#potc5 fanfiction

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Henry Turner and Carina Smyth Yale AU: Chapter 1

Hi everyone! This is chapter 1 of @elizabeth-svvann’s Yale AU . It will be cross posted to AO3 once I can make an account there. For now it will be available under the “Keep Reading” link. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 6170

Summary: Carina had always been one of the smartest people in the room her entire life. She graduated high school at 15 and is currently studying at Yale University to earn a Ph.D. in Astrophysics. Over the past year, the physics department has been hit hard with budget cuts, and the latest one was the nonrenewal of Carinas favourite professor, Dr Jack Sparrow’s contract. Enraged by this, Carina attends an annual Yale fundraiser to confront the Dean of the University, Weatherby Swann.

At the event, the first person she meets is Henry Turner, a classics student getting his master’s in said field. Henry is instantaneously smitten with her, while Carina is uninterested in him - her only purpose there is to talk to Dean Swann. All night she is unsuccessful in getting a moment alone with him. As she waits for her drink at the bar, she overhears two women gossiping about the Dean, mentioning all the favours and grants given to his son in law, Professor William Turner, over the years. The conversation then shifts to Swann’s grandson: Henry Turner. Immediately Carina formulates a plan to use Henry to get to his grandfather, in hopes that history repeats itself and Dean Swann’s nepotism will carry down to her as his grandson’s new girlfriend.

The guilt of using Henry soon starts to grow as she falls for the classics nerd with his terrible Latin jokes and constant babbling about Greek and Roman mythology.

To say she felt out of place would be an understatement. The looks the people were giving her made Carina feel like she was the world’s only dragon. She ran her hands nervously over her dress, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles, and told herself for the seventh time that she was not underdressed. Out of place, maybe, but never underdressed.

It took Carina a deep breath and a quick gulp of her water--surprisingly chilled--to remind herself why she was there. Without fulfilling her mission there was, of course, no purpose to be there. No reason to be dealing with the skeptical glances and glares of these posh muckety-mucks...In a sudden and odd change of circumstance, Carina felt eyes on her that were, for once, not scathing. A tall boy--tall-ish, Carina decided on second glance--with soft eyes watched her, as if willing her to notice him. Once she did, though, he dropped his eyes and began to study the guest list with an intensity Carina had thought him incapable of. She hid a smile. Ah, the price of shame.

Carina returned to her task. She scanned the guests, waiting to be awarded with the view of loose gray hair. No such luck. Carina caught herself pouting and drew herself up; she would not be defeated quite so easily. She was brushed by someone’s coat, but found that the presence did not leave as soon as it had arrived. Instead, it lingered, and with a sigh, Carina turned to fake her first conversation of the night.

To her surprise, she was not met with the sight of someone demanding to see her ID. It was the boy from before, and he fidgeted slightly before smiling sheepishly.

“Who are you? If you don't mind me asking, that is,” he asked before promptly turning pink upon realizing the directness of his initial question. Carina bit her tongue in disappointment. So she was being IDed, just not in the form of a black-outfitted security guard and rather a golden retriever-esque boy.

When she didn't answer, he tried again.

“I'm sorry to be too forward, it's just...I've never seen you before, and I couldn't find you on the guest list…” He trailed off and just stood there, shifting slightly.

“Come here often, do you?” Carina asked. The boy looked up, evidently startled at receiving a response. “You must be important.”

The boy grinned and looked down.

“Not really,” he said. “So what was your name?”

He was a persistent security guard, if that was his role.

“Carina. Carina Smyth. I'm not on the guest list, so don't bother checking,” Carina offered dryly. The boy’s eyes widened. There it was, Carina figured. She was going to be kicked out.

“Well, if anyone asks, you’re with me. Henry Turner,” Henry said, extending a hand. Carina raised her eyebrows, surprised at the boy's offer and slightly impressed, although she'd never admit it. She returned the gesture. The smile returned to Henry’s face. Carina was certain she'd never seen anyone quite so easily amused.

Certain he wasn't an intellectual, she turned away. No one that happy could harbor any real intelligence, anyhow.

“Wait,” Henry called. “Where are you going?”

“I'm looking for someone,” Carina replied, turning away once again.

“Oh,” said Henry. “Well, I hope you find them.”

Carina waved her thanks behind her and squeezed her way into the crowd. She figured she’d lost five, maybe eight minutes. She was determined not to be distracted again, but grateful to have someone’s name to give, even if it was that of a rich baby.

Carina tried, and failed, several times that night to find and speak with Dean Swann. She wasn’t just going to let Jack’s employment drop. Not without a fight, at least. Unfortunately, fate seemed to have other plans for her that night; there was no sign of the Dean. Upon nearing the end of the night, Carina was forced to accept that her mission had failed. She wouldn’t be talking to or even seeing the Dean. And there was no saying when Jack’s position would be revoked.

Carina sighed and dropped into a stool at the bar.

“Shirley Temple, please,” she muttered to the bartender that came to take her order. He nodded and disappeared. Carina prayed that he wouldn’t be too long before returning with the sugary goodness. She could certainly stand to eat her feelings at the moment. She leaned on her hand idly and let her mind wander.

“Did you hear that the Dean gave another grant to his favorite professor?”

Carina queued in on the Dean’s name. Three women were huddled at the end of the bar, stage whispering over drinks.

“Shut up. He did not.”

“Yes, he did,” the first promised.

“Which one?” The third lady spoke for the first time. She was considerably younger and had a more optimistic look to her than her counterparts.

“His son-in-law.”

“Oh.”

“God, if I could get that money, I don’t even know what I’d do…”

“Nepotism at its finest, if you ask me.”

“At Yale? Are you sure? I mean, Professor T--”

The other two women shushed the younger one quickly, nervously glancing around the room to see if anyone had heard. It appeared they were safe. They leaned in closer and spoke in hushed tones.

“That professor is great, though. I had him when I went here. As far as I remember, he was doing some pretty great work.”

“Sure thing, sweetie.”

“It was some of the most advanced that I’ve seen here!” the younger girl insisted. “Professor Turner is ahead of his time, I promise you that.”

Carina practically jumped out of her seat at the mention of a Turner....particularly one related to the Dean. Henry’s father, perhaps? Carina had sworn to stay invisible and talk to only those she needed to, but this lead was far too great to resist.

“Did you say Turner?” The women looked to Carina in shock and horror that they’d been overheard. Only the youngest looked calm. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been trashing the Dean’s son-in-law. Carina scooted closer.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began, definitely not sorry. “Does this Professor Turner have a son? One named Henry, by any chance?”

The two catty coworkers exchanged glances without answering, but the younger woman nodded.

“Henry Turner is his son. He’s a real nice boy. Smart, too. He’s majoring in classics here.”

“Henry Turner goes to Yale?” Carina did a double take. The woman nodded again. “And he’s the Dean’s grandson?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t that smell a bit like...the old boy’s network to you?”

The woman laughed.

“No, no. Henry’s quite clever. He went to school with my younger brother and got accepted just about everywhere.”

Carina nodded thoughtfully, whispered a thanks and received a nod, and turned to the bartender who had arrived with a Shirley Temple in hand. By the time she had turned back around, the women were gone. Carina thanked the stars; she wasn’t in the mood to continue small talk, especially not while forming a plan.

Someone sat down so abruptly next to Carina that she jumped slightly in her seat. It was Henry.

“Carina! Hello again,” he said with a smile. He looked at the drink in her hand. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” Carina sipped her drink. “I’m in my sophomore year.”

Henry nodded. “How old were you when you graduated high school, then?”

Carina started to roll her eyes, but withheld the urge. If her plan was going to work, she couldn’t afford to make Henry feel like dirt on her heel.

“Fifteen.” Henry whistled. “I was homeschooled and just went through the grades super quickly, so here I am.”

“What are you here for?”

“What is this, Twenty Questions?” Henry grinned and looked down to hide the blush that was spreading across his cheeks. Carina spoke again, this time willing her voice to at least sound nicer. “I’m working to get my Ph.D. in Astrophysics.”

“The stars?” Henry asked, so unsure that Carina could do nothing but roll her eyes and shake her head whilst smiling.

“Something like that. And now, you. You don’t look too old, either.”

“I, uh, graduated a year ahead. Not nearly as cool as you. Sorry. I’m a bit young for my grade, so I’m eighteen and in my sophomore year.”

Carina nodded, not breaking eye contact.

“You look like an English major.”

Henry threw his hands up.

“I do not! Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Carina shrugged.

“Well, are you?”

“Um...sort of? Classics. It’s in the humanities, so, yeah. Technically.”

“Oh. Do you want to be a teacher?”

Henry just about fell out of his chair.

“Does every person in the humanities at Yale want to be a teacher?” he exclaimed.

“No,” Carina said smartly. “But you’re not everyone, are you? So do you want to be a teacher or not?”

Henry was silent and traced his hand on the counter of the bar.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” he admitted quietly.

“My dear Henry,” Carina patted his arm, “that will have to change.”

///

Carina was surprised when the head of the engineering department stood on a chair to announce the end of the night. He thanked everyone for coming, said it was a wonderful evening, blah, blah, blah. For someone so good at gaging time, Carina had completely lost track of it. Carina decided that it was entirely Henry’s fault. She couldn’t tell if she’d been there minutes or hours and was only sure that Henry was definitely in the right major; he wouldn’t stop babbling and spouting misleadingly named “fun” facts.

She was sure she'd never met anyone quite so outwardly passionate about their major. His whole face lit up and he'd wave his arms around when he told her about the myths he'd been learning. He knew all of them by heart. It was slightly annoying and, Carina supposed, endearing to some, if they cared...which she didn't. Carina set her jaw and forced herself to humor the young Turner, who, from Carina’s observations, was completely smitten with her. The Dean’s grandson. It was already working out far too well.  

The one benefit from meeting Henry was that Carina didn't feel quite so out-of-place. Of course, she was sure that there were soon to be further benefits, but those would only come when her new friend asked her out. Carina was sure he would; his eyes didn't leave her face once the whole night.

A crowd flocked from the bar to the door and flooded out of the room. Carina took that as her opportunity to leave, or rather, escape. She stood, smoothed her dress, and tossed her purse over her shoulder. Henry froze mid word.

“You’re leaving?”

