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tarjapearce · 22 hours

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Iridiscent (Pt. 5)

Pirate! Miguel O'Hara x Mermaid! Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of slavery, secondary character death, introduction of characters, violence, mysticism, implicit dark rituals and black magic , mentions of blood, power dynamics, power imbalance. Whump scenarios

Summary: A purpose and a choice lays before Miguel's path.

A| N: CENTURIES after, here is our pirate ❤️ Thanks for waiting this chapter!

So far Peter had proved himself to be useful enough to keep up with the fastened peace Miguel was used to.

He didn't slack off or fell behind. If anything The Red Eyed Demon was somewhat impressed. For being a regular merchant there was surely more than met the eye. Life truly never ceased to bring a much needed dose of surprise.

They had escaped Hacienda Valverde, Miguel had to dispose of a couple of guards in the way to retrieve some ammo and other tools. However a new challenge laid ahead.

Get inside a brigantine.

"So, according to you, we just have to keep ourselves hidden until the boat comes. Then we snuck in and hide again."

Peter spoke as he crunched over the jungle's tree roots. Gun strapped to his hip and a sword on the other. Tense muscles still ached, the blows from the guards had left Miguel to handle the physical duties, giving a brief but welcomed rest to the merchant's ribs.

Miguel nodded and stopped for a moment to have a proper look at his surroundings, the familiar smell of rotten wood and moss filled in his lungs, "Basically."

The pirate mumbled as he took a better look into his milieu, unmistakably they were following the same path he took when foraying up into the Hacienda.

With a groan, he pulled Peter up the tree trunk to cross on the other side. Each landed with a heavy thud, a couple of branches crunching under their weight.

"And..." Peter heaved, "you're sure this will work because...?"

"I've done this before." The pirate cut in curtly, a subtle way to say his reluctant companion to shut up.

Peter just nodded and followed him. The soursops kept stretching until they reached some Acai trees.

"We'll need a uniform for you." Miguel glanced briefly Peter's way to then swing his machete through the foliage, ending the life of whatever plant had dared to cross his way.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Miguel sighed on Peter's surprise and turned to see him, "I'll pretend to be your prisoner. But for that we'll need an uniform."

"No offense pal, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm beaten."

Miguel shrugged nonchalantly, "Makes it more believable. They'll think you got in a fight with the slaves. Happens all the time."

This earned Miguel a disgruntled groan.

"I don't look English enough!"

Miguel deadpanned. "You're white, that's more than enough, just fake the accent and you'll be fine."

Peter's stomach flipped uncomfortably at the implication of his words. Slaves? Fights? He looking English? God forbid MJ to know about his whereabouts or his companies. He was already imagining his wife being horrified for the things he was about to do.

"You've traded slaves before?"

Miguel snapped his head at him so quickly with a glare that made Peter recoil with his hands up in defense.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

The merchant quieted down when Miguel brought a rugged finger to his lips and furrowed his brows, then moved his hand down, a signal for them to hide.

Peter swallowed as he ducked and crawled over a nearby thicket, Miguel however hid behind the tree trunk

The indistinct voices murmuring from a distance alerted the fugitives, Miguel peeked out from a standing tree and saw a small group of guards. Three in total.

One stopped in a nearby hollowed and broken trunk, unbuttoning his pants. Miguel's ever alert gaze darted to the other two that walked away a few meters to give their colleague some privacy as they discussed their next rest layoff, completely unaware of the murderous intentions stalking them.

Miguel crouched, to be eye to eye level with Peter and whispered as he handed him the hefty rope in his weathered hands.

"Take the guy in the back. I'll get the other two."

"W-Wait, what am I supposed to do with this?! Choke him?"

"Exactly. Try to not damage the uniform. He looks your size."

Peter gulped with a panic surge and sighed, "Just for you to know, I don't look-"

"Just shut the fuck up and kill that man! "

Miguel hissed, a vexed tinge in his voice as he tightened his grip on the machete and Peter gulped again. Before the merchant could protest Miguel was already prowling over the other two men.

