#piratesfic

[beansfrombeans]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

And then there’s Oli, on his right, wound around his legs and playing with the hem of his shirt. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” “Napping,” Martyn replies, more honest than a lot of things he’s told his new pirate crew so far. “You got time for something else?” He turns, raises an eyebrow. “What d’you have in mind?”

Or, in which Martyn gets his first Kestrel stitching.

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(reblogs appreciated! :D)

[geekofmanytopics]

So...I haven't written mcyt shipping in a long time so forgive my rustyness. But I could not get the idea of Joe being Oli's mysterious wife on Pirates SMP out of my head and I had to write something. Drabble under the cut:

Dreams of Sea Salt and Song

Joe slept almost as often as Bdubs at night. It was mostly out of necessity. His giant pinball machine wasn't exactly "Scar Safe" in certain places. Sleeping didn't bother Joe, at least, not before the dreams.

They started off formless. He dreamed of a deep longing for something...someone? The yearning lingered even after he woke, leaving a heavy melancholy that slowly lifted over the day. Then one night, a new sense was added. He drempt of the smell of salty water, of fresh citris fruit, of the sweet yet bitter smell of rum. And still that pining feeling in his heart.

The next to follow was hearing. He heard the call of seagulls, of loud insects, of tropical birds. Then one night he heard something familiar, yet foreign. A man was singing in accompaniment to a piano. It was like a sense of deja vu he couldn't quite place.

"You okay, Joe?" Gem asked quietly. They were working near each other in the Perimeter, helping place down an immense amount of dirt to cover the giant crater.

"Hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine." Joe attempted to feign his usual energy for a while, which slowly slipped into a quiet sadness.

"You sure?" Gem pressed. She gave Joe a look of concern that made him reassess his answer.

"I mean, I'm mostly fine, I guess. Just some weird dreams at night, but nothing to worry about."

Gem stiffened for a moment. "What kind of dreams? Tell me everything." Her tone was very serious, as were her eyes. Joe, unnerved and suddenly concerned, hesitantly told her of his dreams. As he told his story, Gem seemed to relax and at one point, smirked to herself.

"So it's not serious or anything," Joe concluded. "Just some annoying melancholy every once in a while. Like..." Joe looked up to the sky, contemplative. "It's like I'm chief engineer Paul Stemets longing for someone growing into being in the mycelial network but not knowing who he is or was to me before. Like I don't even know who Culber is, or why he's in the network to begin with."

"Ahuh..." Gem said, completely baffled by the analogy. "Well, in any case..." She shifted back to a more serious tone and lowered her voice into a whisper. "It might be possible your dreams are more real than you think. I have some experience with this kind of thing. If what you're saying about your dreams is true, you might have the same 'power' I guess. I'll tell you more about it later, when we're done here."

A few days later, after Doc had already cleared away their prank, Joe paid a visit to Gem in her base. She explained, as best as she could, how she was able to hop between worlds by sleeping.

"So that was you in the Empires world! I thought it was like that False situation...but I guess it was not a false Gem but a genuine real Gem."

"Right...I think," Gem said, blinking as she took a moment to wrap her head around Joe's wordplay. "So, here's the important thing, Joe. Traveling between the worlds is as simple as wishing to be there. Just in case you end up in that place you drempt of and need to get back here."

With knowledge in hand, Joe leaned into the dreams in the following nights, curious about this supposed other world. It definitely was a tropical locality, but maybe not as modern as he originally thought. One night he heard the sound of creaking wood and flapping canvas that reminded him of sailing ships. And then at last he was able to see his dreams.

The first thing he noticed was the dress. It didn't really bother him that he was wearing it but it seemed very expensive. Curious, he wandered. He seemed to be in a house, with windows thrown wide to let in as much of the sea breeze as possible. Palm trees and other tropical flora dotted the landscape outside. The house was very exquisitely furnished, with silks and cottons and dark woods. A grand piano was the centerpiece of the drawing room. Joe drifted his fingers across the keys, feeling that pinning feeling. And then he saw a large portrait above the mantelpiece.

It was Oli. Oli in nautical and regal attire. And sitting next to him in all his oil-painted beauty was himself, in a different expensive dress and holding the hand that Oli had placed on his painted shoulder. Joe blinked in disbelief for a moment before laughing. A deep bellied laugh that kept going even after he woke up. Of course it was Oli.

The next night when he laid down to dream, Joe didn't wake up in Hermitcraft. When Gem was asked where she thought Joe was, she would shrug but smile to herself, knowing that Joe was where he wanted to be.