Carina nodded, trying to ignore the apparent hurt in Henry’s voice.

“Everyone else is, so I imagine that it's our queue.”

“You don't strike me as someone who follows what everyone else does,” Henry said simply. Unknowingly, he'd called her bluff.

“You’re right,” Carina said stiffly.

“So why leave?”

Carina was left speechless. She racked her brain for words and sputtered for a moment until she saw that the act was making Henry smirk.

“Why stay?” Carina crossed her arms and tilted her head, mimicking Henry but with a much cooler expression.

“I know a place with really good arepas. Want to go?”

And there it was: her key to save Jack’s job. Carina could feel a thousand thoughts swirl around her mind in the second that ensued and tried to focus on those of monumental importance. She'd have to be tied down to Henry, which, to some girls, might not seem quite so bad. He was cute, both conventionally attractive and in a way similar to a confused puppy. He was also incredibly talkative--to the point of annoyance. But he was smart, smarter than Carina would allow herself to give him credit for; doing so would involve admitting that she had been wrong in her impression, and even on a good night, Carina could barely stand being wrong.

“Sure,” Carina said slowly. “Sure. Why not?”

Henry smiled and reached for her hand. Carina hesitated, then took it tentatively, and followed him out the door, barely pausing to put on a coat. New Haven in late November was a disaster. Actually, Carina was certain that it was a disaster just about anywhere in New England, but Connecticut was no picnic. It was cold and windy, and Carina had to hug her jacket tight around her to keep warm. It did nothing to protect her poor knees from suffering the stinging winter chill, but it would have to do.

Henry tugged at her coat sleeve, conveniently snapping Carina out of her daze.

“What?”

“I’ve never seen a blue pea coat before,” he remarked.

“I bought it two years ago,” Carina gave a slight twirl. “I’d never seen one this color, either.”

“It’s nice. It matches your eyes and everything!”

Carina tried, and failed, to hold back the smile that was twitching on her lips. Immediately, she was hit by guilt with the force of a bus. He was nice--too nice for her plan. No, no...he wasn’t. He was just as nice as the next person, and if she wanted to save Jack’s ass--employment, she corrected herself--she would have to make some sacrifices.

The two waited together at a crosswalk without speaking. Carina bounced on her toes, willing the little white man to appear on the sign with her mind.

“I swear,” she muttered, “if that sign doesn’t change in fifteen seconds, I’m walking straight into traffic.”

Henry choked on a laugh.

“So what are these arepas, anyways?”

“Heaven,” Henry said with wide eyes. He shook his head abruptly. “Uh, sorry. They’re...um, well...they’re sorta like--they’re the leaning tower of Pisa, except made out of Colombian food.”

“I see.” Carina nodded, trying to imagine such an image. She made a mental note to discourage Henry from being a writer--for his own good, of course, as well as that of a reader.

Just before Carina was about to charge into the street, the light changed and they were able to safely cross. Carina watched Henry for a moment and, consequently, was caught staring. He treated her to a bashful smile.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Carina shook her head. “You just seem to know where you’re going.”

Henry laughed and pulled out a wallet. He opened it, reached inside, and pulled out a picture. Carina took it. A beautiful woman laughed, pearly whites gleaming. She held what Carina could only guess was a small Henry on her lap. Her head was tossed back, and her hair, sun-blond, tumbled over her shoulders. She looked like a goddess.

“That’s my mother. Her friend, Alessandra, owns the place, and we’ve gone there all the time since I was little.” There was no doubt that the woman was Henry’s mother. She had the same eyebrows, light brown eyes, and lightly browned skin. Henry was the spitting image of her. Rather, Carina noted, he was a perfect split of his mother and the man she knew to be Professor Turner.

“She’s beautiful,” Carina remarked, desperately trying to brush off the sentimentality of it all.

“Thanks. She’s the best mom ever. You should’ve seen me at Halloween when I was little; she dressed me up as an animal cracker.”

“An animal cracker?”

“Yup. I was a pirate the next year.”

Carina laughed.

“I still can’t get over the whole animal cracker bit. Do you have a picture of that?”

Henry’s eyes crinkled. He shook his head and returned his mother’s picture to his wallet.

“I do, but it’s at home. I was quite the animal cracker.”

“I imagine you fit right in the role.”

Carina pretended not to notice and fought hard not to tease Henry’s change in gait as they neared a cozy restaurant that emitted warm orange light. Whether her legs were frozen or Henry was abnormally hungry and passionate about Colombian food, Carina struggled to keep up with him. With great effort, however, she succeeded--in heels. Henry pulled open a door and held it for Carina; immediately, she was hit by a rush of warm air, and hurried inside with a chattering “ohmygosh.” A bell jangled above as Henry pulled the door closed behind him. Finally, Carina silently thanked the stars, the cold was gone. Her legs began to tingle as they became reaccustomed to the warmth.

“Henry!” A tall woman with dark hair and a beautiful accent strolled over to Henry with open arms. He embraced her and returned the kiss on the cheek she gave him. When the woman released him, her eyes fell on Carina and lit up. She gave a small gasp and glanced at Henry.

“Who is this?” she asked excitedly.

“Carina Smyth,” he said. “Carina, this is Yolanda. She’s Alessandra’s sister-in-law.”

Carina nodded a hello. Apparently unpleased, Yolanda tittered.

“Come on in, sweetie. I’m a hugger.”

She squeezed Carina tighter than Carina had expected; she wasn’t used to hugs, especially from strangers.

“Is your mom joining us, Henry?”

Henry shook his head.

“Just two tonight, Yolie.”

Yolanda squealed and danced over to some menus. She returned and used said menus to direct them to a table. Carina could feel the eyes of the kitchen on her as she tucked her dress under her and took a seat. Once again, she was the spectacle of the evening. Carina wondered why she’d ever agreed to anything in the first place.

Luckily, Henry was slightly more awkward than she was. He started off the dinner by recommending a dish, then asked her if she had ever taken Latin.

“Of course!” Carina exclaimed. “Lots of classes would be a whole lot harder without it.”

He then proceeded to ask: “What does a frog that knows Latin prose composition say?”

“Latin prose composition has an effect on a frog’s vocabulary?”

“Scribbit!” Henry grinned at her, and Carina shook her head.

“You, Henry Turner, are a born classics major.”

“So I’ve been told.”

They were waited on by what Carina deduced as the entire staff of the restaurant. In other words, Carina imagined, Henry’s date was being sized up by the family. She expected that Mrs. Turner would have a report on her every move before Henry returned home. Or wherever a professor’s son lived.

Fueled only by sheer determination, Carina managed to finish her arepa. Henry watched her with great amusement as she struggled to fit the last few bites of her meal in her already full stomach. Carina wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction of her being unable to eat an entire arepa. Even though his Latin jokes were cheesy and terrible, she knew that he’d never let her hear the end of it, whether they were friends or otherwise.

“I’ll pay for yours.” Henry reached across the table for the bill, but Carina slapped his hand. Henry withdrew, rubbing the new red mark.

“You will do no such thing, Turner.”

“Yes, I will,” Henry insisted, attempting to make another grab at the check. Carina wouldn’t allow it and snatched it up.

“No, you won’t,” she said, waving a twenty in the air. “Not if I pay it first.”

Carina looked down for a split second to place the money in the bill. In that time, the gentleman-on-steroids lunged across the table and swiped the bill out of her hands. Carina was left in the same position, cradling the ghost of a bill. Henry grinned, handed Carina her twenty, and snapped the bill closed. He was far too smug for Carina’s liking.

“You may have won the battle, Turner, but I will win the--”

Carina was cut of by Yolanda’s return.

“All done, kiddies?”

Henry nodded and handed her the bill. Yolanda shook her head and waved her hands.

“No, no, no, no, sweetie. It’s on the house tonight. Anything for my favorite Turner,” she smiled broadly and pinched Henry’s cheeks, who attempted to smile through what Carina suspected to be pain. “Also, your mommy got me a really nice painting. I owe you all, Henry.”

Yolanda told them to have a great night, which she emphasized with a wink, and escorted them to the door. The entire kitchen staff waved at them through the windows. As she walked away, Carina smirked.

“See, Henry? If I can’t win, neither can you.”

“Apparently not,” was Henry’s astounded reply.

Carina made it about five more feet before stopping abruptly and crinkling her face in confusion. Henry turned.

“What is it?”

“I just remembered that I walked to the dinner,” Carina said.

“And how far’s your dorm?”

Carina paused for a moment, considered her once-again-frozen legs, and answered briskly: “Too far.”

Henry shook his head.

“I’ll drive you.” He pulled out his phone and checked a message. “...Right after I buy my mom groceries. Want to come with?”

Carina almost gave him a flat-out no. It was getting late, and tomorrow was a Saturday. She’d have to get up early if she wanted to make it to Claire’s for pancakes with her floormates. But then again, more time with Henry could equate to a favor, and she couldn’t risk the denial of that favor, not for anything. She could be late to pancakes; it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Sure.”

“To the apple store we go, then,” he said, turning left. Carina stuck her hands in her pockets and leaned into Henry as they rounded the corner with, as Carina reassured herself, the sole purpose of avoiding smacking into any dazed tourists or drunk college kids. The sidewalk wasn’t empty--it never really was. Groups of students and couples walked at alternating paces. The girls in the short dresses and heels giggled and stuttered quickly by, evidently freezing. Carina scoffed. At least she’d remembered to bring a coat.

One couple caught Carina’s eye; two lovers walked slowly, weaving left and right. Their eyes were fixed on one another’s face, and they didn’t once break their gaze--not even when the boy reached for the door and ushered the other in. Carina sighed. It seemed like that kind of love simply didn’t exist for her--never had and never would.

“Carina?” A hand appeared in front of her face. “You passed it.”

“What?” Carina looked to the store in front of her. “The Apple store is right there.”

“Uh...my bad,” Henry said sheepishly. “The little grocery store right next to it? It’s got piles of apples in front of it all spring and summer. I've always just called it the apple store. Sorry.”

Carina laughed.

“The apple store,” she said. “Well, we’ve all got our own names for things.”

