Work Text:
The long nights of winter are some of the crew’s favorites, actually, because there’s fuckall to do. There’s dinner, yeah: usually delicious, always slightly surprising, always served with Roach’s trademark mix of threatening and nonchalant (with a dash of sweetness, these days). There’s the final tasks of the night, making sure everything’s squared away, ship-shape and all that, but this time of the year there’s not as much trade, so they’re a little less likely to need to react on a moment’s notice, so.
It’s not that they let things slide (much): rather, it’s that things get a little looser, as the nights stretch towards the new year.
And then of course, there’s reading time, which. Well.
Sometimes it’s delayed a bit.
#
“Captains?” Frenchie knocks again at the door, three quick raps, and inside, there’s the scuffle of movement, and—is that a bell? Something jingling, anyway, and a giggle, and a thump, and Frenchie glances over his shoulder at Wee John, shrugs, and decides he’ll come back in a few, maybe. Or send Lucius? It’s his turn to want to gouge his eyes out, actually, he figures.
The thing is, though, they’re working their way through the one with the wooden boy, and this time, Stede’s promised they’re going to finish it before the new year, which is, by Frenchie’s calculations—and by the Gregorian calendar, that weasley, slippery thing, all its leap years and sneaky bits, and by the ship’s logbook, too—it’s tomorrow. So. They’ve got pages to go before they sleep, is all he’s saying. And they’ve got plans tonight, too. Plans that are non-negotiable.
He knocks again, and this time—silence.
Hm.
He swings his lute down from his shoulder and strums thoughtfully. He might need some reinforcements for this.
#
Fang’s on watch duty tonight—he likes the first watch of the night, actually, likes the quiet of it, likes the way things don’t tend to go wrong yet and likes the way that he can settle down afterwards and sleep through till the morning, if everything goes all right, curled up beside Roachie or Lucius or tucked tight between Frenchie’s elbows and Wee John’s warmth. It’s a good place, this ship, even if it’s not like any other ship he’s ever been on.
Maybe especially because of that.
So when he hears the crash from below, he has literally no idea what to expect when he rushes down.
He follows the sound of voices to the Captains’ cabin, finds most of the crew gathered around the door, which is not particularly odd—it’s a ship without a strict chain of command, usually, and so they’re always up in each other’s business. He still remembers fondly the way he’d stretched out on Stede’s soft silk sheets for Lucius to sketch him, that first week on the ship.
“I don’t know, babe!” Pete’s saying. “I wasn’t like, watching them!”
“But they were in there,” Lucius says. “I heard them in there!”
“We’re going to miss our reading time?” says Swede. “If we don’t find Captain soon, we’ll never know if the wooden boy gets flesh?”
“They probably fucked off into one of the stupid tunnels,” says Jim. “We can finish the fucking thing tomorrow, whatever!”
“Captain said by New Years?” Swede moans. “It is New Year’s Eve?”
“Guys!” Oluwande raises his voice over the chatter. “I’m sure they’re fine, I’m sure—”
“Is that blood?” Zheng says from inside the cabin, where she’s kneeling by a stain on the floor.
“Nah,” says Roach, pushing his way in beside her. “It’s—oh, wait, yeah, that’s definitely blood, never mind.”
“What?” Lucius squeaks, just as Spanish Jackie says, “Damn, all right,” in a mildly impressed tone.
“Calm the fuck down out there,” calls a voice from inside the walls. Fang’s heart unclenches in relief. “We’re fine, just—steady, yeah, lean on me, love—give us a bloody second.”
There are some jingles, then the auxiliary wardrobe door clicks open and Ed and Stede step out. They’re both in hastily done-up robes, Ed with that old cat collar around his neck and Stede with his face—and the bloodied cloth shoved up his nostrils—hidden in Ed’s neck.
“Jesus,” Archie says, not unkindly. “How complicated was that horizontal tango?”
“He just tripped and couldn’t catch himself, since…uh,” Ed says, flushing as everyone’s eyebrows raise at once. “Anyway, he got a bloody nose, and we didn’t want to get it on the upholstery—oh, and he might have a concussion, so thanks for checking on us, but I kinda need y’all to fuck off now.”
“What about storytime?” Wee John asks. “Captain was supposed to finish the wooden boy story today.”
“Ehhhh, I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Ed says. “If he does have a concussion, reading is gonna fuck with his head pretty bad.”