[beansfrombeans]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"That's not the point," Ros snaps, and then her hand flies to cover her mouth, her eyes wide. "I'm sorry," she says, muffled. "It's okay. You're stressed. I know you're, like, the nicest most wonderful person in Ecclesia, but you don't have to be perfect all the time." She looks pained. "That's the problem. I... Graecie, I'm not who you think I am."

(Graecie finds out about the breaking news that's about to hit the front page of the Noisy Parrot.)

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(written for day five of @mcyt-yuri-week valentines! reblogs appreciated :D)

[beansfrombeans]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Oli's four boyfriends. (And, yes, they play boules.)

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(reblogs appreciated :D)

[beansfrombeans]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“I - I mean, you know I grew up poor,” she lies, settling into her cover story as easy as any other mask. “Not like I could afford to cover my face in lead, and… ground-up beetles.” “Well, you’re one of us now,” Olivia smiles, having dropped back to rest against the arm of the couch. “You can afford whatever you want. And if you want us to pretty you up, then I for one would be more than happy to.” (The Kestrels find out that Martina has never had her makeup done before, and resolve to help her give it a try.)

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(written for day four of @mcyt-yuri-week! reblogs appreciated :D)

[beansfrombeans]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Seems like a pretty nice island; there are birch trees strewn across the grass, bright and boldly striped with black between stretches of white bark, and she can hear the chirping of birds between their branches overhead. Another sign that it’s finally spring - El will be pleased, no doubt. “You hear that?” she asks, spinning to catch El’s eye. El, who is… holding a picnic basket, with the blanket tucked under its woven handle. “Surprise!”

A few months after the events of Pirates SMP, Water and Eloise go on a quest to help cheer Water up. That's not all they get out of it, though.

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(written for @mcyt-femslash! reblogs appreciated :D)

[larryfanfiction]

Drowning in Your Eyes by smittenwithlouis

Length: 45k

“Capt’n Styles, are you certain of this? They be attracted to man-made light.”

“What is? Sharks?” The young blonde asks in terror.

“Worse than sharks, lad. There’ll be flesh eating mermaids upon us in minutes, mark my words!” Paul huffs as he continues to wave the bright lantern in front of him, “And Captain Styles here, has us bait!”

Or: The Pirates of the Caribbean inspired au where Harry is a fierce pirate who holds the heart of a beautiful merman.

Ao3, Chaptered, Completed

[welcome-back-to-hoimycraf]

Owen stepped out of the recruitment office and let out a groan as she stretched. A sickening popping sound rang out as her spine realigned, his face stretching into a grimace. He’d spent all day walking around the island and his feet and back were giving him hell for it. Curse the fancy boots she’d stolen, as they were better for show than for walking. He still had more to do though, as he hadn’t even chosen a faction yet, but he’d save that for later. For now, he decided to just keep an eye on people, learn who he could trust. 

There was a group of people milling around outside the building, so she decided to start there. As Owen approached, snippets of the other pirates’ conversation arose. Something about a “battle for the ages” and other made-up stories he wasn’t very interested in. As she was about to pass them by without much thought, a sharp gasp peaked her interest. Owen turned and met someone’s intrigued gaze. It was a person she’d seen running around earlier that day- Sausage was their name, at least from what she’d heard. They were always yelling something about money, among other things, and he took to avoiding them whenever they came near. But, it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to slink her way out of this. 

Before he knew it, a strong hand had grasped her shoulder. “Psst, cmere,” Sausage whispered much too loud to actually be sneaky, the sharp noise hurting his ear with how close they were leaning in.

She muscled through the discomfort, forcing out a polite smile- something he was very used to flashing at the stuck-up snobs back home. “What’s up, what’s up?” Owen whispered back- properly this time. This wasn’t good. Wherever Sausage went, he was sure trouble was to follow.

Sausage didn’t respond though, only leading them away from the populated area and toward a much more dimly lit section of town.

“Y-you're pulling me away from the group so quickly- what’s going on?” Owen stammered out. It was meant to sound suggestive- mostly to throw Sausage off, but it came out more nervous than intended. It seemed like they were having none of it.

“Yeah, c’mere for a second,” they only continued.

She wasn’t going to let that stop him, though, so he laid it on thicker. “Yeah, no- no- let’s go further, let’s go further.” She wriggled out of Sausage’s grasp and took their hand. Thankfully, their surprise allowed her to lead them further from the group and toward a small storehouse. 

“I just- I-I got something very important to tell you-” Sausage started, clearly apprehensive, as if they’re not exactly sure what they’re doing.

“Well, let’s keep going then.” Owen pushed. If Sausage was plotting something, he sure as hell wasn’t letting them get away with it.

“Um-” They started to protest.

“Let’s go.” Owen shut them down more forcefully. That seemed to finally shut them up, which she was very thankful for as he led them into the small building.

