#potc5 fic

[apirateslifeforme123]

A Prince of Pirates, part 1 / 5.

"We can't do this."

She always said that, but they always did it anyway.

This thing that burned between them was stronger than words, stronger than vows made in haste during a battle on a pirate ship.

He visited her in the royal chambers often, a galleon suspended above the Cove in an inexplicable defiance of gravity. Perhaps he had little self-control these days, but her body was his truth. Her lips, his salvation. In her eyes he saw a man who he might actually like to be someday. Not all treasure is silver and gold, and the greatest treasure Jack had ever found lay between these sheets, her hallowed skin pressed against his in a sacred embrace.

I love you.

She'd said it once in the throes of passion, a breathless oath torn from kiss-swollen lips, their bodies so entwined neither could tell where one stopped and the other began.

He did not say it back, could not say it back, but he'd kissed her hard and prayed she could taste the truth on his tongue.

She was the only woman for him.

They did it anyway, until the day Elizabeth said no and meant it. They were hurting Will, she said, dark circles under her eyes. He could feel it. She could feel it. That heart beat within its chest like an angry drum, sitting on her desk in her study. She no longer slept for the nightmares of her childhood love covered in barnacles, become another terrible abomination of the sea.

Jack had been shot in the chest once. Well, twice, to be exact. Neither time hurt as much as this.

She told him not to come back, so he didn't. Not even when he heard through the Caribbean grape vine that the Pirate King was ripe with child, big as a frigate and ready to burst. Not even when he heard she had borne a son, and named him Henry Turner.

Perhaps Jack had smiled a little at that. Henry, after Henry Morgan, no doubt, her favorite pirate. She had told him so once on a deserted island, when the fire had burned low and they were full to the gills with rum. A man who brought the Spanish empire to its knees, sacking port after port in multiple acts of daring and cunning, and brought mountains of gold back to Port Royal.

A fitting name for a prince of pirates.

Jack lifted his rum bottle and drank a toast to the son he would never know. He did not stop drinking until the blackness of a merciful oblivion embraced him.

There’s only so much a man can take.

[newsical]

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.

[montmartre-parapluie]

La Viuda Marina Update

Hi guys! A quick update: I'm hoping to have Chapter 20 posted by the end of this weekend - as soon as Salazar finishes getting his 'what I did instead of movie-canon' backstory straight with Theresa...

[intricatecaprice]

Two years ago today ...

I started to write my first ever PotC fanfics. I didn't post them straight away, it took me a month before I got the courage to put them onto Ao3...

But back on the 19th January, 2018, I tentatively posted the very first chapter of my very first longfic on Ao3. I’d never ever posted anything for the PotC fandom before January 2018 either... and nearly two years later, I’m still writing for PotC5. I regret nothing.

My first ever long fic was El Infierno by Senneres on Ao3.

Anyone else want to share the very first fic they ever wrote for the PotC fandom?

Share a link to your first ever PotC fanfic, and tag three or more other writers to do the same!

I’m tagging @blukoffee @tockamybeloved @ninjacat1515 @mysticalgalaxysalad

[parjiljehavey]

@cheshire0824 @ninjacat1515 @capitanarmandosalazar @piratesangel

When La Maria Silenciosa departed from Almería at the end of the week, it was in the middle of the night as to attract less attention as they set sail. 

Marisol and Carlos had arrived early the day before, both deciding that traveling in their other forms would save time. They met Santos at an Inn they checked into near the docks. 

“Carlos, mi amigo!” Santos had embraced her brother and Carlos returned it. 

“Hola, Santos! Everyone is here and ready?” 

Santos had shrugged, “Almost everyone. We’re waiting for Moss and Fuego to finish rounding up the food for the voyage.” He noticed the woman standing next to his friend, “Oo, who’s the pretty chica?”

Carlos smiled, “This is my sister, Marisol.”

“Pleasure to meet you, senorita.”  Santos gave a bow and grinned. “You never told me she was this pretty.” 

Marisol laughed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Officer Santos.” Marisol looked at her brother with a teasing smirk. “What my brother has told as all been good things, I hope.” 

“Si, si. He never shut up about you when we were in the Triangle.” Santos pouted and began speaking with a dramatic flair, “’Oh, my poor sister. How she must be worried.’“ 

Carlos had playfully growled at him. “I was much more dignified than that!” 

Marisol smiled at the memory of her brother interacting with his fellow officer. Then her worries for her daughter became forefront, they hadn’t been apart since Marisol’s dormancy and Esperanza had cried so loudly at her departure that Marisol had heard her child a mile from the manor. Little Lancha would be well looked after with Teresa and Julian there, more likely than not Marisol would return to find her child spoiled rotten. 

She could hear the crew bustling about as the Maria headed out to sea. Orders were given and responses said. Marisol turned and browsed the books in her lodgings. They were Armando’s that he’d been kind enough to loan for the journey. 

One title caught her interest and Marisol began to read. She sat down and became engrossed in the book quickly. When there was a knock at the door, she barely remembered to answer. “Enter.” 

Armando came in, shutting the door behind him. He regarded her for a moment, reading and sitting. “I trust you find your lodgings appropriate.” 

“Si. Thank you for accommodating me, Capitan.” Marisol turned a page, “Now for the reason why you are here.” 