Peter sighed and remained crouched. The soldier kept baptizing the tree with his pungent scent, earning a temporary disgusted look from the merchant.

With quiet steps, and hitched breath he ventured in through the thickets, keeping himself hidden and quiet as possible while his hands rolled and fisted on the rope.

Peter's heart hammered within his ribcage, pounding with such force his chest thrummed. Bile slowly rose in the back of his throat, he was about to kill a man after all. Something he sometimes fantasized whenever his customers were too pushy or demanding in rough seasons with his prices.

But now that he got to experience the real deal, his hands couldn't help but tremble, soft pants turned agitated the more he approached.

The soldier was too into his own musings by buttoning his pants back that felt a bit too late the rope knotting around his throat.

Peter used his back as a lever and with a sudden downward pull brought the fatheaded guard bending above his knees, hands flailing, gasping for air as he tried to remove the rope out of his obliterating neck.

The soldier's muffled and unintelligible gasps soon turned into gurgles and weakening grunts. Peter couldn't see him, yet the man's face went into a chameleon-like state as his face erupted with several shades of blue and purple while his life escaped before the quiet witnessing of mother nature.

Peter heard the other men's cries as Miguel swung his machete in their bodies, ending their lives in swift moves.

The lurid crack made the merchant to tighten his grip for a bit more, making sure the life had faded from his target.

The soldier's deadweight against his back felt like he carried a block of pure lead, no longer moving. His uniformed arms hung loosely on each side of Peter.

"He's dead." Miguel spoke in between pants as he sheathed his weapon and rolled his shoulders in, releasing some pressure from his joints.

Peter however was clutching the rope tighter, his eyes shut and his teeth baring.

"Hey!" Miguel called but his ally was far too gone. It quickly came to realization what was happening. Peter was panicking. With a sigh he approached carefully and removed the rope from his hands in a firm but mindful tug. The soldier slid down his back and fell to the floor, the overgrown grass muffled the body's fall.

"Pet-" Miguel didn't get to finish his name since the aforementioned crawled behind a tree and retched with all his might.

"O-Oh god... I just" He folded again and Miguel scrunched his nose in mild disgust. He begun examinating the fallen's bodies in search of something that deemed useful, in the meantime.

"I just killed a man." Peter gasped to then wipe his mouth with the back of his shirt.

"Congratulations." Mumbled Miguel as he gathered some ammo within a soldier's hat.

"The hell you mean congratulations?! I just killed a man!" Peter held his stomach as he slanted and panted against a tree, his head hazed with a mix of adrenaline and nausea.

"A man that wouldn't hesitate to plow some bullets into you even if you weren't a threat."

Peter just groaned and rubbed his stomach in circles, trying to soothe the gnawing anxiety within his guts.

"You'll get used to it." Added Miguel with a weak shrug, "Better get your uniform soon, we have to hide the bodies."

Peter retched a final time and Miguel groaned, annoyed, he stood and took a handkerchief from one of the soldier's pockets and waited till Peter finished to hand the fabric piece to him, the latter wiped his mouth and heaved a deep exhale.

"You done?" Miguel's shoulders squared

Peter nodded and without much thinking Miguel slapped him, hard across his face to make all the queasiness abandon his body in a go as he stumbled to the side.

Blue eyes widened both in surprise and and anger.

"W-What the hell was that for?!" the merchant growled and stood inches away from the muscle mass and Miguel nodded, pleased at his reaction.

"You're angry?"

"Yes! You don't go around slapping people like that!" Peter pushed him as he rubbed his cheek.

"Think that as life slapping you again. And again and again" He crouched to resume his gathering, "And again. What will you do about it?"

"If you slap me again, we'll have a problem, pal."

Miguel chuckled at Peter's sudden bravado. With a soft shake of his head he handed him a knife.

"What will you do about it?"