“Um, yeah so-” Sausage took a step back, seemingly regretting whatever plan they had. They took a second to think before finally giving in and joining Owen in the cramped space. 

“Mhm?” Owen was getting sick of whatever innocent facade Sausage was putting up, getting straight to business. He leaned on one of the closest crates and stopped in sort of a half-sit, and put on one of her best flirty facades. He knew from experience that sometimes seduction was a good way to smooth things over, and hoped this might work out the same way.

Sausage composed themself, clearing their throat and brushing out their rather fancy-looking shirt. “Ok, so how much money do you have before we start? I always ask somebody this at the beginning,” they explained as if it was completely normal to start out a conversation that way.

“Uh-” Ok, weird request, but they were a Kestrel, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Owen checked his pockets, knowing full well that he was extremely poor at the moment. “I’ve got three dubloons,” she reported. Now was the part where she gets called poor, isn't it?

“Oh- pathetic,” Sausage scoffed, dissatisfied. Well that prediction was pretty accurate.

“Excuse me?” Owen wasn’t going to let it slide. You can’t just call someone poor and change the subject, not even if you’re a Kestrel.

“Oh no, no, don’t worry about it!” Sausage threw on a fake smile and backtracked before lowering their voice as if people could still hear them. “See- there’s someone on this island-”

“Yeah?” Owen interrupted. He was absolutely bewildered as to what this was about, as she hadn’t even had a meaningful conversation with the guy all day and they were already getting cryptic. 

“-who said that you shot them in the back-” Sausage continued.

“Ohh….” Realization hit. He knew what Sausage was talking about immediately: Tubbo. 

“-and they’re going to kill you!” They broke into a large smile and straightened up to give Owen space- probably meant to be reassuring, but with how giant they were it only helped to intimidate. It was like they didn’t just tell her that he basically had a hit on her back with how matter of factly they finished their “warning”.

“Oh, yeah, yeah um… I did do that,” Owen admitted, “and yeah, I’m used to that. It’s ok.” He shrugged, unbothered. Tubbo wasn’t much of a threat from what she’d experienced, judging from how he walked away with a bullet wound and him with barely a scratch. 

“Oh- ok!” Sausage visibly deflated. It seemed like they were looking for more of a reaction than Owen gave them- but for what, she didn’t know.

“But, uh, thank you for the tip off, good to know,” he shrugged again.

“Well, just a quick tip, just a quick tip-” they scrambled to get their bearings again. “That’ll be three gold pieces, thank you!” They demanded as if Owen owed them anything.

“Interesting!” She cracked a smile. “So it’s a hold up, then.” It was more of a statement than a question; it was nice to finally have confirmation that Sausage wasn’t as innocent as they seemed.

That’s when things started to get interesting, as Sausage brandished a knife to Owen’s neck. They were really gonna try that huh? He smirked and watched as Sausage’s confident grin faltered with the click of a gun being readied and they felt the cold of steel press against their chin. “You really wanna try this?” Owen warned. He didn’t back down, staring Sausage right in the eye.

They stared at each other for a moment. Owen pressed the barrel harder into the vulnerable spot it was in, raising an eyebrow; a warning. After a few more seconds of staring each other down, Sausage backed off, laughing nervously. “Ah, it’s just a joke! Just a joke,” they barked out an (obviously fake) laugh and let the blade fall from his neck. 

Owen decided to play along, holstering her pistol. “Just a joke! It’s a funny joke.” He let out a laugh that was more nerves than mirth. 

“Just having fun, just a joke! Y’know I-I-I’m filthy rich, I don’t need that money,” Sausage blabbered. It was a blatant lie, something only said to cover up their embarrassing failure. 

Owen watched as Sausage fumbled over to the door and followed as they left rather quickly. She decided to follow the other back to where the group from before was still standing in front of the recruitment office. 

“Yeah, ok, well good to see you!” He said, trying to be casual, as if she didn’t just almost get robbed seconds prior. It was best that the others didn’t know about that, no matter how funny it would be to tell of Sausage’s failure. 

“Yeah, it’s fine, you can hold onto that. That’s fine…” Sausage waved their hand, as if trying to wave off the stench of defeat that was heavily wafting from them. 

An awkward silence fell between them. The other pirates gave them strange looks, but seemed to decide to leave the two be, most likely assuming very different things.

Sausage cleared their throat. “Well, uh, good luck in the faction-ing today.” They were looking for an exit, which Owen felt kind enough to give. 

“Yeah, thank you very much. You too!” He waved them off, earning a few questioning glares from others, but she didn’t care. 

She tuned out whatever conversation everyone was having in favor of watching Sausage curse and berate themselves as they walked away. He grinned a bit. She felt successful, and that’s all that mattered to her.