“Well, there are rules aboard my ship and I expect you to follow them.” 

“Si, si. You may run your vessel as you please, Armando. I will not pretend to know anything about sailing.” 

Armando sighed, “Why did I agree to let you come?”

“Because I’d have been in Castellón when you made port, anyway.” Marisol shrugged, turning a page in her book. Armando chuckled. He sat down opposite of her and watched her for a moment. 

“When we arrive, where do we begin the search?” He was asking for her opinion, he knew he didn’t have to, but she was just as invested as he was. 

Marisol closed the book and set it in her lap. “It would be best to start with the merchant families. They know everything and everyone who comes through Castellón; if anyone knows where Gaspard is, it’ll be them.” 

“And if they prove to be.. reluctant?” 

“Then I do hope you are gifted with persuasion or hypnosis.” 

They continued to speak for three hours, during which Armando learned the names of the merchant families, where they lived, which warehouses belonged to what family, and the politics of it all. 

“While they may make a show of being united, any way to gain an upper hand over the other families will be taken.” Marisol had set the book aside entirely, focusing entirely on educating him with what she knew. 

“Also, bear in mind, that while half of the families are vampires or have loyalties to us, the other half are human and support the slayers.” 

Armando growled, “So we must be cautious for silver weapons.” 

“Si, that’s correct.” 

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Marisol leaned forward and patted his knee, “Take heart. You have a good crew and they’re strong fighters. I have faith in you all.” 

[essilt]

Fic: What’s done with love is done well (Chapter 5)

[thejojosanctuary]

I’m back!

Hey guys! Mod Ghost here and I’m finally back ^w^ sorry for taking longer than I anticipated but I really needed the time to pull things back together but now that I’m a bit better and ready to get back into the swing of things!

I’ll be honest and say idk if I’ll be posting any content today but keep on the lookout just in case!

Thanks for understanding~!

- Ghost

[hensleywrites]

batb 30 days writing challenge

10. sand

the sand is warm beneath his feet as adam walks out onto the beach, the sun beating down on his already highlighted hair. for a moment, he takes it all in - the cool, ocean breeze, the sound of the waves hitting against the shore, and the salty scent of the water filling his nose. he takes a few steps forward, letting the cool water run over his warming feet. he feels at peace...

until suddenly he finds a hand pressing against his side, feet slipped out from under him as he's pushed onto the soft ground and into the wading water, muddy chunks of sand flying into the air from the impact.

“hey!” he says, glancing around to find the source of this. he hears soft laughter, causing his squinted blue eyes to find a pair of chocolate brown, which light up in amusement. “what was that for?”

“you looked like you​ needed to cool off,” the other man says simply, before kneeling, straddling adam's waist as his hands move to grip his wrists, pinning him to the ground. adam huffs out a breath from the added weight, to which the other man only giggles again.

“you love me,” he says. adam rolls his eyes.

“we’ll see,” he says, smile tugging on the corner of his lips. the other man only grins before ducking down, pressing his lips to the blond’s. he tastes like the ocean, salty with a hint of sweetness. he's warm, though, tanned skin slightly heated in the sunlight. adam doesn't mind, though. he has cool water against his back and a warm boy in his lap. he couldn't possibly ask for more.

[jurijurijurious]

A snippet of Barbossabeth...

Here’s a sample of the Barbossabeth fanfic I found. The story itself only exists as lots of unfinished chapters that need threading together. I’ll hopefully give it some love when I find time, I think it’ll be worth the effort and a bit of fun, but I’m a bit rusty with my PotC fics - this draft is over 10 years old in itself.

It seems I had the idea to have a narrator begin or interrupt the chapters, then told the rest as a regular third-person narrative. It was also written pre-Potc4 and PotC5 but they might even help inspire an AU-type parallel story.

Anyway, you’re welcome to message me with comments if ye feel so inclined.

“Mate, if you choose to lock your heart away, you’ll lose [Elizabeth] for certain.”--Jack Sparrow to Will Turner, PotC: AWE

Chapter [x]: A Divulgatory Mood

Elizabeth followed Barbossa out of the tavern, glad to be free from the acrid aroma of rum, blood and sweat which hung around like an unmovable miasma within.  The night air in the street was not much better, though; the foul stench of alcohol out here mingled with vomit and raw sewage.  Tortuga was the gutter of civilisation, and yet it had a certain appeal to it.  Besides the fact it was the last free port, it was something of a haven, an escape from the outside world of law and order.  It was little wonder that many pirates in these waters rarely made port anywhere else, and spent the majority of their lives out on the seas.

Barbossa seemed to know Tortuga extremely well – far better than Elizabeth – and she wondered where exactly they were heading as he took her on a winding stroll down multiple, dark back alleys, from which out of the crevices they were monitored by wary gazes and hungry eyes.

“Where are we going?” she asked him at length, striding up to his side and angling her head up toward his.  “I’m beginning to suspect you’re taking me in circles.”

He favoured her with a little smile, his eyes twinkling.  “Ye’re as bright as ever, aren’t ye?”

She stopped in her tracks, feet sliding into a thick pile of mud, and she gaped at him.  “You are taking me in circles?” she asked in horror.

“Well, nawt exactly in circles,” Barbossa replied as he turned casually back to face her, placing one hand on his hip and the other on the butt of his flintlock.  “More like back and forth and side to side. Criss-crossing.”

