#ftt

[fizztapp]

Trollface and :-) having the same birthday is incredible. It's beautiful. It's meaningful. I am crying

[got7]

FAVOURITE KPOP TITLE TRACKS (22/?) Red Velvet ‘Dumb Dumb’ (2015)

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Stephen: I cannot conceive of a universe without you in it.

Tony: Yes you can, it's just less great and less hot.

[fearthetallman]

Based off that one comic

[esta-elavaris]

Part Thirteen [4,751 words] ~ James Norrington/OC

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Page breaks by cafekitsune.

Also now on AO3 and FF.net.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - *Part Thirteen* [you're here!]

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @teawithshakespeare @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm

A/N: At this point, my approach to this fic is “what if POTC was an Austen novel?” and we just need to live with the consequences xoxo

“Is this not a bit much?” Theo asked doubtfully, scrutinising her reflection.

“My dearest darling Theodora, that is the point,” Elizabeth replied simply.

Both of them had already been dressed by the maids, and now they were resorting to a bit of primping as they waited for the appropriate time to head downstairs.

“I’m not opposed to a bit of glam, but this is…you’ve got me looking like Marie Antoinette.”

“Who?”

Whoops. At least making slips like that with Elizabeth wasn’t quite as disastrous as it might’ve been with anybody else.

“An extravagant French queen.”

“The goal was more fierce ancient warrior goddess attends a ball in her free time.”

“You need your head examined.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I expect you’re rather more affectionate towards our dear captain, to have captivated him so.”

“Ugh.”

“Then again, perhaps it’s the muttered fieriness that has captured his heart so.”

“Ugh.”

“I heard that the first time.”

“And you’ll hear it again, at this rate.”

“Too right, save your charm for its most fervent applicant.”

Theo then unleashed a third, hearty ugh at her friend – but Elizabeth anticipated it and uttered a matching one in unison at the exact same time, and both of them dissolved into very immature laughter. It was much too difficult to get too annoyed at her friend. Mostly because she seemed to delight in it.

Their looks were not quite matching, but certainly themed alongside one another, and it had all started when Theo gave Elizabeth her gift.

Having never been one for big heartfelt emotional gestures, she felt like her insides were eating themselves as she sat with Elizabeth in the drawing room after dinner. It wasn’t like she never did anything nice for people, she wasn’t a feral animal, but…well. The Irish had a way of doing these things. Usually by offering forth whatever the warm gesture was, along with a (loving) insult and a refusal to make a big deal about it after the fact. That, she suspected, wasn’t the way of things here. And to be honest, she didn’t even consider that fact a bad thing – she certainly wouldn’t judge Elizabeth for being warm and sincere, but she just had little idea of how to respond to it. Maybe it wasn’t even just an Irish thing, maybe it was a product of being raised by a guy, amongst guys.

Combined with the time period disparity, she was left with hopelessly little idea of how to be a woman in the expected manner in these parts. Usually, Elizabeth found that equal parts amusing and charming, likely because Theo didn’t eschew traditionally “girly” stuff. She wasn’t about to stamp her feet at the sight of anything pink and frilly. But the fact remained, that she didn’t want this to be amusing or awkward, or whatever else it was she managed to be here. The last thing she wanted was to put a dampener on this.

So, resisting the strong urge to simply chuck necklace into Elizabeth’s lap and call it a day, she cleared her throat and straightened, taking a sip of her wine in an attempt to appear casual.

“So…I have a present for you,” she began.

Elizabeth’s dark eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement both, one eyebrow arching a little. That was fair. Not because Theo was the ungenerous sort, but because she didn’t exactly have a whole lot to be generous with around here, other than her time. And she had that in spades, which made it lose its lustre a bit.

“I know how much you like my necklace,” she said, reaching up to tug at it where it sat between her collarbones, “and I was half-tempted to just give you it, because it’s the only thing I really can offer, with the way things are right here. Y’know, other than my dazzling personality.”

Huffing a laugh at her remark, Elizabeth’s brow furrowed as she shook her head.

“Theo, I could never accept such a gift-”

“Which was why I didn’t try,” she nodded, “Bit of a crap gift if it just makes you feel bad. But…well. I worked my wiles, and I got a bit of advice, and then I found just the right craftsman for the job.”

Something glimmered in her eyes, and Theo knew then that she’d caught the hint of who exactly had been involved in the making of the necklace.

Presenting the pouch, she pinched the drawstrings between her thumb and forefinger, and then offered it to Elizabeth. Finally, she did a passable job at not appearing as awkward as she felt while she watched her open it, tipping the contents out into her palm. That awkwardness disappeared the moment Elizabeth grinned, and was forgotten entirely when she dragged her into a hug that was more tight than she would’ve thought the younger woman capable of.

If there’d been any small doubt in her mind that she was only pretending to like the necklace – which had been a real fear, given the many fine jewels that she had in her jewellery boxes upstairs – it would’ve been erased by Elizabeth’s sunny disposition in the following days. In fact, whenever they encountered others, servants or friends both, she began each conversation with ‘have you seen what Theodora has given me?’ while Theo flushed under the sheer weight of her enthusiasm.

