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justafairytailofinnocence · 1 year ago

Text

Hector Barbossa x Lora (oc)🧭🍏🌊

and

Hector Barbossa x fem navigator reader

Synopsis: A simple dance that unites a navigator and captain.

Warnings: none

A/n: Hello, I've made a one-shot on behalf of a gift to a couple of artists I've commissioned. Hope you enjoy it, and please check out the respected artists for they are extremely talented.

A/n: Down below, I've attached an x-reader version if you're interested in that instead :).

Let me know if you would like a part 2 🙌

Enjoy💖

@stephpotterart

@kitxel-draws

----

Twas a silent night aboard the Black Pearl; the gentle current rocked the sailing galleon. A young woman stood on the open deck at the taffrail, staring at the heavens above her. Her blue eyes were captivated by the brightest star of the east ‘Sirius’. She couldn’t pinpoint why or how it fascinated her; she was undoubtedly no astronomer like Carina, but something about it pulled her in. The charts displayed the constellations, but observing them with the naked eye was undoubtedly more captivating. The woman stood motionless, her senses attuned to the wind’s gentle caress as it brushed against her bare shoulders, causing her golden locks to sway and dance in the breeze. In her grip, she clutched a piece of parched paper tightly, its surface etched with cryptic writings that detailed the exact coordinates leading to an uncharted island renowned for its fabled treasure trove, discovered by the notorious Anne Bonny. Despite the potential danger, she had spent countless hours gathering similar documents and ship logs from explorers, sailors, and even pirates, all in pursuit of something greater. Nothing could deter her from this quest, and she was willing to risk everything to uncover the secrets of the unknown. As she set sail, her thoughts consumed by the prospect of adventure, she carefully unfurled the yellow parchment, revealing a hand-drawn map with a bright star marking the location of her destination. The woman's grip on the parchment tightened as the wind picked up, threatening to snatch the delicate document from her hands. She remained steadfast and determined to hold the valuable prize despite the wind. Her eyes scanned the paper, memorizing the precise navigational longitude and latitude leading her to her destination. She clung to the parchment with unwavering focus, unwilling to let it slip away from her grasp.

Standing proudly at the ship’s helm was the captain, resplendent in his vibrant blue frock coat and black bicorne, adorned with intricate gold embellishments. Leaning his weight on a sturdy wooden crutch, he expertly wielded a silver-coated spyglass, his keen gaze fixed on the endless expanse of stars that gave him crucial guidance to his intended destination. Two other men, rugged and weathered, stood nearby, sporting rough coats and thick beards, their tricorne hats perched jauntily on their heads. “Orders, sir? we’ve got Jack tied to the mast.” With a respectful gesture, Murtogg raised his hand to his forehead in a salute and inquired politely, “May I ask a question captain, whadda we do with the other two” In a gesture of solidarity, Mullroy followed suit replicating the same action. Following a period of stargazing through his trusty telescope, the captain turned his gaze to the steadfast sentinels standing at his side. “Leave Jack an’ tha ot’er lad, Carina be tha one we need; she holds tha map ta tha trident”, he gave out his command. “As for the girl, sir? Shall we tie her along with Sparrow” Murtogg asked. The captain turned his head, looking perplexed at the young woman; he couldn't reasonably determine what had seized her interest. But as soon as he caught sight of the parchment in her hand, he understood, she was utilizing the constellations. The woman's fascination with the star Sirius was undeniable, but her callow experience in sailing was an obstacle. Despite her ardent love for the sea, she knew encountering a strict and uncompromising captain could result in severe punishment. The thought of being subjected to the brutal cat-o-nine tails or even keelhauling made her shudder. Nonetheless, her unwavering passion for the stars and the sea drove her forward, and she remained determined to pursue her dreams, no matter the challenges ahead.

“Sir?” Murtogg said once more.

“Nay, she ain’t o’ any use ta us fer now, we’ll maroon er’ once we obtain what we came ere’ fer”, The captain’s coarse voice confirmed.

“A-aye then, captain” After saluting, Murtogg and Mullroy proceeded to guard Jack and Henry. The captain firmly grasped the helm's handles; curiously, he glanced back at the young woman holding the parchment. Perhaps he should’ve tied her up with the others; allowing one leverage isn’t something he usually does. What is she doing? What was she thinking? What in the blazes is she wanting?

His eyes fixated on the girl. Treasure? The sea? Freedom? Going on account?

What does she want? He was deep in thought. Further and further, his mind strayed from his position. Her inquisitive mind is—"Oh belay this, tis be addle, why on ear’t should I be—" He posed questions about her curious mind. Once he returned to reality, the young woman’s parchment slipped through her fingers. On instinct, he hobbled down the ladder and tried to catch the parchment, only for it to be caught under his wooden peg leg. He bent over and picked it up; his rough, chapped, calloused hand kept the piece in his grip. He precisely examined the intricately drawn map, tracing his finger over each coordinate until his finger landed upon the dazzling drawn star. The celestial bodies on the map and in the vast expanse of the sky were in immaculate alignment, forming a mesmerizing spectacle. The star in the sky shone brightly, and its beauty entranced him. “Excuse me, sir; you have something of mine in your possession.” He stood there, lost in thought, he suddenly became aware of a soothing, dulcet-toned voice from behind him. The voice was elegant, as if it belonged to a refined and cultured lady.

As the captain turned around, his gaze fell upon a striking young lady with luscious golden tresses fashioned in a pouffe with a single coil gracefully cascading down her shoulder. Her complexion was as fair as porcelain, and her countenance radiated with youthful vitality. She was adorned in a light whitish gold sack-back gown, perfectly complementing her complexion. Tiny freckles were scattered lightly across her nose and cheeks, enhancing her angelic features. Her lips were full and luscious, painted in a rosy, pink hue.

“Tis my map, sir; it slipped from my fingers whilst I was trying to read the coordinates”, The young woman explained.

Hector held the map in his grasp, not precisely giving it back right away, intending to ask: "What is yer purpose fer possessing it? Are ya anticipatin’ discoverin’ a coffer o’ medallions, gold, jewels, or silver?".

Instead, he couldn’t open his yap; no words came out. He felt like an utter addle blaggard. “I anticipate sailing on the high seas; I’ve no desire for treasure nor the thrill of anticipating in such greed”, The young woman spoke.

“Then why possess a map if ye don’t intend ta track what’s marked” He seemed puzzled, with a questioning tone and expression. He held the map in one hand while leaning on his wooden crutch.

“Perhaps, rather silly of me to say, you’d expect some nautical naval admirer to want something with a map. Well, What I desire can’t be easily explained, so to answer it as easily as possible” She expressed her ambition and optimism in her speech. “I wish to know more about the sea rather than the final destination, tis rather hard for me to say; I suppose one could compare me to an explorer anticipating some exhibition”.

“An ye have naught the slightest worry, of o’, so to say—pirates, scoundrels, buccaneers” He grinned with a dry, entertaining demeanour.

“Why should I? Tis not hard to reason with them; I would propose an agreement that satisfies both parties to a reasonable extent, ensuring a fair and amicable resolution.” She smiled in confidence.

“And what tif the other party decides ta disagree,” He asked.

“From my perspective, it seems like a fair agreement. They retain possession of the treasure while I explore an uncharted island that shall be in my name. In my opinion, it's an equitable arrangement.” The young woman seemed rather artless in knowing what pirates were like, no matter how many exchanges and fair deals she made. She would only end up marooned on some island whilst they steal her ship.

“If we start baring away 2 points on the port bow, we can head into the ongoing direction of where we need to be—well—where I aim to be. Evading any potential danger and obtaining the landmark of an unknown island” The young woman smiled affirmingly in her written directions.

“I’d watch yer ambition, missy; too much of it can getcha killed”, Hector warned her.

“Ambition or an opportunity, captain, an opportunity to find such a marvel, an opportunity to seek adventure and free one from the confines of society” The young woman grinned.

“Ye speak smartly within yer knowledge of cartography, but alas, ye lack the experience, to be out at sea, ye need to handle more than just yer “studies” He was surprised by the young lady's determination to dock at an unfamiliar island despite having no prior sailing experience.

“My knowledge of the sea is quite va—”

“Vast if ye’ve ever been in command of a ship, lassie”.

She stayed silent. Every word that came out of her mouth, he contradicted. It was like communing with a brick wall, deflecting all her ideas. She could’ve argued more and more, but that would’ve been a waste. She did have the knowledge! It shouldn’t have mattered what the old salt thought! She should just set out at sea on her father’s ship. Her father was a merchant who sailed across the vast port’s docking cargo for businessmen or nobles that wished for certain silks, foods, or goods.

“Although I am not the captain nor a sailor, I will keep clutching my goals under the watchful gaze of my father from the heavens.” She reasoned.

He laughed with wry amusement. “Aye then, who be yer father missy, was he a miserable cod that dreamed too”.

“No, he was a brilliant sailor, one that travelled to many continents”, she continued. “My father was William Rosaline—”

Hector's expression shifted from amusement to confusion, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he posed a question. “Wait! You! What’s yer first name!”.

“My first name is��Lora, sir,” she answered with a quizzical soft tone.

The captain stood upright on his wooden crutch, feeling somewhat baffled by the sudden reunion. If she recognizes him, everything will come crashing down. He didn’t speak; holding his tongue, he felt like an utter fool. He couldn’t recognize her, and for how long? For what reason couldn’t he interpret her face? Was it so complicated that his mind had to hide it deep within his distant recollections? Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

“Captain?” Lora asked.

“Lor’rer” That! That was all he could muster up after not seeing this young thing for so long!

The captain quickly glanced over where Sparrow was tied at the mizzen mast. He only managed to open his mouth slightly before quickly hobbling away without uttering another addle word out of his yap. He ended up at the helm, and from behind him was the mizzen mast where Jack was tied. “Running away, are you? Think you can outrun the world~” Jack smirked, a line that reflected what Hector had once said. “Something tells me ol Hector is flabbergasted by something; hmmm; shall I take a gander and say it’s a lass? I’m envisioning a past flame you’ve had, one involving a hideous wench” he smiled amusingly.