She blinked, a frown creasing her brow.  “Why?”

He chuckled, giving her a once over with his eyes.  “Perhaps nawt so bright, then,” he murmured.

He watched how her lips tautened and her eyes flared at him, infuriated by the insult, which only caused him to laugh some more.

“My dear Mrs Turner, can ye think o’ no reason I’d take ye on a long and winding stroll?”

Her gaze tightened on his person, thinking on this for a moment.  “So that I might not know the way back?” she queried.

“P’raps,” he said before he gestured for her to come close.  Reluctantly, she did, but did not to let her expression waver.  Her face remained frigid and cold.

Barbossa put an arm round her shoulder, and she baulked, but he held her firm as he then whispered in her ear, “It’s more so we might throw off anyone who be following us.”

Elizabeth relaxed as she realised that he was one step ahead of her.  She still had much to learn, it would seem.  And perhaps, even now, he still aimed to teach her.

He released her with a pat to the shoulder and continued on his way, Elizabeth tailing him like a loyal dog shadowing its master.  There were more turns ahead, then a couple of passes through other unsavoury taverns, where they entered through one door and left by another.  Sinister eyes hawked at them both as they passed through, which left Elizabeth in no doubt that they were not welcome– or at least that she wasn’t.

As they emerged back into the streets, Barbossa made a turn to the left whilst overstepping several chickens that were loose in the alley, and Elizabeth, tired of this aimless trek, opened her mouth to protest.  She was silenced before she even had chance to begin, though, as a couple of extravagantly dressed ladies suddenly emerged from a doorway and closed in on Barbossa like lionesses to a kill.

“You in need of a spot of company tonight, sir?” the first asked, a tall blonde in a lush, red dress.  She slinked up to Barbossa and ran her hands up his chest whilst Elizabeth just stood and gaped.

“I thank ye, no,” Barbossa replied in what Elizabeth felt was far too easy a manner, and she watched the charmer in him flare up as he threw the woman a grin and gently moved her hands aside.  He was a clear old hand at this game.

“I have other business to attend to tonight,” he continued, tapping the lady under the chin before turning to carry on his way.

Elizabeth made a step to follow but stopped again as the second woman, this one a brunette garbed in rich purple, walked around Barbossa and took a hold of him from behind.  “Oh, surely you can fit a little bit extra on the side?” she cajoled, one hand sliding over his shoulder whilst she settled the other on the butt of his flintlock and began to rub it.  “You won’t be disappointed.”

Elizabeth could not help but gawp even more.  She wasn’t sure whether these two women were competing for the Captain, or whether they were asking him to come and ‘play’ with the pair of them; either way, she wasn’t sure what shocked her more – their open advances, or the fact that it was this man they were trying to draw some business from.  Surely there were other more appealing prospects on the streets of Tortuga…?

Barbossa, meanwhile, took hold of the second lady’s hands and removed them from his person, before he brought her round before him in a very gentlemanly manner and then bent to kiss her hand.  “Apologies, m’dears,” he said again, “but I can’t engage yer services tonight.”

And it was then that the two wenches deigned to notice Elizabeth who stood a short distance behind him.  Their eyes took in her breeches and jacket, her messy hair shoved beneath an uneven tricorn, and they sneered in disgust.

“You’re not with that thing are you?” the blonde spat.

Barbossa looked back at Elizabeth, face betraying nothing.  “Aye, but fer business, nawt fer pleasure.”

Elizabeth for some reason felt affronted by his choice of words, so folded her arms and cocked a brow at him.  “Then shall we get on to some business, Captain?” she pressed.

She saw the flicker of Barbossa’s brow telling her to keep quiet, but she was hardly in the mood any more.  Elizabeth Turner did not take to being snubbed lightly.  But her attention was drawn aside from Barbossa as the brunette cackled wildly at her.

“My word, look at her!” jested the whore. “I half thought her a youth!  There’s nothing womanly about her.”

Elizabeth glared at the woman, hand twitching for the pistol in her belt.

Barbossa ambled quickly between them, sliding an arm round the brunette and guiding her off toward the side of the alley.  “Like I said, m’dear, I have business with this young lady.  Nothing more.”

“I hope so,” the brunette scoffed.  “Ye be a Captain, right?  And a Captain deserves pleasuring by a real woman,” She ran a finger up his body, fingered the necklace over his chest, then tickled him lightly under the chin.  “Not a skinny wretch of a girl with not a curve or figure to show for herself.”

“What did you say about me?” Elizabeth yelled, fingers curving round the butt of her pistol.

The brunette flexed her fingers as if readying herself for a good catfight.  “You heard me, cabin boy.”

The blonde rounded behind Elizabeth, the pair closing in on her predators, but Barbossa stepped between them all, took a hold of Elizabeth under an elbow, and then put a hand to the hilt of his cutlass, eyeing the ladies steadily.  “I don’t want any trouble, m’dears,” he said to all three, eyeing them each in turn.

The two wenches glared at Elizabeth once more before turning their eyes upon the Captain.  His fierce eyes told them he was being deadly serious and they knew that, with hand upon his sword, he was not a man to mess with.  They backed down.

“It’s your loss, handsome,” the brunette grumbled, brushing up against him as much as she dared as she slid past him and left.