Peter frowned and looked straight in his eyes.

"I'll beat your ass."

Miguel huffed, and patted his shoulder a tad rough while pushing the knife further into his hands.

"Now you know what to do with the guards if you wanna see your kid again."

Ironically, Miguel had just repeated the same words Mundaca had once taught him, and always proved effective. Of course he understood Peter's discomfit for such life changing event, he had spent the night crying after giving the foreman's a taste of his own cat 'til he died.

Night had segued in, covering the endless horizon underneath a stary blanket, the smooth back and fro motion from the dark waves, deemed a worthy sight of admiration after death provoking activities. The saltine breeze caressed the men's skin in an attempt to soothe the underlying discomfit.

Miguel and Peter had found a proper hideout, a spot nearby downhills, where they could see the port and every ship that docked down. The foliage covered them, blending their presence within their ever green density, away from local predators.

The fire cracked cozily within a circle of rocks, oozing with its warmth in every direction anyone approached. Warming up more than bodies and rattled memories.

Miguel laid down in the grass, as Peter sat before the fire that slowly cooked their meal. Some fishes and potatos they'd managed to find in another camp were deemed a proper meal for both.

Peter watched Miguel as he laid.

Strong hands and arms tucked behind his robust nape, eyes closed, almost peacefully. His rugged and cinnamon skin was embedded with faint scar lines that had blurred overtime, leaving a trail of faint white scratches that could only be prominent to the eyesight if he came close enough.

But after witnessing what he could do with his bare hands, the merchant decided he was rather fine at the current distance. His mind however brewed with so many questions his brow furrowed.

"Why did you become a pirate?"

Peter mumbled and Miguel's brows twitched in a mild pucker.

"Had nothing else to lose."

It wasn't in him to share such intimate details of himself with strangers. But Peter had been honest ever since they met, and it was only fair to share tiny bits that remained as universal truths without poking at the too personal territory.

And, au contraire of what people believed of pirate's unruly nature, they all ruled themselves by a code. Miguel respected it as much as he could, specially one of it's most basics and antiques of rules. A truth for a truth.

Peter flipped the fishes to then poke the potatos with a stick, sinking the tip in them to probe at their level of doneness.

"What will we do once in the ship?"

"We hide." Miguel explained simple, "As soon as we get inside, two things can happen." He raised a finger and Peter perked his ears.

"Or you're asked to put all the prisoners to the brig," Miguel raised another finger, "Or you're taken to another area to other duties. You know where a brig is right?"

Peter shrugged with a pout and Miguel groaned while throwing an eye rolling look his way.

"You landlubber..." he shook his head and sighed, "The brig is usually located in the lowest deck. There's no missing in it. Unless you're fucking dumb and end up in the bilge."

"You spill jargon as if I actually understand a thing. I've only been on a boat-"

"Ship." Miguel corrected, earning an irked sigh from Peter.

"I've only been on a ship three times in my life. When my mother gave birth to me, when I tried to look for a better way to keep my business afloat and when I was pressganged by the English a few days ago. So pardon me for not being a connoisseur of a ship's anatomy."

The ramble made Miguel chuckle with derision.

"Relax, mecha corta. I really need for you to understand that no matter what, we need to get in the ship. That's the only way out we have." (Short stack)

"I know." Peter grumbled, "I just... miss my family." He admitted with a slow yet sharp bite to the fish as Miguel nodded absently.

"Haven't properly met my daughter, haven't seen my wife in almost a month."

Miguel just watched him before rising and seating. He took a impaled fish and pulled it's flesh gently with his fingers and ate in silence.

If anything, the Red Eyed Demon understood him better than anyone.

He'd understand the despair of being away, not knowing anything from his little girl for months, he'd definitely felt the disappointment in Peter's eyes. The all too familiar feeling of being a failure for not being there often weighed his mind way too many times he liked to admit.

"And now I hang out with pirates with a pissy ass attitude." Peter chuckled the last bit for himself, "Where are you from, anyways?"

