#hope y’all enjoyed!!! In the process of writing I actually have soooo much looooore

[cakeinthevoid]

Only A Dream

scurries out of the haunted walls of academia and real life responsibilities—coughs this out and scurries away again but my leg is broken

heyyy everyone!! Sooo….. I had this dream. And somehow, I was able to write this neat thing! It’s nearly 3.5k words long… And I did too much research…. I’ll just… leave it there… wait last thing: I’d die for John and Juno. Ok that’s all.

Contains: pirate whump! Hurt comfort! Snarky MC! Angry MC! Female MC! Forced to join! Vague flashbacks to physical and emotional trauma! Gun fighting in the background! Manual labour! (Feel free to send in an ask if you want more deets before opening)

The crew was packing, moving ships to make room for supplies. First mate Juno made sure everyone was doing something useful. 

Which is why Delia could not fathom why she was made responsible for labelling crates. 

Labelling. Crates.

She still couldn’t believe it, even as she was writing gunpowder on the parchment and sticking it onto the barrel with paste. 

She bet half the crew couldn’t even read! 

And yet Juno led her to the abandoned smithy where they were holding supplies, handed her a roll of parchment and ink and told her to mark every container. They only said not to write ‘too fancy-like’ and left to go do whatever they needed to do so the crew could leave by noon. 

Whatever they were doing, it was certainly leagues more exciting than labelling crates. 

Delia moved onto another crate anyway. Before she could peak inside, a clatter at the entrance sounded—someone tripping over the debris lying around and cursing. 

Delia wasn’t startled; it was only John and it was already his third or fourth time tripping over that junk. 

John made his way over, a crate of something in his arms; only his forehead and cloud of black of hair peaked over its height. He tried setting the box down gently, but it still clanged as it hit the floor. 

He wiped his brow and the colourful beaded bracelets he wore jangled against his dark skin. “No ‘hello, John’? Are you okay, John?  Thank you John for bringing me another crate?” 

Delia rolled her eyes. “Do you expect to hear it every time?”

John made a show of thinking, bringing his hand to his chin and furrowing his brow. “Hmm. Yes, actually,” he said at last. “Some more appreciation around here would be welcome.” 

“Tell me about it,” she muttered. “So what’s all this then?” 

“Fragile merchandise,” he said, wagging his finger. “Juney wants it labelled as kitchenware.” 

“Why doesn’t Juno come in and label it themself then?” 

He clicked his tongue. “Little bird, that’s your job.”

“It’s a dumb fucking job.”

John made a noise of disapproval. “A year with pirates has fouled your mouth so? For shame, Cordelia.” 

She pressed her lips in a tight line and glared. He’s lucky he didn’t call her your highness or Princess. 

John laughed. “Easy now, I come bearing good news! This here is the last crate. Last one I’m bringing, anyway.” 

“There’s more?” There had better not be. 

“Eh,” he shrugged, “Not sure. Probably not. Most supplies went to the Mayflower.” 

The Mayflower. Captain Mor’s latest pirated ship. Erik would be manning it, and Delia would be on his half of the crew—the rest sticking with Captain Mor on whatever new ship was added to their fleet.  

It was also the one on which Delia truly became part of the crew. At least she thought so. Hard to tell when she was suddenly demoted to labellor. 

“Who labelled the other crates then?” Maybe she wasn’t truly alone in her suffering. 

John cringed at that. “Ehm. They weren’t.”

Delia stared at him in silence for a beat. 

She tried to keep a level voice: “What do you mean they weren’t.”

“Ah well, they might’ve! They likely were! I just didn’t see. I’m old, you know.”

“You’re like, twenty-five,” she said dryly. 

“Older than you,” he amended. Only by three years, she thought, annoyed.

“So basically Juno gave me a fools errand.” She had already suspected, but for it to be true… it hurt a bit, to her surprise. 

“No, no of course not!” He reassured. “They do everything for a reason, surely you know that.” 

Delia sat and slumped on a crate labeled blankets. “Mhmm.” 

“Hey,” he crouched to be at her eye level. He opened his mouth to say something, but an explosion sounded outside. 

The both of them startled upright simultaneously, but John got on the move quick.

“Stay here,” he said seriously, halfway to the entrance. “Protect the kitchenware!” And he was gone. 

Delia pulled out her pistol, the weight of it comfortable in her hand. 

Then she waited.

The ruckus grew outside, and Delia felt stupid hiding away in an old smithy when she was just as good a shot as needed. 