“We’ll still be here if you change yer mind,” the blonde added.  “When you want to remember what a real woman feels like.”

Barbossa watched them both disappear then rolled his eyes and pushed Elizabeth on ahead.  “On with ye,” he said, marching after her.  “We’re nearly there.”

Elizabeth straightened her clothes out with more ferocity than was necessary and kicked up a pile of mud in anger.  “I could have taken those tarts!” she snarled.

“I’ve no doubt,” Barbossa rallied.  “But it’ll do ye no good to be harming the locals, yer Highness.  This is their territory and ye be signing nuthin’ but your own death warrant if ye touch any o’ them.”

“You heard what they called me!  I don’t have to take that kind of talk from any one!  I’m a pirate lord, I’m –”

“Clam up,” he snapped shortly.  “They make their living off o’ men, and they’ll attack anyone they think might be takin’ some business off their hands.  They’re survivors, just like you and me.”

“Well they needn’t worry about me taking away their ‘business’,” she sighed, her fists clenching and anger fizzling within her like a lit fuse, burning through her veins.  She was suddenly filled with a feeling of restlessness and, for some reason, inadequacy, and it did not sit well with her.

“Just because I choose not to flaunt myself in public…” she mumbled on.

Barbossa rolled his eyes again before he realised they were near their destination and he quickly stepped up to Elizabeth’s side, put and arm round her, and turned her into the next doorway.

“Let it go, Mrs Turner.  They were cheap shots, don't take 'em personally. We have more import'nt business to discuss.”  And with a burst of cheekiness, he added, “Ye be married anyway.”

He didn’t look to see her face.

------------------------

The seeds of uncertainty are sown in the most unlikely of places. Elizabeth was unhinged by how easily the wenches had hit a weak spot in her person, making her suddenly very self-conscious.  But why did it bother her?  She had never cared before that she was not as comely as other women – in fact it had often played to her advantage to be otherwise.  Perhaps what had truly unhinged her was how attractive the wenches had appeared to find Barbossa.  Even if they were simply coating their words in honey to get his business, it cut her deep to feel so suddenly alone – even an older pirate was not short of company, but she… she had no choice but to isolate herself, for she was, as Barbossa had reminded her, a married woman.  The man she loved was out at sea, cursed to serve for an eternity aboard the Flying Dutchman, like Davy Jones before him, and was allowed but one day in a decade to come ashore and see “she who loved him”.

Sometimes love is just not enough.

----------------------------

The ramshackle building into which Barbossa led Elizabeth was leaning over on its rotting timber frames, as if it were as drunk on the foul Tortuga air as the town’s many denizens.  Inside it was a dark and gloomy place, and had it not been for the man in the corner, sat alone with a bottle of rum at one of the many tables (each of which was nothing more than an upturned barrel), Elizabeth would not have thought this to be a public house.

Barbossa strode over the straw-covered floor with the utmost care, as if he were expecting, at any moment, for an ambush might be sprung on him. His eyes searched the dark and empty interior, studying any gaps in the walls and any doors left ajar, his eyes lingering in particular on the lonely stranger on the far side of the room, but he was ultimately satisfied that he and his companion were safe (at least for the time being), and took a seat at a table right in the centre of the room.  He opened his hand to the stool on the opposite side of the table and Elizabeth, giving it a brief derogatory look, then seated herself before him.

A man in a soiled apron materialised all of a sudden from a backroom, and ambled across to the pair.  Elizabeth felt a little uncomfortable toward him; he was middle aged with greying hair, but it was his eyes, a pair of tiny but piecing black orbs, which really unsettled her.  She almost felt that he had the ability to peer straight into one’s soul.

Barbossa nodded his head at the man before asking for a couple of mugs of beer and flicked a few coins his way.

Elizabeth edged backwards as the man’s hand hit the table, gathered up the coins in a slow, slithering movement, before he pocketed the money and disappeared into the back another time.

Barbossa read Elizabeth’s frown before she even realised she had turned to stare after the man, and he said, “Ye’ve no need to fear ol’ Frank.  He’s a trustworthy soul.”

Elizabeth looked unconvinced.  “Just like you?” she retorted, which made the Captain laugh.

There was a snort from the man in the far corner, which made Elizabeth turn to cast a glance at him, but he appeared not to even have moved. Even more confused than ever, she returned her sights to Barbossa, who leant over the table and said, “Right, let us talk Jack Sparrow.”

“Why’s it your business?”

“Because he has something I need.  That’s why.”

Elizabeth smiled, lacing her fingers together and leaning her chin atop of them.  “Ah, so we’re back to bartering information?”

“Bartering?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.  “And what might we be bartering.”

There was a slosh of liquid as Frank slammed two pitchers of beer onto the table, then left again into the backroom.  Barbossa waited until he was gone, and looked Elizabeth hard in the face.  “Well?”

Elizabeth picked up the mug and sniffed at the contents, wrinkling her nose at it.  “What’s this? Smells like a latrine.”

“So what if it is?  I bought it fer yer so ye drink it.”

“But it might be poisoned,” she rallied jokingly.

“Oh, there’d be no point in killing ye, Mrs Turner. Nawt yet.”