Yes, she’d done well. She’d have to thank Norrington. Although she suspected he’d have the same dislike for accepting profuse thanks that she did, but that might double the fun. Still, Elizabeth had decided that the necklace should be the focal point of her get-up for the men’s going-away dinner, so no doubt he’d see that, and the hand he’d had in it, as thanks enough – at least once he saw her enthusiasm for it.

“I have to wear silver to accentuate my lovely new necklace, so it only makes sense that you wear gold.”

“My necklace also silver, so shouldn’t we both be wearing that colour?”

“Heavens, no. There’s a fine line that separates what we’re doing, and being a couple of strange old spinsters who wear identical garb and speak in tongues.”

“I already do the latter, depending on who you ask.”

“All the more reason not to partake in the former,” Elizabeth teased. “In any case, that is why you shall borrow one of my necklaces tonight.”

She might’ve disliked being dressed up like a doll, were Elizabeth’s tastes not so damn good. That was the thing with Elizabeth, she never tried to dress her up like her. Everything she flung at her managed to have Theo’s own feel to it, and the garments that did not were artfully styled so that they would once the look was complete. And how many modern women ever had a chance like this? It was like being on a period drama set, without the ordeal of having to learn lines. Fibs about her origins aside…and more concerns over potential lead poisoning. But Elizabeth wasn’t one for powdered faces, however much she was determined to induce a powdered wig fetish in Theo.

Her hair had been wrestled into a voluminous updo, with swooping curls defying gravity pinned up at the back, and one lone crimson ringlet left to fall at her collarbone, ending a good few inches above where the neckline of the gown began.

The necklines here took a bit of getting used to. The way the gowns shoved whatever a woman had in the chest department entirely up, and making even one like herself who was rather un-blessed in the chest suddenly appear busty. Sure, she hadn’t been averse to showing off her figure back home, but it turned out she’d thought the Georgians distinctly less free with that kind of thing than they actually were. For a time that she’d gone into thinking of as very buttoned up, she’d quickly realised how wrong she was when Elizabeth had giggled at her (albeit kindly) for asking if putting so much chest on display wasn’t a bit scandalous.  

It turned out she’d arrived a bit early, if she expected people to faint over the notion of a woman having breasts.

And anyway, the gown was gorgeous. Gleaming gold damask that caught the light of any and every candle in the room, making it appear almost liquid rather than just mere fabric. The sleeves ended with ruffles at her elbows, and there was a minimal amount of bows and frills and lace, so there was no worry that she’d feel like she’d be better suited atop a wedding cake than sitting having drinks with her new friends, and…uh…”friends”.

The sad fact of this impending departure that it was taking half of her allies with it, and Elizabeth had proven the only woman around here who was inclined to take a shine to her. Unless they could start dragging the maids along with them to afternoon tea.

Elizabeth’s gown was similar to hers, although not quite an exact replica. It had more of a floral motif, in shades of silver and dotted here and there with pearls. She looked like some sort of wintry queen when all was said and done – although the coldness of the look ended the moment she smiled. As breathtaking as she was, it was a wonder the other women didn’t hate her and not just Theodora. But in their minds, any positive attributes Elizabeth held were likely just expected. They were correct.

In truth, Theo didn’t envy her. When she met expectations, she’d receive little recognition for it. When Theo showed any fine qualities, it was a pleasant surprise to those inclined to like her, and infuriating for those who did not. The former was nice enough, the latter was funny.

Which made Amelia’s impression of a bulldog chewing a wasp while Elizabeth delighted over her gift during the gathering downright hysterical.

Theo couldn’t tell if the brunette knew she could hear her or not. She stood some ways away, speaking in a little circle with Norrington, Lieutenant Groves, and a handful of other ladies, while Theo mingled with those who had not chosen to snub her. That number was growing, she noted, but there was still something about their smiles that disconcerted her. A tenseness, and an analytical look hidden in their eyes, like they were turning over and over every word she spoke to find some hidden meaning.

She wished them luck with it – for while she had her secrets, there’d be no guessing them for any folk here. It was amidst one of Mrs Spencer’s speeches, during which she listed every fish known to man and whether she liked it or not, and which was the best cooking method if she did, that she caught wind of Amelia’s snide comments, floating airily across the room.

“I confess, she could personally hand me the Crown Jewels and it still would give me no notion of what she’s attempting to say when she speaks, more often than not. It seems a strange consolation prize for Miss Swann.”

Theo stifled an eyeroll, for fear that Mrs Spencer would think she was levelling it at her.

“I find Miss Byrne’s manner of speaking charming. It’s clever,” Groves said, visibly uncaring that Amelia very much did not want to hear that.

“In its own way, no doubt,” she replied boredly.

“No, in the true sense of the term.”

A break in Mrs Spencer’s list (during which she debated whether she preferred crab or lobster) allowed Theo to chime in. Mostly because she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m very beautiful, too – talk about that next,” Theo called over, leaving no doubt as to the fact that she’d heard every word.

