Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Alma Bonnet was a child, her father loved her terribly, but not enough to endure the loveless marriage he found himself trapped in. Alma found that her life became infinitely more joyous after his departure (well, after his second departure, anyway), and so she never felt bitter toward him. The first time he left (abandoned) them was more frightening and confusing, and involved more coddling of her grieving baby brother and their enraged mother; but his second departure was done deliberately, and Alma even got to help with it. She could grin at the memory of the camaraderie  in the house the day he left. Her cheeks hurt from smiling that afternoon at the pure, unadulterated happiness on her father’s face when he announced to the family as a whole, “We’re going to do a fuckery! ” followed by laughter from the adults when Alma innocently asked, “What’s a fuckery?” (She knew what 'fuck' meant anyway; she wasn't a baby.)

It turned out that a fuckery involved at least three different possibilities for a man to have died within 60 seconds. A dead body was also at play and Alma may or may not have pouted when she was told that she was not allowed to see it. 

Prior to his first departure, her father's responsibilities as a parent consisted of balancing finances, bringing in money, and playing pirates with his children. Alma didn't necessarily have any complaints, but even as young as a toddler, she was able to read people very easily and knew her parents were unhappy in their marriage. 

She never doubted her father's love despite his odd, quiet ways of showing it. The constant worry her father had about her being bullied was one of the ways he demonstrated his love for her and she frequently remembered what he said before she went to school. 

“When you go to school, Alma, remember, you are strong. You are kind. You are more than the bullies say.”

Although she was bullied, it was mostly because of who her father was. His excessive wardrobe, his botanical knowledge, and his perfectly-kept garden made Stede Bonnet an easy target for enmity and antagonism…and then he disappeared, reappeared, and then died within a handful of months which added fuel to a flame. The changes Alma underwent after his death were visible on the surface and could not be ignored by anybody in her vicinity. She became more ruthless and mischievous, even faking her mother's signature on sick notes and making up excuses to escape lessons with the tutors and governesses. 

Instead of lessons, she would watch the navy troops practice with their swords and pistols, Alma brandishing a wooden sword that she stole from Louis along with a fake pistol she whittled from a piece of wood. Over the crest of the hill, she could watch without being seen as she practiced swordsmanship in time with the cadets. She perfected her moves, the crashing of the sea against the rocks drowning out her grunts and shouts as she attacked unwitting trees and shrubs.

Ready! Swing, dodge, step, block, parry, swing, counter, feint, kick, swing!

When she did attend school, Alma wore whatever was most likely to get her in trouble - starting with trousers. After kissing her mom and Doug goodbye on her way to school, or the governess’s house, or anywhere else, she switched to cotton breeches that had once belonged to her father as well as boots that she had stolen from Louis;  but Alma's mother and step-father quickly learned of her scandalous fashions and put a stop to it. When she started fighting other children, even the boys, she was expelled from the school and even the governess refused to continue lessons with her. 

“They started it, mama! I was only protecting myself!” she shouted at her mother who sat in front of her at the dinner table, staring with a mixture of hurt and steely anger. Alma felt tears sting her eyes when the glare was familiar. The only person Alma could recall receiving a glare carrying the same brand of her mother’s pain and rage was her father. The thought of how much hurt he must have carried burned in her chest. “No wonder dad left if this is how he felt all the time!” 

She slapped her plate on the floor and ignored the gravy splashing onto the tapestries and Doug's pained voice calling, “Alma!” Then, panting in fury, she ran up the stairs and shoved her dresser in front of her door.

“Fuck THIS!” she shouted, purposefully angling her face towards the crack in the door to be heard. “Fuck all of this! Fuck all of you!”

She destroyed things; ripping down her wallpaper, breaking precious trinkets, dumping out the paints her mother gifted to her in an attempt to get her to find a nice, respectable hobby. The entire time she said all of the curse words she overheard at the academy and she cried, thinking of her father and finally accepting that she hated that he was gone. 

An hour later her mother called to her from the hallway to tell her to pack her things — she was off to finishing school in the morning. 

“Yes, mama,” Alma responded with a huff while omitting to mention that her bag had already been packed. She laid the wooden sword on top of her dad’s old trousers and Louis’s boots. “I’ll pack straight away.” 

An hour later she was on her back on the floor, her legs slung over the side of her bed and she grumbled, “Fuck being respectable,” as the fight started to wear out of her. She was exhausted, but knew she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she listened for the signs of the rest of the household retiring.

After she finished packing, she had spent some time angrily painting on the walls with her hands in bright orange paint, reminiscent of the petrified citrus that now lived at the bottom of her knapsack. Her painting started with a string of curse words, then she drew a rudimentary full-body silhouette of herself brandishing a sword. “Dad found happiness this way. Why can’t I?” she’d asked herself.