"Born and raised in a Spaniard Hacienda."

Peter hummed as he munched on a roasted potato and nodded. "Born and raised in Queens, New York, USA."

"Yeah, could tell by the accent."

"Family?"

Miguel shrugged while pulling the fish's spine apart and put it within the giant leaf

"All dead."

Peter stopped in his motions to stare at him with a brief mix of surprise and disturb in his eyes.

"Sorry."

"Así es esto. Now, there's one more possible thing that can happen in the ship." (It is how it is)

Peter wiped the rest of fish on his mouth and paid undivided attention to him.

"There is a minimum chance for us to be discovered once aboard. Though minimum, is still a possibility."

"Ok."

"If we ever get discovered, don't run, don't beg and for God's sake do not jump over the board."

"So we surrender?"

Miguel nodded while eating his dinner in a few bites.

"What if they want to kill us?"

"Though that's a fifty fifty, I'm more inclined to believe they won't. My size alone always brings people's curiosity, so let's use that. You said you were a lock master, right?"

Peter nodded almost dumbly, " A locksmith. That's... my business. Yeah."

"Then, we'll be good"

"And if we don't?"

"We jump over the board."

"But you said we don't-"

"I know what I said, just do as I tell you, alright?"

"Fine."

For how long they've waited? Hours? No. Definitely days. The sun had gone up and down four times in a row. And the guards were already packing in.

Gathering and scourging for food was a a risky move, since the guards in Hacienda Valverde had found a couple of corpses the deathly duo left in their wake.

Miguel had kept him well fed and making sure he'd recover properly. If they wanted to leave, Peter had to give him the best rendition of his opposite being. He hsd to be strong, for his little girl awaiting back at home and himself.

Upon the fifth day, The both stared with keen and curious eyes the horizon. The first few english frigates docked, announcing with their sumptuous flags on top, the arrival of the HMS Amberjack. A navy galley.

Peter however smacked Miguel's chest when his eyes noticed another ship behind. This one had two flags. One black and the other a clear piece of Spain.

Miguel's brows furrowed with alarm and confusion.

"What is he doing here?" The pirate muttered under his breath upon recognizing the Spaniard captain's ship.

Another galley, piloted by none other than a famous privateer that spaniards hired whenever a route or a pirate proved themselves a nuisance for the merchants in the area.

None other than Constantino Salazar de Olivares, or infamously known as El Brujo, took the steering wheel of El Aquelarre. A galley that could easily be mistaken by the devil's ship itself, spat right out of darkness and abyss.

"You know him?" Peter quirked a brow on his annoyed reaction.

Of course Miguel knew him. Olivares was after Mundaca, and his crew. El Brujo had been on a relentless hunt for his father figure a long time ago.

"If you're dangerous enough either spaniards or english men send him for your head. But el cabrón proves himself more annoying than anything with his stupid ass beliefs."

"What's wrong with them?"

"He calls himself a sorcerer. Him being here is no good. Something's happening. If we can, we avoid him."

Peter just nodded and soon, the plan was set in motion.

They changed and practiced Peter's locksmith skills once more, before making sure he could get Miguel out of his shackles without a hitch, if the situation demanded it.

And once ready, both men made a descend downhill, threading carefully through the jungle to beckon closer into their common enemy's territory.

Miguel could sense Peter's discomfit as he pressed the weapon against his back.

"Relax. Once aboard, try to stick nearby."

The closer they got, the more men and noise they could hear.

"Round'em up boys, we gotta leave before midday!"

The captain shouted somewhere. The slaves, much to Peter's distraught, were held in chains, shackled in a bee line as they were pushed up aboard.

Miguel murmured little indications to Peter the more they ventured in everyone's radar. Bit by bit, they managed to sneak in the prisoner's registration under fake names.

They passed the first security filter without much trouble. Slowly but surely, the line grew shorter. El Aquelarre came into view and a chill ran down Miguel's spine.