Groves grinned and then laughed, “What was it you said the other day? About an old colleague of your father’s – a lanky fellow? Built like a…”

“Built like the side of a bank note.”

“Yes! That’s the one. I confess, I’ve been laughing at that ever since you said it.”

Beside him, Norrington’s lips thinned, and he gazed down into his wine glass as if in disapproval.

Was Groves being inappropriate, or did he just disagree with his opinion? Considering she couldn’t much imagine the former, that only left the latter. Didn’t it?

“Well, to your discerning ear, Lieutenant,” she offered a smile and raised her glass.

Groves mirrored the gesture, and even Mrs Spencer gave a trickling laugh and sipped from her own, but Amelia scoffed. And Norrington? Norrington took a long drink from his own glass that seemed to have little to do with the toast. All while not looking at her.

At some point as the night wore on, Theo excused herself to seek the night air. It was a cloudy night, which kept the stifling heat of the day trapped down upon them, and with all of the bodies and the revelry inside, it soon grew stifling. The saving grace – out here, at least – was that it had begun to drizzle. It was refreshing, even if it would work a few questionable waves into her carefully primped hair.

That didn’t bother her, though. Everybody here was even drunker than she was, and those who gave a toss about what her hair looked like were those who already searched for reasons to dislike her. They could crack on. Walking quietly over to a stone bench in the middle of the patio, she sank down upon it and breathed deeply. She’d need to sober up a little before going back in. All right, she wasn’t exactly shit-faced – there’d be no risk of her climbing up onto a table and belting out ABBA’s greatest hits – but she didn’t like to be much beyond mildly tipsy around this lot.

Most of this lot.

It wouldn’t do to grow too comfortable, but she was at least pleased to find that the list of those she didn’t feel like she had to be permanently on her complete and total guard around had grown more than she ever could’ve hoped. Elizabeth had been the first to occupy it. Then Governor Swann, even if she was never destined to be the best of friends with him. Then Groves, and now – most surprisingly, and in the biggest U-turn of all – Captain Norrington.

“I see we both had the same idea.”

Norrington’s voice was distinct and instantly recognisable from where it sounded behind her. Maybe she’s summoned him with her thoughts.

“Would I be imposing if I joined you?” he hedged.

“Not at all,” she offered a smile, “but I haven’t got any books on me for us to discuss, so we’ll need to find another way to play nice.”

He offered a low huff of a laugh. “I’m optimistic about our changes.”

To her relief, his earlier questionable mood seemed a thing of the past. As he spoke, she scooted along to the left side of the bench and he took a seat to her right, uncaring for the raindrops that had gathered atop it.

“Mm. We’re the capable sort, I think,” she replied. “Speaking of, I’d ask you if you’re prepared for tomorrow, but I’m worried you’d take it as an insult.”

“Once, from you, perhaps. But no longer.”

Was she mistaken, or was humour creeping into his tone? He continued before she could dwell on it – and this time, he was definitely teasing her.

“I am well prepared, or else I should not be here. Shall you miss me?” he asked drily.

“Mm. If, on a scale from one to ten, one is being delighted to see the back of you and hoping you never return-”

“I rather regret asking now.”

“Let me finish - and if ten is I won’t eat or sleep ‘til he’s back, I’d give you…a solid…seven.”

“Seven?” he seemed surprised.

“And a half. Maybe even an eight, in your warm and fuzzy moments.”

“I’m not sure I have any warm and fuzzy moments.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re not half as scary as you’d have people think.”

“Scary?” he echoed with a snort. “Did you find me so fearsome when we first met?”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“No. Truly.”

When she realised how sincere his question was, she gave it the thought it deserved before answering.

“Okay, scary was the wrong word. Not just because I don’t frighten that easily.”

He chuckled quietly, “I can believe that.”

“But…intimidating, maybe that’s the word. That’s your job, though, isn’t it?”

“And we did not have the most harmonious of introductions.”

“Memorable, though.”

That earned her another laugh.

“Certainly memorable, yes,” he hesitated then for a moment and then finally asked. “I must ask – do I intimidate you now, still?”

“No,” she admitted. “If I’m being honest, and I’m only being honest because of the Governor’s very good, very strong, wine…I’ve never been so happy to be so wrong about a first impression.”

Before they could linger too long on something that was just a touch too close to sincerity – and before she could overthink the way his entire face seemed to soften in response to her words – she pressed on.

“What about you? Do you still think I’m the mad malevolent influence I appeared to be in the beginning?”

“Mad, perhaps,” he teased drily. “But not malevolent.”

“However…?” she sensed the continuation in his tone.

“However,” he conceded, “I do think there is much you are not telling me.”

“Well. Have to save something for my biography.”

He didn’t appear to find that as amusing as she’d hoped.

“Look…anything I’m not telling you…it can’t harm anybody here. Truly. If it would, I’d leave.”

“I believe that. Once I may not have, but I do now.”

“Good.”

“Could it harm you?”

Theo didn’t respond.

“Miss Byrne- Theodora. You can tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters a great deal!”

“I don’t understand how we got here,” she fretted with a tired laugh, “we were just joking on.”

