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Chapter Text

Buttons stands on the prow of the Revenge, pale body seeming to glow in moonlight. The water below him is flat as a blade, letting the ship slice through it like a knife. Karl swoops down, planting his webbed feet firmly on Buttons’ head as the sea-witch begins to chant.

His voice reverberates all throughout the ship, sinking like a stone to the depths of the ocean, wherein something awful begins to stir.

“When, my sister, shall we meet again?”

Waves begin to lap at the hull, gentle, at first, but growing in size and ferocity until seaspray lashes at the wooden floorboards of the upper deck.

“In thunder, lighting, or be it in rain?”

The clear sky clouds over, rumbling with the promise of a storm. The moon is extinguished by a great black cloud, casting the ship into darkness.

“When the hurly-burly is done; when the battle be lost and won.”

Rain trembles from the clouds until it pours.

“That will be ere, the set of sun.

“But where the place?

“Upon the helm

“There to meet with Blackbeard…”

The storm is picking up now, the very fabric of the sea and sky twisting and tearing like rough silk. The heavens are blind to the world as Button regains his guttural chant, Karl cawing alongside him.

“Fair be foul!” He howls into the wind. “Fair be foul! Fair be foul and foul be fair!”

The sea is white like bone.

“Hover through the fog-”

An almighty clap of thunder.

“-And filthy air!”

Lightning turns the world a blinding white, and, just as suddenly as it began, the storm has finished. The air is dry as a bone, the night sky clear and twinkling with stars. The water is still.

Far below the horizon, the sun approaches, and, with it, a naval ship. Dawn is fast approaching.

Chapter Text

By the time they actually spot the ship, it is far too late to flee. The English are allowed to board, inspecting Stede Bonnet’s crew with sneers and curled lips. Shortly, the scene has dissolved into violence. 

His crew are good fighters, and for that, Stede is proud. Sailors crumple like tissue beneath brandished steel, bodies bloody and spurting. As Stede cuts down their final foe, he glares down at the flailing man. In a move that he considers really rather badass, he presses a cold blade to his throat, demanding, “Who gave you our whereabouts?”

The sailor looks up at him, eyes glassy. From his pale lips, words slip. “Your-” He manages, voice hoarse, “Je- Jeffer-” The bloodloss is too much for him, and he collapses. Stede plunges the blade between his ribs, making sure it sticks. Then he takes a deep breath, composing himself. He addresses his crew. 

“Fantastic work everybody!” Stede applauds. “Any major injuries?”

There are a few groans of complaint from the crew. 

“Right, well, it looks like Roach is making the rounds- I’ll make sure everybody’s here, let’s see… Jim?”

“Here, boss.” Jim calls, tipping their hat in recognition. 

“And Oluwande?” 

“Over here!”

“Black Pete?”

“Don’t worry about me, boss!” Pete swishes his sword through the air performatively. “I’m a great swordsman!”

“Glad to hear it!” Stede indulges. “Right, and… oh.” A frown darkens Stede’s brow. “Who’s that back there? Swede?”

“No, I am over here…” The Swede calls from the other side of the deck. “… I think.”

“Well, who is it then? You there- covered in blood?” Stede runs a quick headcount. “Ed?!” He exclaims. The bloody figure looks up. Smiles. 

“What’s up, mate?”

“Why have you got so much blood on you?” Stede demands, disgusted. Edward gives him a grin. 

“You should’ve seen him, Capitan-“ Oluwande says. “Never seen anything like it. His sword smoked with blood-“

“He sliced a guy in half, right down the middle!” Jim gloats.

“Cut some fucker’s head off, too.” Wee John adds. “Rolled across the deck like a cannonball, all waxy and shit. Mouth was still hanging open and everything.” 

Stede must be looking a little perturbed, because Frenchie butts in, silencing the more graphic descriptions. 

“He was really brave, though, Cap’n. Saved my skin when this big English guy was coming up behind me.” 

“Oh! Yeah! Stood guard while I took out an officer.” Somebody else concurs. 

A smile lights Stede’s face at these more palletable anecdotes. “Well, Ed.” He starts, making his way across the deck. “How valiant of you.”

“Yeah, mate. Valiant. That’s me.” 

Stede leans down to kiss him in the lips, the crew making gagging noises around them. Their kiss is chaste and sweet, Stede’s fingers slipping on Ed’s blood-splattered face. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He murmurs. Then, louder, “Is everybody sorted?”

“I will wrap up out here,” Roach promises. “You two get out of my sight.”