A young woman kissed by the sea finds herself stranded when her ship sinks. Luckily, she has quite a reputation, and luckily, there's another female pirate willing to give her a chance.
{Yara Greyjoy x OC}
I don't own the characters or the plot, t...
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Normally, Deema hated being below deck. Sure, she slept there, but that was it. She felt trapped, and more than anything, it reminded her of the night she lost her father. As much as she loved the sea and had no reason to fear her, the sea was a terrifying place, even for her. Yet even more so, she hated being between the men who reminded her so much of her father's crew. The raping, the murdering just because they could. There had been children hurt, they had seen what they did to their mothers and fathers.
Deema had been a pirate, but her crew had never been like... that. But these men were gloating, bragging about their acts. Yara couldn't stand it, and preferred to feel trapped, rather than listen to that crap.
"You fought good," Deema turned to see Yara leaning against the wall. Her steps had been quiet.
Forcing everything from her head, Deema relaxed her face, trying so hard to focus on the moment itself. "I know," she felt gross. The blood on her shirt seemed to weight more than the blood raided from other ships. "I want to change, if you don't mind."
Yara gave her a long look, and somehow, Deema felt like she was being read like a book, as if Yara could read everything off her face. "I need to know if you can handle this life, Deema of the sea," the Captain said, walking closer. She was coated in blood, too. Deema wondered how she did it all. "Tales are not everything."
Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms. "Don't you worry about what I can handle, captain," her voice was soft but hard. They held eyecontact for a long moment, until Deema turned around to get changed at last.
It rubbed her the wrong way, had she seemed so weak in that moment? Had she not proven she was strong by killing at least ten men, by dragging whatever she was told back to the ship? Had that even been needed? She survived two fucking shipwrecks that killed almost everyone else.
By the time she'd gotten dressed, Deema was angry, although it wasn't limited to Yara's comment. The rage had been pulsing for a while now, and sometimes, it flared up like a fire, and it couldn't be put out as easily. It was wrapped around her bones, a feeling as familiar as her own breath.
Deciding if she should go up again, she hadn't heard Millet approach until he spoke. "Here you are, you should--" he stopped himself, giving her a long look. Deema raised her eyebrows in question. "What's bothering you?"
There was a lot she could say, but the easiest thing for her to grasp was their new captain. "Your sweet, generous captain," she spat, unable to keep her anger contained. She slammed her dirty blouse to the floor. "What do you want?"
Millet quirked his eyebrows at her tone, but answered anyway. "We're going to drink ale and tell some stories. They asked for you."
Deema scoffed and shook her head, yet said: "Fine. I'll be there in a minute." The man nodded shortly and left. Deema shook her hair out, trying to calm herself, which wasn't working, so instead tied her hair back again and headed back to the deck.