She found a small part of her wishing for some of the action to make its way to her. She imagined some hooligan storming in, how she would raise her pistol and—

Bullets came flying in through the walls. Delia dropped for cover behind the blanket crate, pistol in hand and pointed in the direction of gunshots and yelling.

The noise began dying down long minutes later, cries for doctors ringing clearly. 

Delia was trying to focus on the sound of footsteps running down the street, getting closer. 

She caught glimpses of familiar figures through the new bullet holes in the wall and got up from behind the crate. 

Juno stormed in first, their normally composed demeanour full of anger. 

“Wesley, Novin, Clive, Kingston, start loading the crates. Aiken, Grace, cover them. Now!” They barked. 

Everyone called upon scrambled out, grabbing the nearest crates, whether they were labeled or not. 

“Delia!”

“Yessir,” she responded immediately.

“You’re coming with us. The Mayflower had to go off—damn bastards bombing the damned port—“ they cursed almost to themself. 

Delia didn’t understand why this warranted a one on one. “Did… was someone-“

Juno shook their head and twirled their gun around their finger, heading back out. “Thank God no—not yet anyway. No, go load the crates, but I don’t want you boarding that ship until I get there, understand?” 

“What? Why?” 

But they were already gone, rushing back from where they came from.

Delia had half a mind to chase them down, but pulled herself together, going for a crate.  Novin was already back to pick up another one, so surely this new boat wasn’t far. 

Best get back to work then, she thought and followed Novin out, crate in hand.

——

With the initial bloody chaos from the explosion nearly settled, it wasn’t difficult to make it to the new ship and back. 

At least, it wasn’t difficult for the first few rounds. 

By her… fifth box maybe? The exertion was getting to her. The lack of the usual crew banter as they prepare for departure made her that much more cognizant of soreness in her arms and the painful way the crate would jut into her stomach. 

Juno was running a tight operation. And Juno being stressed was as good an indicator as any that the rest of the crew should be stressed too. 

Delia only caught a glimpse of them as she was dropping off yet another crate at the mouth of the dock where Aiken sat twirling his gun. Juno was carrying up a body into the ship. 

When Juno caught her staring, he yelled across the docks for her to get back to work. She quickly jumped into action, running back to the smithy to replace the cold dread in her chest with the heat of her lungs burning. 

“Where’s the fire?” 

Delia whipped around as she neared the smithy. Grace. 

“Grace! Juno—body, on the ship,” she panted, out of breath. 

Grace looked away. “Right…” 

“What?” 

She hesitated. “Delia…” she started slowly.

The ice was back in her heart. Time froze. 

…and was promptly shattered by Novin, bursting out of the smithy and snapping. 

“These crates aren’t lifting themselves! Can we hurry up already? I swear…” He shoved between Grace and Delia, despite the room around them, and headed to the docks.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Grace said quickly. She disappeared to wherever she found the best view to keep watch before Delia could form words. 

Damned Novin. Rascal of a little brother behaviour. 

——-

Several crates later, she was dying of thirst.

Not dying, no most definitely not; she had endured far worse. But she was definitely thirsty enough to try her luck with Aiken. 

Unsurprisingly, he told her to piss off. 

Another few crates later, her vision was growing a little spotty. The sun was rising and she was already sweaty enough from the labour. 

After dropping the next box in front of Aiken, she stumbled forward, off kilter. She caught herself on the crate and blinked the spots from her eyes, taking a few breaths. 

She looked up to see Aiken staring at her, brown eyes wide under the shade of his hat. 

“Can I please have that damned water now?” She said through gritted teeth. 

He gave her his canteen. 

She took greedy gulps, but left enough in the canteen. You never left someone without water. She handed it back to him without saying anything and turned to go get another blasted crate. 

Another several crates later and she thought her arms would fall off. Her neck was sore and her legs were cramping. She pushed herself off the crate she was leaning against only to bump right into Kingston, who was going for a crate to take up to the ship. 

“Don’t get up on my account,” his deep voice rumbling with humour. “Wesley, Clive, Novin and Grace are getting the last of the crates. You’re all good.”

Delia slumped back down, very relieved. “Thanks,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. 

The heat was unbearable. She had half a mind to jump into the ocean right now. 

She looked behind her where Kingston was already at the top of the ship ramp—carrying two boxes no less. It helped that he was the size of a house. 

She rested for a while, the sound of Aiken messing around with his gun keeping her company. 

It wasn’t long until she was getting annoyed again. She had just realized no one told her to start carrying crate up to the ship deck. 

Either she really looked that pathetic right now or Juno had them under the same orders. 

She decided to try her luck. Despite her muscles protesting, she picked up a barrel. 