The captain angrily confronted Jack, brandishing his sword of triton dangerously close to Jack's gullet. “One more word an’ Yer one step away from hangin at hempen holter”.

“Hmmm, at least I’m a captain going down with his ship from which you stole, remember.” Jack continued. “And might I say, you’re still terrible at it; you don’t even grip the helm right; she prefers handsome rouges, not men with scraggly beards—”.

The captain approached Jack with a stern glare. “All right, all right, I’ll hold my tongue—only, that fine woman over there strikes me as something familiar; her face; those eyes, ohhhh~ how smitten you were back then”.

“You couldn’t even say her name, right? Something along the lines of luau, lunch, luff, leach, leaf, long—” Jack teased.

Hector was getting infuriated.

“No, wasn’t long John silver, was it; ah! That’s right, Lora” While his hands were still bound to the mast, Jack gestured with his finger. “Except you say her name weirdly and strangely”.

“I’m starting to envision this golden artless naïve creature that would go on and on about ravishing adventures and a ship of her fathers” Jack’s face coiled, trying to remember the young woman. “By god, she was so young, a smart lass she was, always talking about cartography and sailing—I’ll admit I zoned out at some of it”.

"I must confess, twas a terrible idea of mine to use her in a bet to win a keg of rum against Master Gibbs," Jack admitted.

Jack was met with a confused expression from Hector. Jack gestured with his hands. “Was in the past; she probably won’t remember a thing”.

“We’ll keep it that way cause she ain’t even recognised me yet”, Hector spoke with a coarse voice.

Hector pulled out a flask from his pocket and leaned against the mast next to Jack; he popped off the lid and drank the rum. He then handed Jack the flask offering some, which he gladly took with his mouth. After Jack had “handed” the rum back to Hector, he asked, “So, if she remembers, do you think she’ll want to run or scream when she sees you now?”.

“I mean, you haven’t even told Smyth who you are—” A rag was placed into Jack’s mouth by Hector’s white-faced capuchin. “Thank ye, Jack,” he thanked the capuchin. Sparrow furrowed his brows and rambled through the rag while Hector tended back to the helm. In some way, Jack had a point; how would she react to seeing him now—probably an old blaggard who aged like a swine in her eyes— He wasn’t precisely the same sailor she once knew. Perhaps twas a better idea to keep his identity a secret for now—or—until she recognises him. The capuchin sat on his master’s shoulders, examining his expression. For once, his mind was clouded in thought. He couldn’t stand idly by until the cows came home; he had to do something, anything, if it meant at least a gaze of recognition. The only thing was, he was hesitant for reasons that should’ve been considered fear. However, fear wasn’t precisely the case. Deeply inhaling, he started moving—hobbling—over toward where she was.

However, he stopped only a few inches from where she stood. This was bloody ridiculous! He thought. He’s been through death, faced monsters the size of gods, and fought battles that would’ve ended him, yet…why is it so hard to speak to a lass he could easily invoke fear through.

He took a step forward using his peg leg facing outward. And yet his gaze was met just as his peg leg landed on the wooden floorboard. The captain immediately composed an expression of authority and imperiality. Lora biddably faced him while clutching the parchment in her hand. Hector awaited the doe-eyed woman’s inane response. “Ay—”

“I should’ve thanked you earlier for guiding me”, her voice softened. “i-in the right course of direction”.

Lora placed the parchment in his rough, callous hands, gently curling his fingers with one hand on top of his. “Take it, tis more useful to a captain than a doting lady.”

Hector furrowed his eyebrows in a bewildered manner. “Is this what-che want, fer me ta haul in yer accordin’s”.

Lora's lips curved into a smile, conveying a sense of comfort and reassurance. “I want you to be the one who shall set sail and command this voyage to the rightful destination.”

The captain expressed a striking visage of emotion that showed a genuine side to him naught anyone had witnessed. A gentle smile had formed on his rough, chapped lips. “Yer treasure lo’rer’.”

As she gazed into his eyes, filled with earnestness, her blue eyes, like those of a doe, reflected his admiration. Her lips, slightly parted, were a silent testament to his flattery's impact on her. Hector lifted his thumb to her chin, feeling the plumpness of her skin. Oh, how he had yearned to touch her, feel her under his watchful gaze. His heart was filled with a deep longing to reach out and connect with her on a profound level. He yearned to bask in the warmth of her presence while keeping a vigilant watchful eye over her, protecting her from any harm. The desire to be with her. He delicately traced the curve of her upper lip with his thumb, following the line down to the plumpness of her lower lip, where he stopped with his nail. His hand trailed down along her shoulder and arm, only to reach her palm, lightly grasping it. He held her hand and gently pulled it into the air while his other arm wrapped around her back. Lora carefully followed his lead and mimicked his graceful movements as he began to move in a waltz step. When was the last time he had waltzed like this? It must’ve been a century ago. From a distant memory, he recalled a moment in a grand setting with a regal woman. Her striking raven tresses cascaded down her back, framing her beautiful face that was accentuated by her deep brown eyes. His image of her elegance remained vivid.

Lora accounted for how fluent his moves were as if he were gliding on ice. He was surprisingly good despite having a peg leg; one after the other, with a tap and stomp, the peg leg moved forward as the other leg soothingly assisted with turning. For Lora, it was relatively easy to follow; her heels moved back as the captain stepped forward in rhythm. If they had attended a masquerade or gala, they would’ve gripped the audience’s attention, with the pair being the most incongruous and grossing couple. Hector stopped abruptly with his peg leg and began to spin slowly, holding the parchment between their hands as they twirled around. The radiant celestial Sirius, situated above their heads, mirrored their existence with a resplendent and luminous reflection. As Lora moved closer to him, her lips parted slightly, revealing her rosy hue. She was just inches away from his chapped lips, creating a moment of anticipation and tension. Her gaze soon turned quizzical as she recalled, ' His face resembles someone familiar, someone I once knew”.

“Barboss—"

“CAPTAIN, THE SILENT MARY HAS BEEN SPOTTED OFF THE PORT BOW, SIR!” The lookout shouted from the crow's nest, holding a wooden brazen spyglass. Hector smartly came to a halt, dropping Lora’s hands, accidentally letting go of the parchment. He turned to the sailor who bellowed out the sighting. In a sudden rush, he hastened away, his gait impeded by a hobbling motion as he made his way towards the helm with a firm determination to take a brace of action. He started to bellow orders while the crew manned their stations. “MAN, YER STATIONS YE FILTHY ROACHES, ALL HANDS HOY, PREPARE TA TACK N’ START BARING AWAY 5 POINTS ABAFT STARBOARD BEAM, PREPARE THA CANONS”. The captain started to turn the wheel vigorously, trying to change course and direction to lose sight of their pursuers who were oncoming from the port bow.

Lora witnessed the parchment being carried away by the wind and eventually landing in the water. The ink began to bleed and dissolve in the saltwater, causing the writing and drawings to become illegible scribbles. Her eyes could read a line pointing toward the star; suddenly, she turned, looking up at Sirius. A realization crossed her mind as she hatched a plan. Smartly heading up from the open deck to the quarter deck to where the helm was, over on the horizon, she could spot a Spanish three-masted royal naval galleon that was rickety and rotten. Her eyes widened at the impossible ship with deteriorated fore, aft and main sails. She lifted her skirtings and held them at her waist as she hurried, taking care not to trip over her heels. Her coiled locks bounced as she climbed the ladder when she made it before the helms deck. “Bare away from the starboard beam, captain, we can lose them faster, and the canon fire will have a guaranteed hit!” Lora raised her voice to the captain to allow him to hear.

Hector was skeptical. did she even have any plan to evade Salazar's ship, or was she improvising to head toward their death?

“Nay, belay that!” he shouted.

“I assure you, once we head in that direction, we can then tack and head broad on the port bow, eventually going on dead ahead heading into the direction of Sirius,” Lora told him of her plan.

However, Hector debated, his eyebrows furrowing together when she mentioned ‘Sirius’. He turned to the brightest star of the east, realizing what Lora was trying to talk about. “I hope yer not countin Fiddler's Green as part o’ tha plan, missy.” he complied and turned the wheel toward the direction she was speaking of.

Lora turned to face the bow and saw Black Pearl's bowsprit turn in motion. Lora's coiled lock and hair strands billowed in the wind as the Black Pearl changed direction. The Black Pearl was heading West-South along the current while The Silent Mary came from the North-East. The two ships were heading in an ongoing pursuit; The Silent Mary was gaining speed. Upon the Silent Mary’s Fore castle, the captain laughed with a mirthless wheeze. “Prepare to meet your damnation Jack Sparroh” Salazar’s grin oozed with black liquid.

The Black Pearl had picked up speed further, traversing across the sea. When The Silent Mary had just reached a certain distance behind the Black Pearl. Lora shouted, “Tack Now!”.

As the ship continued its course, the sailors smartly adjusted the various riggings to shift the gaff, foresail, jib, top, and main sails in response to the subtle shifts in the direction of the wind. Their skilled hands deftly worked the ropes and pulleys, ensuring the ship was travelling at peak performance, enabling them to navigate safely through the treacherous waters. As the Black Pearl turned, leading the Silent Mary off their track.

Hector was filled with a sense of incredulity as he witnessed the success of their plan. Against all odds, they had bought themselves a precious amount of time, allowing them to load their cannons with a newfound sense of urgency and efficiency. Although things looked swell, the Silent Mary hadn’t lost chase yet.

Lora knew she had to come up with a new plan soon. As she gazed at the horizon, she prayed for a glimpse of hope. A chance to avoid being swallowed by the ghosts of death.

