pirate au fic; i’ll tell you a tale of a pirate queen (1/ )
pirate au | multi-chapter | au | multiple parts | historical au | 18th century | currently no msr (if i continue, comes later) | i’ll post to ao3 tomorrow | wc: 1,123 |
A tale of a Pirate Queen.
I’m gonna try my best to continue and complete this though I can’t say when the next chapter(s) will be cause I think I want to write some more before I post again. Anyway, this hit me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I hope you like it :)
@today-in-fic
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Chapter One: Bound To The Sea Below
She pulls out the tie, shakes out her hair, the wind blowing freely through the strands, tangling the red curls around each other. Her mother would be grabbing the hairbrush and telling her to sit.
But Mother isn’t here right now. Nobody is. Dana can hear chatter behind her, the occasional yell, but she is oblivious to it all. Just the wind in her ears and against her face, her eyes shut as she inhales the salty air.
This was where she belonged, without any rhyme or reason, sailing along the sea, bringing goods to other cities and countries. It just felt right to be here. It felt like home.
She grips the rope tighter, holding on as she adjusts her feet on the rails. One accidental step and she’s falling into the water below, it doesn’t scare her, though. Since she was eight years old, she had been climbing the railings such to everyone’s concern, but not once has she fell off. She even got brave enough to close her eyes and fly.
When she reopens them, her heart sinks a little at the sight of Charles Town Port coming into view. That was it, the adventure was over. It could be months, maybe even years, till she got to come along again.
Being on land, trapped in that house could be tortured some days. Dana couldn’t wait till she was free, until she could sail a ship of her own.
“You need to get down Dana,” she hears Billy, her brother, say to her. “Pa said we’re docking soon.”
His footsteps grow quieter the further he walks away. Dana takes one good look at the water, says her goodbyes, and climbs down. She gathers her hair into a low ponytail and places her very own cocked-hat on her head, and runs towards the cabin.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
“Can’t I come with you?”
Bags packed, ready to leave any moment, 11 year old Dana sits on the second to last stair watching as her father is about to set off to sea without her.
Her father kneels at the base of the stairs while her mother looks on. He places a hand atop of her clasped ones.
“I wish you could,” he tells her sincerely. “But the journey is too long. Even Billy isn’t going.”
Her brother is also with them, standing off to the side. His grunt tells her he is just as displeased with this arrangement as she is.
Dana pouts and looks towards the floor. It had been almost a year since her last trip, she was itching to go on another one.
“You’re going to miss my birthday.” The trip would last months, an order to be delivered to Spain.
“I will,” her father tells her, guilt laced in his voice. One of many birthdays missed. “But I promise I’ll bring you something back, okay?”
It would have to suffice. Her father had brought many things back with him for various missed birthdays, each gift different and better than the last, though her favourite was the snow globe he brought back from France. The thought of what he would bring her this time gives her a spark of excitement. A smile spreads across her face despite her disappointment. Dana nods.
“Good.” He flicks her nose and she giggles before launching herself into his arms. “I’ll miss you Ahab,” she says into his shoulder.
“I’ll miss you too, Starbuck.”
.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.
On March 7th, there are no presents. There is no father.
Coldness drifts its way through the house, silence following in it’s steps. Soon, her mother’s cries taken silence’s place as it drags through the rooms of the house. March 7th is a cold and harsh day.
Sorrow turns itself into rage, rips through her tiny body as she claws at her bedding and curtains, barrels drawers over, launches objects off her shelves with her arm, they come crashing to the ground.
Her room is a mess and Dana falls against the wall, her hands covering her face as sobs tear themselves out of her, grief pouring out of her.
In the centre of it all lies the snow globe. It catches her eyes and Dana crawls towards it. It’s partially cracked but mostly intact. A ship riding the waves of an ocean. She closes her eyes and holds the globe to her body, flopping down onto the heap.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
Billy takes over the orders, becomes Captain of The Lassie.
Dana knew that the death of her father meant no more trips, that for the next six or so years, she would never be able to set foot on one. Just as her father was taken before her far too soon, Dana hadn’t wanted that same thing to happen.
On the day Billy was set to make his first orders as Captain, Dana had come barrelling down the stairs, desperate to tag along one last time.
