Note: So combat, given the wider story, doesn't really count as a silly quirk or hobby to anybody with a brain, but given how the average upstanding citizen would view this skill of Theodora's, her being a woman and all, it still counts, so nyeh. Anyway, this one really puts the fluff in flufftober because the main fic rn is just so much angst and this is a nice break from it.

Should also mention that this story gets its name from the Powerwolf song of the same name, which has some immaculate pirate vibes to it, would highly recommend!


Flufftober '22 - Day 4 - Supporting silly quirks/hobbies

[Set during the Tortuga era]


Theo lounged on the finest beach Tortuga had to offer (namely the one least defiled by various bodily fluids so far), staring up at the sky as it darkened, trying to catch her breath. The evening brought a cool breeze with it and it was a welcome one, working with the sweat on her brow to slowly chill her. She closed her eyes, welcoming it. It had been a long while since she was properly, pleasantly cold. She missed the cold - proper winters, too. Wrapping up, huddling beside a fire, generally not sweating her tits off on a near permanent basis. It wasn't all bad. It wasn't even really half bad. The tropical storms here always thrilled her, and here in Tortuga she could meet the heat without having to do so while encased in fifty thousand ridiculous layers.

The glaring downside, until recently, had been James' absence. And, as he lowered himself down into the patch of sand beside her, she noted happily that this was no longer a problem.

"I suppose," he breathed "That my pride shan't be too bruised, seeing as you can't quite defeat me without any exertion at all."

"If it was easy for me, would you be reconsidering?" She teased.

"No," he nudged his knee with hers - and the sincerity of his words almost had her feeling guilty for teasing him…until he continued "For my swordsmanship will always outrank yours."

"Ouch."

"You did ask. And it puts us on somewhat equal footing, at least."

"But if I manage to disarm you it's game over."

He gave that slight frown-smile that he always got when she said something that baffled him, but he didn't appear to have much trouble discerning the meaning of her words.

"That, my darling, is a very tenuous if. Fictitious, even, I'd boldly go so far as to say."

It was difficult to put on a show of being offended. Not when he called her his darling, and not only because what he was saying was painfully accurate to anybody who wasn't stupidly delusional, but because she liked this side of him. Whether it was down to that post-exercise buzz, the newfound ease between them (and the fact that there could be an ease between them in the first place, no less), the freedom that the general atmosphere that Tortuga offered, or the perfect culmination of all aspects at once, but he just seemed freer here. For all that he hated this place.

She couldn't help but think of the difference, too, of how he was now, sitting by her side and teasing her with a smirk on his face, to how he would be if she was not here. The idea that she alone could produce such a change in a man like him had her heart stuttering in her chest. And the fact that he could produce such a result in her probably suggested the power was mutual. As if she didn't already bloody well know that.

Her thoughts kept her quiet, and at the lack of some sort of smart-ass response, he turned to look down at her, eyebrows twitching upwards.

"Have I offended you into silence?" His tone remained teasing, but the look he levelled her with was genuinely curious.

Fair, too. When somebody talked as much shite as she liked to, silence must've been worrying.

"My pride is the one that's bruised now," she sniffed "Thoroughly wounded, even. Bleeding out into the sand."

"And yet your flair for the dramatic remains entirely intact."

"It's what pushes me forward. That, and spite," she debated what she was going to say next for but a split second, and then continued when she decided she wanted to see him blush "And handsome, surly Englishmen."

The flush worked its way up his neck immediately, and though it was disguised by his beard, the pleased - downright sodding adorable - smile that he didn't appear capable of fighting was clear for all to see.

"Englishmen?" He coughed "Plural, is it?"

She stretched a hand out towards him and he accepted it, wordlessly pulling her to sit up without a request needing to be uttered.

"All right, just the one."

"You must tell me who he is, so I may duel him for your hand," he ran his thumb over the knuckles of her hand, which remained in his even now that she was sitting upright.

Theo wasn't in the mood to needle him, though - not over this. She was too content. So she just hummed happily, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"No need. It's yours."

That smile was back again, but it was no longer quite so bashful as he turned his head and captured her lips in a kiss. It was chaste, but it still threatened to bowl her over. They parted but she didn't pull away much, leaning against him and humming her contentment when he let go of her hand in favour of wrapping an arm about her shoulders.