“What are you doing?” Aiken snapped, not unkindly. 

“Might as well help Kingston with the crates.” 

“In your sorry state, you’re gonna fall right off the ramp.” 

She scoffed. “Sure. Try and stop me then,” she challenged, walking away with the barrel in arm. 

She heard a sign and the patter of shoes hopping off a seat and making their way to her. 

“Give me that,” he said, reaching for the barrel. 

She angled it away. “No. Why?” 

“I’ll take it up if you want someone to help Kingston so bad. You keep watch.” 

“What if I wanted to take it up? And you’re a better shot than me.” It pained her to admit, but she needed a point. 

“No one’s messing around on this side of the dock anyway, you’ll be fine. Sit back down, girl.” 

She dropped the barrel down angrily. 

“What’s going on?” She demanded. “Why isn’t anyone telling me anything? Why can’t I go on the damned ship? Are you planning on leaving me here or what?” She fumed, fists clenched and jaw tight. She’s had enough beating around the bush. 

Aiken said nothing for a moment. Then he admitted, “First Mate Juno told me to keep you down here. Didn’t tell me why either,” he shrugged. “But I doubt it’s to leave you behind.” 

“You only doubt it?” 

Aiken shrugged. Mouth stretching in an expression that said I don’t know what you want from me, man. 

“Right well, I don’t care.” She moved for the barrel again, but he intercepted. 

“I mean it, Delia. I’m not losing Juno’s favour over you.” 

They stared off for a few beats, then Delia threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “Fine! Take it up yourself, then! I’ll be relaxing like a lazy cat until His Majesty Juno deigns to explain what’s going on!” She pivoted on her heel and stormed away. 

Once she was settled back on the crates, she risked a look behind her. It seemed Aiken was actually taking the barrel up. 

She turned forward at the sound of Grace’s laughter. Normally, Delia revelled in the sound of her laugh, but she was bitter and annoyed and now jealous that someone made her laugh like that.

She waited for the three of them, arms crossed. 

“Hey, give us a hand, why don’t you!” Novin called out. Clive shook his head at his antics, white hair stark and gleaming in the sun. 

Delia got up anyway. She took the barrel from Novin’s hands, much to his visible surprise, and stacked it on top of another barrel, all without saying anything. 

“Sheesh,” he drawled, sticking his hands into his pants pockets. 

She ignored him. “Where’s Juno?” 

“Likely the Captains Cabin. I’ll fetch him,” Clive responded quickly. Delia wished he spoke more; she quite liked his strong English accent. Reminded her of… good times.

She pushed the thought away before it could fully form.

When it was just Grace and Novin left, Delia rolled her eyes. “What, did Juno forbid you from the ship as well?” 

Novin muttered something foul and got to work. Grace frowned and let Novin get ahead. 

Out of his earshot, she spoke softly to Delia. 

“Juno is trying to help you. And I’m here for you, too. I didn’t agree with his plan, just so you know. So… if you want to go on the ship with me before he gets back…” 

A Delia not already pissed and annoyed would have said yes. But this Delia was bitter—irritated that it wasn’t only Juno, but her best friend discussing her behind her back.

Against her better judgment, she said coldly, “I think you have a lot of crates to carry until then,” and turned away to avoid whatever look would appear on her face. 

She heard Grace get back to work, but only risked a look back after she counted to 100. Aiken was coming back. 

But she had a plan for that. As he approached, Delia occupied herself by lifting crates at random. Naturally, Aiken couldn’t resist inquiry, asking what she was doing. 

“Just lifting the boxes. Trying to guess how much they weigh. Not much else to do here,” she muttered under her breath, but just loud enough to be heard. 

Aiken just hummed. 

Delia lifted another box, one she carried here herself.

“How much do you think this one weighs? We can say the same number on three. If we say the same, we win.” 

“My God, you really are bored.”

“Just lift the box,” she said. “Careful though, might be weapons in here.” She handed it to him. 

As soon as Aiken grasped the box, Delia pivoted and gunned it to the ship.

She heard Aiken cry out, but he needed to set the box down carefully. It was just the head start she needed for her sore body after carrying dumb crates all day. This time, her body burned with adrenaline.

She skidded on the dock, the ship a blur in her sights, and used her momentum to launch herself up the ship ramp. She caught a glimpse of Aiken not even halfway down the dock. She couldn’t help but laugh.

Finally, a win. 

Cackling to herself, she sped up the ramp, landing on the ships deck with a jump. 

“Ha ha ha!” She grinned wildly and walked with purpose to the centre of the main deck. To her right, she saw Grace and Clive looking down with alarm from the quarterdeck. 