“We were just about to discuss something frankly, for perhaps the first time.”

“For the first time? What are you talking about, we speak all the time. Are you…are you saying you think I’m usually lying?”

“No, I do not, but we have never gotten anywhere before now.”

The words hit some alarming note deep within her.

“Gotten anywhere? What do you mean gotten anywhere? I don’t…”

Theo trailed off. Because she’d been about to say that she didn’t understand, but as her mind worked through the fog of the alcohol, the heat, and the panic, she suddenly found herself understanding all too well.

Whether her dawning realisation showed on her face, or Norrington could simply guess the natural route her thoughts were taking, she didn’t know – but he quickly tried to intercede.

“Theodora, I did not mean-”

“Have you…” the prospect seemed too ridiculous to be true – to voice – and it had her feeling sick to her stomach, but it was all that made sense, and the panic in his widening eyes only seemed to confirm it.

Because James Norrington did not panic.

“Have you only been speaking to me to try to get somewhere?” she asked. “The books, the lunches, the long conversations…has it…has it all been to get me to lower my guard? Have you just been biding your time, the whole time, hoping I might slip up? And…and what? Admit that I’m secretly a pirate? That I’m here to rob everybody and run?”

“Of course not,” he insisted intently, eyes boring into hers as though force of eye contact alone could force her to believe him. “I said I believe you mean no harm, and I spoke truly. I have come to believe that.”

Theo did not respond. Because there was more he wasn’t saying.

“I…I merely hoped that if you came to trust me, that you might…be willing to reveal whatever it is you have not.”

She felt sick. Physically sick. Or like she’d been punched in the chest. Both at once, really. This whole time. This whole time. Every conversation, every book, every lunch, every joke, every smile…it had never been because he’d just wanted to spend time with her, or even wanted to make things right. He’d been playing the long game.

And sure, she hadn’t thought the sudden U-turn had been a miraculous change in his opinion of her. She thought it had started off as a desire to keep Elizabeth happy by being amicable with her friend, but…but that it had morphed into…

God, she was an idiot. Exactly what she thought it had morphed into, or was morphing into, hadn’t been clear to her until now, upon being shown how wrong she was. Christ, she’d watched three very long movies of the guy mooning over Elizabeth, and she’d really thought that a couple of jokes and a fucking sandwich from her would change that? Even a little bit?

How many of their conversations had he endured rather that enjoyed? Listening to her prattle on the same way she listened to Mrs Spencer, waiting either for her to slip up, or shut up, only presence out of duty? Out of protectiveness towards the Swanns?

How stupid could she get?

Several half-baked words of parting flitted through her mind. Some of them were even vaguely clever. But she had neither the heart nor voice to actually say any of them. So instead, she rose to her feet – though she could hardly feel them beneath her.

“Theodora,” he faltered and tried to reach for her hand, but she yanked it back and took her leave.

Amelia was at the piano when she moved inside. That was good. Not just because she was a fantastic player – which she was – but because Theo knew by now that the night would soon draw to a close. A few more would play, the drinks would be finished, and the guests would trickle out.

While there was nothing she wanted to do more than race upstairs, get into her nightgown and hide from the world beneath the covers, she refused to do that. Not just out of pride, but because she felt numb, bereft, and mortified, all in one. And that was paralysing.

The song drew to a close as she walked in and moved to stand at the side of the room, but Amelia’s dark eyes found her the moment she was finished playing.

“Miss Byrne! You next!”

Norrington returned to the room as she spoke, but Theo didn’t look at him.

“I can’t play,” she said.

“Oh, but you must be able to play something. Anything! We aren’t snobs here,” no, just vipers, “we’ll admire a good effort if nothing else.”

“I agree,” Norrington intoned.

If Amelia looked delighted at that, Theo felt the exact opposite – and she saw her own horror reflected in Elizabeth’s reaction, from where she sat by her father.

“I will take a tu-” the blonde’s attempt to rescue her was interceded by her father.

The Governor, deep in his cups by the flush on his face, chuckled and interrupted Elizabeth.

“Come now, Elizabeth, you’ve already played twice. Give Miss Byrne her chance to shine – I’m sure you know something worthwhile, my girl, and none of us here are renowned composers. It is for novelty only, I assure you! You are among friends.”

He wouldn’t have insisted, had Norrington not encouraged Amelia’s spite.

And she couldn’t refuse, could she? Not now that the man who was housing her had bid it. He’d meant no harm, he had no way of knowing about the wound he was in the process of packing salt into, but Theo felt her nausea increase tenfold.

The drizzle outside had set into her hair and set it askew, and what remained of the damp on her skin and dress both quickly warmed in the head of the room until she felt like she was stepping into a sauna. It was suffocating, and only added to her discomfort.

Walking numbly to the piano felt like being trapped in a nightmare – the sort where you turned up to an exam you hadn’t studied for. Naked. She knew some things. Mostly from pissing about on friends’ keyboards, or from music classes in high school – a decade ago. Nothing compared to what people here knew. And nothing well. Chopsticks, the first two seconds of Für Elise, and the song from the sodding Titanic movie.