It wasn't only the mysterious and supernatural aura that oozed from the black ship, but the feeling of something unknown calling him. Pulling him close like magnet. And then he saw him. Saw the man that had been chasing Mundaca for almost a decade.

Tall, dressed up in a crimson red coat, black pants and boots. A large and fat shiny feather adorning his triple black edged hat. A couple of talismans, and rhinestones necklaces adorned his tattooed neck and wrists.

Constantino was a good looking man. His eagle like nose, matched perfectly his symmetric squared face. Thin but pretty lush lips, hidden underneath a scruffy, thick beard. Bushy brows that could rival Miguel's, what stood out the most, however were his feline eyes rimmed in black.

Pale green that people often mistook for gold. Watching, ever mysterious and impassive his surroundings. A dangerous pretty man that wouldn't hesitate into sacrificing anything in the name of his beliefs. Leaning against a palm tree.

"Hold on... What was your name again?" The guard before them asked while he took Miguel by the nape and examined him.

"Johnson."

"Ah... Must be a new face 'cause I haven't see you around."

Peter scoffed nervously, "I was assigned up the state."

The guard tittered as he shoved Miguel inside, a couple of flogs were delivered by other armored men, the pirate hissed, his flesh had forgotten what was to take a taste of that whip's mean end. If anything Peter's accent was a bit too good. It suited him, sadly.

The quartermaster looked at Peter with a curious glance while circling him.

"You look familiar."

"I-I've been told I have a common face. Same for my cousin. We're-"

"Shut yer gob."

Peter obeyed as the man slapped disdainful his back. His heart beat increased a houndred per second.

"That uniform looks a bit too big on you, Pete."

The pirate looked at him, concerned despite his own pain. They were almost there. Freedom at the tip of his calloused fingers.

"Well," Peter swallowed as his eyes darted to Miguel, "Taking care of that bastard is a good workout. Specially when said fucking idiot keeps running away!"

The guard laughed merrily and squeezed his shoulders. Peter laughed and nodded with him.

"Oh, tell me about that. Chasing slaves is fun. We should get dogs to make a competition. Sadly, Pete..."

The merchant's face fell as soon as the quartermaster pulled out his gun and pointed it at Miguel.

"You'll have to go in the other ship. As much as I'd love to keep you both, and see you chasing that dumb mammoth, the brig's full. Ya get me?"

Miguel rose to his feet in a haste as the other guards tossed him outside the ship. He had to keep the calm despite the burning and scorching fury shouting to be unleashed. To teach them what he was made of.

"Tell Smith to take the rest to Olivares' ship."

"Yes, sir."

Peter didn't waste a second longer and told the guard behind, assuming he was the Smith guy, to take the remaining group of slaves towards the black and eerie ship.

He walked ahead of the group and sighed with relief, if it wasn't for his quick thinking and impersonation of a couple of his clients, who knows what would've happen.

The gun was pressed against Miguel's back and sighed

"Sorry for that. You ok?"

Miguel just nodded, a tad uncomfortable by the tingling burning in his skin and the fact that his plan was dramatically changing.

A crisp, strong and cold gust of air pushed both men forward, coaxing to approach faster. As if the universe was unable to wait a second longer for them to meet their fate and ebbed them to get inside as soon as possible.

Constantino's green eyes met Miguel's red ones for a brief second, clashing with unspoken grudge. The latter could see how El Brujo smirked as he was taken to the brig.

But little had realized Salazar that he had summoned yet another demon to his ship.

Miguel's mind was rampant. The moment he had stepped in the ship, his brain was already counting the men and recollecting as much information as he could swot on.

The guards, or rather the lack of them, made him frown. Were they on cover torturing the upcoming slaves? Probably. Or they could be in the weapon room, readying the canons and powder for defense.

Just as Miguel had said, the brig was located in the lower deck, and what he found there, churned Peter's heart with an uncomfortable stir.