------

X reader version

Twas a silent night aboard the Black Pearl; the gentle current rocked the sailing galleon. A young woman stood on the open deck at the taffrail, staring at the heavens above her. Her eyes were captivated by the brightest star of the east ‘Sirius’. She couldn’t pinpoint why or how it fascinated her; she was undoubtedly no astronomer like Carina, but something about it pulled her in. The charts displayed the constellations, but observing them with the naked eye was undoubtedly more captivating. The woman stood motionless, her senses attuned to the wind’s gentle caress as it brushed against her bare shoulders, causing her locks to sway and dance in the breeze. In her grip, she clutched a piece of parched paper tightly, its surface etched with cryptic writings that detailed the exact coordinates leading to an uncharted island renowned for its fabled treasure trove, discovered by the notorious Anne Bonny. Despite the potential danger, she had spent countless hours gathering similar documents and ship logs from explorers, sailors, and even pirates, all in pursuit of something greater. Nothing could deter her from this quest, and she was willing to risk everything to uncover the secrets of the unknown. As she set sail, her thoughts consumed by the prospect of adventure, she carefully unfurled the yellow parchment, revealing a hand-drawn map with a bright star marking the location of her destination. The woman's grip on the parchment tightened as the wind picked up, threatening to snatch the delicate document from her hands. She remained steadfast and determined to hold the valuable prize despite the wind. Her eyes scanned the paper, memorizing the precise navigational longitude and latitude leading her to her destination. She clung to the parchment with unwavering focus, unwilling to let it slip away from her grasp.

“Sir?” Murtogg said once more.

“Nay, she ain’t o’ any use ta us fer now, we’ll maroon er’ once we obtain what we came ere’ fer”, The captain’s coarse voice confirmed.

His eyes fixated on the girl. Treasure? The sea? Freedom? Going on account?

As the captain turned around, his gaze fell upon a striking young lady with luscious tresses fashioned in a pouffe with a single coil gracefully cascading down her shoulder and her countenance radiated with youthful vitality. She was adorned in a light whitish gold sack-back gown, perfectly complementing her complexion. Her lips were full and luscious.

“Tis my map, sir; it slipped from my fingers whilst I was trying to read the coordinates”, The young woman explained.

“Then why possess a map if ye don’t intend ta track what’s marked” He seemed puzzled, with a questioning tone and expression. He held the map in one hand while leaning on his wooden crutch.

“An ye have naught the slightest worry, of o’, so to say—pirates, scoundrels, buccaneers” He grinned with a dry, entertaining demeanour.

“And what tif the other party decides ta disagree,” He asked.

“I’d watch yer ambition, missy; too much of it can getcha killed”, Hector warned her.

“Ambition or an opportunity, captain, an opportunity to find such a marvel, an opportunity to seek adventure and free one from the confines of society” The young woman grinned.

“My knowledge of the sea is quite va—”

“Vast if ye’ve ever been in command of a ship, lassie”.

“Although I am not the captain nor a sailor, I will keep clutching my goals under the watchful gaze of my father from the heavens.” She reasoned.

He laughed with wry amusement. “Aye then, who be yer father missy, was he a miserable cod that dreamed too”.

“No, he was a brilliant sailor, one that travelled to many continents”, she continued. “My father was Y/F L/N—”

Hector's expression shifted from amusement to confusion, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he posed a question. “Wait! You! What’s yer first name!”.

“My first name is…Y/n, sir,” she answered with a quizzical soft tone.

“Captain?” y/n asked.

“Y/n’rer” That! That was all he could muster up after not seeing this young thing for so long!

The captain angrily confronted Jack, brandishing his sword of triton dangerously close to Jack's gullet. “One more word an’ Yer one step away from hangin at hempen holter”.

“You couldn’t even say her name, right? Something along the lines of Luau, lunch, luff, leach, leaf, long—” Jack teased.

Hector was getting infuriated.

“No, wasn’t long John silver, was it; ah! That’s right, y/n” While his hands were still bound to the mast, Jack gestured with his finger. “Except you say her name weirdly and strangely”.

"I must confess, twas a terrible idea of mine to use her in a bet to win a keg of rum against Master Gibbs," Jack admitted.

Jack was met with a confused expression from Hector. Jack gestured with his hands. “Was in the past; she probably won’t remember a thing”.

“We’ll keep it that way cause she ain’t even recognised me yet”, Hector spoke with a coarse voice.

He took a step forward using his peg leg facing outward. And yet his gaze was met just as his peg leg landed on the wooden floorboard. The captain immediately composed an expression of authority and imperiality. Y/n biddably faced him while clutching the parchment in her hand. Hector awaited the doe-eyed woman’s inane response. “Aye—”

“I should’ve thanked you earlier for guiding me”, her voice softened. “i-in the right course of direction”.

Y/n placed the parchment in his rough, callous hands, gently curling his fingers with one hand on top of his. “Take it, tis more useful to a captain than a doting lady.”

Hector furrowed his eyebrows in a bewildered manner. “Is this what-che want, fer me ta haul in yer accordin’s”.

Y/n's lips curved into a smile, conveying a sense of comfort and reassurance. “I want you to be the one who shall set sail and command this voyage to the rightful destination.”

The captain expressed a striking visage of emotion that showed a genuine side to him naught anyone had witnessed. A gentle smile had formed on his rough, chapped lips. “Yer treasure lo’rer’.”

As she gazed into his eyes, filled with earnestness, her eyes reflected his admiration. Her lips, slightly parted, were a silent testament to his flattery's impact on her. Hector lifted his thumb to her chin, feeling the plumpness of her skin. Oh, how he had yearned to touch her, feel her under his watchful gaze. His heart was filled with a deep longing to reach out and connect with her on a profound level. He yearned to bask in the warmth of her presence while keeping a vigilant watchful eye over her, protecting her from any harm. The desire to be with her. He delicately traced the curve of her upper lip with his thumb, following the line down to the plumpness of her lower lip, where he stopped with his nail. His hand trailed down along her shoulder and arm, only to reach her palm, lightly grasping it. He held her hand and gently pulled it into the air while his other arm wrapped around her back. Y/n carefully followed his lead and mimicked his graceful movements as he began to move in a waltz step. When was the last time he had waltzed like this? It must’ve been a century ago. From a distant memory, he recalled a moment in a grand setting with a regal woman. Her striking raven tresses cascaded down her back, framing her beautiful face that was accentuated by her deep brown eyes. His image of her elegance remained vivid.

Y/n accounted for how fluent his moves were as if he were gliding on ice. He was surprisingly good despite having a peg leg; one after the other, with a tap and stomp, the peg leg moved forward as the other leg soothingly assisted with turning. For y/n, it was relatively easy to follow; her heels moved back as the captain stepped forward in rhythm. If they had attended a masquerade or gala, they would’ve gripped the audience’s attention, with the pair being the most incongruous and grossing couple. Hector stopped abruptly with his peg leg and began to spin slowly, holding the parchment between their hands as they twirled around. The radiant celestial Sirius, situated above their heads, mirrored their existence with a resplendent and luminous reflection. As Y/n moved closer to him, her lips parted slightly, revealing her hue. She was just inches away from his chapped lips, creating a moment of anticipation and tension. Her gaze soon turned quizzical as she recalled, ' His face resembles someone familiar, someone I once knew”.

“Barboss—"

“CAPTAIN, THE SILENT MARY HAS BEEN SPOTTED OFF THE PORT BOW, SIR!” The lookout shouted from the crow's nest, holding a wooden brazen spyglass. Hector smartly came to a halt, dropping Y/n’s hands, accidentally letting go of the parchment. He turned to the sailor who bellowed out the sighting. In a sudden rush, he hastened away, his gait impeded by a hobbling motion as he made his way towards the helm with a firm determination to take a brace of action. He started to bellow orders while the crew manned their stations. “MAN, YER STATIONS YE FILTHY ROACHES, ALL HANDS HOY, PREPARE TA TACK N’ START BARING AWAY 5 POINTS ABAFT STARBOARD BEAM, PREPARE THA CANONS”. The captain started to turn the wheel vigorously, trying to change course and direction to lose sight of their pursuers who were oncoming from the port bow.

Y/n witnessed the parchment being carried away by the wind and eventually landing in the water. The ink began to bleed and dissolve in the saltwater, causing the writing and drawings to become illegible scribbles. Her eyes could read a line pointing toward the star; suddenly, she turned, looking up at Sirius. A realization crossed her mind as she hatched a plan. Smartly heading up from the open deck to the quarter deck to where the helm was, over on the horizon, she could spot a Spanish three-masted royal naval galleon that was rickety and rotten. Her eyes widened at the impossible ship with deteriorated fore, aft and main sails. She lifted her skirtings and held them at her waist as she hurried, taking care not to trip over her heels. Her coiled locks bounced as she climbed the ladder when she made it before the helms deck. “Bare away from the starboard beam, captain, we can lose them faster, and the canon fire will have a guaranteed hit!” Y/n raised her voice to the captain to allow him to hear.

Hector was skeptical. did she even have any plan to evade Salazar's ship, or was she improvising to head toward their death?

“Nay, belay that!” he shouted.

“I assure you, once we head in that direction, we can then tack and head broad on the port bow, eventually going on dead ahead heading into the direction of Sirius,” Y/n told him of her plan.

However, Hector debated, his eyebrows furrowing together when she mentioned ‘Sirius’. He turned to the brightest star of the east, realizing what y/n was trying to talk about. “I hope yer not countin Fiddler's Green as part o’ tha plan, missy.” he complied and turned the wheel toward the direction she was speaking of.

Y/n turned to face the bow and saw Black Pearl's bowsprit turn in motion. Y/n's coiled lock and hair strands billowed in the wind as the Black Pearl changed direction. The Black Pearl was heading West-South along the current while The Silent Mary came from the North-East. The two ships were heading in an ongoing pursuit; The Silent Mary was gaining speed. Upon the Silent Mary’s Fore castle, the captain laughed with a mirthless wheeze. “Prepare to meet your damnation Jack Sparroh” Salazar’s grin oozed with black liquid.

The Black Pearl had picked up speed further, traversing across the sea. When The Silent Mary had just reached a certain distance behind the Black Pearl. Y/n shouted, “Tack Now!”.

Y/n knew she had to come up with a new plan soon. As she gazed at the horizon, she prayed for a glimpse of hope.

A chance to avoid being swallowed by the ghosts of death.

Anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta ✨

#potc x reader #potc x oc #Barbossa x lora #barbossa x oc #hector barbossa x reader #hector barbossa x lora #hector barbossa x oc #potc fanfic #Pirates of the caribbean fanfic #pirates of the caribbean x reader #pirates of the caribbean oc

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gracehateseggnog · 7 months ago

Text

the alcott ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ will turner x oc

summary: will turner has left minerva's hidden island without as much as a note. the following week, she sees a vision and feels his death on her fingertips. can she find him before it's too late?

pairing: will turner x fem!oc

word count: 6.1k

a/n: minerva is heavily based on morgana le fay's depiction in the mists of avalon book. for some background: she's the ruler of a hidden island off the coast of wales. all of the prayers used are basic pagan prayers with a bit of editing to match her religion, and the welsh is badly translated from google, but has translations of what it was meant to be!

tw: angst, a bit of gore, mentions of infertility and miscarriages.

gif creds: unknown

Minerva awoke the morning after her court’s gathering to an empty bed, save herself. She wept until the late hours of the afternoon, then cursed herself for thinking so foolishly, and dressed herself to protect her handmaidens’ eyes from her poor state.

༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻

“We can work something out!”

Commonly, when Jack Sparrow found himself on the deck of another man’s pirate ship, he was pillaging it and foraging for any gold coins or rum left in the Captain’s Quarters, pulling down flags and replacing it with his own depending on if the boat was as beautiful as his was or not—usually it was not. Now, he stood at starboard, near the plank of the ship, hands bound behind his back and his feet tied together with the same, thick twine. He didn’t dare wriggle and cost blood to be spilt, many Captains, including himself, would roar with anger at the thought of their deck becoming stained with the fruits of their own cruelty, instead, he continued to negotiate, to haggle using his ‘charm’ that nobody truly believed existed and had worked as commonly as he boasted it did in the past, in order to get himself off the ship and back to Wales, where the search for John Callis’ treasure would resume.

Captain Sparrow’s actions were unmistakably unique when standing next to Will Turner, who fought every moment that he could to unwind the rope from around his wrists. His skin was already raw and bruised, bleeding from the friction and staining the twine he was captured with. His struggle had already gained him a deep sword cut against his hairline, blood dripping into his eyes and across his forehead, and a dagger to the stomach, which still hadn’t been released from its embedment in his skin. This treasure had only been trouble since the very beginning, though he supposed the karmatic rules that Minerva believed in had only given him a visit on this day, for all the moments he shared on the island of Cantre'r Gwaelo, according to her philosophies, he was bound to have something bad happen in return, and his capture atop this enemy pirate ship seemed the perfect punishment.

“We’ve got lots to offer!” Jack continued. “Gold, jewelry, a map to a’ old Welsh treasure, some very attractive deckhands—”

“A map, you say?”

Will didn’t miss the twinkle in his Captain’s eye as the pirate opposite him sneered with sudden interest and stepped forward, he was taking the bait Jack had laid out for him. “Yes! Apparently, it’s worth more than both our ships, combined.”

“How much exactly, Sparrow?”

“A couple hundred…”

“A couple hundred what?”

“Gold.”

“Hmph.” The pirate scoffed, “We ain’t lookin’ for gold.”

“You're pirates. Of course you're looking for gold!”

“We’re lookin’ for ‘im.”

With a wandering eye, the pirate turned his gaze to Will, one hand placed firmly on the hilt of his longsword and the other flat against his hip. Many enemies were to be made as a pirate, Will knew that as well as the next person, but there was always a shock when the person angry with The Black Pearl had it out for Will rather than Jack. The pirate eyed him up with a squinting gaze, stepping forward and causing Will to scooch backwards out of instinct to get away, forgetting the iron grip weights tied against his ankles, rubbing back and forth against his skin painfully and making him wince. He didn’t know what to do, truly. Usually, Jack had some sort of exciting negotiation or escape plan ready, and all he would have to do was give Will a look for him to know that they would be in the clear, that his mastermind personality had come to shine once again. But Jack’s face stayed stoic, and he did not dare to look to his left at Will.

He wondered if he should pray, Minerva did, she had done so often, but had never told him that he should, only taught him how. His father wasn’t a Christian man, if he was he would’ve been quite a bad one considering his actions as a pirate, but Minerva wasn’t either, she had beliefs incomparable to the rest of the modern world, beliefs that most on her island believed as well. She had told him that praying would never increase his luck or karmatic value, but often for her, it eased her mind and told her that her Gods, whoever they were, were truly listening. Perhaps it wouldn’t stop him from getting pushed off this boat, but maybe it would convince Minerva’s Gods to take it just a little bit easier on him. In all truth, he had no idea how any of it worked, Christian nor Pagan, but he was willing to give it a try if it meant his life or his death.

‘Mam pob peth, gwylia drosof heno, dal fi yn dy freichiau, tan olau boreuol.’

Mother of all things, watch over me tonight,

Hold me in your arms, until the morning light.

Even through thought, Will could not speak Welsh as Minerva did, and butchered nearly every word, but hoped that it was enough to prove his life was worth saving.

“‘is father’s Bootstrap Bill, d’ya know tha’?” The pirate asked, swinging his gaze over to Jack, who widened his eyes at the sudden confrontation, then furrowed his brows. “We ‘eard you was travelling with ‘is kid, Sparrow—”

“Captain—”

“—but we didn’t think ya’d be stupid enough to let ‘im get captured. Again!” The pirate howled with laughter only caused by his own remark, which Will didn’t really find all that funny in the first place.

“He’s not under my jurisdiction, he’s quite the idiot.” Jack then turned to look at Will, his eyes filled with the anger he had nearly trademarked for himself, and Will shrunk down, since the whole altercation was really mostly his fault. “But I’ve got the map to this ol’ treasure, so we can all go on our merry ways with a nice split. Savvy?”

The pirate’s jaw moved slightly to the left. “No. Vesh!”

Will Turner did not get to see who the deckhand Vesh was before a large club was beaten over the back of his head. Pain seared up through his hair only for a moment before his entire vision blacked out, and his mind slipped into the world of painlessness, yet unconsciousness. Jack looked at him with a sense of empathy, knowing all too well the shock of getting hit over the head, and that of the experience of fainting from the impact. The head pirate of the captor ship didn’t waste a moment before pushing him off the ledge of the ship, leaving the ever sinking body of William Turner to plummet to the sands underneath the North Atlantic Ocean.

༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻

She had stopped counting the days after the first week passed. Will Turner had left the mists without so much as a goodbye, or even the half-decency to leave a note on her bedside table, a gesture she would have greatly appreciated despite his horrendous penmanship. Minerva wanted to believe that her reasoning for ceasing to etch the tally marks of the days passed into anything she could find was simply because he had left and she was so incredibly angry because of it, but she knew the truth was deep inside her, and that truth was that she loved him so deeply the days blended into one another. Her scatteredness of time wasn’t just caused by the mists that separated her from the clocks that ticked away in Europe, but because her eyes were in such a haze she could not think properly for the most part, except for diplomatic reasons, of which hadn’t been addressed in a while. She supposed she looked as miserable as she was.

The dining hall that once seemed so small when it was just Will and her sitting at the end of it, eating their weight in fish had turned into something daunting, somewhere that transformed into a place she felt so small in, not like she owned it as she did. Minerva sat at the head of the table, the foggy light cascading through the stained glass window behind her and creating an ethereal glow around her as she looked at the plate of food in front of her. Even nourishing herself had begun to feel like a chore, and she often felt so grief-stricken for not only herself, but for her people that could not care for themselves without a leader such as herself, and were now stuck dealing with her future predecessor, Conwinna, who was much too young—six and ten, to be exact—but Minerva supposed that she was being offered great experience and allowed the Lady to grieve in peace.

“My Lady.”

Minerva’s head shot up from her stuck gaze on her platter of fish, suddenly feeling a loss of appetite as the figure in front of her was not who called her ‘my Lady’ as an endearing term, just one of her guards that had called her by her correct title. She was surely going mad. “Yes, Sir Gerbaut? What is it you require?”

Sir Gerbaut bowed, then returned to stand tall. “Sovereign Conwinna is requesting your assistance with Elder Apolduc’s family. He has fallen ill and they are requesting the Castle to take him to his final resting place in South Wales.”

“What is there to confuse?” Minerva shook her head, pushing both palms of her hands against the wood of the dining table and standing up, her chair scratching against the stone floors as it moved backwards. “He will need to be escorted by soldiers and our nobleman’s boat. You may escort him, if you so wish. I know he was your mentor for a time.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” Sir Gerbaut nodded.

“Is there anything else?”

“Sovereign Conwinna is doing better than you may assume, my Lady.”

“Is that so?”

“She has kept her composure.”

“That is not what makes a Lady of Cantre'r Gwaelo. Composure is not enough, she must know that empathy is not the only emotion one can have, though I am giving it to Elder Apolduc and his family this time.”

“She is only six and ten.”

“I was three and ten, Sir Gerbaut. I have taken ease upon her, which seems to be a mistake now that she is sitting atop my throne, her training and prayers should have started years ago, not now.”

“She is trying her hardest—”

“That is not good enough!” Minerva caught her voice raised in her throat, and settled it just as soon as it had crawled up. If Conwinna could continue her composure through her hardest times, she had to, as well, despite the ache in her chest. “There is trying until you break, and there is passing that stone brick wall that you must climb thorns and ivy to clear. If she does not find that out now, I fear she never will. You are dismissed.”

Sir Gerbaut nodded and bowed to Lady Minerva once more before turning his metal heel the opposite way, disappearing through the large, wooden doors and into the main court room, leaving his Lady behind in the dining hall alone with the ghost of the man she had once loved, but still loved all at once. She grieved for someone that hadn’t died, but had left such a cavity in her chest that she feared would never fill, no matter how many men she would court in hopes of an heir that was not her orphaned niece. Minerva was not naive enough to believe that the kind of love she felt for Will only passed her lifetime once, but she did not want to believe that any man could rip out her heart as the pirate had done. Perhaps after her reign, she would live the rest of her life in the church of Cantre'r Gwaelo, singing and awaiting the day her promise would return.