Henry jogged past her to grab the door and held it open for her. Carina nodded to him, the closest that she could bring herself to thanking the boy that had dragged her around all night. Carina chided herself; Henry had no fault in her annoyance. She had the ability to turn him down each time he asked...why hadn’t she? It was nearing eleven--she’d had every excuse to leave. What on earth was keeping her? A ride home, she reminded herself as she stepped through a drafty area.

“She needs,” Henry paused and glanced at his phone, “milk, eggs, butter, vanilla extract…”

“Is she on a baking spree?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Coconut? Where the hell am I supposed to get coconut? It’s winter in Connecticut, for goodness sakes!”

Carina tried to hide her laugh, but a snort escaped her. Henry looked up.

“What?”

Carina lost it. Who was this boy, anyway? She had never met anyone, certainly no one at Yale, that would run his mother’s errands at 11:15 at night because she had decided to whip up yet another batch of who-knows-what.

“You, Turner, are quite a character,” she said at last. He nodded.

“I believe it. Do you know what shortening is?”

“Henry, how do you not know what shortening is?”

“Hey, it’s not as if I haven’t made cookies before! I’ve just never used shortening,” he mumbled.

Carina marched Henry over to the refrigerators. She pulled open a door, coughed at the cold blast of air that escaped, and pulled out a package of shortening. Henry, awe-struck, reached for it without a word and looked down at the mystery substance.

“So it’s like butter?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He paused. “So why does she need butter and shortening?”

Carina shrugged. The rest of the grocery run was only slightly less eventful; Henry knew what the rest of the ingredients were, and it took a mere three laps around the shop to locate the coconut. Finally, fifteen minutes from midnight, Henry and Carina made their way to the cash register. A girl with a nose piercing raised her eyebrow and popped her gum.

“Well, aren’t you two cute.” Carina felt her heart drop. “I thought you’d never leave. This all?”

“Y-yeah. Uh, yes. Thank you.” Henry’s stammering response granted Carina the smallest bit of relief; she hadn’t been the only one struck with such a reaction. While the cashier rang up their baking goods, Carina let her gaze wander so that she wouldn’t have to look at Henry after the moment of monumental embarrassment.

“Sour gummy worms?” Carina exclaimed suddenly, grabbing a package. “I haven’t had these in years!”

“You like those?”

Carina nodded vigorously.

“Jack, my, uh….uncle, used to buy them for me all the time. I practically lived off of them until I got about five cavities, and then he had to stop buying them.” Carina chuckled, relishing in the memories of sitting on the docks in New Hampshire with Jack, tossing gummy worms into the air and watching Jack catch them in his mouth. She decided not to go into the whole complicated situation with Jack and Yale and the even more complicated situation with Jack and herself; it was far too late for explanations, and it had been a long week.

“Do you want them?” Carina shook her head.

“You filled me to the brim with Colombian food, remember?”

“Ah, yes. I still can’t believe that you finished that. I thought you were gonna toss it all up on me.” Carina had felt the same way and felt her lips tug at their corners, but her phone quacked, effectively dissolving the moment. It was a call from Jack.

“Do you mind if I take this?”

Henry shook his head.

“Not at all. I’ll go get the car.”

“Thank you,” Carina stage-whispered and hurried to the back of the store for some quiet.

“Hey, Jack. What’s up?”

“Hello, love. I’m alright, how are things faring on your end?”

“Fairly well--”

“What’s that loud buzzing? Are you in the freezer section of a grocery store, or are you being devoured by thousands of bees? If it’s the latter, I’m afraid I’ll have to skip out on the heroic rescue.” Carina rolled her eyes and laughed.

“No, Jack. You were right with your first guess.”

“What on earth are you doing in a freezer section of a grocery store at this hour, love?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Hmm...I’ll have to go with shopping, but I’ve got to ask. Why?”

“I’m, uh…” Carina struggled to find the right words. “On a date? I believe it’s a date, at least.”

“Really?”

“I think. What’s it when a guy asks you to dinner at his family’s favorite restaurant and then invites you grocery shopping to pick stuff up for his mom while offering to drive you to your dorm?”

“Most likely a date, then. Who’s the guy?”

“A, uh, a Henry Turner. He’s from Yale. Not Harvard, don’t worry.”

“Wasn’t terribly worried, love. Turner, you say? Sounds awfully familiar.”

“His father is a professor.”

“Will Turner? Will Turner’s son?”

“Yes! That’s the one!”

“Must be a real dashing lad, then.”

“You know Professor Turner?” Carina was taken aback.

“Of course, love. We go way back.”

Henry burst through the door.

“Carina, there’s a police officer down the street and I’m worried he’s gonna ticket me for standing. Do you mind coming outside right now?” He sounded out of breath.

“Not a problem,” she said to Henry. “Jack, I’ll have to call you back.”

“Sounds wonderful, Carina.”

The line clicked and Carina hustled outside and all but dove into the passenger seat. Henry closed the door for her, raced around to the driver’s side, and started the car.

“Thank God. My mom would’ve killed me if I got a ticket.”

“She seems too nice,” Carina said, although she’d only seen the picture.

“You’re wrong,” Henry said with wide eyes. “She can be just about the scariest person you’ll ever meet--” His phone rang. “And that’s her right now. Hello? Yes, mom, I’m driving. Yeah, I know, but it’s fine...mom, it’s only...oh wow, it’s twelve. Yeah, I’ve got the groceries. Mom, can you wait a bit? There’s a girl in the car with me….Mom, please! It’s fine! I’ll be over in a bit, just after I drop her home.”

Carina shook her head.

“It’s fine. We can bring the stuff to your house first.”

“You sure?” Henry whispered, holding the phone away from his face.

“Of course.” Meeting Henry’s mother seemed like a great way to get a favor out of the Dean. Besides, if Carina would admit it to herself, she was curious. The Dean’s daughter was rumored to be a legend--she’d gone to Brown, but had been an Ivy sweep. There wasn’t a school that didn’t want her, and not only because she was the Dean’s daughter. Those sort of favors only applied to Yale. If anything, Carina had heard that her connections had made her entrance everywhere else harder, but she’d gotten in anyway.

“Okay, mom. We’re bringing the stuff to your house first...She said it was fine, I promise! You know what? I’ll just talk to you when I see you. Love ya, bye.”

Henry turned to Carina.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Henry, isn’t your mother the Dean’s daughter?”

Henry winced and rested his head against the back of the seat.

“Yeah...yeah. She just doesn’t like when I tell people because she thinks that everyone’ll say that I got in on the Dean’s word and not my own hard work. You know mothers, they don’t want anyone taking away their baby’s credit.”

Carina didn’t really know mothers, despite Henry’s statement, but didn’t say a word about it.

“Since you graduated so early, I’m guessing it was your hard work.”

“Yeah, but people think what they want. They don’t know that the Dean has practically no say in admissions, at least not anymore.”

“Really? What does he have authority over, then?” Carina tried her best to be inconspicuous with her fact-digging, but she was fairly well convinced that she wasn’t doing a very good job at playing spy.

“Well, I don’t really know. Graduation, for one thing, and employment as well, I guess. I’m not too sure, though. Why?”

“Just considering becoming a dean.”

“I thought you were going for astrophysicist.”

“Who says I can’t be both?”

Henry laughed.

“No one, I suppose. You do seem like the type of girl that manages to do everything.”

“That’s because I am,” Carina said matter-of-factly.

Henry grinned, then leaned forwards and dug around for something.

“You’re not going to crash, are you?”

“Nope,” Henry replied, returning to his normal driving position. He handed her a bag. “Here.”

Carina opened the bag. To her surprise, it held a package of sour gummy worms from the store. Her heart fluttered slightly--who was this boy?

“You got these for me?”

“Yeah. Of course. I thought you could eat them for breakfast or something.”

“Breakfast? What on earth do you eat for breakfast, Henry?”

“I don’t know! It was the next meal I could think of!” Carina laughed--Henry was too easy to tease and too funny when riled up.

“Thank you, though. I’ll be sure to eat them for breakfast.”

“No problem,” Henry said, clicking on his blinker and pulling into a driveway. “We’re here.”

///

Henry struggled to open the door. He turned the key this way and that until Carina decided that she’d had enough and took it from him to try for herself. The lock clicked and the door opened on her first try. Henry looked at her over the bags of groceries.

“Beginner’s luck,” he joked while using his foot to push the door the rest of the way open. “Mom! I’m home!”

“Hey, Henry,” Mrs. Turner called, stepping out from behind the kitchen counter. “And hello there, Henry’s friend.” She looked at Henry directly after her statement, made a judgement based off his face, and winked at Carina.

“Thank you for letting my son drag you along to bring the groceries, dear,” Mrs. Turner said sweetly to Carina. Then, following Mrs. Weasley fashion, she turned to Henry and chided him. “What were you thinking keeping this poor girl out so late?”

“I wasn't--”

Mrs. Turner waved her son off and pulled a pen from the pile of blond stacked on her head. Her hair cascaded down in lovely golden waves--it was princess hair, Carina immediately noted. Henry had the same type, which she realized she'd been jealous of upon seeing it in the car. What was Henry to do with princess hair? It was an absolute travesty.

“And you are…?”

“Carina Smyth. It's a pleasure, Mrs. Turner,” Carina smiled slightly and extended a hand. This was a first impression she was determined to avoid screwing up, even if her hair had fallen flat and she somehow looked dumpy while in a nice dress standing next to Mrs. Turner in her pajamas--what sort of inhuman being was capable of such a feat?

“The pleasure is all mine, my dear. I was worried that Henry would get lost under his pile of classics and never make any friends.” She laughed.

“I have friends,” Henry pouted indignantly.

“I'll bet,” Mrs. Turner winked and leaned against the counter. She practically oozed swagger and power; Carina had no idea what she did, but she was certain that Mrs. Turner was someone in charge of something very important.

“So, mom. What was the baking stuff for?”

“Ah,” Mrs. Turner reached for the bag, which Henry handed over immediately. “It seems random, but I wanted to learn how to bake almond cookies.”

There was no “sorry for keeping you out late,” no excuse for the oddness of it all--Mrs. Turner lived unapologetically in her own image. Forget being an astrophysicist, Carina decided that she wanted to be Elizabeth Turner.

“Almond cookies? Why would you need coconut for that?”

“Flavor, Henry. Flavor. I see you found everything without a problem.”

