlo knows nothing about an ingredient, you are sometimes able to provide some knowledge. It’s a strange system, but it somehow works.
Arlo keeps your mind busy. He even teaches you how to chop a few things. Your hands are clumsy but you make it work. Within an hour, you are dutifully stirring a massive pot of fish stew. While it’s not something you’d choose for yourself, it’s an improvement on whatever Arlo made before.
“It’s strange to be a cook on a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean and have access to things I never even knew existed growing up,” Arlo says, holding a potato in his hands.
“You never had a potato until joining this crew?” You itch to ask why he joined in the first place but you allow him to reveal information about himself at his own pace.
“Potatoes grow from the earth, yeah?” He asks. You nod. “Which means they need something in order to grow.” He gives you an expectant look. You know you’re being tested again but potatoes are a safer topic than the unknown personal lives of your staff.
“Sunshine, water, and fertilizer, I presume.”
“There is no sunshine where I come from,” Arlo says. “Water can’t be wasted on plants but even if it could, there is no earth. You can’t grow something of the earth if there is no earth for growing.”
“Oh,” you murmur softly. “You’re from the Undercity, then?”
“Almost all of us are,” Arlo says. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
“Well, I haven’t been in a very social mood as of late. Being kidnapped tends to do that.” You offer a small smirk, which Arlo returns.
“Fair enough,” he nods. “You seem like a decent sort for a spoiled heiress.”
“You seem like a decent sort for a pirate who can’t read.”
Arlo barks out a laugh. “Perhaps, your ransom money will buy me a tutor.”
You can’t help but laugh at that as you continue to stir the stew. With a little thrill of accomplishment, you realize that you’ve not only assisted in the preparation of a meal but you’ve done so without thinking of Silco for more than a few moments. He’s hardly entered your mind at all.
Footfalls thump on the wooden stairs leading to the deck. You spot tall, well-kept boots wrapped around slender legs.
It is as if your thoughts - or lack thereof - summoned him like some kind of devilish moth to a flame that would prefer to be left unbothered.
“Ah, there you are,” Silco says as he enters the mess deck. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Working,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the stew.
“I did not assign you to the kitchen.”
“You told me to take orders from Sevika. Sevika sent me here. Arlo and I are getting along brilliantly, aren’t we?” You look over your shoulder at the cook who glances between you and Silco with a look of panicked confusion. Eventually, his gaze stops on Silco.
“I didn’t know you didn’t want her working in the kitchen, Captain,” he says quickly. His voice trembles with nerves and you feel anger flickering to life in your stomach.
“I should warn you, Arlo,” Silco speaks as though the cook said nothing. “Our prisoner does not have a talent for following directions. She can be sneaky and disobedient if she believes she can get away with it.”
Your cheeks burn as you understand exactly what he means.
Before you can stop yourself, you pull the wooden spoon from the stew and chuck it at Silco. He dodges, but barely. His good eye widens in surprise as you search for something else to launch at him. Perhaps a nice sharp butcher’s knife. Instead, you find a whisk. You throw it without hesitation.
“Have you gone mad?” Silco snaps, dodging the second projectile. How can someone with one working eye be so good at dodging and judging distance? Although, you don’t know for certain if the ruined eye still has a vision. Could that be possible?
You let out a frustrated groan as your mind tries to give in to your curiosity about the infuriating pirate before you.
“Oh, I see,” Silco chuckles. “You’re just upset I won’t let you cu-”
He is silenced by a spatula spinning through the air as it hurtles toward him. He dodges once more.
“I have plenty of things to throw at you,” you warn him. “And if I have gone mad, it’s entirely your fault so I will not feel bad if I crack your nose with a rolling pin.”
“I don’t have one of those,” Arlo murmurs softly.
“Temper, temper,” Silco tuts before backing up toward the stairs. “Don’t let her poison me, Arlo. I don’t put it past her to try.”
Arlo gives you a concerned look as Silco vanishes.
“Don’t worry,” you say with a bitter note in your voice. “I won’t poison anyone.”
“It’s not that, though I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But you just threw things at the Captain. Have you lost your bleeding senses, woman?”
“Most likely.” You find another spoon to stir the stew with and continue on as though Silco did not interrupt your work.
“Just be careful,” Arlo warns. “The Captain is not to be trifled with.”
“Neither am I.”
********
The stew is well received, but that’s not a surprise. Even if it still tastes off to you, it’s a massive improvement. The mess deck is packed with crewmembers licking their bowls clean and sniffing out second helpings. You and Arlo made enough stew to last several meals but it is all gone in the span of an hour. Arlo frets about rationing ingredients but his worries are soon put to rest from an overflow of praise. Even Sevika cracks a smile as she sips her broth.
Silco does not eat with the crew, but that doesn’t surprise you. A spiteful part of you is glad that he will miss out on such a delightful meal. It serves him right for being so…so…
Him.
As night falls, the crew settles into a leisurely state.
You get to work scrubbing the dirty dishes, eager to have a task that will keep you out of the Captain’s chambers for as long as possible.
“Ach, leave it to me,” Arlo says. “You’ve done enough.”
“I don’t mind,” you protest, even though dishwashing is not an appealing task after seeing the way the pirates eat. “I should be helping.”
“Come have a drink with us,” comes the deep voice of the tattoo-covered man. After listening to the conversation during mealtimes, you gleaned that his name is Locke.
“Oh, I-” You stammer, surprised by the invitation. A slender crewmember with dark choppy hair moves to Locke’s side. You’re fairly certain they go by Ran.
“Come on,” they urge. “You’ve worked hard enough. And none of us have given you proper credit for taking Walley’s punishment the other day. It took nerve to speak up like that. Most of us wouldn’t have done that.”
You look back at Arlo, who gives a nod of approval. Your gaze returns to Locke and Ran. Though they do not look as intimidating as they did when you first came aboard, you wouldn’t call their demeanors friendly, either but that’s something you’ve come to expect. Everyone on this ship comes from a rough place. It makes sense that even kindness looks abrasive in your eyes.
“Okay,” you nod. A part of your mind begins to scheme. If you can befriend some of the crew, perhaps you can pull off an escape after all. The other part of your mind is simply glad you have a reason to stay out of the Captain’s cabin. Besides, it will surely irritate Silco that his crew is being so welcoming to you. That’s a lovely bonus to this situation.
You follow Locke and Ran to the main deck where quite a few members of the crew including Jinx and Sevika stand around a cluster of torches bound together in a damp barrel. It doesn’t seem like the safest arrangement, but you don’t say as much.
You move to Jinx’s side. She beams when she sees you and throws a playful, but rough, arm over your shoulder.
