#Disney adults should be ashamed and humiliated

[livelaughratgirl]

Fuck Disney and the spineless consumers who still pay them to sabotage our country

straight up cartoonishly fucking evil corporation

[lucky-7times]

does that mean there are german exclusive words?

Yeah, kinda. There are some words that don’t have a direct english equivalent with the same meaning and must be described to get translated well. Or I’m just a loser in finding a proper translation, this can be too xD. Anyway, here are some examples I can think of:

- Ohrwurm (noun, translated “ear worm”) An Ohrwurm occurs, when your mind keeps thinking of a song over and over again and you can’t stop it even if you want to. You can have multiple Ohrwürmer at the same time too.

- Mitleid (noun, “with suffer/ suffer too”) Mitleid is often assumed to be the same as empathie, but there is a difference. Empathie is the ability to understand the feelings of others and Mitleid is the occasion where you feel the feelings of others as your own. If they suffer, then you kinda suffer with them. You can have empathie without Mitleid, but you can’t have Mitleid without empathie.

- Schadenfreude (noun, “damage joy/ suffer pleasure”) Schadenfreude is kinda the opposite of Mitleid. Schadenfreude is having joy by seeing others suffering or struggeling. You can have Schadenfreude by seeing prank videos or if someone you don’t like has bad luck.

- Augenmaß (noun, “eye measurement”) Augenmaß is the ability to guess size or distance without measuring it. You can have a good Augenmaß if you can tell if cloathing is too smal, wide or perfect fitting without trying it on or when you can draw a line parallel to another for example. It’s a core ability for drawing.

- Fingerspitzengefühl (noun, “finger tips feeling”) You have Fingerspitzengefühl if you can handle difficult situations good where many struggle, like getting a thread through a needle eye or even handling well with diffucult persons for example.

- satt (adj.) You’re satt when you’re not hungry (anymore).

- sitt (adj.) You’re sitt if you’re not thirsty (anymore). However, this is not an offical german word. It was supposed to become one, but it didn’t and many don’t even know it.

- lebensmüde (adj., “life tired”) If someone does something  that can be dangerous or harmfull without any concerns, then they’re called lebensmüde.

- Fernweh (noun, “distance pain”) It’s the opposite of homesickness. You have Fernweh if you feel trapped in your home area and have a desire to go to other places.

- Geborgenheit (noun) / geborgen sein (adj.) These ones are a combination of feelings that feel warm, good, comfortable and secure. You feel geborgen if you feel overall safe, accepted and welcome and don’t sense any fear, stress or pressure. You can (and should) find Geborgenheit if you return home, if you do the hobby you adore, if you meet your family/friends or if you’re in the arms of your partner.

- Zeitgeist (noun, “time ghost/spirit of the time”) The Zeitgeist is the type of living in a period of time. It’s the style or trend that people shared and  that makes the different time ages charakteristic. For example, now we have the Zeitgeist of memes.

- Sitzfleisch (noun, “sitting meat”) People who have no problems to sit for many houres have Sitzfleisch.

- sturmfrei (adj., “storm free”) The favorite word for kids. It means you’re alone at home.

- Feierabend (noun, “celebrate evening) The favorite word for the working class. You have Feierabend when your working time has finished.

-  fremdschämen (verb, “foreign shame/shame of others”) It means that you feel ashamed or uncomfortable, if you see other persons in embarrasing or humiliating situations. This can mean that the other one indeed feels ashamed or they don’t, but you would feel embarrased in their situation. I think it’s the german equivalent for cringe, but I’m not sure.

- Kuddelmuddel (noun) A Kuddelmuddel is just a twisted mess. Like when your clothes are all thrown in a corner.

- Frühlingsgefühle (noun, “spring feelings”) You have Frühlingsgefühle if you feel uplifted and happy as the new year begins, normaly as soon spring begins. It’s also used as a explanation for why some people do excessive dating and partner searching in spring.

- Kopfkino (noun, “head cinema”) If you imagine pictures or scenes in your head then you have Kopfkino. However, it’s often used as the visualisation of perverted or sexual thoughts. 

- Erbsenzähler (noun, “pea counter”) Someone is a Erbsenzähler if they take things and details way too serious, stingy or picky (in a bad way). Also, one of my former teachers used Korinthenkacker (”raisin shitter”) instead and I think that word deserves more appreciation.