“He didn't know what shortening was,” Carina said with the raise of her eyebrow.

“Henry, my darling Henry…” Mrs. Turner shook her head. “You will be spending more time in the kitchen with me! Come Thanksgiving, I'll have you baking like a pro.”

“Mom, you never spend time in the kitchen. And are you even any good at baking?” Henry asked tentatively, as if testing the waters.

“Absolutely not! But I'm sure you'll do well.”

“How can I--”

Henry was silenced by what Carina could describe as nothing other than “a look.” Mrs. Turner had raised her thick eyebrows and looked Henry right in the eye. Carina was glad that the look wasn't directed at her; she wasn't sure if she'd be able to stand her ground against Mrs. Turner, much like her son.

“Henry, don't keep poor Carina here any later! Let her get home,” Mrs. Turner shooed her son towards Carina before looking Carina directly in the eye and speaking again. “I hope to see more of you, Carina.”

“It would be a pleasure,” Carina stammered, all the while trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. A compliment, or open invitation, rather, was quite a feat. It seemed to make the whole night worth it--the small talk, the snooping, and the horribly long date. Although, Carina forced herself to admit through gritted teeth, she had enjoyed some of it. Henry hadn't been nearly as dull or stupid as she'd expected the Dean’s grandson to be; she had imagined a brainless oaf who got by on legacy, while Henry had made one too many literary puns to be an idiot, despite his more-than-occasional cluelessness.

“Goodnight, mom,” Henry called, twirling his keys around his finger.

“Goodnight, love. And goodnight, Carina.”

“Nice to have met you, Mrs. Turner.”

“Same to you, Carina,” Mrs. Turner said with a nod. With that, Carina followed Henry out the door. She felt, for the first time in weeks, as if a weight had been lifted off her chest. Even though Jack’s employment wasn't yet secured, she was no longer as worried as she had been. With the Turners on her side and Henry wrapped around her finger, she could make things work to her--and Jack’s--advantage.

[intricatecaprice]

So, this month, in order to kick my anxiety about posting/showing anyone my current writing, I decided on a personal writing challenge.

Every day in April, I'm going to post something for the Dead Men Tell No Tales fandom.

Whether it's a drabble, or a oneshot, or a chapter to an ongoing fic, I'll post it (either here and/or link it to A03).

Even of it's just headcanons!

The only criteria I'm setting myself is that it has to be new: as in, not currently published on either Tumblr or Ao3.

Now although I was thinking about doing this just for myself, to get over my dumb worries about my writing, I'm more than happy for other writers to join in!

So if anyone has any PotC 5 fanfics they've been thinking about putting out there - but have been too shy about - or if anyone has writer's anxiety like I do, or if you're simply a committed writer (You Have My Eternal Admiration!) for PotC 5, please feel free to join in!

Even if you can only manage one thing this entire month, you're more than welcome to tag your contribution '30 Days of Dead Men's Tales' and I'll reblog!

Happy Writing ❤

[montmartre-parapluie]

Things To Remember To Keep Telling Myself:

“A Fic update is never late. Nor is it early - it arrives precisely when it means to.”

*muffled screaming*

[tragicbeauty1991]

POTC 5: Barbossa, Salazar, and an Alternate Ending

WARNING: SPOILERS

I have been a big fan of the POTC franchise since the beginning, and while I honestly think that Disney is trying too hard to milk every last penny from it and that POTC 5 should be the last of the series (or perhaps that it should have ended before now), I will say that, despite its flaws, the most recent installment wrapped up a lot of loose ends nicely and gave us some great additions to POTC lore and character development. While Jack, unfortunately, suffered a bit in this film--his usual wit and charm replaced almost entirely with attempts at comic relief--Barbossa and Salazar generally make up for it.

Throughout the series, Barbossa has been, in my opinion, one of the most morally ambiguous and well-developed characters, and this installment only furthered my convictions. Originally viewed as a villain opposite Jack, Will, and Elizabeth in the first film, by film number three, he has teamed up with the main couple to help rescue Jack and fight against the "bigger" Big Bads Davy Jones and the British Navy. Here, he is portrayed as being a bit more noble (well, by pirate standards, anyway) and shows great respect for Elizabeth as the Pirate King when she steps up and leads them into battle. By film number four, he has apparently become a privateer (though primarily out of a desire to hunt down Blackbeard in revenge for taking The Pearl, and with it, his leg) but this endeavor doesn't last long, and as soon as Blackbeard is off the radar, he goes back to his pirating ways. And even AS a privateer, we see a moment of what cruelty he is capable of when he leaves his crew to die at the hands of the mermaids. Nevertheless, he pretty much fully redeems himself in the most recent film through his relationship with his daughter. While, admittedly, it was a bit cheesy and perhaps somewhat out of character at times, I loved the implication that there was once a woman Barbossa genuinely loved and that, upon her death, thinking himself incapable of raising the child, he was actually strong enough to do the right thing and find a place to take her in. It was strange yet incredibly touching getting to see this softer side of Barbossa. The moment Carina slapped him for (supposedly) insulting her father, you could see it in his eyes that he was torn between feeling hurt and ashamed of what he was and simultaneously being proud of her for having the guts to stand up to a pirate of his stature in defense of her father. I would honestly have loved to get an entire film's worth of father/daughter moments between these two, and after seeing him come so far as to be willing to sacrifice himself for her safety, I really hated to see him go. More on that later...

As for Salazar, I am not yet quite sure what to think about him or how to categorize his character. On the one hand, we have to remember that we are (technically) rooting for the "bad guys" by society's standards, and while we all love Jack & co., pirates were a real and troubling threat to merchant vessels, the navy, etc. Not everyone they attacked deserved it, and not all pirates are as morally decent as Jack, Will, Elizabeth, etc. usually are. In his mind, Salazar is doing his duty to society and protecting the innocent. Yes, we get a glimpse of him refusing to show mercy to a group of pirates who have surrendered, but to be fair, had their roles been reversed, many pirates might not have shown mercy either. Additionally, Salazar has a personal motivation to dislike pirates, as they were responsible for the deaths of both his father and grandfather--men whom he looked up to, respected, and probably loved. We don't know exactly how old he was when this happened, but if he was still a child at the time, it would have been EXTREMELY difficult for his mother, as a single woman during a time when most respectable women were not employed much outside the home, to support him and herself. Furthermore, Jack--as a boy--both humiliated him and doomed him to what must have felt like an eternity of a ghostly/undead existence trapped in the Devil's Triangle. I was reminded, here, of a parallel between the Salazar/Jack relationship and that of Captain Hook and Peter Pan... Jack, much like Peter, is the young, cocky boy who somehow manages to get the best of the more experienced, older sailor. In the original novel, there is actually a line about how Hook (who is stuck in a place which for a child is paradise but for an adult is a living nightmare) feels like a lion in trapped in a cage into which a sparrow has flown. Similarly, Salazar himself tells us that he is the one who gave Jack the surname "Sparrow" because he was "up in the crow's nest...like a...like a little bird." Whether or not the parallels were intentional, I don't know, but as a long-time fan of Hook, it definitely made Salazar a more interesting and sympathetic character to me. On the other hand, Salazar is incredibly legalistic (like Inspector Javert on steroids), obsessive, merciless, and unnecessarily cruel. I realize the Spanish and English navies weren't exactly friendly toward each other, but you have to admit, Salazar and his crew slaughtering the members of the British navy who enter the Devil's Triangle was rather uncalled for. It's like he did it just because he could. He is also so focused on ending Jack's life that he leaves his newly un-cursed crew to drown at the bottom of the sea. Then again...Barbossa did almost the exact same thing with his privateer crew in the previous film when he left them for the mermaids, and we still root for him... Why is it that when Will Turner seeks revenge on Davy Jones for cursing his father or when Barbossa seeks revenge on Blackbeard for stealing the Pearl and the loss of his leg, we root for them, yet when Salazar has an equally legitimate reason to hate Jack, he is a villain? (I know, I know... Because it's Jack's story and you can't really dislike the protagonist. But still...) Salazar is an interesting guy, and it just seemed WAY too easy to have him turn mortal for all of five minutes and then immediately kill him off. Plus, I felt bad because DID YOU SEE THE LOOK ON HIS FACE WHEN HE TURNED HUMAN AGAIN?!?! He was practically on the verge of weeping for joy! I really wish they would have allowed for him to potentially return in human form for future films. I also have to wonder, having earlier mentioned his likeness to Javert, if put in a similar situation in which the pirates shattered his illusion of the world as morally black and white, he might have had a change of heart (or ya know...a mental breakdown...). Either way, I wish we got more Salazar.

...Which brings me back to the point I was making before... As moving and poignant as Barbossa's death was, I don't believe that was actually necessary. Realistically, with Salazar mortal and his entire crew swept away by the sea, it would have been easy for Jack's crew to take him out once the anchor was raised and everyone was back onboard the Pearl. He would have been severely outnumbered, and they could have easily killed him or taken him captive. True, you could argue that Barbossa was worried Salazar would get to Carina first and harm her before they were back on the ship, but with him in mortal form, all Carina would really have to do to disable him is give him a swift kick in the face. Besides, if she hadn't been so overwhelmed in the moment, I don't think Carina would have willingly let go of her father's hand. She literally JUST found out that the man who saved her life, the infamous pirate captain of Blackbeard's former ship The Queen Anne's Revenge, is the man she has spent her entire life searching for. You can't convince me that she wouldn't have clung to him for dear life if she had been in her right mind. I don't blame her, mind you--it's a lot to take in in such a short amount of time, and I don't think she had time to fully process it all, but if she had thought about it, I'm certain she would have refused to let him go.

So imagine it, for a moment....

xxxxx

Barbossa guided her hand to the chain, telling her to hold on as he began to loosen his grip, a sad smile on his face. He only just met his daughter but he was already so proud of her. It was a shame he wouldn't get to spend more time with her, but perhaps it was better this way.  She had slapped him when he had insulted her father before she knew who he was. If she had known then, he thought, she might have slapped him a second time. Perhaps now, at least, she might see him as something more heroic than the disappointment that he was.

It didn't take long for Carina to realize what he was doing, her face turning white with horror as his fingers began to slip.