The final option was the one she knew the most, but that only spoke for how little she knew the others.

Sitting down at the piano, she didn’t meet Elizabeth’s gaze – because she knew the sympathy she’d see there would crack whatever composure she’d plastered on as she left the gardens. It took a bit of plodding to find the first note she was looking for (the ones in her old music classroom had the keys labelled with stickers and/or sharpie, but there was no such help here), and even that drew a muffled snicker from somewhere behind her.

The rest was no better. Halting and awkward, as she hit wrong notes and either had to muddle through it, or pause and find the right key. At first, she thought nothing could be worse than the silence behind her – because she’d never heard such a large crowd be so, so silent. But then another snicker followed. As well as a few coughs, whether from second-hand embarrassment or as an attempt to disguise yet more laughter.

And she didn’t take herself seriously. Anybody who met her knew that. Back home, this wouldn’t be embarrassing at all. Among friends. How many times had she sat in a friend’s bedroom, a joint between her lips as she muddled through Paint It Black, laughing at her own mistakes and leaning into it before handing the instrument to someone who actually knew what they were doing? But she was not among friends here. The conversation she’d just had proved that to her.

It was all she could think of, and it had her wanting to crawl out of her skin.

She ended after the first verse, utterly unable to bear trying to go on (ironic, considering the song choice), and the Governor began to clap. To give him credit, he wasn’t even being an ass.

“A valiant effort, Miss Byrne! A valiant effort!”

A few murmurs joined in, Groves insisting he should go next – no doubt a kind-hearted attempt to make whatever she’d just tried to play look good in comparison. Theo brushed by him, and then took her leave of the room entirely. That meant going by Norrington, but the night couldn’t get any worse anyway. And if she didn’t leave soon, she’d cry in front of everybody. She refused to do that.

She made it as far as the stairs before he caught up to her.

“Theo- Miss Byrne, I did not mean to-”

Whirling, she found he did indeed look horrified. Apparently his victory had not tasted as sweet as he’d thought. Something about that only made it worse.

“Do you realise, Captain, that every time you’re kind to me, it only lasts so long as it takes my guard to drop, and then you’re cruel again? Then you embarrass me, again?” her voice came perilously close to breaking and she took a moment, inhaled deeply and fixed her eyes at some point above his head rather than at him. “So, at what point do I become the idiot for falling for it?”

“I did not-”

“Just leave me alone. That’s all I ask. Leave me be. You’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

She turned and began to ascend the stairs before he could reply, but he – thankfully – made no move to call after her.

James watched Theodora ascend the stairs in the Governor’s mansion feeling positively nauseous with regret. Not only at what had transpired in the gardens, but at how gloriously his half-baked in-the-moment plan had backfired thereafter.

She was out of sight by the time he was aware of Groves’ approach, his lieutenant moving silently to stand by him.

“May I ask you a question from one man to another, and not as a Lieutenant to his superior?” he asked quietly.

“Fine,” James replied flatly.

“…What was your thought process behind that? Back there in the sitting room?”

The question cut more deeply than any admonishment might’ve.  

[yarendiyebirisi]

[joearlikelikeswrestling]

[funkylittlebidiot]

Tony is the kind of fucked up where he’d see Stephen sprout a third eye and instead of freaking out he’d just think “wow. another eye for him to perceive me with ❤️”

[beba3982fdbd]

love

[clementinecoastline]

Your writing is so good it made up for the fact that I just read genshin impact fanfiction

Anyways live laugh trans childe so true

ohhh my god???? thank you for reading!! this is also the funniest comment i've gotten abut my fic. i'm glad it was able to redeem itself.

trans childe really is so true i looked at that character w 3 names and a family he loves but that doesnt understand him and a monster transformation and was like. yeah this is a guy who's transgender and his inhumanity will serve as a metaphor for. that transgenderism. i love him so much im ripping him up like a gum wrapper.

i'm rlly grateful for the compliment!!! i'm working on my writing skills and improving with like every chapter which is part of why. i keep going back and rewriting.

and for anyone else who's read follow the tide. um. sorry for not updating ive been writing like 5 haikaveh wips that are getting long. and also crazy shit going on in my life. and also most importantly. guys would you forgive me if i rewrote some of it AGAIN. ive reconsidered and kind ofwant to make it more canon compliant... i want to give childe an older sister to compare himself to... um. she might replace ivan though... if any of you have thoughts. pls reply or send me an ask or something.. im suffering.

[fizztapp]

A good fakemon design punches you in the gut with the grief of knowing that you will never see it exist in a real pokemon game and you will never have it on your team with your other favorites

[got7]

FAVOURITE KPOP TITLE TRACKS (24/?) CHUNG HA ‘Bicycle’ (2021)

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Tony: Stephen, why the fuck did we leave Malibu?

Stephen: You said, and I quote, "I wanna make it big in the big apple".

Tony: ... Jarvis: hire someone to boo me at regular intervals.

[fearthetallman]

Based on real interactions with my brother (I am, in fact, the Leo in that scenario)

[esta-elavaris]

Part Sixteen [3,495 words] ~ James Norrington/OC

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Page breaks by cafekitsune.