A deep, pained groan ripped from her lips as her chest suddenly lit with fire and froze both at the same time, pain striking through her sternum like a bolt of lightning and a roar of thunder. Minerva nearly doubled over, but kept her balance with one hand against the top of the table, her other clutched in between her breasts to mark the pain, in a futile way to ease whatever bubbled inside her. She cried out in agony as the pain only rippled and doubled in torment, clawing at the inside of her ribs as if something was inside of her, trying desperately to escape. Hacking coughs soon followed from her mouth, yet nothing, blood or saliva exited, as if she was drowning from the very air she breathed. Her chest lit with the searing sensation of burning, and her knees and body fell to the floor, her hand slipping off of the table and slicing her palm open with a deep splinter.

Footsteps rushed into the room. “Lady Minerva!” Sir Gerbaut cried out, then turned back to the open door from whence he had come. “The Lady has fallen! Gather her handmaidens!” He shouted, the metal of his armour scraping against its own pieces and creating a dreadful noise as he dropped down to look at Minerva. “My Lady, can you hear me?”

But Lady Minerva did not see Sir Gerbaut as he looked upon her pale, grieving face, nor did she see her handmaidens grasp at her hands to check for the constant beating in her wrists. No, because in that moment, she saw William Turner, eyes shut as if in a peaceful slumber, floating in the sea, without a gasp of breath passing into his lips, his hands bound by rope, and his legs shackled with iron weights. A scream clawed up at her throat, tears pricking in her eyes, this is what she had felt, the drowning was her body against his, her feelings his own. She then noticed the blood surrounding him, the deep gash across his forehead and floating through the water, the darkness that stained his coat and bruises surrounding his ankles and wrists from the binds. Minerva then knew this was what she was meant to see, the Gods she knew had given one last vision of his breath to her so she could be with him.

Minerva shot up from her position on the floor, coughing once, twice, and once more before looking up at Sir Gerbaut, her eyes bloodshot and skin a sickly pale, but both returning to their natural hues as the moments passed. “My horse. Gather my horse.” When Sir Gerbaut hesitated, Minerva cried, “Now!” and he left the room in haste by her command. “Help me up.”

The worried handmaidens each placed a hand beneath her arms, pulling her gently up to her feet. Her—Will’s—pain and weakness had gone just as quick as it had come, and her fire was fueled by the knowledge she needed to get to him, wherever he had disappeared to in the sea. He could not be far from the coast of Wales, if he had followed the directions of the map, but her rationale told her there was not much she could do other than look, but he would surely be filled with water instead of life before she could drain the ocean for her love. She would try, nonetheless, and she would refill it with her own tears if she had to. Her feet stabilized on the ground and as soon as she gained her balance, Minerva swept the bottom of her green dress against the flooring of her castle and left the dining room, rushing down the court room, ignoring the worried pleas from Sovereign Conwinna before pushing the large front doors open, and disappearing down the stairs.

Sir Gerbaut met her at the bottom of the winding stairs that led to her castle, holding the reins of her horse Marchogion ready for Minerva to take. She grasped onto them and pushed her feet into Marchogion’s stirrups, clicking her heels against his fur and turning away from the castle, cantering down the remaining few steps and into the town. Citizens gasped as she rode through the cobbles, the only thing protecting her from the elements being the cloak over her head and shoulders and her casual dress over the rest of her. She hadn’t time to prepare if her visions were true, which they had never been untrue as far as she had lived, and if Will was drowning… She tried not to think about how long he had truly been beneath the water, devoid of air and sunlight, tears streamed down her cheeks, nearly freezing against her skin as she galloped under the archway into the city, now facing the mists.

With a flick of her palm, they veiled behind her, protecting the stone walls from outsiders as she drove her horse as fast as he would run towards the Northern docks, where boats lay across the water, anchored to the ground and only to be used by those willing to forsake Cantre'r Gwaelo for the rest of their mortality. Minerva did not allow her mind to ponder what would wait for her on the outside of the mists that she controlled, or what would happen to her once she crossed the sea border of her island. She had never left in her twenty years, she had never even set foot upon the waters that graced the edges of the Isle, just the water that touched the lakes, small rivers, and streams that made their way through the mossy grounds. A short prayer to the Gods spoken in a murmur to only herself she hoped would do the trick to help her on her journey, to not get accused as a witch as had happened to many of her kinswomen that came before her as soon as she stepped foot on mainland.

“Mam pob peth, gwylia drosof heno, dal fi yn dy freichiau, tan olau boreuol.”

Mother of all things, watch over me tonight, Hold me in your arms, until the morning light.

The mists of her island parted in front of her as if sensing her prayers, and the shore lined with three wooden boats became visible through the sudden clearing. Thanking the Gods, Minerva slid off her horse, giving Marchogion as short of a stroke across the back of the neck as she could before picking up the bottom of her dress and running through the grass and to the shore. She didn’t pay mind as her feet and dress grazed the cold, rushing water beneath her as she stepped onto the rocks, hastily untying the rope of the center boat from one of the man-made posts. The skin that touched the ocean water began to prick with pain from the cold, but she paid no mind, even as the waves licked her shins and drenched the bottom of her dress. All she cared about was getting to the mainland for Will as she pulled at the small sail, pushing harshly against the back of the boat to get it dislodged from the rock it had been docked atop of—nobody had used any of the boats in so many years, there was no point in truly anchoring them if they could harbour them on land without any trouble—and leaping on, bidding a ‘goodbye’ to her island.

Minerva raised her arms above her head, joining her hands in the center and creating a triangle with her fingers. Then, she spoke, “Dduwies Mam helpa fi i fod yn amyneddgar ac yn gryf, i weld beth sy'n wirioneddol bwysig, i weithredu heb hunanoldeb nac ofn. Duw tad elpa fi i ymddiried yn dy ddoethineb, i wrthsefyll ffordd y llwfrgi, i rodio mewn ffydd a thosturi, i fod yn wirioneddol ddynol o ran ysbryd a chalon.”

Goddess Mother help me, to be patient and strong, to see what is truly important, to act without selfishness or fear. God Father help me to trust your wisdom, to resist the coward’s way, to walk in faith and compassion, to be truly human in spirit and heart.

She pulled her hands apart slowly, and the thick mists in front of her veiled like a curtain of a window, allowing her to see the true, blue sky for the first time. The air was much different than in Catre'r Gwaelo, in a way worse yet better, clearer yet muggier. Clouds only dotted the blue every once in a while, though she could see thunderous clouds looming far in the distance, far in the distance towards where she needed to go. If Will was drowning like she had seen, the lightning would only do him worse considering the metal binds keeping his legs from separating and the rest of his body from floating. Everything felt like fire to Minerva, her eyes as she tried not to weep before she had even caught sight of him, her legs as they fought against the rigidness of the water they had been whipped with. At the discovery of a whole new life outside of her own, perhaps she would have cried out in excitement of it all, but instead, she looked painfully out to sea and tugged against the sail rope once more, setting off for the mainland.

༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻

When the beaches of Brandy Cove, Gower came into Minerva’s gaze, she nearly collapsed into her boat. The sand was what she had seen in the background of her vision, the large mountains that shielded the newfound civilizations of South Wales from seeing such a dastardly act occur on a ship on the water. But the ship had gone, it was the only thing that had changed, and as she neared closer, she peered as far into the water as she could, begging the Gods for a sign of Will. The water swayed peacefully beneath her as sprinkling rain poured overhead, wetting her hair slightly and making it stick to the back of her neck and the apples of her cheeks. Her sails flapped and floundered against the oncoming wind as the boat began to reach land, the sight of the beautiful sandy beaches of Gower coming into view, and signifying her first steps onto land that was not her own. It was terrifying, but she could barely think about how monumental the moment was for her, not when—

“Ah!” Minerva cried out in a voice that didn’t sound her own when it slipped past her lips, not with the pain and sorrow that painted her chest red.

There, in the darkness of the clouds that covered the once blue sky, she could see the faint silhouette of an ever-sinking body in the ocean, mixing between the tall-growing kelp and the fish that nipped and prodded at its clothing. She didn’t have to recognize him, she knew it was Will from the pain that threatened to crush the inside of her chest as soon as she caught a glimpse of him. His hair and clothes looked the same shape as he had worn when he first arrived at Cantre'r Gwaelo, albeit it was more tousled and unkempt in the water. The final thing Minerva saw from him before taking action was the thick, red colour of blood floating around his floating body, pouring out from his forehead and stomach and dispersing into the water, creating a hazy cloud around him of his own innards, it nearly made her throw up into the boat.

Without missing a moment, Lady Minerva dove from the inside of her boat into the sea, landing with a splash and taking a few seconds before opening her eyes completely and letting them sting in pain just to see Will. She pushed herself forward and swam through the water, blinking back the irritation in her eyes and the horrid feeling of her brown dress becoming utterly soaked by the saltwater. Soon enough, her vision was clouded by his blood, her chest seizing with pain as she looked upon his limp frame in the ocean. He didn’t look as peaceful as the dead, which gave Minerva a slight sense of hope for his life, but his eyebrows were furrowed deep, his lips in a frown as if he was still in pain, even in his unconscious state. Everything about where he was and how he looked filled her with dread, the dread that she was simply too late and he was past recovering crept up into her gut.

She used everything in her power not to let out a gasp in shock as she finally took a look over Will. A huge gash ran across the front of his forehead, nearly lining the wrinkles that would appear whenever he raised his eyebrows in question and wonder. The hilt of a dagger was the next thing Minerva spotted, dug deep into the left side of his stomach, right near the junction of his hip bone. Two iron clasps were fastened together around his ankles to weigh him down, reminding her that he continued to sink towards the bottom of the sea at every moment that passed, and his hands were tied together at his back with thick, twine rope. Whoever had done this to him wanted him hurt badly, and Minerva tried her best not to think about what would happy after she saved him, if these people would try to come after him again or not, as she swam around him.