Slaves. Grown men and youngsters all put in cages, like wild animals for a merciless and dehumanizing show. The ship hasn't even sailed yet, and their heads already had a price.

Each knew their fate. Spain, England even America and Cuba. Others hoped for a quick death, if the diseases and whipping on earth didn't, the injuries in their body would.

Some slaves looked up to meet their new trip colleagues with keen eyes, hoping for a novelty. And Miguel didn't disappoint. A collective round of hushed whispers in different languages echoed as he entered.

He was put on a cell with another young black man, and the rest was put in the remaining cages.

Silence reigned heavy in the brig once the guards left at haste. Curiously, if he had seen a couple of guards, was to say he'd seen too much of them. The ship was desolated. Even for a galley. But to Olivares, this seemed like another day.

Seconds and minutes dragged on too slow, but the hefty and slow steps from the darkened hall alerted the men.

All eyes could see the pair of beady glowing golden eyes, approaching, preying. The black and shiny feather on his hat waved at the beat of his walking. Constantino was selecting the future sacrifice for his ship.

It was mandatory, since Olivares believed subjugated blood protected against all evil once in the sea.

His imposing frame blocked the view further to the darkened hall, emerging like if shadows themselves had spat him right before them. Beady and eerie eyes raked over the fine and twisted selection of men that stared back with fear. Green gold orbs glanced a little to long in Miguel's way, to then shift his eyes to a young man.

El Brujo had made his selection. With a snap of his fingers he pointed at the man and two guards came and fetched him. Needless to say the young slave fought, cried and asked for mercy. But it all fell upon deafening ears.

Miguel wasn't precisely a believer, he'd rather to not dwell too munch into things that didn't provide or granted him a purpose, food or money. But after seeing a mermaid with his own eyes, he couldn't remain completely skeptical to the mysterious ways of the world and how they wove it's intricate connections together.

The youngster was dragged away and the rest could only watch in fear silent. Making themselves as small as they could. They knew how things would end for their companion.

The rituals Constantino did, left the slaves trembling in fear. He'd start chanting in Latin, then have the man's throat slit and his blood smeared in whatever surface Olivares decided to put on, and then throw the body at the sea, to feed the monsters lurking underneath. Serving his purpose of sacrifice.

Peter returned a couple of hours later, with a disturbed and paling countenance, strong emotions surely made a show of his face.

Bile rose up his throat, like his discomfit. When he entered the brig every pair of eyes were on him as he quickly removed his coat, trying to break the link that tied him to that awful event, leaving his stained shirt with spots of long dried blood. He sat a few steps away of Miguel.

The latter didn't have to ask too much as to what had happened when Peter's hands did all the talking. There was blood in them. Dry and crusty flakes came off as the merchant rubbed them on his pants.

Olivares had ordered him to paint the ship's board with the young man's blood.

"He... He killed him." Peter stammered to then gulp the sudden lump tightening in his throat. His breath hitched.

"Of course he would. He's coo-coo on the head. He believes 'imself sorcerer or some shite like that."

The man next to him spoke, like the sacrificed man, he was young, didn't passed the nineteens, tall, lanky, some piercings on his face and tattoos on his marred and whipped flesh.

His hair was tucked back in a lose thick bun, thanks to his dreadlocks. His eyes dark, ever pondering and assessing the situation before him.

"Then how do'ya explain we survived that... monster of storm, Hobie?!" Another man with a heavy accent spoke, and some nodded as if encouraging the questioning.

"Cause it's a sturdy ship, you twat, it's well built!. Spain has the best craftsmen in the navy." The man shrugged nonchalantly.

"He hunted down a monster!"

That perked Miguel's ears. "What monster?"

Peter and the man next to him looked with a quirked brow his way. Miguel didn't strike as someone gullible for such nonsense.

"I don't know, man. But the storm was so strong the ship nearly sinks. All we could hear was screams and some guards saying, 'we've got her.' And then? The biggest and meanest of waves start hitting and wipes half the crew!"