“It’s about time you started being social,” she says with a glint of mischief in her eyes. You almost want to remind her that you are a prisoner, a captive. Socializing is not a priority. You decide against it. She’s just a kid. She’s happy and she’s aware of the situation. You’ll leave well enough alone.
“Here, princess.” Sevika presses a tin into your hand. You can smell the alcohol even though the tin is nowhere near your face.
“What is it?” You ask.
“The finest vintage imported from uppityland courtesy of Star Crossed Shipping,” Sevika snorts before taking a gulp of her own drink. You try not to bristle at the mention of your father’s company.
“Seriously, what is it?” You whisper to Jinx.
“I don’t know. I only drink coralberry juice,” she shrugs. “Nothing else is sweet enough.”
You’ve never heard of coralberries or their juice. It’s entirely possible that Jinx is making up a random drink for the fun of it. Either way, your cup is filled with something dark and pungent. It is only when you notice that many crewmembers are watching you with curious and expectant looks that you realize they’re waiting for you to drink. They probably expect you to choke and sputter, proving that you’re too soft and fragile compared to them.
You don’t know why the idea bothers you, but it does. You brace yourself and take a drink.
And it is awful.
If you had to guess, you’d say it was some kind of spiced rum but that doesn’t make the burn any easier to bear as you swallow it down. Your eyes water so much that everyone blurs together in a smudgy mess. For a moment, you think you’re going to be sick. Or that your skin is going to melt off. It’s hard to know for sure.
Even when you swallow the liquid down and the feeling passes, your tongue feels numb. Surely, that’s nothing to worry about. Right?
You are rewarded with approving glances but never any outright praise. Not that it matters. Why would you want the praise of a bunch of pirates? Why would you want praise for choking down something that tastes like it was made in a boot?
You shudder as you realize that it likely was made in a boot or something equally foul.
Thankfully, attention moves away from you as everyone settles down to swap stories. Jinx pulls two crates together and urges you to sit on one.
“Every word of these stories is utter shit, but they’re entertaining,” Jinx whispers to you. “I hope Locke tells about the time he caught a deep sea spineshark with nothing more than a stick and some fishing line.”
You listen to the stories and Jinx’s words ring true. It quickly becomes clear that the purpose is not to share experiences, but to outdo each other with fictional feats of glory. Though, when Sevika speaks of punching a ravenous whale right in the eye, you feel as though there is a measure of truth in her words. Especially if that punch was done by her three-pronged attachment.
“I wonder who is going shout liar first,” Jinx murmurs as her eyes scan the faces of those around her.
“What?” You ask.
“Eventually, someone tells a story that’s so impossible, so unbelievable, that someone else calls them a lair. Then they fight over it.”
“Fight? As in, fight ?” You shake your head. How is this considered a fun activity?
“Yup!” Jinx’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “It’s the best part.”
“If you say so,” you shrug and continue to listen.
Sure enough, a skinny sailor with sunken eyes and a permanent scowl tells a tale that is just a little bit too farfetched and it sends Locke over the edge.
“Lair!” Locke booms, spilling some of his drink.
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” the other sailor snarls.
“This is going to be a boring fight,” Jinx mumbles. “No one will throw a punch at Locke and Locke is too honorable to punch someone smaller than him.”
Never in a thousand years would you have looked at Locke and thought the word honorable applies to him. But Jinx’s prediction rings true. The two sailors shout and swear at each other for a little while but they do not come to blows.
“At least I am a decent shot,” Locke grumbles as the argument reaches its head.
“My nan is a better shot than you are and she’s fuckin’ blind,” the other man snarls, earning a round of snickers from the rest of the crew.
“Your nan died three years ago, you twat.”
“Yeah! And she can’t see for shit!”
You nearly spit out your tentative sip of likely-rum at that. You try to rein in your laughter when you realize everyone else is doing the opposite, especially Jinx.
“Bring me a rifle,” Locke snaps. “We’ll settle this now.”
“You don’t have any targets to aim for, you buffoon,” Ran quips as they drain their cup.
“That don’t matter,” the skinny sailor says with a dismissive wave. “I’m so drunk I can see just about as well as my nan.”
“Then how are we going to settle our little disagreement?” Locke demands. “By proxy?”
“Sure, I’ll choose a proxy to defend my honor,” the sailor scoffs. His bleary eyes scan his surroundings before his gaze lands on you. “I bet the little heiress can outshoot you.”
Locke rolls his eyes and your cheeks flush red.
“I’ll bet my life’s earning she’s never even held a firearm before,” Locke mutters.
“Yet she can still outshoot you,” the sailor slurs.
Your apprehension melts away as you realize everything is said in good fun. For reasons you are unsure of, you decide to join in.
“I’ve never held a firearm but I’m certain Locke has never danced a waltz,” you say.
Locke levels you with a hard stare, one brow arched. “Who needs waltzing?”
“Who needs to be a good shot in alone in the middle of the ocean?” You point out.
“Good marksmanship is very useful in piracy,” Locke says. “Waltzing is not.”
“Waltzing requires grace, balance, self-awareness, spatial awareness, and the ability to read those around you. You don’t have only your partner to worry about but other pairs around you. Can the same be said for shooting?”
“Yes!” Jinx exclaims. “Well, maybe not the bit about a partner but that’s all true.”
“What a load of shit,” Locke grumbles.
“It’s true,” Sevika chimes in. Her word seems to make all the difference even if she only speaks up for the sake of her own entertainment.
You look at Locke who still seems to be struggling with the idea that a waltz and a rifleman use the same skillset. “I propose a challenge.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
“If I can shoot better than Locke can waltz, I win,” you say.
“Win what?” Locke asks.
“Bragging rights?” You suggest. You don’t want to trade away any chores since you need them in order to avoid being alone with Silco.
“Done,” Locke nods with a smirk. Despite his menacing appearance, he looks almost…giddy. Like he’s happy to take part in something that’s truly ridiculous. “Come take your shot.”
You stand and approach Locke as Ran brings a rifle to him.
“Do you have any idea how to shoot this at all?” Locke asks.
“Nope,” you admit.
“In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll show you just enough to keep you from hurting yourself,” he says.
“How gallant.”
He shows you how to hold the rifle, which is far heavier than you imagined. As per instruction, you keep the barrel pointed toward the open ocean at all times. As you hold it, your arms start to tremble. Locke prepares the rifle for firing and you suspect he’s taking longer than necessary just to see you struggle.
“If there is no target, how can we know whether I’ve made a good shot or not?” You ask.
“Don’t worry. That won’t matter.”