One of each of Minerva’s hands snaked in between Will’s torso and his bound arms, hooking underneath his armpits and meeting in the middle of his chest, pushing inwards so she could get as best a grip on him as she could in the water. Kicking her legs, she began to swim upwards with the limp man in her arms, slowly but surely to the surface of the water. The iron clamps weighed them down significantly, but it didn’t make the journey impossible, just slower than Minerva anticipated. Her chest began to burn with the need for fresh air but her resolve didn’t falter, she had felt worse pain, physical and mental, in her life beforehand, she could handle this much. Will’s hair was matted and floated around her face, an increasingly painful reminder of how she loved to run her fingers through it when it wasn’t caked in blood and saltwater. She shook her head in remorse for the memory, and took one final push forward before breaking through the water.

Coughs racked her body first, seizing her chest and running her throat dry with each hack and gasp for air. Will still didn’t move in Minerva’s arms, so she barely took a moment before pulling him the short distance to the sandy shore, her biceps beginning to contract in pain with each push forward. He was quite a lot heavier than she was, and the water soaking both of them head-to-toe didn’t help in the slightest, especially when it came to her dress. She could see her small boat, beached atop the sand, the sail having led it to the coast she needed to be on. Her prayers to her Gods had been answered, perhaps, as she knew there were decent enough medical supplies and herbs on board prepared, hopefully enough to repair the cut on his forehead and the deep stab in his abdomen. His chest was the uncertainty for her, if he had breathed in the seawater he was submerged in, she wasn’t sure if she could get it out of him, but she damn sure would try.

With a final heave of Will’s body, Minerva pushed them both onto the sand, coating her wet dress and skin in a fine layer of the granules, her hair caked in a mix of the sand, water, and Will’s blood. She didn’t allow her legs to wobble when she stood up, as much as they protested against her movement after hauling such a heavy weight against the calm ocean, and she stepped towards her boat. Her hands found a small, wooden box off to the right side of the ship that she grasped onto tightly, heaving upwards and holding against her stomach as she walked back to Will. She could hear the squelching of her feet in her shoes, the hair and sand that stuck to her skin uncomfortably, and the pain in her eyes from opening them underwater, but she pressed forward, dropping to her knees on Will’s right side and placing the medicinal box down in front of her.

“Please…” Minerva begged as she opened the hatch of the wooden box. Inside was an organized platter of different Catre'r Gwaelian medicine herbs, bandages, tools for stitching, small bottles of rum and other liquor, and herbs for pain, which hopefully she wouldn’t need to use up until Will woke up. “Thank the Gods.”

First, she grabbed a piece of cloth and one of the bottles of rum, biting her teeth against the cork and yanking it out, spitting it somewhere into the sea behind her. With one hand on the thick cloth and another on the bottle, she poured a generous amount of the liquor into the cloth, dampening it in its entirety and spilling some of it over her hand, making her hiss in pain when the liquid ran over some of the messy cuts on her palm. Minerva pushed herself forward in the sand and gently placed the cloth over the large cut on Will’s forehead, trying not to let tears fall from her eyes when his body made no reaction to what was surely a painful sensation. She continued to wipe it down to the best of her ability, covering the fabric with a mix of his blood, water, and the dirt that had accumulated from the exhaustion of travelling. She wondered how long they had been away from the island.

Then came the bandage. Since it was only a surface-level cut and not nearly as deep as the one caused by the dagger in his side, Minerva knew it wouldn’t need stitches, or at least, the stitches could wait until they returned to her island, or he ventured deeper into the towns and cities of Wales and England, or went back to The Black Pearl. She carefully placed one end of the bandage at the left side of his hairline, then took it around the back of his head, gently lifting up the back of his neck so she could wrap it around his forehead once, twice, three times, until she reached the other end of the bandage. Her hands grasped around a metal safety pin in the box, and she was vigilant not to cut herself on the sharp end before weaving it in and out of the bandage, securing it in place. Few splotches of blood managed to seep through her handywork, which meant that the blood was stilling, which was a good sign of his survival.

Minerva let out a shaky breath and gazed upon the sharp dagger in his stomach, thinking for a moment about her plan of action before readying her tools. She soaked another two cloths in rum, squeezing them together to create a thicker piece of fabric and placed it on his chest for safe keeping. After that, her shaking hands took hold of the needle and thread most commonly used for stitching, which she would use for the exact same reason, and weaved them through each other, preparing to close the wound as best as she could. She had been trained as a nurse for many years before her coronation, before her father’s death and her succession, and she had the best relative knowledge she could ask for, but she hadn’t needed to use her skills in such a situation before, not in a situation that truly mattered. Those were the prayers that never worked, the prayers she whispered in hope she would never require the skills she had learnt.

Wincing and bracing for Will’s body to start spasming, Minerva quickly unsheathed the dagger from his stomach. “I’m sorry, Will, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” She spoke to him, his muscles twitching under the pain slightly until the dagger was out.

Blood quickly began pouring out from the wound, dripping onto his skin and staining the fabric of his torn shirt. Minerva grabbed the rum-soaked cloth she had prepared minutes before and applied pressure to the wound with it, desperately trying to cease the bleeding and rid the wound of sand, dirty water, and the muck in general he had most likely accumulated from his lifestyle. She tossed the bloodied dagger onto the sand and began to tear his shirt around the area of his laceration, making it easy to see the skin surrounding it. She didn’t feel particularly sorry for the item of clothing, her mind was in such a haze only comparable to her island’s mists that she couldn’t truly think of anything else other than Will. This was how she solved problems, how she was taught to solve problems; to isolate the situation and not let her mind wander, especially not to foolish questions such as:

“Where in your Hell did Jack go?” Minerva asked Will, but it ended up more a question for only herself when he obviously didn’t reply. She sucked a quick breath in and pushed the first stitch into his skin, beginning the process of closing up the stab wound. His body convulsed under her shaking hands, but fell limp again shortly after. “‘Sorry.”

In and out the thread weaved, slowly but surely closing the injury and stopping the majority of the blood flow out of Will’s body. When it was completely shut, Minerva grabbed a pair of shears from the box and snipped the end of the thread, placing the remainder back where it came from and applying the same pressure of the rum-soaked cloth back on his wound, making sure it was still thoroughly clean before grabbing the bandages. The main challenge was getting underneath his back to wrap it around his torso, but Minerva made quick work of it by pulling him into a half-seated position on the sand, letting his head fall limp onto her left shoulder as she worked the bandage around his back thrice over, and fastened it in place with a safety pin back where she began, leaving no remnant of the bandage leftover to put back in her box.

A sigh flew from her lips as she tossed the dagger off to the side, unable to look at it as her body finally relaxed. “You can’t simply be happy with a life of normalcy, can you?” Minerva slowly maneuvered her aching body onto the sand, laying on her side beside Will. She took a hand to the strands of hair that weren’t covered by the bandage, brushing them despite the blood and dirt. “Please live, Will. You have defied horrid odds before, you can do it again.”

Minerva moved onto her back and let her hand fall from Will’s face and onto his open palm beside her, she grasped onto his wrist, making sure that if she fell asleep, the absence of his life’s pulse would awaken her. She could feel his heart thumping ever so slightly as she prayed in a whisper, her eyes shut despite the bright light of the sun above her, the clouds of rain having cleared. “O Dduwies Fawr, Mam Trugaredd ac Iachawdwriaeth, anfon egni Hygeia i faethu o'i Phowlen Sanctaidd. Anfon egni Brigid i iachau dyfroedd ei Ffynnon Gysegredig. Anfonwch egni Demeter i adfer bywyd i gelloedd gwywo. Anfonwch egni Quan Yin i fendithio yr iachâd â thangnefedd. Anfon dy ddoethineb iachusol i'r corff i adfer ei gydbwysedd cysegredig. Diolch Dduwies Fawr, Mam Pob Oes.”

Oh Great Goddess, Mother of Mercy and Healing, Send the energy of Hygeia, to nourish from Her Sacred Bowl. Send the energy of Brigid, to heal with waters of Her Sacred Well, Send the energy of Demeter, to restore life to withering cells. Send the energy of Quan Yin, to bless the healing with peace. Send Your healing wisdom to the body, to restore its sacred balance. Thank You Great Goddess, Mother of All Life.

She continued to chant her prayer in a whisper, repeating it from back-to-front as she fell into a deep slumber on the sandy coast, her hand still grasped tightly around Will’s.

#will turner #potc #pirates of the caribbean #will turner fic #will turner x oc #pirates of the caribbean x oc #pirates of the caribbean fic #potc fic #potc x oc

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youalmostcapturedjacksparrow · 2 years ago

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𝕁𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕨'𝕤 ℝ𝕠𝕤𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙𝟡

General POV.

Elizabeth stood on a dry piece of land in the cave looking at a few pieces of gold.

Jack however was throwing all kinds of treasure around looking for good pieces to bring.

Rose walked over to Elizabeth and gave her a tight hug.

'I'm so sorry for everything' Elizabeth said softly

'I'm the one giving you a death scare' Rose said smiling.

'I love you Elizabeth. you're my best friend. I would do it all over just for you' Rose said as she took Elizabeth in another tight hug.

'You know before we went off to the Black Pearl.

And you were already down in the dinghy. Your father came to the captain's quarters.

He sat in front of the door. Telling us how proud he is.

On me for trying to save you.

But he thought it was good of you to say yes to the proposal.'

'Of course he would say that' Elizabeth said softly smiling watching Will.

'But he also said that sometimes the most ideal decision, can be a really bad decision when made with bad reasons' Rose said softly while brushing a hair behind Elizabeth's ear.

'He loves you any how Lizzy..

Not only when you marry Norrington'

Rose wiped the tear of Elizabeth's face.

Rose saw Will coming.

'I'll leave you two alone.' Rose said softly and walked off towards Jack.

'Jack' Rose said as she walked up to him.

'Rose' Jack exclaimed having all kinds of gold around his neck. And walked over to her.

Rose gave him a slap in the face.

'Dying!? Really you gave me the biggest scare of my life!' Rose said tears in her eyes.

Jack snickerd.

'Love. I didn't enjoy seeing you die either' he smirked

Which made Rose smile back at him.