"NO!" she screamed, latching onto his wrist. "I've spent all my life searching for you, and now I've finally found you! I'm not letting you go now!"

He had not planned for this. He had hoped to go out in figurative blaze of glory, hoped that in his death he might redeem himself in her eyes and make up for the years he had left her alone in the world. But she wouldn't let him have that satisfaction. She wouldn't let him go that easily. There was a fierce determination in her eyes, eyes that remind him of another woman he had once loved. And so for her sake, he held on--tighter than he has ever held onto anything in his life.

As the anchor rose from the water, he saw the crew of the Pearl coming to their aid.

"Hector!" Jack shouted down at him from the deck where the others have helped him aboard. There was genuine worry in his voice.

Strange, he mused, how far they have come. For as long as they had known each other, they had always alternated between being at each other's throats and being brothers in arms. He had once gone to the ends of the earth--to hell and back, as it were--for the Pearl...but also partially for Jack, he admitted. And seeing his current expression, he had no doubts that Jack would do the same for him because, at the end of the day, pirates though they were, they would always have each other's back.

He climbed aboard, soaked to the skin and looking far more like a wet rat than the fearsome captain that he was, Jack and Gibbs each grabbing an arm to steady him while Henry helped Carina. He recalled, for a moment, the highly unorthodox wedding ceremony he'd performed on the deck of this very ship all those years ago and smiled almost fondly at the boy, wondering if perhaps he'd be performing another in a couple of years. He had missed so much of his daughter's life... He hoped it wasn't too late to change that.

Apparently, it wasn't because the moment her feet hit the deck, she was embracing first Henry, then him.

"Father," she whispered.

And for the first time in many, many years, he felt the sting of tears behind his closed eyes.

But the moment was cut short as the last few feet of the chain holding the anchor rose from the depths of the sea, carrying with it a final passenger who hoisted himself over the railing and onto the deck--Captain Armando Salazar, in the flesh, at last. Long strands of dark hair, no longer floating freely as they had in his ghostly form, were plastered against his face, but his uniform--though stuck to his skin with the weight of the water it had absorbed--was as pristine-looking as ever. His face had a bit of color now--more olive than the ghastly chalky complexion they'd seen before, but it hardly diminished his intimidating presence, his eyes still hard and cold.

But intimidating or not, he was no longer immortal. And without a weapon in his hand or at his side--the sword he usually carried having been lost to the sea in the midst of all the chaos--he was, for all intents and purposes, defenseless. He was outnumbered, out gunned, and on a ship which was not his own. He was at their mercy.

Almost immediately, there were a half a dozen swords pointed at his throat and nearly twice as many pistols aimed at his chest, no longer permeable as mist but made of flesh and bone beneath which lay the beating heart of a man. His weakness became apparent at nearly the same moment that he felt the heat of the sun upon his cheek and the gentle sea breeze ruffle his hair for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. In the span of seconds, his face displayed a vast array of emotions almost too quickly for his mind to keep up--the proud, determined look of a hunter having cornered his prey replaced instantaneously with that of immeasurable joy, realization, fear, rage, and defeated resignation.

Surprisingly, Jack was the first to lower his weapon, but it wasn't so much a gesture of mercy as it was an insult. There was no need  for a weapon now. The Spaniard had climbed aboard the Pearl without any men of his own and was now its captain's prisoner. His only choice was between Jack's crew and the sharks...and the latter would be much less forgiving. Having experienced death himself before, Jack knew that no sane man who had escaped such a fate would ever take his own life, no matter how desperate. And even if he had considered it, Salazar's pride would not allow it.

"It would seem," Jack said, striding across the deck, "that El Matador del Mar has once again met his match. The butcher's bill has been paid in full. You and your crew have had your humanity restored--that counts for something, I should think. I took your life once. I've no desire to take it again, so what say we simply call it even and agree to disagree until I can drop you off on some nice, deserted island, savvy?"

"My crew," Salazar spat, "is at the bottom of the sea."

"Well, that's not my problem, now, is it? I'm not their captain who left them there to drown."

The Spaniard took a step toward him, forgetting for a moment that he no longer held the sword which often doubled as his cane. He stumbled, then, landing in a heap at Jack's feet, as his knees buckled at the searing pain that shot up his leg. He was spewing curses, swearing like the sailor that he was in a garbled mix of Spanish and English so viciously that an onlooker who did not speak a word of either language wouldn't have needed a translation.

"You...!!!" he seethed. "You took EVERYTHING from me!"

He was clawing at the deck, trying desperately to pull himself up, but his leg was too weak. His mortality had returned in full force, bringing with it the fresh pain of an old wound that he had not been able to feel for years. He dragged himself over to the mast that he might have something to brace himself against, crawling on his hands and knees.

"My pride, my ship, my crew, my family, my life, my very soul..." He propped himself up against the mast, too tired and too ashamed to struggle any further. "What more do you want from me?!"

Jack's gaze softened. "Nothing," he said quietly. "I never wanted anything from you but my freedom. I wanted you out of my way, I wanted you lost at sea...but I swear on my life I never intended for you to end up..." He gestured to his face, trailing his fingers in lines of imaginary squid ink dribbling down his chin, smacking his lips as though even the thought left a horrid taste in his mouth and shuddered. "Wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"You have no idea what sort of hell I have been through."

"Oh, I think I can imagine..."

It was not Jack but Barbossa who had spoken.

Perhaps it was only because Carina was watching and being a father made him want to be a better man, but for whatever reason, Barbossa felt compelled to take pity on the man. Jack had been to The Locker, it was true. And that in and of itself was enough to drive a man to madness... But he had not spent years cursed in an undead state like he and the original crew of the Pearl had. That was something entirely different and drew forth memories of a time which Barbossa did not recall with any fondness. He stepped forward, his own bejeweled peg leg dragging slightly as he walked--another area in which he could all too easily empathize with the man propping himself up against the mast.

"Ye're always starvin' but food turns tah ash in your mouth. Always dyin' of thirst, yet nothin' ever quenches it. Ye cannot feel--not the sun or the rain on yer face nor the softness of a woman's touch nor the fiery sting of cold steel slicin' yer skin. Yer heart no longer beats, yet somehow ye're still alive. Everything that once had meanin' is empty and hollow. Ye're a dead man walkin'."

Salazar bore a pained expression. For a moment, he could not find his voice. Then...

"How...?" he croaked.

"Yer not the only man what has been cursed in such a manner and lived to tell the tale. Or rather...come back from the dead to tell it."

At this, Carina gave a start. Realizing that the undead were real was one thing. Realizing that her long-lost father (who also happened to be a pirate captain) had once been among them was quite another. But that, she supposed, was a story for another day. She had so many questions already. Life with her father, it seemed, would be much more complicated than she had anticipated. Yet she could not deny a slight thrill at the thought of more adventures at his side.

"'Twas our greed and our pride that did us in," Barbossa continued. "Aztec gold, cursed by the pagan gods... We were warned of the consequences, but we heeded them not. 'Twas yer own pride that did ye in as well, I suspect. Nothin' would do but tah take yer revenge on every last pirate sailin' in the Spanish Main for the deaths of yer father and his father before him. I can't rightly say that I blame ye for that... Ye say that we're not worthy of bein' called men at all, that we are loathsome creatures lower than the bilge rats and the barnacles on the hull of a ship. That may be so. I am hardly an honest man."

He glanced briefly at Carina, looking somewhat ashamed, then returned his attention to Salazar.

"Yet ye do it in the name of honor and justice. But if it's vengeance yer seekin', then ye ought to at least have the decency tah call it what it is like the rest of us... There's as much blood on yer hands as there is on ours. Perhaps more. If ye be satisfied knowin' that, then by all means, continue yer reign as El Matador del Mar--that is, assumin' ye make it off this ship alive. But if ye want tah keep tellin' yerself yer better than us humble pirates, now's the time tah prove it. Not all men make it to hell and back alive, and one thing I can tell ye, when yer given a second chance at life, ye ought not tah waste it."

He looked back at Carina.

"Take it from someone who's wasted too many second chances already."

The Spaniard laughed bitterly. "You think that by sparing me you may spare yourselves of my wrath when I am free? My life was devoted to hunting down men like you--murderous thieves who take what they can and give nothing back. Without that, what am I?" He glared at Jack. "Give me a weapon, and I will fight you to the death. Or kill me now, like a man. But stop this foolish pretense! We both know what you are, Jack Sparrow!"

"Firstly," Jack replied, "there should be a 'captain' in there somewhere. Secondly, despite what you may think, I am neither stupid enough to give you a weapon nor cruel enough to kill an unarmed man. So it seems we are at an impasse."

He began pacing the deck.

"You know, I once knew a man who thought like you."

He paused to glance at Henry.

"His father was a pirate...AND a good man. Took him awhile to accept that."

His gaze returned to Salazar.

"Truth is, the world's not all black and white, mate, and thank goodness for that because it would be a dreadfully dull place if it was. For example..." He spread his arms wide, taking a mock bow. "I am a pirate. I admit to that. But I am not a cold-blooded killer. You, on the other hand..." He pointed at Salazar with the tip of his sword. "Well, let's just say they don't call you 'The Butcher' for nothing. Now tell me, mate, which one of us is the better man?"

For a moment, Salazar was silent. Then, he looked to Henry.

"You, boy...your father is the captain of the Dutchman?"

"Yes, sir."

Salazar nodded soberly. "A good man."

"And a former pirate, I might add," Jack interjected.

But a deadly glare from the Spanish captain quickly silenced him.

"Right," he apologized. "Sorry. Continue."

"He tried to come for us, once. To ferry us to the next world...to set us free from this curse, that we might be at peace." He laughed darkly. "But there are some places too cursed for even the Dutchman to go."

Henry nodded soberly. "I'm sorry. He would have done more if he could have, I'm sure."

Salazar returned the gesture. Though he could not fully explain why, he had a great deal of respect for the boy. He had seen the terror in the boy's eyes when his crew attacked the British naval ship, yet despite his fear, he did not run but looked death in the face. He was confident, yet not cocky like Jack; quiet, yet he did not hesitate to speak his mind when necessary. And there was another quality the boy had which he did not expect of one with such close ties to pirates--honor. Possessing the boy had given him a glance into the heart and soul of the young man before him, their consciousness merging until one man's thoughts and emotions were barely distinguishable from the other. He had seen Jack, then, through the boy's eyes...and he had seen the monster he had become--internally as well as externally, his humanity all but gone. It had been deeply disturbing. Recalling the boy's thoughts now, he remembered something which he hadn't taken notice of before, a troubled frown forming on his lips. His eyes shifted tentatively to Jack, and for a moment, he merely held his gaze, causing the pirate to squirm uncomfortably.