Miguel blinked almost dumbly.

"This ship's hunted cause that Olivar man has made a pact with the devil."

"It's a rumor, Adé." Hobie mumbled, a little annoyed they couldn't see past superstition.

"It is not! Think about it! This famous pirate dies, and all these... mysterious things start happening at sea. Ships start sinking, waves turn bigger and bigger each storm, just cause they saw this... monster."

"Are you forgetting we nearly drown, ship an all? The sea is angry!. And since this... Captain captured whatever, it's even angrier at us. He shouldn't be a fool and trust demons to take care of us and return that thing to where it belongs!"

The other slaves nodded. Superstition was rampant in every ship Miguel visited. But again, he simply couldn't remain a non believer forever when a mermaid ate his quartermaster before him and everyone aboard his forsaken ship.

While the chained men discussed other underworld like stories, Miguel scooted closer to a much more calm Peter.

"How many men you saw?" he asked in a low, almost hushed voice.

"Like twenty five, including the captain. Most are in their barracks."

Miguel nodded with an emerging idea in his mind. The slaves were bigger than the crew itself if he could convince them to join his cause, not only would they be free, but he'd have a temporary ship to finally get his own back.

But would they follow him?

That was a significant question. If there was something life had taught him, was to preach with an example. Only then he'd get the right people to get his goal achieved.

"What're ya planning?" Hobie spoke as he kept glancing to the door.

"Excuse me?" His bushy brow quirked with disdain.

"Excused. What're ya are planning?"

Miguel remained quiet for a bit. The young man had spoken enough to prove himself a rational and quick thinker, and his knowledge of ships didn't go unnoticed.

"Escaping and seizing the ship."

Hobie couldn't help but titter quietly on Miguel's words.

"Well, break a leg, mate." He shook his head.

Miguel shrugged as Peter begun lock picking his shackles. Mirth slowly left Hobie's body, surprise and hope took over.

"Wait. wait... What are you doing?"

"Escaping, to seize the ship."

"Wait!" Hobie demanded once more, turning the whole attention the attention of the whole group towards them.

"Have you even seen the pigs outside? They're armored to the teeth! They'll kill you."

"I rather fuck around to find out than dying to a man's madness, boy."

The shackles embracing his wrist possessively, fell to the floor. Defeated.

"Will you get us out of here?"

"Please! Get us out!"

The slaves begun pleading, raising their voices and Miguel roared with his commanding voice.

"Cállense!" (Shut up)

Peter looked outside the door as quiet returned to the brig. With a deep inhale, Miguel spoke.

"If we want to get out, you'll listen. Understood?

Mostly nodded.

"I can't free you out just yet." Some faces fell, other sighed with resignation, "I need to confirm the information first, we need to be careful. If we get caught, we all die. Simple as that."

"How can we know this white man won't sell us out?"

Another collective rounds of nodding flooded the future crew.

"Cause he was beaten and press ganged by the english too. He's a merchant not a guard."

"And a locksmith." Peter quipped, trying to clean his sudden reputation.

"You said the waves wiped half the crew right?" the man nodded, "Peter here says it's twenty five men in total, including the captain."

"We're more than them?" Hobie asked, nonplussed for a second.

"Apparently. That's why I wanna go and see myself, cause if it's true, we can take this ship to ourselves."

"Now you're the crazy one." Another man spoke.

Miguel's brows furrowed with annoyance, tired of the pessimistic thinking when the chance laid obvious and ahead of them.

"I'll make it simple for you. If we don't succeed we'll get to either Spain, England or Cuba, where each of you will get at much three hundred for your head, if you're not injured." Some men recoiled at the information,

"Some won't even endure the first month of labor under the english. You think Spaniards and Cuban are bad? Wait for you to be at the hands of British."

He stood and Peter opened the door's cell. His true seize standing proud among the rest. Some gasped.

"If you want a number define your value, be my guest. The less useless in my way, the better." Miguel smoothed his wrists and moved them to stretch his fingers.