There’s a chorus of sad noises, even from Jim, and Stede pulls away from Ed’s neck enough to address them, squinting in the soft light like it’s noonday. “I’m very sorry, everyone,” he says, voice nasally and muffled by the cloth. “I know you’ve been very eager to hear the end of Pinocchio’s tale, and in any other circumstance I would push through, but truth be told I’m feeling a little—woozy,” he says, swaying a little in what is probably a coincidence and not dramatic emphasis. “So unfortunately, I think we’ll have to cancel storytime tonight—”
#
And time…falls apart.
#
The upside of being raised by a nun, besides the knife-throwing and patience and glorious revenge, is Jim knows a curse when they fucking see one.
So while the rest of the crew is panicking, Jim is piecing everything together. They were all in the captains’ quarters, and then suddenly scattered across the ship, sun higher in the sky than it was a moment ago. No one seems hurt or possessed, at least, but being sent back in time is still a hell of a curse.
Jim’s less sure of the why, but the last person to speak before shit went weird was Stede, so it’s probably his fault (again). Maybe something to do with storytime getting canceled?
Not too hard a curse to solve, if they’re right. Just have to make sure storytime isn’t canceled.
So Jim marches belowdecks and past a harried-looking Frenchie to the captains’ quarters, yelling a five second warning while they pick the lock and fling open the door, shielding their eyes.
“We’re decent, Jim, it’s fine,” says Stede, who sounds a little too winded for decency, but a quick peek shows they’re in robes at least.
“Did that also happen to you guys?” Jim demands, to which they get twin confused looks. All right, they’re not in on the curse then, which makes sense if they’re the catalyst. So Jim rushes quickly through the explanation, which admittedly is more of a you’ll either not believe me or make up a stupid bit about this so I’m just gonna order you to fuck in the bed, no, don’t ask me why, and also maybe be quieter for once, ay dios mio.
For about fifteen minutes, they think they’ve done it. There’s no loud sound other than the usual badly-muffled moans (which are a little quieter) until it seems safe to go ask if they can start storytime now. And then fucking Stede—
“I’m so sorry crew,” he’s saying, holding the dripping, ruined book apologetically between finger and thumb. “The, ah, oil wasn’t sealed properly and it tipped over and—well, I’m afraid storytime will have to be canceled tonight—”
#
This is definitely a top twenty weird thing to happen to Archie. Top fifty, at least. But it’s also sort of a boring weird thing, just the same half hour repeating, so when Jim explains the curse she’s happy to jump in and help.
“Sorry, captains, I’m on strict orders to keep both you and the book away from the bed,” she says as she pulls the hastily-robed pair above deck.
“From who? We’re the captains!” Stede splutters.
“In a figurehead way, yeah,” Archie says. “But Frenchie is still like, captain captain.”
“So he told you to—to interrupt us?”
“Oh, no, that was Jim.”
“So why—”
Stede is cut short by the crew cheering as they all appear on deck. “Storytime is saved?” the Swede shouts, so excited it almost sounds like a proper exclamation rather than a question.
“Quick, let’s get started before something else spooky happens,” Frenchie says.
And to be fair, nothing spooky happens—Stede just opens his mouth in indignation, Archie hears a buzzing sound, and then Stede yelps in pain.
“Babe?” Ed asks immediately, stancing for a fight. “What happened?”
“Num’ing ‘tung me!” Stede says, which Archie’s pretty sure means something stung me, based on her swollen-tongue-speak knowledge. (Some people got real up and personal in the snake cult.) And sure enough, when Stede sticks his tongue out to see what’s happened, it’s red and puffy. “Fahk!”
“Fuuuuck,” Ed agrees sympathetically, examining the damage. “One of your bees must’ve gotten loose.”
“I knew having a beehive on board was a stupid idea,” Roach mutters.
“‘M sorry, crew,” Stede continues in that garbled voice. “But I ‘ink I need to cancel storytime tonight—”
#
And so it goes.
Stede loses his voice. Ed gets a splinter and Stede says reading a story about wood would be insensitive. The book gets torn, soaked, lost, stolen, even eaten (mostly by goats, but an orca did snatch it up once, to which Frenchie yelled something about sinking a rich fuck’s boat instead).
Sometimes the crew fights to stop the loop, and sometimes they laze about until it restarts. It’s not the worst loop to be stuck in, after all. Much better than doing chores or getting boarded by the English.