Also now on AO3 and FF.net.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - *Part Sixteen*

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @teawithshakespeare @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm

There was fuck all chance of her sleeping that night. Theo felt like she was going mad, Groves' words reeling through her mind over and over – joining with more than one of Elizabeth's many remarks to her over the last few weeks. You're allowing yourself to be defeated.

Did the fact that it bother her so much make it true?

She hoped not. Being one who took things lying down had never been her. She wasn't that pathetic. She wasn't that weak. But what else did anybody here actually expect her to do? Crawl on her hands and knees after a man who had humiliated her? One who was in love with somebody else? And what difference did it even make to her, anyway? Why did she even care? She'd been a bloody idiot for letting herself feel anything towards him to begin with, the way everything had shaken out had been a good thing. Hadn't it?

Waking up in lands that shouldn't exist didn't just happen accidentally. It wasn't like when she'd mistakenly walked into the wrong classroom during her school days. It took a lot for it to happen, and that meant it had to happen for a reason. What sort of power, what sort of force, would send her here just so she could have a cup of tea with Elizabeth Swann, get herself embarrassed, and wander home again?

The sad and terrible truth of the matter was that she had to be here for a reason. And there was a small, even more sad and terrible, possibility that it was something to do with him. The one she'd bonded with, and the one who was destined to meet a fate that, whatever her opinion of him was now, he did not deserve.

But that only made her feel worse – because sod that. If something…something conscious and coherent had sent her here, and if it had done so in order to offer her up as a consolation prize to a prick who had made it very clear that he didn't even like her…fuck that. Fuck that entirely.

God, but she felt like she was going mad. Never in her life had she been claustrophobic, but on that night she was getting there. A thick layer of clouds hid the mood and kept all of the heat and humidity from the day packed atop them, which did little to help the feeling of being an animal jammed into a cage and prodded at with sticks to see what funny reaction she might have next.

First, she tried to remedy it by getting out of the bed – sprawling out atop the covers, so they were just one less thing weighing down upon her. It didn't work. Neither did opening the windows, or pacing around, or even shirking off her nightgown and donning her clothes from home instead, in an effort to feel somewhat more like herself. Her true self.

Pulling the nightgown back on over them, she raked a hand through her hair, which had long since escaped its plait in all of her activity, and leaned out of the window, staring out at the night, and the coast.

She needed to get out of this house.

James could not find rest. For he had taken Elizabeth's advice – and it had worked. Rather too well. Lying abed that night, he closed his eyes and did all he could to bat out whatever prior plans he had, even going so far as to banish considerations as to what he would have for breakfast the next morning.

It was not easy advice to follow not only for reasons relating to practicality, either, for he couldn't help but wonder if her words had been a roundabout way of rejecting what he knew she must suspect he intended to ask her ere long. But he shoved that away too, and forced himself through the blasted visualisations she'd suggested.

In the first (and he chose the first because it was the easiest) he obeyed Miss Byrne's request to the letter. He kept his distance, he did not speak to her, and she was no longer there – either off to Ireland as she promised, or tucked off with Groves in some corner or another with a blush and a smile on her face. How the rest of the exercise would go should have been clear to him then, based on how the latter of those two prospects made his lip curl.

But the rest of it didn't bring him great distaste. There was just the small matter of the fact that it didn't bring him as much excitement and joy as it once had. The…the satisfaction of having secured a good match, insofar as it checked another box on the list he had that reflected the quality of his life, yes. Alarmingly, though, that was all. Even the knowledge that Elizabeth was a fine and beautiful woman remained, but it did not help. For did she not deserve a man who felt nauseatingly giddy at the prospect of marrying her? As he had, although he'd never had admitted it, only months prior?

When he opened his eyes, he scowled at the ceiling of his bedroom. And he did not proceed to the second bout of play-pretend. Mostly because he had no wish to face what it might foretell.

But sleep would not come.

How long he lay there, he did not know – he only knew that the more time ticked on, the more restless he felt, realising there was no possible way for him to get comfortable. That in itself was infuriating, too, for he was a man of the Royal Navy. Finding it difficult to sleep was not a problem he faced, because he had spent years all but training himself to find rest wherever and whenever he could find it.

This newest problem was a microcosm of greater perils.

Get up.

Shooting up where he'd sprawled atop his bed, he looked about the room. For the voice that had murmured those two words to him was not his own. It was…it was that of a woman. Deep and low, but feminine all the same. But Hattie was abed, no other sound had come from about the house, and there was no possible explanation for it.

Heavens, he truly was losing his mind, and he wondered ruefully to himself if the witch rumours regarding Miss Byrne weren't true after all. But even that joke, and even though it had only been thought to himself, felt cruel after what had transpired between them so recently.

Unease soon overtook the guilt, though, along with a sense of urgency he couldn't place. That he truly should get up – and more than that, he should go out. He tried to return to how he'd reclined before, but found he could not, for the moment he lay back, the urgency increased tenfold, until it had him rolling from the bed and looking for his civilian clothing.