- beknattert (adj.) You remember Disney’s Recess? You remember the episode, where they made up a swearing word and the adults went ape shit, even tho it has no meaning at all? Yeah,that’s the german version and I still use it.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

A vent piece about a not so talked about side of Autism and something I’m struggling with lately. Angsty.

John awoke to the lovely sound of his alarm clock softly singing the Adventures of Winnie the Pooh theme song. He couldn’t help but to smile and hum along as the lull of sleep faded away from his eyes.

He let it play it’s tune as he stretched out his limbs, an array of cracks and creaks echoing through the empty room. With a big yawn, he sat up and pressed a button on the alarm, shaped like the silly old bear’s head. John let out a content sigh, looking around his bed at all his stuffed animals strewn about chaotically. He wondered if they all slept well as he did.

With a bit of effort, he got out of bed and wobbled over to his bathroom, rubbing eyes and yawning some more. After a quick trip to the loo, he set out on washing his mouth. His toothbrush was bright pink with hello kitty on the handle. It wasn’t his first choice, but he was quite fond of the cat too. With a strawberry flavored toothpaste, mint tasting way too strong, he brushed his teeth, a task he didn’t like to do.

Spitting into the sink, he rinsed his mouth, his head bobbing back up into place. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Wrinkles on his forehead. Grey growing well past his temples. John quickly exited the bathroom, his stomach grumbling, hopefully from hunger and not embarrassment.

He put on his house slippers, Mickey Mouse of course, and hurried over to the kitchen, ready to prepare himself the same breakfast he’s had for nearly 40 years. Cheese on toast with a cup of milk. Even after decades, the staple food never grew old.

John sung Part of Your World quietly to himself as he slapped on a slice of cheddar onto the toast simmering in the pan, a smile tweaking at his lips. He found breakfast to be one of the high points of his day. It was the few parts of a regular day he had all to himself. No one to bother him. No expectations. Just him and his toys to keep him company until the afternoon. He laughed when his voice cracked at the climax of the song.

With a plate of warm toast and a cold cup of milk in hand, John went to the living room, setting everything down on the floor before turning on his telly. Saturday morning cartoons were on. He heavily preferred his Disney VHS’s to whatever the BBC was playing, but the cartoons weren’t half bad. Munching on his toast, he happily rocked as he watched.

It was 11am when the phone rang. John frowned, not wanting to set down his Legos. He was very much enjoying lining them up for the 4th time in a row. He was working with just the animal Legos this morning, something he didn’t do often.

Pouting, John got up to grab the phone, mumbling a somewhat pleasant “Hello?”

“Deacy!” an excited Roger screeched on the other end of the phone. John cringed at how loud the blond was.

“Oh, hi, Roger.”

“Mornin’ John! Hey, me and Brian were getting together this evening. There’s this new restaurant that just opened up. Imported wines. A live band. Sophisticated as all hell. You want to come?”

John’s nose crinkled up the more Roger talked. Nasty wine? Weird unpredictable food? Music he didn’t care for? And a suit and tie requirement? No thanks.

“That sounds stuffy,” John said honestly.

“You could use some stuffy in your life, mate. Come on. You can bring some of your fluffy friends if you’d like,” Roger said, a pleading lilt in his voice.

John shrugged to himself, a hand going into his hair to pull out a few strands, a nervous habit of his. “I don’t know. It sounds um…” Adult-y. “Like a lot for me, you know. Maybe we can do brunch or something soon.”

“Ah, alright, Deaks. Don’t say I didn’t invite you!” Roger said, disappointment in his tone, not that John would catch it. It wasn’t obvious enough because Roger expected that answer. John was never fond of refined things. Roger still tried after all these years.

“Yeah. Sorry. Bye bye, Rog.”

“Bye, John.”

John hung up, an anxious hand rubbing his chest. He tried to stop the bad thoughts that started to bubble in his head by throwing himself back into lining up his Legos, but it didn’t work.

He tried lining up his plushies on his bed, but the thoughts started to drip like cement into his chest.

He tried watching Snow White, but the thoughts began to feel like spider webs and char in his lungs.

He broke down, running into his bathroom, the quietest and darkest place in his house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Curled up on the cold tiles, as the tears began to pour down his face, his brain assaulted him with words.