“But my part of the challenge is a test of marksmanship,” you protest only to be met with a chuckle.
“Okay, princess. Go ahead and fire.” Locke gives you a nod and you gently tap your finger against the trigger. Aiming at the endless, empty expanse of the black ocean, you pull the trigger fully. You expect the loud boom but you do not expect to feel the entire rifle revolt against your grip, slamming into your shoulder. You stumble back with a small yelp, much to the enjoyment of the spectators around you.
Locke tosses his head back and laughs, his shoulders shaking.
“What the hell was that?” You stammer. Ran takes the rifle from you, freeing your hands to rub at your shoulder.
“Recoil. To be honest, I expected to you land on your ass,” Locke chuckles.
“You might have given me some warning.”
“Where is the fun in that?” The pirate says.
“Well, once I confirm that my shoulder hasn’t been launched from its socket, I’m going to make you waltz and we’ll see how you do,” You mutter, still testing the soreness in your arm and shoulder. “If you complete the waltz without tripping, you’ll win. Is that fair?” That seems fair to you since Locke expected the rifle’s recoil to send you to the ground.
“Easy enough,” he agrees.
“Good. Stand here.” You direct him to stand in front of you. “Watch my feet.”
With a phantom partner, you demonstrate the basic steps of a waltz before returning to Locke.
“Got it?” You ask.
“Yes,” Locke nods though he does not seem very confident.
“Good. Remember, if you trip, I win.” You place his hands in the correct positions and do the same for yourself. He’s much taller and broader than anyone you’ve ever danced with. Your arms feel suspended in an awkward way that almost makes you laugh.
“I don’t suppose we have any music?”
“Depends. Can one play a waltz on the side of a barrel?” Jinx asks.
“Likely not,” you chuckle. “It’s no matter. I will count out the beat. That won’t be too difficult for you, will it?” You taunt Locke who only nods.
You begin to count, but nothing happens. Locke stands stock still.
“You’re the man. You’re supposed to lead,” you prompt him.
“Right. Naturally,” he grumbles and waits for you to begin your count. When you do, he steps forward instead of backward, trampling your foot. You hold in your laughter as you shake your head.
“I didn’t think you’d stumble on the very first step,” you tease. “Had I known such a game would be so easy to win I would have joined the fun sooner.”
“I’ve never done any of that fancy Piltover dancing before. Let me try again,” Locke mutters. “It’s a stupid dance. It’s not that hard.”
“If you say so,” you shrug before taking up position again. You begin to count once more. To Locke’s credit, he manages two steps before stumbling, earning a round of laughter from the crew.
“What is the meaning of this?” A voice like a burst of cold wind blew over the deck. Silco stood at the top of the stairs leading to his cabin. The laughter amongst the crew faded into nothing. Only Jinx looked unaffected by the Captain’s sudden presence.
“A friendly challenge,” you explain. “Nothing more.”
“I can see that,” Silco says as he steps closer to the cluster of burning torches. The firelight casts his face in harsh shadows that make him look even more inhuman than he already does. “But I cannot allow the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge to look incompetent. Locke, step aside.”
“Aye, Captain.” The confusion is clear in his voice as he stumbles back. You are unable to fully hide your confusion as well, especially when Silco steps before you and takes your hand.
“The honor of the Zaun’s Revenge is at stake. You will not leave this ship under the misbelief that no one here can execute a decent waltz.”
Well, that’s an unexpected development.
“Do what you are able,” you reply with a note of challenge in your voice that does not go unnoticed by your new partner. You bring your hand to rest on his shoulder as you prepare to dance.
“One more thing,” he says before looking to his crew. “Walley, do you still have that old fiddle?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Fetch it.”
The crewmember scurried away and quickly returned with the promised fiddle.
“Play Across a Sea so Clear and Blue, ” Silco orders before looking down at you. “I doubt you know it but it will suffice for a waltz. Surely, you can adapt.”
“Surely,” you bristle.
Walley beings to play his fiddle. Though you do not know the song, the time signature is well-suited for a waltz. You wait for Silco to lead you into the dance, expecting him to miscount or falter but he doesn’t. The pair of you move across the deck as though you’ve done this a hundred times before and plan to do it a hundred times more.
You quickly adjust to each other’s movements and soon he leaves room for you to add flourishes to the simple steps, which you do without hesitation. Your movements are slow and precise. As you dance with him, you cannot help but think of how different this is from the passion you shared during the storm. Silco leads you through the dance expertly, trusting you to be a competent partner. This isn’t a show of dominance or power but a display of grace and unity. Two bodies moving as one to create something elegant and lovely.
The song ends far too soon, as does the dance. You feel breathless even though the dance was not at all physically demanding. You’re speechless even as your body moves you through the motions of curtsying to your partner.
Thankfully, Jinx appears at your side. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement.
“How did you do that? You looked like you were floating!” She says, looking between you and Silco. Her question is a good one.
Where does a pirate learn how to waltz, let alone waltz so well?
“I…” You start only to trail off. “I need a drink.”
You move away from Silco, back to your abandoned cup. You force yourself to take a sip and you are grateful that it goes down easier this time. The alcohol settles in your belly and dulls the unwanted feelings swirling through you.
Jinx joins you soon and within minutes, the crew is back to swapping stories and boasting as though the waltz never happened.
Your gaze wanders to the bow. Though that part of the ship is kept in darkness, Silco’s figure is even darker and you can see him easily.
Curiosity and something deeper that you do not wish to think about tugs at you. You do your best to ignore it for as long as you are able, but it’s like a persistent buzzing fly hovering around your head.
With a resigned sigh, you get up and move toward the bow. No one stops you or questions you.
You reach Silco’s side and stand quietly in the darkness for a moment. You can hear the gentle lap of the water against the ship’s hull and you can see the sparkling array of stars above, but everything else is black.
“If you’ve come to beg for another dance, I’m afraid I will disappoint you,” Silco says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, as though he does not wish the stars to overhear him.
“I wasn’t going to,” you say. “But I was going to ask where you learned to dance like that.”
“It does not take much to learn how to waltz,” he says. Though you cannot see his face, save for the glow of his ruined eye, you get the sense that he’s avoiding something.
“It’s not just that,” you say. “You dance like a gentleman. You carry yourself like a gentleman. You speak like a gentleman, for the most part. Yet, you’re…”
“A pirate? A sea hound? A scoundrel? A criminal?”
“You could have stopped at pirate but yes,” you nod, earning a soft chuckle from Silco. “But even still, you’re nothing like the pirates my father has encountered.”