Below the portrait, she wrote, in big bold letters, The Pirate Dame.

That was five years ago — she hadn’t seen her family since that night, but did mail them various gifts and money from her exploits. She owed that much to them considering the lofty amount of money she stole from the family trust with only a small fuckery needed on her part. She managed to make quite a name for herself since then, especially only being 15-years-old at the start of her pirating career. Although, the money was to thank for a lot of her early success — ships weren’t cheap and she wanted hers to be the best one possible in the short timeframe she had. 

She managed to pull together a crew that was as ragtag as could be, choosing the people most in need — people like her. People who needed to get the fuck out of the lives they were stuck in. People who needed freedom. People like her father. The crew was all still together, too, with Alma effortlessly captaining. She barely needed to do anything at that point and found that she enjoyed the type of life where she was, essentially, one of the crew. She did the things that the crew did — slept on the decks, hoisted sails, scrubbed barnacles. She ate with them, and the crew piled into her own quarters when the weather was rough. She remembered her father saying that he would read stories to his crew and she found herself doing the same thing, even taking on the voices she remembered him using with her and Louis before he left.

It felt good, in a way, to continue her father’s legacy despite his own name going down in history as co-captain to the infamous Blackbeard (or, as her dad called him so many years ago, Ed. Lovely Ed. How her intelligent mother didn’t figure out exactly who Ed was, Alma would never know. She figured it out within an hour of overhearing that fateful conversation between her parents). She had yet to cross paths with her father or Blackbeard and wondered if they, in turn, already knew who she was.

She wondered if they were looking for her.

Chapter Text

It was early morning and her first mate was at the helm when Alma sat up in her hammock, unable to sleep. The seas were too still, her hammock not swinging from the deck head at all. There was barely a breeze to be felt. 

Bringing coffee to one of her two first mates (if her father and Blackbeard could be co-captains, why not have two seconds-in-command?), Mariel “Mia” Goldheart. Alma asked quietly, “No wind?” 

Mia slightly shook her head, steely-eyed, staring out at where the horizon would be if it weren’t so dark. With a sigh, Mia relaxed her shoulders and took the tin cup of coffee with thanks. 

“To my poor stomach,” she joked, holding the mug up. 

“Only hot girls have bowel issues,” Alma replied, tapping her mug to Mia’s. “You know, you could just have tea.” 

Mia grimaced and replied, “Not the same.” 

“Do we think this is a becalming or something more temporary?” Alma asked. There was plenty of breeze the night before, but the sky was clear and the waves were short — she’d fallen asleep fearful that she’d wake up to limp sails. Mariel fixed her with a look that said, what do you think? and Alma had her answer. 

Alma heard footsteps coming up the stairs to the helm. “We aren’t too far from the Republic,” a voice appeared from behind them, the feminine Brazilian accent thick. Alma’s other first mate appeared at her right side, her long, dark curls whipping around behind her. “We can row to at least get supplies if we need, so there’s no real danger.” 

Alma tipped her head right to left as if appearing to weigh options and said, “You’re right, No need to panic.” Mia looked less assured but stayed silent. 

The three lady pirates stood at the helm of their ship, looking over the rest of the crew and the starless night; waiting for whatever day might bring. 

Emy and Mia were the first of three people that Alma found when she began her search for a crew. Mia was older than Alma by a couple of years and grew up on ships with her father who was a sailor. It was actually her spouse who originally attempted to sign up aboard Alma’s ship, The Retribution . He was a tall Viking of a man named Christopher, saying that he was looking for work but none of the ships he tried to sign up with would let his spouse aboard, despite her being just as capable. He sang her praises just as much as his own during their first meeting, telling Alma all about Mia’s mind for navigation, weather patterns, and the inner workings of various types of vessels. Alma found that he hadn’t been lying about Mia and within two days aboard The Retribution, she was given the title of ‘First Mate’ . Alma asked Mia how her husband would feel about her ranking higher than him Mia, grinning broadly, exclaimed, “Who cares!” 

(For the record, Christopher was proud of his partner and happy to take on his own station as Boatswain, the quiet man content to leave the interpersonal issues to his spouse and captain.) 

Emy was a different story. She showed up at the booth Alma had commandeered at a shady seaside bar shyly at first, appearing as though she didn’t feel entirely confident in her decision to show up that day. 

“Why do you want to be a pirate?” Alma asked. 

“Because they won’t let me fight the Portuguese any other way,” Emy shrugged. 

“…Fair enough!” 

Since Alma’s crew was already rather unorthodox,handing Emy the second title of ‘First Mate’ was not a surprise to anybody. Alma offered Emy the title after their first raid where Emy fought with a ferocity that far outmatched Alma’s own. Granted, that first fight was against a Portuguese ship stealing red wood to make dye and Emy, quite frankly, had a bone to pick…and several to break. If Alma died, she would gladly entrust her legacy to Emy — who, after initial introductions, was Alma’s favorite conversationalist with her intelligent wit and sharp humor. 