She threw him a sultry smirk.  They were treading again on old boards and it was, for some reason, comforting.  She took a sip of the beer, found it to taste a lot more pleasant than she had anticipated, and then said, “Rumour has it you plan to find the fabled Aqua de Vida. Is it true?”

Barbossa took a long draft if his drink before he said, “Aye.  And whose loose tongue divulged that to ye?”

“Oh, just someone, somewhere.” Her eyes sparkled at him and Barbossa knew she’d be giving no more than that away.  She had certainly learnt well.

“News travels fast, Captain,” she continued, teasingly, “particularly when Jack Sparrow is at the head of the trail.”

Barbossa sat back and regarded her carefully.  She didn’t look like much, it was true, but the greatest danger always lay with those which were easy to underestimate.  Elizabeth had the advantages of not only appearing quite plain, but also of being a woman in a man’s world, and she used these cards against her foes with great skill and zest. He recalled that his initial relationship with Elizabeth had revolved around the pair of them constantly underestimating one another. After Calypso had brought him back to life he had been faced with the task of working alongside Elizabeth Swann again and it seemed that neither he nor the young woman had wanted to make the same mistakes with each other that they had the first time; and so a form of mutual trust had been formed between them, an unsaid promise that neither of them underestimate the other.  In truth, they were equals, and any conflict between them would quickly degenerate into a vicious circle of trickery and deceit.  At least when they were a team, their resources were pooled and their energies well spent, which in turn produced results.  There was no doubt that, had either one of them not been present at their last battle against the East India Trading Company, the enterprise would not have been a success.  A remarkable thought if ever there was one.

Barbossa smiled fondly at this memory before he said, “What interest is the Fountain of Youth to ye?”

“Does it matter?”

His brow rose.  “I guess nawt.  But ye be a pirate lord and pirate king these days.  Why don’t ye go off with your own men to find the treasure, if that be all that interests ye?”

“Because I don’t know how to get there.”

Barbossa’s eyes lit up.  Then there was still plenty left to barter for.  “I see.  Well, fortunately, I do – or at least I will do whenever we get Jack back.”

“So he has the location?” she inferred.

Barbossa nodded. “Aye.”

She leaned over the table toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper as she said, fixing him with a dark stare, “I do hope this isn’t another island which you can only find if you know where it is?”

Barbossa shook his head and chortled.  “Nay, it’s not.  I’d hold no hope of extracting the information from Jack if it were, either.  If he’s got any sense, he won’t likely trust me with such information again.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth concurred, taking another sip of her beer.  “So Jack has the directions?”

“Aye.”

“On a map…?”

“As is customary.”

“Why does he need the map?  Doesn’t his compass work for this?”

“Oh, aye, I’m sure it works fine if he can set his mind to it.  But if he has the map, then I don’t.  That’s the point.”

Elizabeth laughed – typical men, in constant competition with one another!

“And what makes you think Jack hasn’t gone off to find it on his own?”

“I’m nawt saying he hasn’t, but unless he’s commandeered another ship and got himself another crew, I find it unlikely.  Besides, he loves the Pearl too much.  He’ll want her back sooner or later.”

Elizabeth’s lips slid up into a smug smile.  “Well fortunately for you, he hasn’t got himself a ship or a crew.”

Barbossa laughed, expecting as much.  “Didn’t think so.  So, where be he now?”

“Locked up.”

Barbossa groaned.  “Locked up?  Ye mean we’ve got to spring him from gaol?”

Elizabeth held his eyes.  “It wouldn’t be the first time, now, would it?”

“Not fer some,” he replied.  “And what’s he gone down fer now, might I ask?”

“Oh I don’t know.  You could fill a book with the crimes that man’s committed.  They probably took a pin and stuck it randomly onto a list and charged him for it.”

Barbossa took a couple of swallows of his drink then slammed the pitcher down with a slosh.  “It’s bloody careless of him… especially after everything that’s happened!”

Elizabeth didn’t seem so irritated.  “He’s Jack Sparrow.  You expected anything less?”

Barbossa eyed her sharply.  “I expected never to have ta see his sorry carcass again.  Why is it that I always end up running after him, or him after me?”

Elizabeth made a mocking shrug.  “Maybe it’s destiny, Captain.  Or a curse.”

Barbossa scoffed.  “Don’t dishearten me.”  He then looked over her countenance carefully and said, “So what is it ye be wanting in return fer this generous sharing o’ information?”

Elizabeth sat back, smugness written across her features.  “I want a part of the prize.”

Barbossa blink then choked out a laugh of disbelief.  “Ye want some of the fountain of youth?  You’re still but a girl yeself!”

That didn’t impress her in the slightest. “Am I? Well, this girl might be able to sell her information elsewhere.”  She got to her feet, ready to leave, and was surprised at first when Barbossa didn’t rise to stop her; he wasn’t as easily swayed as the others.

“Ye may walk out that door, missy, but ye ain’t got a clue where ye be going.”

Elizabeth’s expression faded to slight panic.  He was right.  Perhaps this was also why he had chosen to bring her on the most winding, confusing of routes to this secretive little place.  And she knew that more than mere wenches might be waiting in the dark and narrow backstreets of this seedy underworld.  She could handle a sword; she could look after herself; but she was one woman lost in a dark underworld, it perhaps wouldn't be wise to go out there alone.

“You bastard,” she murmured, throwing herself back onto her stool with a definitive thud.