“I’ll admit to that,” he says. “I am not like any other pirate roaming the seas. I have no wish to scavenge from trade ships. If I wished to fight for scraps with a thousand other desperate fools, I would have stayed in the Undercity.”
Silco does not need to see your face to know his words have thrown you.
“Is it more believable that a pirate can carry himself well than it is to believe a gutter rat can do the same?”
“I have not known what to believe for several days now,” you say. “I’d be willing to believe almost anything.”
The chuckle that leaves Silco’s throat is dry and humorless. “The Piltover Naval Academy loves bottomfeeders with a sad story.”
Your eyes widen in the darkness.
Of course, that makes perfect sense. He wasn’t daunted by the storm. He runs his ship with precision and discipline one would not attribute to ordinary pirates. He’s managed to instill a sense of both fear and loyalty in his crew. And those who attend the academy are taught etiquette, dance, deportment, and anything else that can shape them into shining jewels of society.
Your mind snaps back to the day you were kidnapped, before everything went to hell. Captain Vander spoke of the academy briefly. There was a moment when a shadow fell over his features as he spoke of his past. And he knew Silco. As did Quartermaster Benzo.
“Did you know Captain Vander?” You ask softly, unsure if you wish to know the answer or not.
Silence stretches out between you and Silco. Even though you are within arms reach of him, you feel as though you may as well be an ocean away.
“Yes.” His voice is soft yet somehow still harsh. Bitter but sad.
“Were you…close?” you ask, unsure if there is a better way to phrase it. The way Captain Vander looked at Silco aboard The Hound went beyond normal anger. There was history there.
“For a time,” Silco replies.
You’re shocked that he gave you any kind of real answer.
“What happened?” You press, wanting to see how far you can take your questions.
“Professional differences,” Silco mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does.”
Silco turns to look at you as silence falls once more. Though you can barely make out his features, you can see he is fighting some kind of war within himself. You are about to take the high road and apologize for prying, as the rules of polite conversation demand, when the ship suddenly heaves hard to one side.
Unable to right yourself in time, you start to fall. Silco’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you to him, allowing you to use his body to steady yourself. Farther down the deck, the crew voices their confusion amongst themselves, unsettled by the sudden jolt.
“What was that?” You ask, turning your gaze to the sky as though you expect another terrible storm to blow in out of nowhere. But the skies are perfectly clear and the wind is calm. The ocean, however, tells a different story. The faint light of the torches reaches the water closest to the ship. Instead of the calm, docile sea, the Zaun’s Revenge glided on only moments ago, the water was as violent as a bubbling cauldron.
“Get back,” Silco urges, guiding you away from the railing.
“What is it?” You repeat.
Silco does not get a chance to answer. In the blink of an eye, the sea erupts. At first, you fear the ship has nudged some kind of explosive. You can think of nothing else that would explain the towering column of water rising just off the starboard bow.
The water crashes back down to the ocean’s surface except that it doesn’t. Water rolls off the form of something huge, something that also looks like water. You blink over and over, trying to make sense of what you are seeing.
You spot two glowing orbs that shine brilliant blue, brighter than any star in the sky. They look like glowing stones that are somehow perfectly round.
Your stomach drops as the crew leaps to action around you and more torches are quickly illuminated. The glowing stones are not stones at all.
They are eyes.
Glowing, unnatural eyes deeply set into a massive head made entirely of living water. The head boasts a long snout. Water vapor floated like smoke from what you believe to be nostrils. Its long, curving neck ripples as the water that made up its body somehow managed to keep its shape. Its serpentine body vanishes into the sea as its proud head takes in the sight of the ship.
Its watery jaw opens revealing long, sharp teeth that look deadly despite also being made of water.
The creature let out a shriek that makes your vision go blurry for a moment. Your mind still grapples with what your eyes attempt to understand but there is one thing you know for certain. You are not safe.
The water monster shrieks once more and dives toward the deck with open jaws.
#silco#arcane#silco x reader#arcane silco#silco arcane#pirate!silco#silco fanfic#silco fic#silco smut#to the depths
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𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
here you will find my masterlist with my current fics!
𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄
➢ 𝑺𝒊𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚
summary : "La vie est une cerise, la mort est un noyau, l’amour un cerisier." This is the motto of De Cerasus. Yewhill is a small village lost in 19th century France ruled for generations by the mysterious De Cerasus family. And while your concern for your cousin drives you to the manor of this dark family, you find yourself knowing their covert that prevents you from returning to your old life. However, their secret leads to another one: your nature.
key words : genderneutral reader ; silco, mel, jayce, viktor, vi and caitlyn are vampires ; slight stockholm syndrom ig, VAMPIRES
𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑
➢ 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒅𝒚𝒔, 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒚𝒔
summary : reader is very drunk, and when Machine Herald comes back from negotiations, he is very surprised to find them in such a state (also viktor tends to reader's wound when they're sort of enemies).
key words : "who did this to you ?", slight enemies to lovers, drunk reader
➢ 𝑨 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝑶𝒇 𝑰𝒏𝒌 : 𝟏 — 𝟐 — 𝟑 — 𝟒 —
summary : reader has always been an excellent student in the Academy, getting the best results and always being first in every class. but it all changes as soon as she sees her name in the second place, the first being occupied by a certain Viktor. "Rivals? Yes, rivals, so be it, that is what you will be."
key words : academic rivals to lovers, tarot themed
𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐂𝐎
➢ 𝑨 𝑫𝒓𝒐𝒑 𝑰𝒏 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑶𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒏
summary : reader is good with their hands, which is perfect as the kid of a surgeon. but one day they get attacked and are taken as the new surgeon of The Last Drop of which Silco is the Captain. and while his daughter Jinx is out of the ship, he asks for reader to come in his quarters.
key words : pirate silco, surgeon reader
#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#arcane#viktor#arcane viktor#arcane x reader#arcane silco#pirate silco#silco x reader#silco arcane#silco x y/n#silco fanfic#machine herald#machine herald viktor#machine herald x reader#arcane viktor x reader#viktor x reader#viktor x you#viktor arcane
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And I’ll be damned if now I want to write an Arcane Pirate AU with Silco as the captain.
Yarrrrr.
#silco#talk like a pirate day#arcane silco#silco arcane fanfic#silco arcane#arcane au#i love pirates
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Pirate Vander and siren Silco.
I won't lie, it would be an interesting au depending on the route. A potentially beautiful friendship between two different species, or a tragedy that befalls not just them but the people they care about.
#vander#silco#siren silco#pirate vander#vander arcane#arcane vander#silco league of legends#arcane silco#silco arcane#arcane
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Gilded Jinx Looks Like What I Thought Chembarons Would Look Like.