"While I was controlling the boy's mind," he began, "I saw something...not a memory--at least, not a memory of his... More like a dream...like visions of a legend...a story he had been told as a child.... His father was still a mortal then.... He was dying. You had the heart of Davy Jones in your hand, ready to become the next captain of that otherworldly ship that you yourself might gain immortality.... But you chose to save him instead.... Is this true?"

"Well, now, 'saved' is a rather strong word, given that becoming the captain of said ship comes with its own curses which is how we ended up in this bloody mess to begin with, searching for the trident...."

Salazar scowled impatiently.

"But technically speaking, yes."

"I see..." The Spaniard looked to Henry. "You trust this man? This...this pirate?"

Henry slowly lifted his eyes to Jack, then smiled. "With my life, sir."

Salazar grunted.

"Captain..."

"Yes?" Barbossa, Jack, and Salazar answered simultaneously.

Realizing the need for clarification, Henry started again. "Er...that is...Captain Salazar... If I may ask... While I was subject to your power, I endured a nightmare like nothing I had ever experienced before. I felt...so cold, so isolated... It was as if I were drowning in a darkness and despair so deep that it smothered everything else--all thoughts and emotions consumed by what must have been the last thing that you felt in life...a burning, blinding rage. It was suffocating, as though I was so far removed from humanity that I had forgotten everything and everyone else in the world... My entire identity was gone, my own memories were unreachable--a distant, foggy dream. And yet...one name remained on the tip of my tongue, a name I do not know...."

"Maria," Salazar whispered reverently.

"The Silent Mary.... It isn't just the name of a ship, is it?" Henry asked. "Who was she?"

There was a wistful gleam in his eyes. It was the most vulnerable, the most human, he had looked since regaining his mortality.

"The most beautiful woman in all of Spain...my wife." He smiled sadly. "She was with child when I left. She didn't want me to go. Of course, I told her not to worry, and I promised her that that mission would be my last.... But then...I never came home." He looked at Jack. "That is why I was so angry." He sighed. "I do not know what became of them. She has probably long forgotten about me. If she is even still alive...I doubt she or the child would want to see me now. They would not believe my story...and if they did, they would be repulsed by what I became. I have nothing now. Nothing. No crew at sea, no one waiting at home...." He eyed Jack's sword almost pleadingly. "What is left but to fight one last fight and at least die with a little honor? Perhaps this time, I will have peace."

"You do your family a great disservice, sir." This time, it was Carina who spoke. "If she loved you as much as you love her, then I am certain she never gave up hope. Nor did her child."

"Oh? How do you know that?"

She was addressing Salazar, but her eyes were on Barbossa, bright with unshed tears.

"The same way that I knew someday, somehow, I would find my father.... And if you truly care about them, who you are...or who you were...none of that will matter when they finally see you."

"Ah, but you forget... I have neither ship nor crew--"

"We'll help you find them," Henry blurted.

"We will?" asked Jack.

"Aye," Barbossa slapped Jack on the back. "We will."

"Wait a moment! Wait a moment!" Jack waved his hands. He gestured to Barbossa. "You're a pirate." He pointed to Salazar. "He's a pirate hunter. You want to help him, yet he wants to kill us. DID I BLOODY MISS SOMETHING?!?"

"Well, seein' as we are aboard MY ship, I don't see why it should concern ye, Jack," Barbossa grinned.

"I believe you mean MY ship," Jack corrected him. "You may have your Queen Anne's Revenge, but the Pearl is mine. I saved her from Blackbeard's stash of shrunken ships and protected her with me life."

"Aye, but I'm the one who freed her for ye. Mister Gibbs," he addressed the first mate.

"Aye, sir?"

"Set a course fer Spain. We've a long journey ahead of us, so we'd best be gettin' started."

Gibbs, who had long grown used to the two captains bickering over the ownership of the Pearl, nodded, assuming they would eventually come to some sort of agreement, as they always did.

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Oh, and Gibbs?" Barbossa stopped him. "Don't fly the colors."

"Do I get any say in this at all?" Jack protested.

Barbossa, Carina, and Henry answered in unison. "No!"

Jack sighed. "Alright... Well, then..." He offered Salazar his hand. "I suppose we have a truce?"

Salazar hesitated, then grudgingly accepted the offer, bracing himself against the mast as he pulled himself up to his full height.

"Truce." Salazar leaned in so his mouth was just above Jack's ear. "But know this, Sparrow... If I happen to end up on the seas again, if you ever attack a Spanish ship...."

"I know, I know.... You'll hunt me down and destroy me." He grinned. "Wouldn't expect anything less from you, Captain."

He turned to leave but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Sparrow...."

Jack looked back at the man who had spent a lifetime of hating men like him and saw the faintest gleam of something that almost resembled respect.

"Gracias."

Jack nodded. As he walked away, he breathed a sigh of relief, striding up beside Barbossa. "Hector, you owe me one for this," he grumbled.

Barbossa, who had uncorked a bottle of rum, took a large swig and offered a sip to Jack, who graciously accepted.

"Go easy on it, Jack. We've naught but a few barrels left, and as we be sailin' away from the Caribbean, it may be awhile before we get the chance to restock."

Jack sighed again and shook his head, looking sadly at the bottle. "Why is the bloody rum always gone?"

[primasveraas-writing]

Whatever the Horizon Brings

“Can you write a fanfic of willabeth post potc5?”

A/N: Yes, I can try! Lowkey about Elizabeth but lots of fluff and good times I think. Please, feel free to send more requests my way! I am happy to do them and I (hopefully) will be able to get to them faster in the future.

Word count: 620

XXX

Elizabeth Swann had been a married woman for almost 20 years.

Yet only now, with a son that was practically grown, with so many years between today and the day she married, did she get to enjoy a full, proper day of wedded life.

Certainly, it could be called unfair, and yes, she and Will could very well be proclaimed as star-crossed, but as the Pirate King stood overlooking the endless sea, her husband beside her, she felt, of all things, lucky. Overjoyed, because finally, at long last, Will was hers to keep, just as she was his.

A gale of laughter sounded from the beach below them, where Carina and Henry were. Both parents turned to watch the young couple as they walked along the shore. Henry was so like his father, something that had both worried Elizabeth and filled her with pride her son grew into a man.

“You have raised a fine son,” a low voice said in her ear.

“I am sorry,” Will continued, his voice dropping even quieter than before, “that you were alone in raising him.”

Elizabeth faced him, placing a hand on his chest to feel the beat of his heart. “But we have you now,” she whispered softly, a smile flickering across her face, “and you can stay.”

And like they had done before, so many times, they kissed. Fingers lost in the messes of each other's hair, bodies so close, and the endless wanting, needing for each other finally satisfied. Though their passion ran so deep, was infused into their every fiber of their beings, they showed no desperation with their action. Because, as they knew, as they had always known, even with the rage of the sea around them, even with the years threatening to tear them apart, that they would find their way back to each other, that they belonged together, and that they would end up in each other’s arms again.

Will and Elizabeth separated, smiles breaking out on their faces as they leaned in towards each other, foreheads touching. She sighed, relaxing into him, and his arms folded around her, holding her tightly.

Endless moments lay ahead of them. The night prior, they had eaten together as a family for the first time, and it was then, she realized, for perhaps the thousandth time that day, that all the waiting, and anguish, and tears had been worth it. To see the love in Will’s eyes when he looked at Henry, to spend the perfect evening with both of her boys, to be able to take Will to bed at long last. And thousands more moments like that were ahead of them. All the hells they had endured, all the death and bloodshed had been worth it, because now they were complete.

Calloused fingers cupped her face, though they lacked the softness of their kiss only moments before. ”What is it?” Elizabeth asked, feeling Will tense.

“I am so afraid,” he murmured, “after all that we have gone through… we could lose each other again.”

“And what would keep us apart?” She questioned, “What could?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. But something-”

“Nothing.” She replied firmly, “and if that danger should arise… then we shall face it.”

“Elizabeth-”

“We have made it so far.” She closed her eyes, pressing into him, “and fought hard for this. After all we’ve been through… nothing can keep us apart.”

“I love you.” He whispered in reply. “From the moment I met you…”

Elizabeth laughed softly, kissing him once more.

“But what now?” She challenged, “With all the time in the world,” she smiled teasingly, “all the adventures of the sea waiting for us… what next?”

“Whatever the horizon brings.”

[lost-corner]

I saw Dead Men Tell No Tales last Friday and I’m still reeling from the Willabeth feels. However, the post-credits scene, which was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life, also outraged upset me because I felt that the appearance of a certain character (that makes literally no sense even if you choose to go along with the dubious logic of the film) was an unnecessary addition that ruined what would otherwise have been an absolutely perfect scene - so I decided to tweak it a little bit.  

Willabeth, one-shot. Contains spoilers for DMTNT, so if you haven’t seen the film, this is your warning.

A storm is raging outside, heavy drops of rain beating against the window, wind blowing in through the window they left ajar to keep away the smouldering heat. In his dream, he is back on the Dutchman. The souls he has neglected to take care of throng the deck of the ship, their dull eyes full of unspoken accusation that consumes him. He has failed, and because of his heedlessness they are indefinitely trapped between two worlds, forever doomed to roam the passage between them, never to be afforded the luxury of moving on; a fate he of all people knows to be worse than death. What have I done?

The eerie silence is abruptly disturbed by the sound of measured, uneven footsteps – one a heavy thud, the other barely audible – and Will’s breath catches in his throat as he notices Davy Jones walking towards him, a sly grin plastered on his face, his watery eyes glinting menacingly in the darkness. He comes so close that Will can feel the salty breath on his skin.

‘The Dutchman must have a captain, Master Turner.’

