Archive for the ‘Pirates’ Category

Message in a Bottle by paulchensmom on

“Cheats!” Cap’n bellowed, throwing our dice overboard. “I’ll give ye a game o’ chance!”

Bad loser. That scurvy scoundrel marooned us four atop this coral atoll. The gallows woulda been mercy. Nary a shipbiscuit to share between us.

We ate up the crabs n snails n Slushy’s pet monkey.

Ate Slushy next. Poxy bastard lasted two days. Spoiled in the hot sun.

Us last three played rock, scissors, paper—winner take all. No gambling this time. My rock found Mick’s head. My scissors, Gummo’s throat.

My paper, I wrote my last story on it, n stuck it in this bottle.

The Shaman’s Prayer by ArtisansAzure on

Three days pitched into the bowels of this vessel, nibbling bread, her dress was shredded but her corset was intact. She waited. When he came, she smiled, her eyes a liquid black. She held up her hands in surrender, her rings glinting light. He grabbed her roughly. She leapt to him, wrapped her legs around his hips and kissing him, clipped her rings into the razored wire stashed in her corset’s boning. A silver flash passed his vision then bit into his throat, bleeding his surprise down both their chests. She landed on her feet. “I am no man’s booty.”

Volatile by Rilrae at

Pushing blades through mama’s belly, Captain Cruz shanghaies Shelly, claiming her as concubine. Though just thirteen, she obeys his foul desires. It’s survival. Afterward, to numb the pain, she dances like mama danced.

Months later, the ship sets anchor offshore her island home.

With two fluttering fans, Shelly twirls on deck to fiddles and catcalls. Cruz, craving private performance, calls her to his quarters. He licks his lips as she slips from sarong, undulating unadorned, her fans concealing her treasures. Captain’s captivated until the razor-edged fans slice out his eyes, his tongue.

She slips silently overboard, gliding toward moonlit shore.

Sea Monster by Sergon on

The grandson of Red Beard, Flint Turner was the size of three men and boasted a cutlass no average man could lift alone. The tips of his crimson mustache, beaded and braided, stretched down, clacking against the leather and gold adorning his chest. His every bellow commanded the tides, undulating the inferior neighboring vessels. He feared no man, no ship, for he consorted and swam with the denizens of the sea. With a whistle and a click, he commanded the submerged monsters, tearing ships and drowning souls. “Plunder my enemies.” Never a mark on his ship nor foe left alive.

Pirates by HamsterFly at

A musket shot rang in Peyrce’s ears, zipping past his head. “Bloody ‘ell,” he muttered. All around him, his men yelled and fought bravely, pushing forward against the rogue pirates with a crazed fury.
He darted toward the quarterdeck of the ship where the rogue captain stood at the wheel, clad in brown trousers with a silk overcoat. The captain met Peyrce’s eyes and nodded his head. “To the death, Captain Peyrce.”
Peyrce unsheathed both his swords. “Nay. To the depths.” It was a fate worse than death, but one any good Captain deserved.
One he himself anticipated.

Crazy Pirate Cook by SlimSpidey at

Stu stirs the chowder in the golden caldron as cannons roar on deck. Thumps and muffled screams rattle through the ceiling. Musket tucked in belt, Stu pours rum in the pot to the clump, clump, clump of men running downstairs. Stu cocks his musket and, from a ladle, sips broth. The galley door bursts open; a leather-clad buccaneer, cutlass in hand, ducks inside.

“Aha, Davey Jone’s magic caldron,” the pirate says. “It’s mine.”

Stu raises his musket, fires a steel ball into the invader’s chest.

“Stew’s not ready yet,” he says, tossing a handful of peppers in the pot.

Auld Spice by Paisley on

He looked down to see the sword plunged to the hilt in his side but could not feel the cold steel, nor any stirring of pain.  Was he dead already? Had his soul departed, leaving his torso to rot on a broken skeleton? He squeezed his eyes, hoping to feel something, anything that would belie he was no longer of this world. Then a whiff tickled the tiny hairs of his nostrils, a subtle fragrance, leaving a lightly aromatic lilt on his senses — Old Spice. He was alive, and a man who smelled like a man had just bested him.

Jolly Roger by AzraelBears on

Hoisting the Jolly Roger. The skull and crossbones. The grinning face of doom. This face tells the villagers to hide their children and pray.

“That’s not what it means,” said the old man. “Them bones is the remains of Roger Jewell, and no one feared him. He ran like a wench at every sign of peril. And if he got cornered, he’d beg for his life. So bring that flag down, cut it into pieces and we shall all wipe our arses with him.”

All it took was the tip of my sword to shut him up.

Drown by Bern-Z on Deviant Art

The pirate skiff circles Sardinio’s raft. His village razed, the scared, skinny clam diver’s son struggles asea.

Spear aloft, Captain smiles gold. “Little minnow, unarmed like your father. We’ll filet you, too.”

Sardinio licks salt from chapped lips. Grabbing stone anchor, he plunges into kelp forest.

“After him!” Captain bellows, diving.

They gulp air, dive deep, pursuing bubbles. Spears jab shadows.

Bubbles escape coral cave.

Sea stalkers enter darkness like morays seeking lobster supper.

Deep rumbling. The cave mouth crumbles, drowning watery screams inside.

Sea surface breaks. Sardinio gasps. Lies back, floating.

His father gave him his weapon — strong lungs.