Look at her, she looks like an 80s punk pirate queen with bolder coloring than both her gilded and chembaron counterparts, complete with bright makeup (by Victorian standards) and big hair. Zaun is supposed to be set apart from Piltover by the unmistakable creativity and innovation expressed through a loud punk aesthetic that it's inhabitants are meant to embody, at least the younger inhabitants do. The higher up the food chain you go in Zaun, the punk aesthetic filters out with only the Victorian base remaining.
(Finn's a bit of the exception but his aesthetic is kind of supposed to coincide with his self-serving nature rather than a reflection of Zaun's culture.)
On one hand you could argue that it's some kind of social commentary where these violent gangleaders are adopting the aesthetic of their oppressors to take on similar roles. But even chembarons that are antagonistic to Piltover, and frankly just hate Piltover for what it's done to them and their families still take on Piltovan aesthetic. If it isn't a straightforward Victorian aesthetic, then it's more of a fusion of modern business clothing and evening wear. This goes for characters like Silco, Renata, and Corina Veraza.
(Shout out to Silco for keeping it real and stitching his pants instead of getting new ones.)
Zaun, at least in League, is it's own city-state with its own distinct culture, but so often these leaders don't really embody that (once again maybe social commentary, but that explanation only goes so far). Honestly their designs are so dedicated to Piltover aesthetics sometimes it doesn't even communicate their wealth! The thing most of them are all about! If someone has to be in rags for me to know they're rich they're not doing it right.
The chembarons don't all have to be like that, but it seems like they're usually designed to just look like evil Piltovans. The only unifying part of their design that doesn't borrow from Piltover and makes them distinct is their asymmetrical styling and the fact they all either have scars or body mods to accommodate their disabilities, or both.
And here's Jinx in her obnoxiously loud outfit ready for the runway! Yeah her money's new, what are you gonna do about it? She's the right mix loud fun 80s mess with her fishnets and and ripped mesh covered in a fancy jacket lined with ermine fur. It would have been so easy to give her hexgem earrings, but no, they're in chemtech green, hooked with actual screws. The coloring alone says to me the designers couldn't let go of Jinx's Zaunite origins because her character defines Zaun as much as Zaun defines her. You'd almost think she was making fun of Piltover if she weren't wearing her look so well, if wasn't so dedicated to playful asymmetry where here shoes are slightly different, her coattails slant in two different style. Her whole look is so customized to be Jinx sans Piltover, it's just so her. The Gilded universe is supposed to be a universe where everybody's living a comfortably ritzy and safe Piltovan lifestyle and Jinx’s missing an arm. The prosthetic looks great!
The chembarons are supposed be a coalition of leaders in Zaun. Sure, they're gangleaders, but a lot of rich people politics is gang politics. At least some of them should understand that to grow past the shadow of Piltover, they need to embrace the strengths of Zaun, not co-opt Piltie patterns. Gilded Jinx's design understands that so well. If you put these pictures in a line up and asked me to find the chembaron, my safest choice would be Jinx.
Tldr: Chembarons in League of Legends and Arcane aren't very distinct from their Piltovan counterparts. The only real difference is their visible disabilities, body mods, and asymmetry (maybe goth vibes too). Gilded Jinx is a great example of what chembarons could be, leaders with loud and eccentric vibes that actually matches the distinct culture of Zaun itself.
#gilded jinx#arcane#silco#chembarons#chem baron#league of legends#it feels like chembarons are allergic to bright colors sometimes#frankly I'd love to see Jinx in an outfit similar to this in arcane but that might be a little inappropriate for the serious environment#but then again it's Jinx’s responsibility to be inappropriate at inopportune times for other people#jinx arcane#finn arcane
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…moving on…
…
#arcane#star wars#rogue one#the bad batch#marvel#moon knight#guardians of the galaxy#dc#the batman#the incredibles#pirates of the caribbean#silco#director krennic#darth vader#edna mode#yondu udonta#crosshair#captain barbossa#joker#jinx
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Snippet - Deflowering (?) - Mal de Mer
Mel navigates her way through the inspid sea of aristocracy....
Mal de Mer on AO3
Snippet:
Now, she plucks the closest string in reach: the Demacian dignitary's wife. The woman's a social stalwart: moneyed, magpie-eyed, and a moralist of the first degree. Paired with a penchant for petty gossip, she is the chief purveyor of the aristocracy's scandal-mill.
But her pedigree is a goldmine, and her support is a vital step toward Zaun's ascent into the global spotlight.
Mel, accordingly, makes her the target of a slow, subtle campaign.
"Lady Dennings," she says, with a radiant smile. "How lovely to see you."
"Mel!" Lady Dennings, her peacock fan a blur of emerald and azure, flutters over. "By the Protector! What a fright you gave us! A week belowdeck—and nary a glimpse above!"
"I do apologize for the alarm."
"Alarm? My dear, we believed you were at death's door! And your husband, that dreadful man! He made a jape of it! Every evening, our queries about your health were met with a different tale." The fan flutters faster. "First, you were abed with an ague. Then: bitten by a viper. And then—the final outrage—you were abducted by pirates!"
"Oh," Mel says, and can't quite keep the smile from curling,
"Oh? Mel, is that all you can say?"
"What else would you have me say?"
"Acknowledgment! The man's a rapscallion—and a devil!"
Mel's eyes go guilelessly round. "Devil?"
"Of the highest order!" The fan snaps shut, and the falsetto drops. "The word is, he forcibly confined you to your berth for six nights! All to conduct an infernal Fissure ritual. The bride, stripped and bound as a sacrifice to the dark gods. Then—" a shudder, "—a barbaric consummation. Is it true, my dear? Tell me it's not. Tell me you've not been brutalized in some pagan sacrament!"
Mel hides a smile behind the rim of her glass. Her mind conjures a vision of Silco, in a dark cloak, looming over her bound and naked body. The glow of his bad eye: a fire opal offset by a dozen low-burning candles.
The scenario is not, she admits, without its unholy thrill.
But the Dennings, she reminds herself, are a devoutly religious clan. Like the rest of Demacia, their stance on magic is unequivocally condemnatory. If they had their way, all practitioners of the arcane would be hung, drawn, and quartered. Even the mention of the subject is enough to provoke an apoplexy.
No doubt, during Mel's weeklong absence, Lady Dennings' imagination—and tongue—has been running rampant. Her mind, already primed to find fault with the union, will seize upon the most sordid scrap. In the process, she inadvertently reveals how little she understands of Zaun.
Or, indeed, what transpires in the privacy of the marital bedchamber.