She never told anybody, not even Mariel and Emy, about her father and who he was essentially married to if the reports of their matelotage could be believed. It felt almost like a form of nepotism to name drop the infamous Blackbeard, or even her father, The Gentleman Pirate at this point. Sometimes she worried that her choice of name for herself as well as her choice in ship name would be too obvious but so far, nobody seemed to make the connection. She was glad of that. 

The sun came up, the trio parted and got to work, and eventually the breeze started up once more, blowing them toward the Republic of Pirates. 

***

“The Pirate Dame, as I live and breathe!” called a loud voice from behind the bar at Spanish Jackie’z, and there was Spanish Jackie herself, already pouring a drink for Alma. “How long’s it been since you been here, girl? Come on, tell Jackie what’s been going on.” 

Alma grinned over the rim of the cup of rum Jackie slid down to her and sat on a bar stool. 

“What happened to your noses?” Alma asked, gesturing toward the shattered bottom of Jackie’s nose jar. Jackie’s expression changed from jovial to murderous in a half second and Alma briefly regretted asking. 

“The fucking genital pirate,” she growled. 

Alma stuck her pinky finger in her ear to clear it and asked, “I’m sorry, who?” 

“Genital fucking Pirate. Came in here years ago, broke my goddamn nose jar so I banned him. Then, three days ago, the man saunters in here again like he owns the place just cuz he’s fuckin’ Blackbeard, breaks my damn jar again!” 

Alma looked at Jackie in confusion, “Genital pirate? Do you mean Stede Bonnet?”

“Yeah, Steve,” Jackie replied, wrinkling her nose as if discussing maggots or moldy cheese. Alma opted not to correct her but still corrected with a muttered ‘Stede’ under her breath.

“Did you kill him?” Alma asked, trying to hide the expression of fear on her face.

“He’s fucking Blackbeard, so no, I didn’t kill him.” 

Alma’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as she realized exactly what Jackie was saying. She felt her ears heat up in embarrassment at the mention of not only her father’s genitals, but who he was having relations with. She cleared her throat and Jackie continued her story, “Not sure he’s still alive though. When they stopped by they were begging for a ship. Dunno what happened to theirs, but sounded like they had the Spanish and the British somehow on the same side trying to get ahold of them. If they didn’t get a cutter or something similar, they’re goners since the Spanish rolled through here the next day on a manhunt.”

Alma’s chest tightened painfully. 

“I noticed everything is pretty empty,” she finally choked out.

“Yeah, thankfully Blackbeard and Steve showing up gave enough warning for most people to get out of dodge. Every goddamn time they show up here, Jackiue’s business suffers. It’s sick.” 

“I’m sorry,” Alma said, genuinely, pushing the rum away from her and opting to have a somewhat clear head given the news. 

Ignoring the way her heart was hammering in her throat, urging her to get back to her ship and take off after her father, Alma softly patted Jackie’s wooden hand in sympathy and Jackie muttered, “Thank you.” 

“Any clue where they were headed next? Gonna have to steer clear.” 

That was the opposite of Alma’s plan, but Jackie didn’t need to know. 

“They didn’t say, but my guess would be Nassau. Safest place for them to go with the way things are right now.” 

“Thanks Jackie. Any other good gossip?” If she left too quickly, it would raise suspicion - and besides, knowing if there were any other threats on the horizon felt important. 

Alma spent a little bit more time listening to Jackie talk about various pirates who backstabbed other pirates, ones who got caught or hanged, and even a couple of pirates who had a baby together. 

“I have a card going for them if you wanna sign it,” Jackie said, pulling out a card from under the bar that said Congratulations for raw-dogging it! 

Alma laughed and took the quill being offered to her, quickly signing The Dame . After she signed and Jackie tried to pull the card from her hand, Alma held firm, noticing a familiar handwriting in the opposite corner. 

Enjoy the arrival of your baby! Children are a blessing and they grow up too fast. 

xx The Gentleman Pirate & Blackbeard 

She felt the searing heat of tears rise in her throat and let go of the card, ignoring the strange glare Jackie shot at her. 

“Sorry, I was just curious to see who else signed.” 

Jackie raised an eyebrow and put the card back under the counter. 

“Thanks for all the intel, Jackie,” Alma said, dropping a couple gold pieces on the counter and changing her mind quickly, deciding to knock the rest of her rum back. “Gotta head out.” 

“Don’t be such a stranger this time!” Jackie called as Alma left the bar, grateful for the empty streets as she sprinted toward The Retribution.