“Takes one ta know one,” he countered before flashing her a toothy grin. “So, let’s be straight with one another.  You get part of the plunder in return for divulging Jack Sparrow’s locale.  Agreed?”

“I want passage aboard your ship, too.”

He looked confused by this request.  “Why, in God’s name?”

“Because I don’t trust you, that’s why.”

There were words as yet unsaid, and as Barbossa lounged back and looked hard into Elizabeth’s suddenly reticent eyes, he thought that he understood what else this might be.

“And ye’re bored, aren’t ye?”

She pulled that face which denied all accusations set against her. “I am not!” she said.

Barbossa’s smile was full of confidence, though, for he knew he was right this time.  “Oh ye are, I can see it.  Not enough going on fer ye back at Shipwreck Island?”

“Enough, thank you.  The East India Trading Company are on to us, you know.  They keep sniffing around like hounds on a scent and –”

“And yer men can go out and deal with them, no problem, right?  Sao Feng left you a good group o’ pirates, did he nawt?”

“Yes but we still have to keep them away from the cove, and  –”

He interrupted again.  “Oh that battle will never end.  It’s always been there – the authorities versus the pirates.  Ye know that ye can fight all ye like, but we’ll never win.  We’ll kill one Cutler Beckett and another one will rise up.  Can’t be helped.  And you know ye can’t waste yer life constantly fighting them, or else ye wouldn’t be here now, would ye?”

Elizabeth scowled at him and folded her arms.  “You’d be the same if you were pirate king.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he rallied, and chuckled into his beer as he watched her puzzled face, trying to comprehend what was going through his mind.

Since she had lost a foothold in this situation, she sought to change the subject.  “So, are you a regular here…?” she asked.

Barbossa was puzzled this time.  “Here? What do ye mean by ‘here’?”

She inclined her head towards the door.  “Tortuga.  The wenches.  You seem an old hand.”

“Ah…” he nodded, comprehension dawning.  “Well, once upon a time, p’rhaps I was more of a ‘regular’, but that all stopped with the cursed gold.  There be no point in paying a woman to pleasure ye if ye can feel none of it.”

Barbossa monitored Elizabeth’s face, wondering if she might blush at such bluntness, but she did not.  That impressed him.  She was more hardened than that whelp she called husband.

“To be frank, Mrs Turner,” he continued light-heartedly, “ye perhaps be more experienced than I in those kind o’ things now.”

She giggled over her beaker at him, which brought a smile to his face. She could be pleasant enough company, if nothing else.

“What makes you say that, Captain?”

He ran a finger round the rim of his mug, looking down into the near empty pitcher before reconnecting his gaze with hers and saying, “I’ve nawt touched a woman since before I was resurrected, therefore I see meself as being a virgin all o’er again.”  He raised his mug in her direction before taking a swig.  “You might have ta teach me a thing or two now.”

Elizabeth seemed sceptical.  “Are you sure? You and Tia Dalma seemed mighty close on occasion.”

“Trifles. One can but have affection fer she who raised one from the dead.  We played around but nuthin’ happened.  It be too dangerous for a man to get entangled in her web.  Not worth sharing a bed with her, I tell ye now.”

Elizabeth laughed another time and shook her head.  “Very well, I shall do my best to believe you.  But I still count myself as rather inexperienced in the matter, so you had better go back to your whores and ask them to remind you how it’s done.”

He finished off his drink, put down the empty mug, and rose to his feet. “Now I can’t be doing that, Mrs Turner.”

She cocked a brow in jest.  “Why ever not?  Isn’t it what you always used to do?”

“It is, but well, but fer one, I’m loathe to part with me money, and two, I think I can do a bit better for meself now.”  He threw her a wink and turned to go.  “Are ye coming or will ye be finding your own way back?”

Elizabeth finished off her beer in one hearty swallow and then got up to follow.  “I’m coming.  I don’t fancy been left lost in the alleyways with all those tarts about.”

Barbossa’s lips parted in another grin.  “Aye. Would be a fine way for Mrs Turner to go, that.  At the hands of Tortuga’s women of negotiable affection.”

They turned as one to go, weaving in between the haphazard array of tables and stools, before suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, the man in the corner shot to his feet and proclaimed at the top of his voice.  “Genesis!  Genesis!  Genesis!”

Elizabeth and Barbossa turned, brows creased as the man continued to repeat the word over and over.  They then watched as Frank the bartender came out of the back room with an oar slung over his shoulder, which he promptly swung into the lunatic’s face.

There was a heavy ‘thunk’ before the man crumpled into a pile over his table, sending his bottle of rum rolling onto the floor.

Frank turned to the departing duo.  “’m sorry, guvnor. He raves, this one.”

Barbossa looked again at Elizabeth then shrugged.  “T’wasn’t raving at us.  T’is no problem.”

They then began to leave, but heard Frank mumble as they went, “Don’t be so sure.”

TBC…

[lookupatthesky]

2018 Goals - January

HI TUMBLR HERE’S SOME TALK OUTSIDE OF TAGS! 2017 was a trashbag of a year so I declared it “another fucking opportunity for growth” and decided to tackle said growth super systematically in 2018. I made some yearly and monthly resolutions / goals and I am going to share them with y’all to keep myself accountable!