The Dennings own marriage of a year, if Elora's reports are true, has gone unconsummated. Whether it's due to her husband's crippling bashfulness, or her own pie-eyed prudishness, is an open question. This voyage, at the behest of the Dennings patriarch, is a final bid for the pair to prove their mettle. A successful coupling—an heir—would seal a lucrative merger between their clans. Whereas a failure on both counts would see them disinherited.
Lord and Lady Dennings, on borrowed time, feel each toll of the bell keenly. A pity they cannot share the same cabin together without squabbling incessantly.
Silco, possessing no surfeit of sympathy for prudish quirks and provincial qualms, has summed up the couple's predicament thus:
"Two virgins, and not a lick of sense between them."
It's a brutally sound assessment. But not, Mel thinks, without a measure of pity.
It must be excruciating to suffer the weight of a parent's expectations in such a private sphere. Not to mention the public mortification, should the failure come to light.
Fortunately, Mel's mind has sketched out a satisfactory solution.
Somberly, she says, "It's true."
"Dear heavens! You mean—?!"
"Bound to the bedframe, with a length of silk." Mel circles a finger along the rim of her glass. "But not for reasons you imagine."
Lady Dennings, eyes wide, is already imagining a great deal. "Gracious, Mel! What was he thinking?"
"Chiefly, of my safety."
"Safety—yes!" Lady Dennings clasps one of Mel's hands in both her own. "Zaunite men are a barbaric lot! Look at their women: all pinched cheeks and blackened eyes. They're beasts, by any other name. The notion that a darling such as yourself—" another shudder, "—locked in a cabin, and subjected to deflowering...!"
Mel's eyebrows wing skyward. In her ear, she can practically hear Silco's drawl: What, precisely, am I deflowering? Your left nostril? The right's seen its share of traffic.
Taking another sip of juice, she stifles her snort. The Demacian peerage hold such archaic notions about chastity. Silco, if he ever caught wind, would take fiendish delight in dismantling them.
Fortunately, her husband is elsewhere. And Mel, more fortuitously, has the perfect string to pluck.
"My dear Lady Dennings," she chides gently. "You must put aside those scurrilous pamphlets."
"Scurrilous?"
"The ones from the gutter-press. Written, I wager, after a tankard of rotgut. I hear the stories, myself: the Fissurefolk, sacrificing virgins to demigods of the underworld. Drinking the blood of newborn babes. Really, it's too much. One would think, given the scope of their enterprise, that their hours would be better employed." A sip of juice, sweet on the tongue. "They should write, instead, of Zaun's many wonders."
"Wonders?"
"Their herbal tinctures, for one." Her tone, perfectly balanced between soothing and secretive, reels the woman in. "You see, I'd been struck with a terrible fever. Sweats, delirium, and the most excruciating chills. If I hadn't been bed-bound, I might have taken a tumble down the stairs. Or flung myself into the sea."
"By the Light! And he—what, locked you up?"
"As a precaution. Nothing more. Mine was a rather stubborn malady. After five days' vigil, Silco took it upon himself to brew a concoction. A tea, of sorts. Boiled from powdered red clover. Quite astringent, but most effective." Mel sighs. "I haven't felt so well-rested in years."
It did not occur in exactly that fashion. Mel was too woozy to summon the particulars. All she recalls is Silco's shadow looming in. A cup's rim, steaming, pressed to her lips. A bracing tang, and the slow, steady, searing drip down her throat. She'd succumbed to sleep right after. But she'd awoken much refreshed, and lucid.
When she'd queried him, Silco had shrugged: It's a tonic for the blood. Fire it up, and sweat the fever out.
Then, with the smallest of smirks: Good for firing up the loins, too.
Lady Dennings is listening raptly. "He tended to you, personally?"
"Like a physician. Only sweeter." Mel smiles, wistfully. "It's a rare man who'll kneel at his lady's bedside." She doesn't, in fact, recall much kneeling. But every good story needs a spin. Diplomacy's bedrock is built on fact and well-told fiction. "Truly, the tales of Zaunite men as brutes are wildly untrue. In their own way, they're quite..." A delicate pause, "... devoted."
"Oh, indeed?"
"I dare not divulge too much. Modesty compels me. But..." Mel's register drops. "... I will say this: Zaunites may lack the polish of a Piltovan gentleman. But they more than make up for it with the... ardor... of their pursuit."
Lady Dennings' mouth forms a perfect 'O.' "Gracious!"
"Gracious? No. Gratifying? Certainly." Mel's lips curve. "And gratifyingly often."
Lady Dennings turns a telling shade of carnation. "Dear me. That's—how intriguing!"
"Isn't it?" Another sip, and a smile. "The Fissures, I find, have much to teach us. I've only just begun my lessons. But I've made such fascinating discoveries. Did you know, for instance, that powdered red clover, steeped in tea, has an aphrodisiacal effect?"
"An aphro—really?"
"Really. In fact, it's quite potent. It can be used as an antidote for..." Then, as if suddenly remembering herself. "But forgive me. This is no place to discuss such a delicate subject. I must beg your discretion."
Lady Dennings, fan fluttering, has gone from carnation to crimson. There is, as Mel suspected, a great deal of pent-up frustration simmering below that prissy surface.
Mel, in turn, makes her move: a single strum, and a long, sustained note of intimacy.
"If you're amenable," she murmurs, "I'll share more details with you. Perhaps over a quiet tea? Just us girls."
"I—yes! Of course! Red clover, you say?"
"A singular plant. It grows at the edges of the Fissure cliffs. Many a scholar has written of the benefits." A conspiratorial dip of lashes. "You and your lord husband may find the taste a revelation."
"My, erm, husband," Lady Dennings stammers, "is quite—" fan dangling limply, "—fastidious."
"Then, my dear, it is high time he was reacquainted with his reckless youth."
"Oh, Mel, do you truly think...?"
"I shall do better." Mel imparts a light squeeze to the woman's arm. "I will send a gift with you: a small satchel, for your bedchamber. Try a spoonful, with two glasses of cold water. One for yourself. And the other, to share." A significant silence, then a final pluck. "The results, I promise, will be expeditious."
Lady Dennings' eyes take on a hopeful gleam. "How expeditious?"
"Let's just say: by the summer's end, you'll be celebrating more than your wedding anniversary."
It works like a charm. Lady Dennings, clutching Mel's hands, exclaims, "My dear girl, you're a dove! I shall owe you a thousand favors!"
"None required." Mel's smile is sunshine through clouds. "Consider it a gift, from a dear friend."