He brushed his fingers over her cheeks.

'I wouldn't mind tho. Being Immortal with you' Jack said a bit softer.

Rose smirked looking up to him. And before she knew it Jack had filled the gap between their lips again. His arm in this small of her back. He did stab her on accident with the gold chandelier he was holding. But that was soon forgotten.

Rose laid her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss with Jack.

'We should return to the Dauntless.' Elizabeth said softly towards Will.

'Your fiancé will be wanting to know you're safe. ' Will replied.

Elizabeth nodded softly and walked away towards the dinghy's

'Really Will!' Rose said behind him.

Her hands up.

'if you were waiting for the opportune moment' Jack said

'That was it' Rose and Jack said at the same time.

'Now, I'd be much obliged if you'd drop me off at my ship!' Jack said smiling at Rose.

Rose knew she couldn't go with Jack. But he told her to write to Tortuga and he would collect her letters.

When they were on the dinghy rowing towards the open sea.

The Black Pearl was nowhere to be found.

'I'm sorry Jack' Rose said softly laying a hand on his shoulder.

'They done what's right by them. Can't expect more than that.' Jack said laying his hand on mine.

When they were hovered above the Dauntless. Jack got cuffed and taken towards the brig.

'Do I really need to tell you that he is a new man now..' Rose said towards Norrington.

'He might be Rosemary.

But this time he already got wat he wanted and the only he now has in his future are the gallows. So he will try to escape.

And now I don't want to hear anything about it anymore okay?' Norrington said as he stormed off.

'Its okay love' Jack mouthed towards Rose. As they took him below deck.

Rosemary's POV

'And now you two' Norrington said towards me and Will

He looked over towards Will.

'I will be letting these charges go if. You will never ever will try to steal a ship from us again. And go off on your own. This is still Royal Navy duty. Not just the duty of an Black smith and a tailor.'

'Do we have an understanding' Norrington said towards us. With a small smile.

'Thankyou Commodore ' Will and I both said.

'Now out of my sight!' Norrington said and we went below deck.

I heard the guards planning the hanging of Jack right were Will and I both sat.

I looked at him with tears in my eyes. And he came closer to me and laid an arm around my shoulders.

'I think I have a plan' Will said softly

'Lets talk about it when we get back. Now go get some sleep and check on Elizabeth' Will said as she pushed me up.

'I'll check on Jack and thank him for everything. ' I nodded and smiled at Will.

I walked up to deck and walked over to the captain's quarters were Elizabeth sat on a dining chair.

'Oh Rose!

I'm so sorry.. I couldn't do anything for Jack.' I smiled at Elizabeth.

'You can't help it Liz.

But thank you ' I said genuine towards Elizabeth. and gave her a kiss on her cheek.

'Now please.. Lets do something about that hair. Cause It's a real mess.' I said giggling towards Elizabeth.

'I thought you'd never ask!' Elizabeth said

When back in Port Royal.

The normal life started again.

Will was busy making lots of new material cause lots had been damaged in the last fights.

And I was busy tailoring all the dresses for the hanging of Jack. It made my heart ache.

But I couldn't help it. I made a promise to Norrington.

For Elizabeth I made a new dress without a tight corset. But with an under burst corset. So That Elizabeth would be able to breath way more.

The dress I made for myself was way more handy.

It was an dark green color. It was a tight dress but the back was long and wavy. There was a ribbon on the back of it.

I made the fabric thinly sown together.

So that if I ripped at the bow hard enough it would rip the heavy skirt of the dress down leaving me with just the corset of the dress.

I made the dress a bit shorter then usual. Because I wouldn't be wearing heels but flat boots.

The hips of the dress were broad so I could actually hide my sword and gun in there around my waist.

I also made an outfit for Will. I made him an amazing hat with feathers. And a nice suit to wear to the hanging.

He thought it would be way to much. But It would be way easier to notice him in the scene of people and I could follow him towards Jack.

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heartlesscorpse · 2 months ago

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Looking for Roleplayers ᯓ ⁺₊ ♱ .ᐟ

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Hello hello, name’s Dead (19, she/her) and I’m looking to get back into roleplaying and find some new rp partners interested in building plots and creating character dynamics and development! It’s been some time since I’ve gotten in to doing some lengthy or rping with plots and I may be a little rusty so please bear with me :)) With this in mind here’s some other things you need to know about me—

Status: Closed

݁ᛪ༙ — My writing switches between semi-literate to literate depending how motivated I am to write with or go along with the plotting, I usually try to write one thick chunk or maybe two paragraphs to avoid writing any one-liners. I will also try my best to mirror my writing to my partners.

݁ᛪ༙ — I have a life outside of tumblr and discord, so please bear with me with my slow responses! With this in mind, I’m more active between Mondays and Fridays as well as weekends as I work Tuesdays to Thursdays. Not to mention timezones are also funky. You may @ me after 4-5 days if I happen to forget about the rp but please don’t spam me.

݁ᛪ༙ — I’m all for platonic plotting between characters as well as adding romance, when it comes to pairings I’m more comfortable writing mlm as nearly all of my OCs are male, (I am open into trying nbxm though!) since writing female characters aren’t really my strong suit. I am a-okay in adding any dead-dove or NSFW in our rps just as long as they’re not the only thing that’s driving the plot. I also rp in a few fandoms and can play a few canon characters. I’m on board for writing canon x canon ships, but I will NOT be doing any oc x canon pairings.

And speaking of fandoms, here’s a list of them that I write for:

ִ ࣪𖤐 Percy Jackson (I’m still getting back to reading the books so no spoilers please! I haven’t tried writing for canon characters either so I’m more open to rp with ocs)

ִ ࣪𖤐 Little Nightmares

ִ ࣪𖤐 Outlast

ִ ࣪𖤐 Pirates of the Caribbean

ִ ࣪𖤐 Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

ִ ࣪𖤐 Homicipher (cc x oc is a maybe??? Depends on my mood ig)

݁ᛪ༙ — Besides fandoms I also have a handful of other ocs unrelated to them I’m more than open to use as well! I can’t remember nor do I have a lot of fandoms I used write for but I’m more than comfortable in using my ocs for rping and plotting things with them. If I happen to find other fandoms I enjoy I might add them to the list! On that note, plotting with ocs in fandomless rps is something I’m more interested with creating plots that are action/adventure, crime, or horror oriented roleplays. I’m MORE than open to plot any roleplays with AUs!

݁ᛪ༙ — Another important thing to add, ageless or minor accs under 18 DNI, I’m not comfortable with interacting with younger people! If you are requesting for any creepy/weird tropes or you’re being an asshole in general, I will block you and end the discussion from there.

݁ᛪ༙ — Lastly, if you disappear on me without a word for more than a month, I will assume you’re no longer interested in the roleplay and I will leave the DM from there.

If anyone’s interested in rping and building a plot with me feel free to drop your discord tag or interact with this post! :)

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phantoy · 4 months ago

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DAVY AND AGATHA DUMP :D

#davy jones #potc #pirates of the carribean at worlds end #pirates of the caribbean #pirates #davy jones potc #davy jones x reader #art #oc #digital art #artists on tumblr #digital drawing #artwork #original character #digital #drawing #digitalart

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esta-elavaris · 5 days ago

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WICKED GAME FINAL CHAPTER IS UP

8k words, most of 'em filthy xoxo

Feels so good to finally cross a project off the list!! Enjoy!!

#james/theodora #wicked game #james norrington x oc #james norrington smut #pirates of the caribbean fanfiction #potc fanfic #potcfic

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dance-in-the-morning-glow · 7 days ago

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I’m absolutely losing my mind over how beautifully @madbalalaika brought Florence and Beckett to life in this piece. The tension, their expressions, the sheer chaotic energy — it’s everything I dreamed of and more.

This incredible art is based on a moment in Chapter 8 of Until the Legs Have Swung (aka my magnum opus, my pride and joy). If you love angst, questionable morals and a dash of sexual tension, you’re in for a ride.

@madbalalaika, you’re a genius. Thank you for making this masterpiece <3

#utlhs #eeeeeeeee #i’m so normal about them #i’ll just…stare at this forever #cutler beckett x ofc #cutler beckett #potc #pirates of the caribbean #potc fanart #potc oc #potc fanfiction

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wastingmylifesecondatatime · 6 months ago

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UPDATE: 06.06.2024

NOTE: You can find other masterlists in my mother masterlist

I have updated the following masterlists:

Avatar: The Last Airbender Masterlist - Zuko - One Shots/Drabbles

Avatar Masterlist - Series

Min Yoongi Masterlist - One Shots/Drabbles

OT7 Masterlist - In Progress

Pirates of the Caribbean Masterlist - One Shots/Drabbles

The Vampire Diaries Masterlist - One Shots/Drabbles

Bucky Barnes Masterlist - One Shots/Drabbles

Bucky Barnes Masterlist - Series

Avengers Masterlist - One Shots/Drabbles

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nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings · 1 month ago

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IT’S TIME!!!

beloved mutuals and followers, random people who are seeing this on their feed, it is my great honor to announce that the first installment of my Pirates of the Caribbean fic series will start publishing on November 1st!!!

Coming soon, Book One: (You’re In The) Wind

(artwork commissioned by the lovely @everythingispirates)

Meet Shuǐ Feng, Sao Feng’s daughter. A spitfire with a love for the ocean, Shuǐ has been shut out of everything and anything having to do with piracy—and when your father is Pirate Lord of Singapore, that’s a lot. An unlikely encounter is about to give her the opportunity she’s been waiting for…but who’d be willing to take a chance on her, much less bring her aboard a ship?

It’ll take a captain whose curiosity overcomes his superstition.