Yearly goals are thus:

Learn, specifically:

Cook a new recipe every two weeks

Go back to school to get a master’s degree

Evolve, specifically:

Do something every week with friends or alone (no boyfriends or people I’m hooking up with) to strengthen friendships and become more emotionally independant

Plus pop culture goals:

Read 111 books

Watch 12 movies

Watch one TV season a month

Write two Yuletide fics and another outside of the exchange

January-specific goals were:

Health: Get back to [amount I weighed on January 1st - 5] pounds. No alcohol for the month.

Lost 4 pounds instead of 5 but I’m going to call it a win and not obsess about it.

Dropped the no-alcohol goal like two days into the month, haha. It’s not like I have an alcohol problem.

Books: Read a book a day for a week.

Didn’t happen. It was a big one!

Learn: Talk to boss about taking a year off to go to school.

Done! Boss wasn’t super happy about it but will deal.

TV: Finish La galère S1. Watch Halt & Catch Fire S1.

Done and gleefully done!

Plus I worked on the yearlies:

Recipes: I fucking aced this. I cooked ten new recipes and frankly they were all pretty great. I’m keeping the goal as is though, because right now it’s not much of an accomplishment to cook new things, since I knew how to cook basically none things. None of the things, tumblr. This crockpot spaghetti sauce was a revelation.

Activities: Also aced! I went to the theater with a friend, went to improv with two friends, went to see Justin Trudeau (!) with another friend, ate in nice restaurants, had parties with friends and family, was generally awesome. I also went on a date which works for the goal because it definitely won’t be someone I hook up with, haha.

Pop:

Books: 8/111.

Movies: 1/12 (POTC5, GUYS, WHY DID I DO THIS TO MYSELF)

Fic: 0/3.

And for February:

Health: Do strength training once a week. (ughhhhh)

Books: Read 2 previously-owned books.

Learn: Attend info session at school, apply!

TV: Watch Halt & Catch Fire S2. (And S3, who am I kidding.)

Happy February tumblr! :)

[apirateslifeforme123]

A Prince of Pirates, Part 2/5.

This boy stood before him now, strong and determined, dark eyed and in possession of a bone structure so fine it could have come from his mother alone, had he sprung from her skull fully formed. But no. This lad was conceived in a more pedestrian way, though no less glorious, considering. It was a different kind of magic, which Jack remembered conjuring all too well.

The lad wanted to save his father, yet Jack found he did not have the courage to tell the boy that all he needed to do so was help Jack Sparrow escape this cell.

No, let him have Will Turner for a father. A far better man than a rum-pot washed up pirate like him.

Still, the words left his treacherous mouth before he could swallow them. "Does Mummy ever speak of me? Call me name in her sleep, p'rhaps?"

The boy frowned with disapproval, and the expression was so much like his mother's Jack count have laughed, if his heart had not been tied up in such a tight knot. "No."

"Are ye sure we're speaking of the same woman? Hair like heathen gold, eyes like a warm pot o' chocolate...a waistline to show an hourglass what shape to strive for?"

Henry sighed, rolling coal-black eyes he did not receive from Will Turner. "Yes, that's her. Though...her hair is dark now. She doesn't go out much anymore."

This struck Jack hard, harder than it should have. His Lizzy, his indomitable Pirate King, did not get out to terrorize the seas, the sun on her face and the wind at her back?

But then he had acquired a few new bad habits of his own, he supposed. He drank too much, even for him, and he fucked governor's wives who reminded him of a saucy young debutante he once knew.

Perhaps time had a way of making them all into shadows of the selves they had been.

"My name is actually John Henry Turner," said the boy, for no apparent reason but for the searching look he paid Jack Sparrow, the legend he'd been weaned upon as s boy reduced to this strange man in a jail cell—who inexplicably was wearing no pants. "But everyone calls me Henry."

Jack nodded, unable to speak because he felt as though an eighteen pound canon ball just struck him between the eyes.

If he did not hang on the morrow, Jack knew he would help this boy find the trident to save Will Turner, a man he'd done more than his fair share to help curse.

This boy.

This boy, his son.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 1  

[lifesend1789]

POTC5- the post credits Will x Elizabeth scene

I'm surprised that that I haven't found many Will x Elizabeth fan fiction regarding that particular post credit scene. My little shipper heart was squeeeing for joy, because hello, after Will woke up, he reached over for Elizabeth and she just rolls into his arms?? And the fact they were sharing the same bed!!!! And of course , is it truly Davy Jones that "visited"??? Anyone has fic recommendation please??? I absolutely need more shipper feels!!!

[montmartre-parapluie]

La Viuda Marina Update

Hi guys! A quick update: I'm hoping to have Chapter 20 posted by the end of this weekend - as soon as Salazar finishes getting his 'what I did instead of movie-canon' backstory straight with Theresa...

[intricatecaprice]

23 & 26 :)

Hello lovely!!!

Thanks for the asks @tockamybeloved ❤ and I apologise in advance for the crack-fic nature of my first answer...

(These answers relate to my Bella Muerte fic)

23. Your MC frantically writes out a detailed note for your other characters to read. How legible is the note?

Armando: Dios mío, a note! It is from Athena! (Looks at it for half a second) I cannot read it! She must be in trouble! I must find her!