Delayed.

Spaz.

Man-child.

Retard.

Delayed.

Stupid.

Lagging.

Delayed.

Delayed.

Delayed.

John sobbed, his hands flying to either side of his head, hitting himself to make his thoughts go back to normal.

You’ve got the brain of a 10-year-old stuck in a 39-year old’s body. It’s pathetic.

The people around you only pity you.

You’re not a failure to launch. You’re a failure to thrive.

It was cute when you were 19. Now you just look pitiful.

Have you even tried to act your age?

Your mother likes your sister better. She’s a proper adult. Married with kids. Working.

You need a babysitter to make sure you don’t starve or die.

It’s sad.

You’re an embarrassment.

You’re not a man. You’re a child.

John pressed his forehead to the floor, his chest aching with how hard he was crying. As more and more painful truths vomited themselves into his mind, he could only sink under their weight.

He tried to ignore it. And for a long time, it was easy to ignore. The words the therapist said to him.

“You’re developmentally delayed, John. You might not ever catch up. You might be stuck at a certain developmental age.”

At 15, it’s not too noticeable. 20, people just think you’re not one to take yourself too seriously. At 30, there must be something wrong with you. At 40, you’re a lost cause. A burden. On society, your friends and family and more importantly, yourself.

And despite what anyone said, it was true. John looked like an adult, but he didn’t have much going on upstairs. He couldn’t talk taxes or even pay his own. Doing laundry was always meltdown worthy. Wine tasted gross. The word sex made him giggle and the act was unimaginable. McDonald happy meals were a real treat and toys were rewards.

No matter how much the people around him said otherwise, he was a child. And it killed him. It hurt. The lack of maturity was blinding. The delay unable to be hidden. He was a walking freakshow and despite his best efforts, he was thoroughly stunted.

He wanted to be like his friends. So badly. Go to clubs with Freddie and not feel scared. Drink with Roger and not gag at the first sip and order a soda instead. Hell, he’d take sleazing around like Brian if it meant he’d be a real man.

But he was just a little boy. Trapped in a perpetual childhood that not even humiliation could wake him up from.

He liked the kid’s menus. And he liked watching Sesame Street. And he liked when his aides and carers came over and took over. He was a kid, through and through. It was only a shock because his body dare betray him by growing up, leaving his brain behind.

It wasn’t just embarrassing. It was isolating. He didn’t get along with adults. They didn’t understand him, and he didn’t understand them. It was a miracle the rest of Queen even tolerated him. He preferred children but one could see how bad of a look that was. So, who else did he have beside his Lego figures and his teddy bears?

His own mother coddled him, which felt both wonderful and shameful. He wasn’t a child. But he was. But he wasn’t.

John raked his fingers through his hair, tugging painfully at his scalp, his knees pulling up under him, a subconscious need to be small.

No therapist really understood the plight he went through. They all told him that it was okay. He was fine. Nothing to be ashamed about. But how easy was that to say when you weren’t a middle-aged man who needed a night light to sleep? Or a grown man afraid to cross the road without a real adult’s hand to hold?

Nobody understood. Their reassuring words fell flat when it came to the reality around him. John was delayed and the world looked down on him for that.

He was like Peter Pan without a safe place to run to, surrounded by other people who too could not grow up.

It hurt.

It hurt all the time.

Every time he colored a coloring book, he knew he should be drinking a beer besides a wife who was expecting another kid. He knew he should be ordering filet mignon rather than chicken nuggets. He knew he should be so much more and so much better than he was.

John laid flat on the floor; his eyes physically unable to produce more tears. With all those thoughts jabbing at his skull, all he could do was throw himself to the floor and cry like a child. Even knowing he wanted more for himself, he couldn’t get up and do it.

He sniffled and hiccupped, his head pounding from how deeply he had been wailing.

All of these thoughts were too much for a child. Too big and scary. Complex and refined.

He sat up and slowly got up, his knees cracking as he did so. Without another whimper he went back to his room, crawling underneath his blankets, into the embrace of many furry friends. He closed his eyes, hugging a purple elephant to himself and prayed he’d be finally big tomorrow. An adult. All caught up. A prayer he’d been reciting for years.

He brought the elephant to his face, nuzzling the soft fabric. He wondered if the elephant would take a nap with him too.

[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?"