“I mean, seriously, with you guys acting like the guard—“ she snorted, giggling. She let her gaze wander to her left, to the main mast. “I don’t know, maybe there really should have been something… something…”

Her eyes stuck on the main mast. They weren’t parsing the information they saw very well—why did the mast look odd, she knew that mast, she had felt it because was it not—was it not the very same mast—

Running. Cold water. Screaming. 

The mast filled her vision. 

Pain, pain, PAIN and fear, so much fear. He was gone, she was alone. He was there, there were people surrounding her. 

She put a hand on the mast. It had a different texture, like it was sanded or glazed, she couldn’t tell. She could only feel—

Thick ropes. Burlap. Thrown to the ground. Refusing to cry. Crying anyway. Hard wood of the mast. Tied to the mast, tied to the mast, tied and gagged and stripped—

There were hands on her shoulders, pulling her away. She pulled out from under them, gaze skittering around. Suddenly, everything was painfully familiar. The grain of the deck, the details in the guardrail. Every swirl and pattern that she had counted. She was so bored, she needed the distraction—anything. She begged, she remembered begging, please stop, stop stop stop, please I beg of you stop please—

“Stop, stop I—“ she came to herself in an instant, like ice water flooding her mind. “Get away from me! This was where—this is where—“ she stumbled backward as she turned, gesturing. She felt nauseous.

“Delia—“ Grace tried and good Lord it struck her how she was Cordelia once. 

“This is why you kept me from boarding?” She looked around wildly, too quickly to properly identify faces but she thought she saw Clive on the stairs coming towards her—but then it was Juno’s voice.

“Calm yourself! You’re going to fall off the damn ship!” 

“You… sick bastard! Why didn’t you tell me! You wanted this—it was always mind games with you—getting me to break and—“

“Delia!” Grace cried, affronted. 

Grace went on to say something but there was a rushing in her ears and dread was growing in her chest and she felt trapped and contained but she was out on the open air and all she could think to do was dodge Juno and run to the forecastle of the ship, lunging up the stairs. Too many people on main deck—someone was blocking the ramp—

Juno let her, the sane part of her mind realized. Juno needed no effort at all to stop her advance, and yet they let her past. 

She was shaking now, shaking with fury and a hidden grief she refused to recognize because it would break her. To realize, to accept, that she had joined the very people who had kidnapped her—literally pirated her. 

Cordelia crumpled to the ground. She needed to get her breathing under control. She would not become undone at the mere sight of some—some stupid mast when she had survived the damn thing and more! 

“Breathe with me. Come on, hold it in longer. In…” 

Grace… Cordelia choked on her breath, shaking her head. 

“You can do it. Can I help you? Please, Cordelia…”

In the corner of her vision, she saw Grace gently place her hand out on the ground, right near her own tightly fisted hand. 

With great effort she moved to hold it, gripping it tight. 

Grace took it as the permission it was to help her fully. Just like old times.

“Come on,” she said softly, moving around Cordelia. She put a hand around her back to help shift her upright, leaning against the balusters of the guard rail. 

Cordelia brought up her knees, wrapping her free arm around them. Her other hand was still wound around Grace’s. 

“I got you.” 

Cordelia shuddered. 

“I got you,” she whispered. 

Delia leaned into her body, hiding her face in her shoulder. She felt like memories would pull her back any second—

“What’s wrong with her?” 

She stiffened, but didn’t pull away. But if Novin dared to come any closer, she couldn’t be held responsible for decking the new kid. 

“Oh, nothing to worry about!” Captain Mor’s booming voice travelled across the ship, accompanied by rumbling laughter. “Our Delia here has just gotten a reminder of the last time she walked this ship!”

Delia gripped Grace’s hand tighter. She glided her free hand up and down Delia’s arm. 

“Some bad memories I gather!” Captain Mor said in response to something. “Again, worry not, lad! Things are much better now—for starters, we have food!” She laughed. “Isn’t that right, Delia?” She called up. 

Her heart was still hammering in her chest, but she managed a small, unconvincing affirmative. 

“She says yes, of course, Captain,” Grace said much louder than Delia could’ve at the moment.

Thankfully, the Captain moved on. Just as well.

Delia had no more strength to muster. Exhausted physically and emotionally, she let herself melt into Grace’s arms. She tried not to think too much, hoping that her body and mind would shut off without fuss. 

She hadn’t wished for that in a while. 

But maybe she could just pretend, that if not the past several long, long years of her life, if not this whole adventure, that this one day could be a dream. Only a dream. 

If only she was that lucky. 

—*—

:)