Then, of course, they get boarded by the English. The book gets stabbed that time, which seems a little much, and Pete yells at Stede to cancel storytime so they can reset before anything too traumatizing happens.
#
The Swede has been very patient waiting for this storytime. He has! But it’s his beloved wife’s first time hearing the wooden boy story, and the final chapter has taken nearly two weeks to get through, and now he’s being forced to—to live in this looping hell of canceled storytimes, and his patience has run out!
So when he blinks and finds himself back on a pile of ropes instead of tied up in front of the English Navy, he demands the crew make a plan, once and for all.
It takes nearly an hour and half of Lucius’ new sketchbook, but the Swede feels confident they can break the curse by the time Stede appears with a very wet book and an only slightly sheepish expression.
“Sorry, crew,” he says to a chorus of tired groans. Oil again? “I think we’ll have to cancel storytime tonight—”
#
Stede is used to being interrupted mid-coitus by his crew, but this is getting ridiculous.
First there was a lot of loud knocking at the door, but when he and Ed went to see what on earth could be wrong, no one was there. Then, before they could even walk back to the nook, Wee John barged in without knocking, practically diving onto the bed to grab something—hopefully not the oil, Stede really needed that—and wrapping it in a knitted blanket before running back out without a word.
When the noises started up, Stede did try to ignore them, but when one hears loud clanging, a squawk, and some sort of howl that sounds suspiciously like a whale call within ten seconds, ignoring suddenly becomes rather difficult!
So now Stede is pulling his robe on for the second time in five minutes, watching mournfully as Ed does the same, covering all that beautiful bare skin Stede should be kissing right now. He can hear a lot of doors slamming, some furtive discussion he can’t make out, but no sounds of violence or pain at least, which hopefully means he can resolve whatever’s going on quickly and then get back to more important things.
When he opens the door, he’s met with a bored-looking Lucius directly in front of it, adjusting his neckerchief while he mutters something under his breath. “Uh,” Stede says. “Excuse us.”
Lucius glances up, still muttering, then shakes his head. For a moment, Stede just sort of stands there, confused into inaction, and then he realizes Lucius is counting. Counting down, to be specific.
“—three, two, one, zero,” Lucius says, then looks between him and Ed. “Okay, you guys can go now. Don’t try to open any doors, though, and I swear to god if either of you snuck the oil in your robe again I’m going to start feeding summer linens to the orca.”
“Why are you acting so fucking weird, man?” Ed asks.
Lucius just rolls his eyes. “Come on, get up there, we’re on a very strict schedule.”
On the way, Stede sees all sorts of strange objects—a seagull made out of rope, knives spelling out “BEGONE,” even a banana peel pinned to the wall in the shape of a cross—and can’t help but think of the ship they found the so-called cursed suit on. Ed just mumbles something about double-checking whether they got rid of all the rhino horn.
On decks isn’t much better. Roach presents them a small cake with intricate designs cut into the top, Frenchie has his whole outfit on inside-out, and Archie, Jim, Oluwande, and Zheng are all connected by an impressively long necklace of garlic.
Then Buttons appears from…somewhere, Olivia perched on his bare shoulder, and holds out a single feather towards them like a crucifix. Stede looks at Ed, who looks back at him with a shrug. The crew are audibly holding their breath.
“It is done,” Buttons intones, and lays the feather on the ground.
#
Stede hops onto the capstan, squeezing beside Ed and accepting a quick kiss before opening Pinocchio to the correct page. It had taken a long time to contain the excited, confusing pandemonium that had followed Buttons’ cryptic declaration, and even longer for Wee John to let Stede take the bloody book he needed for storytime, but at last everyone is sprawled on the deck in front of them with no knives or garlic or befouled fruits to be seen.
Even still, there’s a buzzing energy amongst Stede’s crew as he takes an offered blanket from Oluwande, like a child waiting for dessert they’re not entirely sure will be served, and for the life of him Stede can’t understand why. Everyone is together, it’s a lovely evening, and Ed is curling contentedly into Stede’s side. What could go wrong?
“All right, all right, settle down, crew,” Stede says, rearranging the blanket so it drapes over both of them. “We’re all anxious to see how it ends…”
An expectant calm spreads over the crew, eyes closed or on Stede, hands still or busy with repetitive tasks, bodies curled together or splayed out.
Stede takes a deep breath, settles his glasses on his nose, and begins.