"But if you want to live and experience life out of those shackles, you'll wait till I return and act like nothing happened in the meantime, understood?"

Hobie chuckled and nodded. The rest followed with a new sense of renewed hope.

"Aye, sir." He saluted.

Sneaking out wasn't hard, but keeping himself hidden proved to be rather tricky.

Narrow and wooden halls extended left and right, and after what it felt hours he cleared the weaponry room, seizing some for himself. A short ranged knife and a rope. The pistols would be fetched later, when the heist would start. For now, he'd need to be as quiet as possible.

The brig was the extension of the armory. Canons and rifles laid in every direction his eyes landed. All left behind by a wiped crew.

The creaking door however made him hide under the gunpowder barrels, the tinkering of rhinestones and talismans made his breath hitch. He saw Salazar going further the room, and then he disappeared in plain sight.

Confused, Miguel snuck closer and he pressed an ear on the wall.

There were definitely steps and voices. Salazar spoke, and another door was opened.

How could he disappear and be in another place?

His brows puckered and soon his hands pressed against the wall. Taunting and feeling for any irregularity in it. A little current of air flowing in a side made him blink.

A hidden passage. Of course.

He pushed the apparent sturdy wall and to his surprise it budged enough to create an opening to another hall. He sidled inside and hid behind some boxes.

He could see the hall empty, candle lit by the lamps etched to the walls. Floor damp, the saline water pungent.

Was he on the bilge?

Salazar's feather bounced as he walked behind the sturdy door. There was no room for doubts.

With careful steps he approached the end of the hall and snuck in last minute before the door closed with a loud thud.

He hid once more under a pile of musty ropes and ammo. The room was lit up in a cold hue of blue. The crystal-like resin Constantino used to lit the lamp, sparked in a pale blue and aqua sparks, cracking merrily as the fire consumed it within the translucent goblet, amplifying the magnitude of the illumination.

"Cuando lleguemos, la reina no tendrá más opción que darme todo lo que le pida. Ya que te rehúsas a cumplir mis deseos, veremos si desafías a la corona." (When we arrive? The queen will have no choice but to give me everything I ask for. Since you refuse to grant my wishes, let's see if you refuse The Crown)

Miguel could see Olivares from a slit between the ropes.

A deaf thud echoed and Salazar let out an ominous yet rich laugh. Way too entertained.

"Aunque me encantaría que me consumas, aún tengo otros planes en mente." (Although I'd love to be consumed by you, I've still got other plans in mind for you)

Without much say, Olivares left after turning off the resin again. Letting the room to drown in darkness once more.

When Miguel was sure none would come again, he stepped out of his hiding spot and approached the goblet, he had no immediate fire, but knew how to start one. It was one of the first things Mundaca taught him.

He took two pieces of resin and crashed them together until sparks flew again. Illuminating the room with the soft blue hue again.

The clinking of chains demanded his attention. And his heart nearly stopped at the sight.

It couldn't be, could it?

Cruelly chained by your neck and wrists, with heavy links attached to the floor, allowing minimum movement. A hook trespassed the fin of your tail, nearby it's start, holding you in place from a corner.

Defeated, beaten and bleeding; trapped behind thick walls of glass that provided a clear image of your overall state.

Tortured and injured.

You were real. Mermaids were real. And they bled.

You bled.

He didn't have to repeat himself that they weren't real to try and justify your mere existence. Not when you laid before his eyes. Subjugated, demoralized and meek. A demure creature far too different from the monster he met at the ship.

But instead of feeling joy and that twisted sense of pride for a fellow human to have captured you and had your will broken, something else nested in his chest.

Compassion and confusion.

How had Constantino achieved his younger self's dream? How was this possible?

He stepped closer and his breath hitched for a second time. For once in forever, your eyes met his.

Acknowledging eachother.

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#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #iridiscent #pirate!au #Pirate! Miguel

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