Dressed in her pants, her hair tied back, the disguise she always wore, she begged her brother to let her come along.
“You take up too much space,” her brother had told her.
Dana had shook her head. “I’ll stay out of the way, please.” Desperation in her voice and on her face, she needed to ride the sea. “Pa always let me, regardless.”
“Aye,” says Billy. “And Pa could’ve got in a lot of trouble, like I can now. Besides, girls bring bad luck and I don’t think we want anymore of that.” He goes to grab his bags, to leave her behind. Dana’s heart sinks. Just one last trip…
Billy stops before he leaves, his head against the doorframe and a loud sigh exiting his mouth. He looks towards his sister who fights to keep the tears from her eyes.
“This is the last one.”
A smile spreads across her lips, tears turning into joy.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
Dana would capture the smell of the sea in a bottle if she could, would place it on the shelf. The sea killed her father but it was still home regardless of its danger.
This trip was her last trip, and was treated as such. She arrived home, a clearer memory of the water in her mind, a smile on her face.
Her sailing clothes are taken from her, locked with a chest in her mother’s room. She keeps her hat, however, hides it at the back of her closet but the day she can take it out and wear it again.
The next day, the corsets feels tighter, an anchor keeping her in place. Her hair is brushed until the tangles are free and it shines. The smell of the sea is nothing more than a distant memory. Dana becomes a vessel docked on the shore.
This is for @txf-prompt-box challenge An American Civil War Au. I wasn’t going to enter it but then I read @baronessblixen‘s entry and was inspired to have a crack. Tagging @today-in-fic too.
Warning: I know nothing about the Civil War and I had to google as I was writing but here it is and no doubt full of inaccuracies, all of which are my own.
His horse was all but lame and he dismounted as the sun sunk below the hills. The stream gurgled and it was a shock to hear nothing but the rhythms of nature. He was sure he’d lost the hearing in his right ear. It throbbed from the wound and he touched it tentatively, the congealed blood sticky. He walked the horse to the water and it drank. He crouched next to it and brought a handful of cool liquid to his ear, dabbing it with the handkerchief he had in his pocket. It stung but feeling something, anything was better than the numbness that had been his constant companion on the ride out. The horse snuffled and lapped. He patted its side and walked around it, looking at its sore hoof but knowing there was nothing he could do. The wound, where the shoe had come off, was festering. Mulder looked around and, not for the first time, cursed himself for his cowardice. His brother would kill him. If the government troops didn’t get him first.
He found shelter between several large boulders and lay his gray jacket on the ground for bedding. Exhaustion overcame him, the pain from the bullet graze making him nauseous. He fell into a fitful, feverish sleep and it was no real surprise to wake up facing the barrel of a shotgun.
What was a surprise was the fact that it was being wielded by a small, red-headed woman, pregnant and angry.
“Get up.”
He shielded his face from the morning sun and tried to move, but his limbs were heavy and his chest tight.
She nudged him with the rifle and repeated her command.
“I’m trying,” he said, barking out a series of hacking coughs. He rolled onto his side and tried to breathe.
“You talk funny,” she said.
“So do you,” he replied.
“Your horse is lame. You can’t run.”
He managed to get onto all fours. “Madam, if I could stand up, it would take all my strength.”
The point of the gun wavered and he chanced a look up at her. Her eyes were fixed on him, but she was chewing her lip. There was a slight tremble in her hands. She was flushed from the exertion of holding the gun.
“What are you doing here?”
He was trying to place her accent, Irish or Scottish? He could never tell. And he had no idea what he was doing here. The right side of his head was hot with pain and his jaw locked when he tried to speak.
“I believe I am trying to die. But there are many people who are stopping me.”
With that she flipped the gun tip up and dropped it down so the butt hit the ground. “Well, Mr Confederate, don’t let me get in your way. A few hours in this sun and you’ll be a feast for the flies, birds, dogs and anything else that wanders these hills.”
He flopped down on to his rear and watched her turn to the horse.
“And you won’t be needing this fellow, so I’m going to take him and mend him and use him for something better than you and your soldier-men have been.” She gathered the reins and led the horse up the bank. It whined in pain and she stopped, rubbing its nose and whispering in that lilting voice.