Miguel: (silkily) Por favor, allow me, Capitán, to read the message, I am sure I can understand her writing -

Armando: She left it for me, Miguel, and I will not allow another to -

Santos: (calmly) Perhaps, she was simply needing fresh air.

Miguel and Armando stare at Santos.

Santos: It does get very stuffy in here. With the two of you.

Armando: (dropping note, sword already in hand) There is no time!

Miguel: (stepping smoothly in his way) Capitán, must I remind you that she is under my direct supervision now, an order which you gave!

Armando: (starting to growl) Do you dare to throw my own orders back in my face -

Santos: (sighs, picks up note, reads out loud) 'Kittens on the Proserpine, Antonio needs help saving them, because dirt still on deck.'

Armando: ...

Miguel: ...

Santos: She wrote it in plain capital letters.

Armando: ....

Miguel: (mutters) The Señorita obviously needs to be taught the elegance of cursive -

(...and another argument starts between Armando and Miguel as to who will 'teach' Athena proper handwriting)

26. Which Character spends a ridiculous amount of money on scented candles and bath bombs?

Oh gosh, all of them? I can imagine all the men of the Silent Mary appreciating a bath. Santos would listen to soft music and close his eyes, Moss would want something ridiculous like a hot chocolate bath, Lieutenant Lesaro would like a long bath over hot coals with someone he loves, and I think Athena definitely would appreciate the luxury of a fragrant bath, especially after the pungent smells of the 1700s. But who would spend the most? I suspect, while el Capitán would appreciate a lavish bath, it's Officer Magda who would spend more on a single bath than anyone else: he'd find the most expensive luxury items possible and buy them. Just because.

[veronica-rich]

Snippet of a post-POTC5 fic I started earlier this summer. I still gotta figure out the details and transitions, and ending.

***

Jack still held Will’s face between his hands, cupping his jaws, and gasped when the kiss broke so they could breathe. “William,” he murmured; his heart was going to explode and he was going to die an old man of nearly sixty without getting his leg over again, and that was enough to rein in his breathlessness. “Got quite a touch there,” he observed.

 “Talk, talk, talk,” Will muttered, kissing him again, and Jack grinned; they briefly broke again to laugh, then resumed, this time more slowly and methodically. He moved his hands, playing with Will’s hair, and made an appreciative sound when Will did the same. His hair hadn’t been free of trinkets or gummy texture and braids in so long he couldn’t remember. “Do that again, lad,” he murmured when Will slowly raked fingers through the hair close to his scalp.

 “Nobody’s called me a lad in over a decade, Jack.” There was a mix of humor and wistfulness in the younger man’s voice. “I’m near old enough to be a grandfather.”

 “Not mine, thank the gods,” was all Jack could think to reassure him as he patted his shoulder and kissed him again.

[parjiljehavey]

@ninjacat1515 @cheshire0824 @capitanarmandosalazar

The boy was terrified; Marisol could hear his heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird. She could taste the fear on him. She crouched down in front of him and tilted her head. He gulped and scooted back away from her. Well, that simply would not do. 

"What's your name, Nino?"

He stuttered when he spoke, "F-Felipe." Felipe looked at her and then at Armando and back to her. These two monsters had killed his uncle and brother, drinking their blood. He gulped. “What-what are you?"

"The owners of this land you were poaching on," Armando snarled, baring his frightening teeth. Felipe gulped.

"I'm so sorry! I t-told them that we shouldn't but-but they wouldn't listen!"

Marisol cooed at him and reached out to caress his face; he flinched at the touch, "Shh. It's alright little one, we won't hurt you, will we?" She looked up at Armando.

Armando chuckled, "No, we won't. My family has a tradition of leaving one alive, and we'll honor that." He offered Marisol a hand; she took it and rose gracefully. He looked at the boy, "If you return to my lands to conduct what you and your amigos did tonight, I won't be merciful."

Felipe jumped to his feet and nodded furiously. "Gracias, senor, gracias. You-you'll never see me again!" He turned and run as quickly as he could, tripping on a root as he went.

Marisol wished him a good night and he only ran faster. She giggled and turned to Armando. "Shall we take care of the bodies?"

He shook his head, "No. I will deal with them as I return." He stomped out the fire as Marisol cleaned the blood from her face. When she made to pull herself back onto her mare, Armando lifted her up. He walked beside her as they retrieved his gelding from where he'd been tied.

They rode on in silence until they reached the Ortega estate. Armando dismounted and offered Marisol help from her saddle. He lifted her and then set her on the ground. A groom took her mare to the stables to be brushed out and fed. “Give her extra grain, tonight.” 

“Si, senora.” 

Marisol removed her gloves, tsking at the bloodstains on them. Armando cleared his throat. “We will be departing for Castellón at the end of the next week. We leave for Almería in four days.” 

“I thought you did not wish for me to go?” 

Armando sighed, “I have changed my mind. You know the merchant world and will be more likely to recognize this pirate than I.” It was a practical decision, he had reasoned after she left last night. Marisol smiled brightly. 

“Well, then. Carlos and I shall meet you in Almería in four days time, Capitan.” She heard Esperanza begin to cry from the manor, likely wanting to be feed. “Buenas Noches.” 

Marisol turned away and made her way into the house. It was only after the door had closed behind her that Armando swung himself up into the saddle again, and left to dispose of the bodies and return home himself.