"You darling thing! We shall have a girl's talk tonight. And afterward—" a flushing glance toward her husband, stoop-shouldered and sour-faced in the corner, "—why, we'll see what comes."
With luck, him, and you too, Mel thinks.
"Tonight, then," she says. "I'll have a basket sent up to your cabin. But, remember: sssh. It is a private affair." Her fingertip, pressed playfully to her lips, earns a titillated twinkle. "Now, if you'll pardon me. I must catch up with the others."
"Oh, of course! I shan't hold you up." Lady Dennings' fan resumes its flutter. Her thoughts, plainly, are palpitating elsewhere. "And do send up the basket! I cannot wait!"
Mel, her work done, glides off.
One down, she thinks, sipping her drink. A half-dozen to go.
Red clover's effects are not, in fact, a fiction. Mel, during her research into Zaun's history, has read volumes on the subject. And experienced, firsthand, its efficacy.
She'd shared a spoonful with Jayce, back when they were together. Purely for research reasons, of course. She'd only given him a mouthful, and he'd been wild to have her, so much, she'd ended up with her dress in shreds, one slipper dangling from the ceiling fan, and the other flung straight through the window.
Jayce had, afterward, apologized shamefacedly. Mel, secretly charmed, had assured him the fault was hers.
They'd never touched the stuff again. But Mel has not forgotten.
By tonight, she suspects, neither will Lady and Lord Dennings. With luck, a little Dennings-to-be will soon be in the picture, courtesy of Mel's powdered charity. Mel, in turn, will have gained a pocketful of Dennings coin, and the political currency to bargain with Demacian traders for red clover as a mass-market commodity.
Soon, word will spread. The Fissures are in possession of miracles, in potentia.
Zaun's economy could use a healthy boost. And Piltover, by proxy, will feel the benefit.
Marriage, Mel thinks, by any other name.
#arcane#arcane league of legends#arcane silco#silco#forward (never forget)/xoxo#forward but never forget/xoxo#arcane zaun#arcane piltover#arcane jayce#jayce talis#arcane mel#mel medarda#meljay#mel x jayce#melco#silco x mel#mal de mer
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SomedayLazySomeday's Masterlist
Hey, friends! Here is the collection of everything I’ve written up to this point. Fics have their own page to keep things neat, and those links are posted under the media to which they belong.
All fics feature a female reader with minimal physical description and no use of ‘Y/N’. All of these works are rated mature or explicit and are not intended for minors. Please take note of the warnings listed on the chapter links for each fic.
Thanks for reading and enjoy!
- Ink
Arcane (2021)
Good Intentions - Silco x fem!reader.
- 54.7k words. Reader runs a charitable organization, the Haven, which seeks to help people overcome their Shimmer addiction. Silco soon takes an intense interest in the Haven and the woman who operates it.
Noisy - Viktor x fem!reader.
- 7.2k words. Reader is a student at the Piltover Academy and lives in student housing, one floor below Viktor. He’s a bit of an insomniac… and a noisy one at that.
Avengers (2012)
Cold - Loki x fem!reader.
- 3k words. Reader is in a casual physical relationship with Loki. When she attends a party at Avengers Tower with someone else, he’s bothered by the idea that she’s ashamed of him. Themes of jealousy and minor monsterfucking.
Beetlejuice
A Deal with a Demon - Beetlejuice x fem!reader.
- 13.3k words. Reader is a witch who’s a little down on her luck. She summons a demon for help, but he turns out to be very different from what she expected. Themes of magic, desperation, and monsterfucking.
Black Sails
Captured - Captain Charles Vane x fem!reader.
- 9.1k words. Reader disguised herself as a man to cross the ocean, but her ship was captured by pirates who brought her on as a member of their crew. Vane eventually figures out the truth. Dub-con themes in Part One; mind the warnings!
The Boondock Saints
Na Buachaillí - Murphy MacManus x fem!reader, Connor MacManus x fem!reader.
- 13k words. Reader is a high school science teacher working temp jobs over Christmas break to help pay for her divorce.
Ex Machina (2015)
Winner Take All - Nathan Bateman x fem!reader.
- 11.6k words. Reader knows Nathan from MIT, and they constantly run into each other during trivia night at a local bar. Enemies to friends to lovers vibes.
The Gray Man (2022)
Paranoid - Lloyd Hansen x fem!reader.
- 9.7k words. Reader runs into Lloyd and he takes a liking to her. She can’t say the same for him. Dark!fic with themes of non-con. Mind the warnings on this one!
The Hobbit
Dexterity - Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader.
- 14.6k words. Reader sells wool at Erebor’s markets and is familiar with the king, handsome and aloof. But Thorin rapidly warms up when a storm forces her to stay in Erebor overnight…
A Boon - Elvenking Thranduil x fem!reader.
- 20.2k words. Reader owns a bar in Lake-Town and is very unimpressed with the Elvenking, even as he slowly works to win her over. Enemies to lovers vibes.
Labyrinth
Dreams - Jareth x fem!reader.
- 7.7k words. Reader wished away her college roommate, beat the labyrinth, and resisted the Goblin King. But he isn’t done with her yet… Themes of dark fae, magic, and predator/prey.
Random Jareth Fics - Jareth x fem!reader
- 6.8k words. Reader is a teacher who was wished away by a young student. She becomes Jareth’s eyes and ears in the human world, working to keep his legend alive. Over time, she becomes less human, but an occasional need still arises.
Narcos
Informant - Javier Peña x fem!reader.
- 2.3k words. Reader has some information about Pablo Escobar and ends up making a different sort of deal. (Similar in tone to Oaths, but I hadn’t quite figured out how to write Javier Peña’s character yet.)
Oaths - Javier Peña x fem!reader.
- 11.5k words. Reader is a nurse who treats the Escobar family. She turns information over to the DEA, though she doesn’t care for the agent assigned to her case.
Matter of Perspective - Captain Horacio Carrillo x fem!reader.
- 9.6k words. Reader works for the DEA in Columbia and accompanies the Search Bloc to prove one of her theories. Enemies to lovers vibes.
Southern Vampire Mysteries/True Blood
Blood Donor - Eric Northman x fem!reader.
- 2.4k words. Reader is a were-animal working for the vampires of a town Eric is visiting. You are sent to feed him.
Star Wars
Target Acquired - Jango Fett x fem!reader.
- 9.6k words. Reader is a bounty hunter who often finds herself in direct competition with Jango Fett. They have a deal: whoever catches the bounty sets the terms of their night together.
Pursuit - Boba Fett x fem!reader.
- 6.5k words. Reader is a bounty Boba finds, but she must convince him to let her go… even if they both know it’s only temporary.