Jones’s humourless laugh is still ringing in Will’s ears as he wakes up with a start. For a split second, he is completely disoriented, and before his eyes adjust to the darkness, the now-familiar interior of their bedroom morphs into the captain’s cabin. And then it all comes flooding back: Henry’s beaming face when he handed him the necklace; Elizabeth rushing down the hill towards him. He looks over to the other side of the bed and relief washes over him when he finds her there, her head nestled into the crook of her arm, sleeping peacefully. It’s been a month, but he doubts he will ever get used to her just being there, within arm’s reach; after nearly twenty years of hopeless, suffocating loneliness, sharing a bed with her seems too good to be true. Now that he’s back, it’s the little, mundane things he loves the most; tokens of normalcy they were deprived of for such a long time: watching her brush her hair in the morning; the melody she hums as she expertly trims the wicks; the mischievous smirk on her face when she tries to cheat him and Henry at card games. She is perfect, and every day he is grateful to his son – the son who fills him with more pride than he can put into words – for being as insufferably stubborn as his mother and giving him the life he has always dreamt of. He will never be able to repay either of them.

The urge to hold her is overwhelming; he reaches over and wraps his arm around her, pulling her towards him. Her arm instinctively curls around his shoulders and she mumbles something incoherent. He smiles and lightly kisses her forehead.

‘Will?’ 

She is awake now, her eyes still cloudy with drowsiness. Although she can only just make out his features in the dark room, the uneasiness written on his face doesn’t escape her. She doesn’t need to ask what it is about; he has been haunted by nightmares of the Dutchman ever since he came back. He is still unable to bring himself to talk about his service, so she doesn’t yet realise the full extent of the damage the plagued ship wrought on him, but in spite of his attempts to conceal it from her and Henry, it’s clear that the memories are still affecting him a lot more than he’s willing to admit. She, too, sometimes dreams that he is taken away from her, trapped once more at the bottom of the sea, and there is nothing she can do to get him back; but those nightmares are rare, and every time she wakes up from one, Will is always there to reassure her.  

Gently, she runs her fingers down the side of his face and the tenderness of her touch releases the tension in his muscles. His body relaxes into the pillows; he closes his eyes.

‘It’s all right,’ she whispers. ‘You’re back; you’re back and you’re not going anywhere. It’s all right.’

Before he kisses her, he replies: ‘I know.’

[weathereyeonhorizon]

This I Promise - Willabeth One-shot

Author’s Note:

“Anon - Hi! For the Willabeth one-shot thing, can you maybe write one where Will has nightmares and Elizabeth has to wake him up? Kind of like the after-credit scene but with Will actually talking about the the things he had to do/see on the Flying Dutchman? That would be awesome, thanks!”

First, I want to thank the person who requested this! This is my first one-shot of Willabeth, and my first attempt in writing them since...well, probably three years. My inspiration suffered a bit while writing this and I tried my best to pay extra attention to Will’s telling of his time on the Flying Dutchman. I really hope you enjoy it, anon, and anyone who reads it.

Please feel free to leave feedback and tell me what you think. I have many Willabeth stories to come, so feedback is always appreciated! ^_^

Requests are OPENED. If you want a Willabeth fic, feel free to send a request in my ask!

Summary: DMTNT Shortly after his return, Will has a nightmare about his servitude aboard the Flying Dutchman. Elizabeth intends to rid her husband of those troubling thoughts.

Words: 1144

Warnings: None.

Pairing: WillxLiz

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, briefly illuminating the room with a bright light. A loud crack of thunder soon followed, the small bay window trembling in response. The couple in their bed were hardly phased by this as they slept soundly. What was once a peaceful slumber for William Turner quickly became a paralyzing nightmare, and he tossed and turned as the dark images flashed before him. This was no nightmare, however, but memories. Memories he had hoped to not remember for some time; it seemed to him that fate would be cruel once more, refusing the bliss he deserved.

He was alone. The sky above him was dark; even the stars only twinkled dimly. As Will looked around him, quickly he realized the familiar surroundings belonging to no other than the Flying Dutchman. All was silent; perhaps too silent for his comfort, an eerie reminder of how lonely his servitude truly had been. His eyes then fell to his right, where beyond the railing of the vessel was the endless ocean. A familiar tug jolted in his chest, and he could not stop himself from being started from that feeling. It was a feeling he only received when there were souls to ferry. He did not know why but Will approached the side of the ship, as if something had compelled him to do so. A soon as he peered over the railing, however, he regretted his decision.

A single row boat floated alongside the Flying Dutchman. It was only half empty, men and women of different occupations seated inside, patiently waiting to be brought aboard. Blank faces stared ahead, not even the slightest fear or curiosity shadowed their faces or gleamed in their eyes. What Will saw was the most heart-wrenching were not these men and women, but the infants swaddled in their mother’s arms. Babies. They were not even a year old, their breath but a bitter taste in the wind. Those poor souls, they had not even been given a chance to live.

Will tightened his grip on the railing. Ferrying the souls of infants had not been rare. There had been plenty of child to come pass through the Land of the Dead, young and small, but nothing grieved Will more than to see a small infant. Always his thoughts went to his beloved, thinking how of a wonderful mother she would be; how this child could have come in her path and not the harsh touch of death. It was these memories that haunted Will the most. And then suddenly – an infant was in his arms, staring up at him with piercing blue eyes. Beautiful but lifeless, their existence forgotten.

Never again would he ferry another child’s soul. He couldn’t. “No,” Will whispered. “No, no...”

“Will…” A soft voice echoed but he paid no mind. All he could focus on was the blank stare of the infant. The voice called his name again, urging him to awaken. Everything around him began to fade as he began to regain consciousness. The last thing Will saw was the little bundle in his arms.

“No!” Will jolted up, breathless. Cool air washed over his perpetrating skin, a fresh feeling than what he had felt in his dream. He placed his hand over his chest as to reassure himself his heart was there, and not locked away, breathing a loud sigh of relief when he felt it beating wildly. Will closed his eyes. It had only been a dream. Just a dream.

Small arms wrapped around his torso, followed by Elizabeth’s soothing voice. “Shh, darling. It was only a dream.”

Almost immediately he relaxed under her touch. Will breathed out a heavy sigh. “It felt so real.”

“It is nothing more than a cruel trick from your subconscious. You are here now, you’re home.”

Home. It had been a week since his return and it still felt surreal. Will tightly gripped her hand rested on his chest, as if he were seeking reassurance from her touch. When he did not say anything, his wife gently pressed, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I do not think my dreams are something you would want to hear,” Will weakly chuckled.

Elizabeth rested her chin on his shoulder. “I have time,” she said. Her words could not be truer – with the curse broken, they had all the time in the world; whether it was a moment or several hours. There was nothing to separate them this time, and that Will took comfort in.

“My dream was not a dream, but more of a reflection of my time on the Flying Dutchman,” Will began. “I was alone and above me was the dark sky, and the ocean all around me. But I was alone; not even my crew was there. It was only myself and…the souls.” He took a deep breath. “During my time as Captain, I witnessed many things, Elizabeth. Sorrow, anger, peace. What has never left my memory were the souls of small children requiring my guidance. Some were even infants. I lost count of how many children I ferried to the other side.”

“Oh, Will…” Elizabeth was speechless. She did not know what to say. What could she say? The memory would always be with him, as would every single moment of his servitude aboard the ghost ship. There was little comfort she could offer, but perhaps tonight she could ease his troubled heart. “You did your duty, and you did it well. Beyond well, even. Those days are no longer, though. No more will those chains bind you to that terrible fate. You are here with us now. Never again will you have to endure another moment of that curse.”

“And yet it feels as if my duty still calls to me,” Will sighed.

Lifting her hand to his jaw, Elizabeth tilted his head so that he was looking at her. She smiled lovingly. “You have a new duty now. To be with your family and to carry out the rest of your days with them.”

Will’s lips twitched. “And to make more babies?” he added teasingly.

“Many more babies,” Elizabeth corrected matter-of-factly.

“Oh, my mistake, Mrs. Turner.”

“King.”

This time, Will smiled widely. She never truly gave up the title. “My mistake, King.”

Pleased with his answer, Elizabeth smiled, raising her chin. “Let not those pesky nightmares steal you of your peace,” she said, reaching up and trailing the tips of her fingers down his cheek. “That is behind us now. We will look forward to the future.”

“Do you command that as King?”

“No.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck. “I command that as your wife.”

“Surely there is no greater wisdom than the words of her,” Will murmured, lowering his head and brushed his lips against hers. “This I promise you - your wish is my command, Mrs. Turner.”

[sassqueenblake]

Willabeth was my very first OTP, so they are very near and dear to my heart. POTC has been my favorite film series since I was 8 years old, almost 14 years ago. The re-awoken Willabeth feels that I have after seeing DMTNT today are so flipping strong, y'all.

[delectorable-blog1]

Is everyone prepared for the next chapter of the Salazar x OC fanfic????? (Should be out in the next 15 mins!)

[lilolilyr]

Together at Last

Pirates of the Caribbean 5

300w (1k series )

Female!Henry Turner/Carina Smyth | Barbossa

——————————

A week could not be more confusing than the one Carina just had.

She had been the target of several witch hunts, even though at the first one she hadn’t believed in anything supernatural yet- a believe soon to be turned, and suddenly she was searching for an ancient trident and running from the dead.

Carina did not like this turn of events at all, and ‘Captain’ Jack Sparrow (not to be confused with tiny cleptomaniac monkey Jack), despite apparently already knowing about the supernatural, and being terribly drunk most of the time, seemed to share the sentiment in concern of dead men walking. 

The Turner boy, who had been awkwardly flirting with her since the beginning (and it had only gotten worse since Jack started giving him advice), turned out not to be a boy at all despite her manners and attire, and Carina found that she didn’t mind- and not because she didn’t want Henry anyways, she quite liked her, and maybe, once everything had quieted down, they could be more than friends…

She had sailed with pirates, dead and undead, evil and good alike… the latter not always so easy to identify, Barbossa, who had first seemed to be the most obvious opponent, turned out to be weirdly supportive of herself, and then-

After barely enough time to register who- what, the man was to her, she had to watch her father plunge into the deep.

 Barbossa. She was a Barbossa, and an orphan all over again.  

The evil defeated, back on dry land, she stood shoulder to shoulder with Henry, watching her parents reuniting and the Black Pearl sailing to the horizon.