A walk. Perhaps a walk would help. Only to prove to himself that he really was being ridiculous.

Stepping out into the night barely ten minutes later, dressed in his seldom-used civilian clothing, so that any who spotted him might not recognise him and therefore might not speak to him, James allowed his feet to take him wherever they wished to.

As they did so, his mind did the same – towards the line of thinking he'd so steadfastly avoided while in his bed. The other route he might take. Despite the fact that it seemed quite closed off to him now. Despite the fact that it was absurd. Despite the fact that it would have his father turning in his grave, that it made no sense from a logical standpoint, and that he'd resisted the notion so furiously for so long that it took a trudge through the wilds in the wee small hours of the morning for him to even admit that it was tempting.

But all logic, and all denial (for he was at least not so simpleminded that he did not see it for what it was) clouded in comparison to how the prospect seized at his chest. Much his earlier plans had, before Theodora. Before her teasing, and her beauty, and her jokes, and her stubbornness, and her fierce intelligence.

He stepped out of the tree line and realised then just where it was he'd so unwittingly walked to. The small, private beach that the serving classes of Port Royal liked to frequent – and keep hidden from their masters, for the most part. The beach itself was hemmed in by two steep rocky shores, around five or six feet in height at their shallowest portions, curling around the water there in the shape of an open horseshoe, and it was on one of those shores he stood now, affording him a view of the entire beach.

And of the figure swimming in the water.

Now, he wasn't sure she was not a witch. It took a moment of blinking, but it was indeed Theodora Byrne – what little moonlight managed to pierce the thick clouds catching her hair and casting it in shades of deep blood red, and black, at different intervals, where it was scraped back and plastered to her head and neck. What were the chances that he should find her here, like this, as she plagued his very thoughts?

What little light there was illuminated something else, though. Something that had that feeling in his chest he'd utterly refused to label replaced by something far more pressing. Terror.

She could not see it, not from where she swam, and not from her position in the water, the waves bobbing up and down all about her, but a large dark dorsal fin cut through the waves not fifty full feet from where she swam. And it seemed in no hurry to swim away.

Unknowingly, she was swimming with a shark. A very large shark. A tiger shark, if he had to guess. Although he had no wish to.

"Miss Byrne," he called out.

The terror had not had a chance to reach his voice, and he was thankful for that. Stopping, she began to tread water, squinting about her, until she finally spotted him where he stood. She was just close enough that he could see her lips thin, and she smoothed her hair back and called back.

"Leave me alone, Captain."

She made to start swimming again, but he could not allow that. She could not splash. He only hoped she had not done too much of it already. Hurrying to the very edge of the rocks, he leaned out, hoping if he got close enough she might see the urgency on his face.

"Theodora!" his voice was ragged, but it got her attention. "Swim to me."

Outrage filled her expression, and so he continued firmly – desperately – before she could retort.

"Carefully. Do not splash."

In all his life, he had never seen someone's face pale so dramatically, so swiftly. She understood his meaning immediately.

"Are you jo-"

Her head turned a little to the right, and he shouted.

"No! Do not turn. Swim. Swim to me," he extended an arm, as if he would be able to reach far enough to pluck her out of the water.

He did his utmost to use the very same tone he utilised when issuing stern orders to his men – the difference being when he doled out those, his voice did not shake.

For an extended stretch of time – mere seconds that felt like lifetimes – she stared at him, wide-eyed in shock. It was an expression he mirrored, that much he knew, and there was no possible trying not to disguise his horror, not when it ran deep into his bones like this. He knew then that her mind was screaming at her body to push through terror and comply. It was a feeling he knew fine well, from his early days as a soldier. But then, the vaguest hint of a splash sounded behind her, something within her snapped, and she swam.

The fin followed. Fifty feet became forty, and far too quickly at that. Clinging uselessly to the rocks beneath his hands, James watched in terror, the blood draining from his face. He was no stranger to misfortune, nor to danger, nor grief. He had lost men in battle, he had seen the people of Port Royal face all manner of accidents and injury, and yes, even death. And, whatever the rumours were, he was far from unfeeling. Each one pained him.

But nothing – nothing compared to this.

Only her eyes betrayed the true extent of her fear, for while her face was utterly white, she kept control of what she could, funnelling air purposefully in through her nose and out through her mouth, as like to drive off panic than to keep herself moving. All the while, she stared at him, and his outstretched arm.

He could not simply watch. He could not. Refusing to deliberate, for it was not worth deliberation, he shrugged his coat off and tossed it aside – it would only impede him – and the boots followed, for they would do so too. Then, he eased his legs over the edge, and turned, lowering himself slowly down over the stony ledge with his arms, turning one last time before he let go, so that he could take note of where the shark was.

In the water, Theodora's eyes widened.

"No—no! Don't you da-"

However her sentence ended was lost on him, muffled by the water as he slipped into it as seamlessly as he could, body pin-straight to minimise any splashing. The water was cold, but he felt it little and cared even less. It was, however, also black as tar as he plunged beneath the surface, slowly opening one eye and then the other, to minimise the sting and return his sight to him as quickly at possible. That troubled him more. It took only one kick, then another, to surface.