Star Wars: The Bad Batch
Hunted - Hunter x fem!reader.
- 7.3k words. Reader works with the Bad Batch. She has a crush on Hunter that seems one-sided… until a chance encounter with a mysterious substance on a mission. Sex pollen and themes of predator/prey.
Aim - Crosshair x fem!reader.
- 9.9k words. Reader works with the Bad Batch and gets stranded with Crosshair after a mission. They won’t make it back to the Havoc Marauder without blowing off some steam. Enemies to lovers vibes in both parts.
Experiment - Tech x fem!reader.
- 3.5k words. Tech thinks he can’t be distracted from his work. Reader bets that isn’t true, and she’s willing to prove it.
Stretch - Wrecker x fem!reader.
- 13.5k words. Reader and Wrecker are a strong couple, but there are some challenges that come with dating someone so physically large.
Different, But Still Good - TBB!Echo x fem!reader.
- 3.4k words. Reader is a sex-positive asexual, unbothered by the ways Echo was changed during his time with the Separatists. They’re both a little surprised when he volunteers to help on an unusually needy day.
Star Wars: The Clone Wars
Bitten - Commander Wolffe x fem!reader.
- 13.4k words. Reader has a crush on Broadside, a pilot with the 501st. When it isn’t returned, a helpful stranger encourages her to let Wolffe provide a distraction.
Tied Up in You - Commander Fox x fem!reader.
- 9.8k words. Established relationship between Fox and Reader. Sickeningly sweet glimpses at a loving, unlikely relationship.
Misbehaving - Commander Cody x fem!reader.
- 9.2k words. Reader is in a relationship with Cody. Their relationship is one of control and boundaries, but they’re both willing and ready to test each other.
Star Wars: Legends
Bodyguard - Alpha-17 x fem!reader.
- 9.2k words. Reader is a Senatorial aide, assigned to work for a hated senator who endangers both of their lives with his politics. Fortunately, Alpha is sent to keep them safe.
Gar Cyare Spice Fics - Alpha-17 x fem!reader.
- 6.8k words. Assorted spicy chapters of an ongoing fic on my main blog. (Gar Cyare by WanderingInkSplot) Established relationship between Alpha and the fem!reader.
The Boys
Hooked - Billy Butcher x fem!reader.
- 8k words. Reader is a tow truck driver sent to tow Butcher's car. He's less than pleased.
The Walking Dead
Arm Candy - Negan x fem!reader.
- 18k words. Reader is a Savior and a prospective wife. Negan likes to show her off at meetings, but he is easily the most distracted person in the room.
#masterlist#somedaylazysomeday masterlist#masterlist update#arcane netflix#the avengers#beetlejuice#black sails#the boondock saints#ex machina#the gray man#the hobbit#labyrinth#narcos#true blood#southern vampire mysteries#star wars#star wars the bad batch#star wars the clone wars#star wars legends#the walking dead#spicy#not suitable for minors#minors dni
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1300 Follower Event!
Hello! I recently reached 1300 followers and am literally, like… lowkey crying?
I know I say this every time. But I seriously cannot imagine myself ever having gotten this far. I can’t imagine anyone actually enjoying what I write, much less wanting to follow my silly little writing blog.
But for this event! I’m hosting a cafe! Just like I did way back when! Basically, you guys order a drink, and I’ll write either headcanons, drabbles, scenarios, or one-shots!
The event will be open for two weeks starting today! It’ll be available from Monday, November 27th, 2023 to Monday, December 11th, 2023!
ALL ORDERS ARE UNDER #fairy1300followers
Rules are:
All orders are written as character x reader!
Everything is gender neutral reader unless specifically stated otherwise (ex: you request a female reader)
TWO ORDERS PER PERSON
Please send them in separately so I can keep track of everything!
You don’t have to choose an add-on special. Those are just if you want to have some extra fun!
Any orders that do not follow the rules will be deleted.
I will write for the following people:
Arcane: League of Legends: Viktor, Silco, Jayce Talis, Vi, Vander, Caitlyn Kiramman, Mel Medarda
Bungou Stray Dogs: Nakajima Atsushi, Nakahara Chuuya, Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Fukuzawa Yukichi, Saigiku Jouno, Suehiro Tecchou
The Case Study of Vanitas: Vanitas, Noé Archiviste, Roland Fortis, Dominique de Sade
Demon Slayer: All the Hashira (except for Muichiro), Akaza, Kokushibo, Douma, Kamado Tanjiro (aged up), Agatsuma Zenitsu (aged up), Hashibira Inosuke (aged up)
Doctor Who: The Doctor (9th, 10th, 11th, 12th), Jack Harkness, River Song
Fullmetal Alchemist: Roy Mustang, Greed (not Greedling), Riza Hawkeye, Jean Havoc, Envy, Alex Louis Armstrong, Olivier Armstrong, Edward Elric (post-FMAB), Alphonse Elric (post-FMAB), Ling Yao (post-FMAB)
Grimm (NBC): Nick Burkhardt, Hank Griffin, Sean Renard, Drew Wu, Monroe
Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Toji, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Itadori Yuuji (aged up), Fushiguro Megumi (aged up)
Moriarty the Patriot: William James Moriarty, Albert James Moriarty, Louis James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Fred Porlock, Sebastian Moran, James Bonde
Tokyo Ghoul: Uta, Kaneki Ken, Kirishima Touka, Kirishima Ayato (re: age), Nishio Nishiki, Tsukiyama Shuu
MENU
Sizes:
Large: Imagine (500-750 Words)
Medium: Scenario (350-500 Words)
Small: Drabble (250-350 Words)
Extra-Small: Headcanons (new headcanon style with a short blurb at the end)
Drinks:
Latte: Fluff
Black Coffee: Whump (physical pain)
Espresso: Angst (emotional pain)
Cappuccino: Hurt/Comfort
Mocha: Paranormal (idk what this entails, but I’ll figure it out, lol)
Americano: Platonic Relationships
Smoothie: My choice! Just send in a character and a size!
Add-On Specials:
With Spice: Victorian Era AU
With Sugar: Pirate AU
With Cream: Domestic AU
With Ice: Soulmate AU
Extra Hot: Fantasy AU
Example Order: Hello! Can I please get a large latte with spice with Tanjiro from Demon Slayer?
Translation: Hello! Can I get a fluffy Victorian AU imagine with Tanjiro from Demon Slayer?
Example Order: Can I please order a medium black coffee with Kaneki Ken from Tokyo Ghoul?
Translation: Can I please get a whump scenario with Kaneki Ken from Tokyo Ghoul?
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