“Madam. I would be most happy if you would take the horse and give it a better life. He has been a fine servant and has many years left in him, away from the bloody fields of war.”
She tutted and looked at him. “Are you a deserter? Are you running from those bloody fields?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
Her face softened. “That’s probably the best and the worst decision you’ve made Mr Confederate.”
“Mulder. My name is Mulder.”
“That’s the strangest name I’ve heard.”
He chuffed. “Then you don’t know my given name, Madam.”
“And what would that be?”
“Fox,” he said.
She burst into a peel of laughter. And he laughed then. He hadn’t laughed in months. Not since he’d met his brother Samuel at the port and let himself be convinced that fighting in this war was the right thing to do. Samuel’s employer was a wealthy businessman who stood to lose his living, his standing in the community if the Unionists won. Samuel, young and impressionable, wrote to Fox and requested that he sail to America and fight with him. Fox thought he would be able to convince Samuel to return to Holland with him but he was spirited and tenacious and wouldn’t leave. Fox had no choice but to sign up and look out for his brother. But in the end, Samuel had disappeared in a battle, just vanished during the bitterest of fighting, gun smoke thick in the air, cannon-fire booming, horses terrified and charging through the men. Gone.
Fox looked for days, in the makeshift hospitals, folding back the sheets from the faces of the dead, scouring the encampments. After months with no sign, his unit marched into another battle and he rode with through the Unionists, not even bothering to shoot or defend himself. He had no desire to fight, he didn’t even understand the war. He wanted to return home but his father would blame him for the loss of Samuel. And so it was easier just to die.
But somehow, he survived with just the wound to his ear and he just kept riding and riding.
The horse whinnied and she looked beyond him to the black hills.
“Looks like your men might be coming. Good luck, Mr Fox Mulder.”
He turned onto his stomach and laid his head to the ground, listening to the thundering of hooves. Dust flew into his mouth and he spat it out. He didn’t want to die with the bitter taste of America on his tongue.
“When is your baby coming, Madam?” he asked, pushing himself back round. If he was going to die, he wanted to see something beautiful before he did. This redheaded woman, her rounded belly filled with life and hope. Sometimes life is beautiful. He hoped in his next life he would be blessed with children.
“Any day.”
“Your husband is a very lucky man,” he said.
She stopped and looked at him, a single tear trickling down her face. “My husband is dead. Fighting you people.”
“I’m sorry, Madam. No good comes from war. This I have learned.”
She rubbed away the tear and dropped her hand to her stomach, resting it on the bump. “Our child will know he was fighting for the right side, at least. What will your children think of your choices?”
The horses were closing in and he shook his head. “That I have no children to let down is perhaps my best achievement, Madam.”
She nodded and small smile brightened her face. “You are as strange as your name, Mr Fox Mulder. Perhaps you are even a kind man. In another life, it is possible that we would have found some common ground.”
He smiled at her. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”
She laughed. “I am a Catholic, Mr Mulder. What do you think?”
Alternative Universe | Post Apocalyptic | William Fic | No MSR.
One who can think is one who is dangerous.
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Remember a while ago when I said I wanted to write a fic that only had William in it, no MSR, well this is this fic (I’m not expecting this to get a lot of attention tbh). This fic is also based on Inside because I’m obsessed with the story- and the game itself, I’ve said plenty of times that I like puzzles- so this it is. I actually like the shortness of these chapters and I’ll probably write it alongside tch and the zombie au.
Tagging @today-in-fic @mypanicface
[He refuses to conform. He refuses to be another brainless zombie. He still had his memories, still wore his red jumper when they made everyone else wear grey]
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ENTRY ONE
His beating heart and quick breaths seem to echo through the forest.
William looks up at the rock he’s just jumped down from amazed that he actually made it out. Most people don’t make it this far, he found out on his way out.
He refuses to conform. He refuses to be another brainless zombie. He still had his memories, still wore his red jumper when they made everyone else wear grey. He may only be ten years old but he still remembers how the world was before this, still remembers how they killed his parents for the same crime he’s committing right now.
Only he plans on surviving.
The forest is vast and dark before him. They have probably realised he’s gone, will be out looking for him and he’ll be caught if he doesn’t move now.