Carina had lost her father, but she found herself a family.

——————————

Originally posted on Ao3

[i-am-the-sage]

Who might start writing POTC fanfic?

Thiiiiiiiis giiiiiiiirl 😁 I felt so inspired after the movie! I didn't get to see the after credits scene but I'm going to see it again soon!

[sserpente]

FINALLY, CAPTN' JACK'S ON THE LIST. YOU DON'T KNOW HOW LONG I HAVE WAITED FOR THIS.

REALLY?! OMG, seriously though, I’ve been crushing on him for years and now that PotC5 came out, Jack literally swept me off my feet again. Tumblr was my first call after that and I fucking can’t find enough fanfiction and Imagines so I guess I’ll have to take care of it myself. 🤣

[intricatecaprice]

No Rescue For The Wicked

To never be rescued, to never leave, to be forever living dead apparitions of themselves as they had died… is it any wonder Capitán Salazar and his men became such cold-blooded killers? Warnings: Descriptions of blood and violence

Word Count: 1715

Spanish Translations at End (Don’t worry, there’s only three separate phrases!)

Ghosts may not sleep, but they can dream.

Armando knows this, because he dreams.

Alive, he had ignored his dreams, in spite of his superstitious grandmother’s firm warning that as the Capitán, he must always heed them.

Dead, his dreams were more than the vague warnings he’d previously received. No, now his dreams were as lucid as a vision from the Virgin Mary herself: wondrous - but also depressing and confusing.

He dreams of being free. Of blue skies over his head, and the wide expanse of sea before him, and the Devil’s Triangle crumbling behind. He dreams of a young man, a boy really, staring at him with terrified eyes. But he dreams most frequently of an island that looks as if the heavens had come down to rest on it, a strange-looking Trident, and a beautiful woman with bright eyes, holding it… he wonders what the dreams mean.

When he is not dreaming, Armando remembers. 

He remembers the moments after he and his crew had first arisen in their new forms. The overwhelming despair and horror - and the bitter rage that filled him as he stood for the first time on the surface of the inky black waters, staring at the wreck of La María Silenciosa. Knowing he had died, and yet was somehow still alive.

He remembers the first time he saw the ship.

He’d heard tales of it before – a ship that collected all the souls lost at sea. A ship that escorted them to the Next Place - wherever and whatever that Place was. He wasn’t sure anymore if there even was a place would accept a cursed man like him. But alive, he’d dismissed stories of a ship that came for your soul as fanciful falsehoods.

“I put my trust in Heaven and the Saints, I trust a true Spanish ship and a truer faith.” He’d said once to Lieutenant Lesaro. “There is no such ship as a ‘Flying Dutchman’!”

But now, dead and cursed, he knew those tales were true.

He remembers watching the blinding sunlight knifing sharply through the lopsided stone arch to their prison, as it rose up from underneath the waves. Perhaps it had only been seconds since their death. Perhaps days. But it was the first ship they had seen, and at first it had filled them all with hope.

“¡Es en barco!” His crew had cried, watching in wonder.

As one, Armando’s men instinctively leapt onto the water, running towards it. In their desperation to flag it down, they didn’t acknowledge the strangeness of the fact that they were running on the water for the first time. Their focus was on the ship that somehow, intuitively, they knew had come for them. But Armando did not go with them. No, he stayed on the deck of La María Silenciosa, for the first time forced to admit that he was unwilling to leave a world that might still have his murderer breathing in it. He watched as his men reached the rocky entrance, watched when they realised they could not proceed. They tried, again and again, to get through – but to no avail. An invisible force kept them prisoner. They were trapped.

The mysterious ship remained for some time, just beyond the edge of the arch.

“¿Por que no entra?” They cried out to one another. “¿Por que no nos rescata?”

But there was no rescuing for them.

After several fruitless minutes, the ship slipped slowly beneath the waves.

He still sees it, every now and then, sailing past the entrance to their prison. But it never ventures in.

He remembers the first time a merchant ship entered the Devil’s Triangle. How eager his crew were to board the ship! They had all been so hopeful of rescue, of somehow being allowed to leave. They’d hoped that with a different ship under their ghostly feet, the Triangle would release its hold on them. That they could sail out. But they had forgotten in that desperate moment of hope the awful horror of their appearance. The look on the sailors’ faces when they saw the disfigured Capitán and his crew …

Brandishing a golden crucifix in plump little hands, a pompous-looking man in richly embroidered clothes pushed forward, denouncing the ‘devils’ in the name of ‘Cristos’.

He brought back memories to Armando. Memories of the rich noblemen he’d known once in Cadiz. The ones who’d mocked his destitute mother, after the shame of his father’s treason sent him to prison, and her to the whorehouses to earn money. The ones who’d refused to even see him when he’d gone, humiliated and desperate, to beg for their assistance to find her. The ones who’d ridden by on their fine horses, while he tried to wrap his threadbare coat around his frail mother’s shoulders on the side of the road, and sneered.

The merchant shook the crucifix in his face with so much assurance that it would force his departure, that Armando had laughed.

“Christ denounced fat old thieves like you,” he told him in Spanish, his blackened lips stretching over his teeth.

The man’s face went purple, his jowls wobbling in rage as he cried, “Avaunt, foul demon! Go back to the black pit you crawled from, and release us good Christian men!”

How easy it had been for Armando to slide his sword through that fat gut, watching as the rolls of rich velvet-covered flesh almost closed over the hilt. He had to shove him backwards in order to pull it out, the fat man falling to the deck with a look of utter disbelief. The crucifix had slid from his stubby fingers, tumbling into the spreading blood as he breathed his last.

In terror, half the merchant’s men had panicked, and attempted to fight their ghostly invaders; while the other half tried to steer their ship out of the godforsaken place.

But that day Armando learned that once a ship had entered The Devil’s Triangle, it could not leave – so long as Armando and his men were aboard. Try as they might, the invisible force kept pushing them back, even as the ship lurched forward. They all saw that the Devil’s Triangle was never going to let them go. He never forgot his men’s despairing faces in that second, never forgot the way their desperation twisted their cracked grey features, or the way it twisted his own cracked heart. They deserved freedom, but there was no freedom for them. They had died, they were cursed, but they were trapped – while the ones who had done it to them had gone free. And how that realisation had enraged Armando! How it had enraged his men!

They’d begun to slaughter wholesale, giving vent to their feelings until the deck was slick with blood. He remembers the thrill he felt when La María Silenciosa awoke for the first time, as though the blood and fury called to her. The awe and the delight that filled him as she reared up and smashed her great carcass down on the luckless merchant vessel. The slither of regret as he and his crew stood on the inky waters once more, surveying the wreckage as it sank.

He remembers, some months later, the very first pirates that sailed with arrogant bravado through the black waters towards them, mocking jeers spouting from their reckless mouths. He remembers how, after the satisfying crunch of broken bone under his foot and the spray of blood across their faces, he held the few remaining survivors trembling at sword point. And how it came to him in that moment to ask if perhaps they knew of a certain pirate, one that might have boasted of killing the infamous El Matador Del Mar, the Butcher of the Sea.

It was the first time he promised to spare one of them – but only if they could answer his questions. How eager they were to save themselves by telling him any name, every name! It had been difficult to ascertain what the truth was – and what was desperate lies.

But, over the years, one name became the consistent answer: Jack Sparrow.

“Jack… Sparrow?” He’d questioned the name when he first heard it. “Is that his… real name?”

And no.

It was a name he’d earned.

Apparently, because of the way he’d mocked Capitán Salazar from the crows’ nest that day, like a tiny sparrow.

As though chirping out his threats across the waves to El Matador Del Mar was no more consequential a thing than the actions of the mere little birds that hopped along the gutters, pecking up crumbs. As though it had been easy.

So easy, that only a tiny and inconsequential Sparrow had been all it took, to defeat him.

When the trembling pirate explained this to Salazar, he became a storm of bloodshed.

“Sparrow?” He’d screamed in pain and fury, slashing and hacking with his sword. “Sparrow!?”

He left no survivors that time.

One time, a trembling coward, eager to be spared, babbled long and nonsensically on Jack Sparrow – about a swan, and a pearl, and a mutiny. But it wasn’t until the man spoke of a compass that he had the Capitán’s full attention. For the pirate described something exactly like the small box he’d seen swinging from that insolent boy’s hand moments before they’d sailed to their doom. He learned that it pointed to what its owner wanted most, and that Jack Sparrow rarely let go of it.

After that, other pirates gave him varying tales of the Sparrow losing the compass to a witch, or stealing it back. Or even, incredibly, giving it to others – but strangely, never selling it.

Over the years, Capitán Armando Salazar becomes convinced that this compass is the key to their freedom. That one day, he and his men will leave the Devil’s Triangle. He starts to believe that the compass is the gatekeeper, their gaoler; its magic the invisible barrier holding them inside their dark prison. One day, when Jack Sparrow grows tired of living, he will no longer want the compass. And then, the compass will release them. How exactly it will come about, though, he does not know. But he does know with a deep certainty that one day, he will be free.

Because he dreams it.

——————-

SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:

Es en barco - It’s a ship

¿Por que no entra? - Why won’t it come in?

¿Por que no nos rescata? - Why don’t you rescue us?

If you liked this oneshot, please leave a comment either here or on Ao3 ❤

[montmartre-parapluie]

Chapter 9 of La Viuda Marina! In which Theresa has a further interview with her mercurial captor...

[an-unusual-pirate]

Here’s my only completed fic, lol. It talks about the woman Jack woke up with in the bank in DMTNT. I am considering turning it into a more in depth story, but I’m not sure where I would go with it. 

I also got a complaint that it wasn’t more “steamy” and let me just say, you do not want me writing steamy stuff. So with that, enjoy the one shot, haha. 

[montmartre-parapluie]

Well, despite coming down with the dreaded cold, I ‘d already written out the meat of this chapter - so here you go! A Sunday update. Complete with sea-journeys,portents that all is Not Well in the Caribbean, and a guest appearance by an ominous bird of ill omen...

@tockamybeloved & @intricatecaprice: Just to warn you, a certain character managed to elbow their way into a cameo in this chapter, even though they are CLEARLY supposed to wait decently until Chapter 4 for their entrance...