With two in the water, it might consider itself outmatched and leave in search of easier prey. That was the best-case scenario, but he had little control over whether it would happen. What he could control, was his place between it and Theodora.

She was closer when he surfaced, but still out of arm's reach. Face chalk-white, she swam towards him in a breaststroke that was smooth despite how she trembled. The fin was still there behind her – far enough away that one quick lunge wouldn't have her within biting distance, but still far too close for comfort, moving in a slow, lazy circle to take stock of how the situation had changed.

"Go back," she insisted, her voice shaking as much as the rest of her. "Go back now."

James scoffed, and began to swim towards her.

The shore was too far away. If they turned to it, and to more shallow waters, it might sense its prey would soon be lost and act accordingly. No, they would have to reach the rocky shelf, and then climb out. With any luck, it would think they would soon be cornered, and then they would be gone.

So long as the fin remained above the water, that was good. So long as it was there, he knew where it was. He'd have no chance of spotting the beast if he had to stick is face below the waves to look there, not on a night as dark as this. James treaded water the moment he was near enough, and with Theodora's next stroke forward, he clamped a hand about her arm and dragged her towards him, and then behind him, making sure to stay facing the direction she'd come from.

With his left arm out, palm firmly at her back so he knew where she was, he began to swim backwards, kicking his legs as firmly as he could without disturbing the water, his right arm out to the other side to aid him. Beneath his hand, her back shook and gave away the erratic nature of her breathing. Nearer and nearer it drew, until he felt his own limbs threaten to tremble, and he was certain that if it was any closer at all, he'd be able to feel its snout at his legs.

The fin, the size of which he could finally judge at this proximity – much to his dread, for it was a hefty monster indeed, the dorsal fin alone easily bigger than his head – swept to the left and he jolted, ready to reposition himself between it and the woman swimming to his side. But then it rounded again, circling back to face them…and the fin disappeared beneath the water.

He must've made a noise, although he couldn't say what that noise was in his heightened state, and through the hammering of his heart. Without asking what was wrong, Theodora picked up speed, and James followed suit; the hand at her back remained there, but the other began to grope at his belt beneath the water, in search of his knife. It hindered him for only a moment, bobbing, and getting a mouthful of saltwater for his efforts, but then it was in hand.

Every time a wave slapped at him, he braced himself for something more – a stronger, more deadly force to barrel out at him from beneath it. His back met rock, and rather than turning, he sidled leftwards and caged in Theodora with his body.

"Climb," he ordered raggedly.

She obeyed without question, knowing that the situation was too serious to bicker. Thank God. The rocky wall did not make for easy climbing, its ledges too shallow to offer helpful hand and footholds, but she made progress all the same, James reaching blindly behind him to push her upwards and discern her progress, their circumstances too serious for him to afford blushes to propriety when his hands blindly met the smooth, toned flesh of her thighs and calves.

Especially when, at his next kick, his foot struck something solid. In response, the water before him rippled in a way it had not before – a way that was not natural, indicating disturbance below the surface. Water ceased dripping down upon his head, and he knew Theodora had cleared the climb. That, at least, offered relief.

"Grab my hand, James! Grab my hand!" she was screaming down at him.

He looked up and saw her leaning entirely over the ledge from the waist down, arm outstretched to him, eyes wide and desperate. If his heart pounded in his chest anymore, he'd surely have a heart attack. Forcing control upon his breathing, he was already debating whether it would be safe to switch the knife from his right hand to his left, when a splash sounded behind him, and a terrible, gaping and jagged maw was surfacing up through the water and heading straight at him.

Its mistake, had it been capable of reason, was that. For there was no water to slow down his arm. Lashing out with the knife, James slashed strongly and blindly both at its snout. The first slash made little difference, but the returning one he dug in deeper, and aborted the beast's attack at the last possible moment. A hot sensation ran down his arm, but he knew not whether it was his blood or that of the shark's. If the former, he had little time left in this water. It was a miracle he'd survived thus far.

Before it could recover, he spun, and Theodora's hands were grabbing his, clamping around his forearm as he grasped her own. She hadn't backed up an inch when it lunged. With his other hand, he wedged the knife between his teeth, stomach churning at the taste of blood and saltwater as it dripped between his teeth, and yanked himself up, assisted by her tireless, and surprisingly strong pulling.

One more haul – on his part, and on hers – had him clearing the edge, and they fell onto the rocky ground in a tangle of limbs and sodden clothing. The water over the ledge went quiet, as if it had never contained anything at all.

A/N: :^) - no, WAIT…. ~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~~\o/~~~~~

Listen, if you know me AT ALL, you know how hard it was for me to keep this under my hat without making any dumb jokes or giving the game away with any hints. (Save for one shark meme that popped up by chance on my dash the other day, because that was just too funny and too perfect.) For months. Especially to the friends I've made through fic writing, who read this. I thought I was going to explode. Fucking hell.

Anyway, my party trick is being able to recite the Indianapolis speech from Jaws perfectly from memory and it shows.

[yarendiyebirisi]