More info to come soon ;)

#ooooo you wanna send me asks about this so bad oooooo #no frl please send me asks about this I’ve been working on it since last summer #potc #pirates of the caribbean oc #pirates of the caribbean #potc oc #potc fanfiction #potc fic #pirates #pirate oc #my fic #my oc #oc x canon #wind/water duology #(you're in the) wind #yitw

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t-annuki · 1 year ago

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Quick sketch of him. I'm in my Norrington era

#fan art #art #fanart #potc #potc fanart #potc art #potc norrington #norrington #james norrington #curse of the black pearl #james norrington x oc #the curse of the black pearl #james norrington x reader #pirates of the caribbean norrington #pirates of the carribean #commodore #commodore norrington #james deserves better #admiral norrington

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gracehateseggnog · 7 months ago

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not a lot, just forever ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ will turner x oc

summary: minerva battles with will's leaving and the loss of their baby.

pairing: will turner x fem!oc

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this is a devastating character analysis of my oc, minerva. please read at your own discretion!

tw: graphic depictions of miscarriage. angst, no comfort!

gif creds: unknown

Three months had come and gone with fleeting visits from The Black Pearl, and more importantly, Will Turner. Once in a while they would return after a voyage or treasure with bullet holes and burn marks on their sails, thanking their stars that the mists opened for them and seemingly only them, but no matter how odd the whole island seemed, the crew was thankful for the relationship harboured between themselves and the island’s keeper. Cantre'r Gwaelo became a sort of safe haven for them on the occasions that they were too far from Tortuga to take refuge, but the people offered them happiness, liberty, and most importantly, food and medicine. It was very clearly much more to that to Will. He got to see Minerva who treated every outing together as if it was their last. She cared for him as much as he cared for her, it was a battle of minds and hearts to see who would outwit the other, but it always ended out in a tie.

Minerva lay in her bed, counting every tick of the grandfather clock at the far end of her grand bedroom, begging for the time to pass slower or faster; she didn’t know what her mind wanted. Intense spasms in her stomach crushed her into a fetal position, wrapped in her nightgown and the sheets that were now stained with deep, crimson blood. Old tears had dried onto her cheeks and pillow, her black hair a mess atop her head as she curled ever further into herself and into her bed. No amount of handmaidens could wipe the pain that rippled through her head with every pain that struck her abdomen, not a single wet cloth could rid her of her own conscience keeping her awake through the night, but also begging to allow her to sleep. Her eyes were glassy, she didn’t want to cry anymore. Everything in her felt ripped apart, but she had already come to terms with what had happened.

She had done this dance over and over throughout her life, she knew what losing the unborn child inside her felt like, how much she bled until the mattress beneath her was red, the intense cramps pulsating through her stomach, and worse of all, the darkened feeling that it was her fault. Minerva knew it wasn’t because of anything she had done, the fertility gemstones hanging around her neck, the herbs she drank until she threw up, the ointments she bathed in, she had done everything she knew. Sovereign Conwinna had been trained from birth in the churches and amongst the castle maidens and knights in anticipation of the very situation Minerva found herself in, her family would no longer exist past her. The founders and rulers of her island would never be of her hair or her face ever again. Cousins were uncommon in her lineage and she was the last to have inheritance to rule. She would never hold a daughter or son of her own in her arms.

In her sixth and tenth year, Minerva lost her maidenhood to another nobleman after three years of being the Lady of Cantre'r Gwaelo. There was no pressure to conceive a child from her people or her family, but she couldn’t help but pray that it would come easily to her, that a child would be born sooner than later so her reign could end when she wished and under her own volition. She wept with excitement and gathered her handmaidens to celebrate when her monthly bleeding didn’t come the following month, and a nursery was built when her stomach became swollen. A Sovereign wouldn’t be needed to train, and the church could stay still and quiet until the time came for her child to begin praying and preparing to become Minerva’s successor. Excitement bubbled in her chest at every thought of the process, and she thought about how big the child would be, if it would be a Lady or a Lord, or how her handmaidens would likely need to take a role much closer to her as the end stages of her pregnancy.

The first time, she believed it was because of the excitement. Her stomach had barely begun to increase in size when she awoke in the night to violent pains in her stomach and blood soaked deep into her nightgown. Her shaking, terrified form cried out to her handmaidens, for the first time uncaring how bare her body was in front of her waiting ladies and begging for help. Her mother dead, her closest handmaiden explained what had happened as she helped bathe her reeling body, pains still racking through where her unborn child had once been. She reassured Minerva that it was anything but her fault, and that she herself had miscarried a few times before baring her two beloved children. Minerva fell asleep in the tub shortly after, exhausted from the toll the loss took on her body, and she let her handmaidens carry her back to bed, her bedsheets clean of blood but her heart and mind unchanged; it was a loss she had felt so incredibly deep.

Ten more times had followed in the years until she turned twenty, before she had met Will. Sex was viewed so incredibly differently on the island than the passing, fleeting rumours she had heard about it on the mainland. It wasn’t viewed as an act of passion, but one of convenience and parenthood. It was meant to bare children, and it wasn’t taboo. Her handmaidens gave her the herbs from every plant that had been believed to boost fertility; chasteberry, black cohosh, red clover, and mac, they had dressed her in necklaces and earrings with gems of moonstone and rose quartz, and she had prayed from the moment she woke to the moment her eyes fluttered shut in the night. Minerva had a bell put in to the side of her bed, attached to the stone wall that she would ring when the pains awoke her to blood in the night, and she could request their help without facing the blood running down her thighs as she walked, pain-stricken down the halls of her own castle.

Minerva longed to hold her own baby in her arms, she felt as if she would be a good mother if she had the chance to try. She looked at the empty nursery often, at the paintings she had hung up of her family members so she could teach her child about the past of her history, at the crib made from the very wood of the trees that grew in the castle’s courtyard, and at the window that looked out onto the plains and mists of the island, she wondered if her baby would appreciate the gaze of the best view the castle had to offer. She once vainly cared about the shape of her body, the way her breasts would change after feeding for months. But even when she had missed that very first bleeding when she was six and ten, she forgot why she even worried about it in the first place, all she wanted to do was forget her duties and stay with her child forever. She didn’t care what the toll would be on her body, her mind, her title, or her reputation amongst her people, she just wanted to be a mother.

Her prayers never stopped when she met Will, but nor were they answered. Fate was a fickle thing that little believed in, but she had tried everything else already, and if there was even the slightest chance that Minerva would succeed in baring a child with Will, she would take it without question. The first night they laid together she bore herself of her regular regiments and casted her fertility jewelry aside. She didn’t gather her hopes high even though she so terribly wanted to, and they laid together many times before he left that very first and fateful time. They had found the fated treasure and he had returned for a few nights before leaving for certain, only to come back in rare passing. Three months passed and led Minerva to this moment, lying in a painful vat of her own blood in her beautiful bed, eyes glued to her shaking hands and trying to muster up the courage to ring the bell at her bedside table for the eleventh time in her rule. Will had given her a baby and she hadn’t known until it was ripped from her.

“My Lady?” A wandering voice caught Minerva’s ears and echoed through her room.

She tried not to cry through her words, a sob cough in the middle of her throat as she replied, “Yes, Sovereign Conwinna? What must you need at this hour?”

“I—I do not want to overstep.”

“Just speak, child.”

“I heard you crying, but you did not call for your handmaidens.”

“I could not reach my bell.”

“Should I light one of the wall lanterns?”

“No!” Minerva cried harshly, a choked sob barely slipping from her lips. She didn’t need her trainee to see her in such a state. “Please gather my handmaidens.”

“But—”

“Now!”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Minerva didn’t look up from her bed, but heard the rushed and hurried footsteps of Conwinna as she disappeared from the Lady’s bedroom, the doors creaking under her rush but not shutting behind her form completely. She didn’t dare let a single tear leave her eye, as she was sure her handmaidens would alight the room with their matches and see the shine of her face, her swollen eyes, and the reddened bedding beneath her and put the clues together pretty quickly that she had lost another child that was meant to be her own, but became the Goddess’ like the many others had. Her hands gripped tightly on her blanket as a brush of cold air consumed her body, spattering her skin with goosebumps and making her body convulse. What had happened to her? Did she truly wish to hold a babe in her arms so badly that she would reduce herself to such a powerless form? Two hours ago she had been practicing archery with the soldiers that worked at the ship port, now she could barely walk.

The doors swung open once again, and more footsteps made themselves clear. Minerva shielded her eyes from the sudden intrusion of light from a handheld lantern, her body alight and the events unfolding. “Thank you, Sovereign Conwinna, you may take your leave.” The voice of Minerva’s most trusted handmaiden, Laudine, called out.

Conwinna protested, surely seeing the violent sight that surrounded Minerva. “But—”

“You may take your leave!” Laudine stated firmly, raising her voice louder than Minerva had ever heard it reach, and it did the job it was intended to do, as scurried footsteps exited the room as fast as they had come the first time. “Oh, my sweet.” Laudine was the only handmaiden who didn’t call Minerva by her title. She was her most trusted confidant, she held herself as if she was the wisest woman who lived on the island, and to Minerva, she was. She was the very handmaiden that gave Minerva the fertility necklace she wore.

“I can’t—”

Laudine shook her head, stepping to the head of Minerva’s bed and laying down her lantern on her table. “It has gotten worse over time, dear. Do you believe you can walk?”

Tentatively, Minerva nodded. “It hurts.”

“I know, dear, I know.”

One of Minerva’s other handmaidens, Igenes, helped Laudine at her command by rolling Minerva over onto her back, sending another jolt of pain through her stomach and making her shake. Laudine shushed her comfortingly, grabbing onto the junction of her arm and her torso firmly and slowly pulling her up from the bed, releasing a cry from Minerva’s lips as her body wept. She tried to pry her eyes from her blood-soaked thighs, now illuminated by the faint light of Laudine’s lantern on the bedside table, and she also begged for her mind to stop thinking about the unborn child, the daughter or son that could have spent its days wandering around the island with hair as silken as hers and eyes as brown as Will’s. Her legs trembled as her feet hit the warmth of her carpet, her body being held up by both Laudine and Igenes, the latter of which held the lamp in one hand and her shoulder in the other. She didn’t care how powerless she felt in such a vulnerable position, she could only think about the child she had lost before she even knew.

“A bath has been drawn by Adendole, and Igenes will send for the cleaning and replacement of your bedding when you are situated.” Laudine explained, leading Minerva out of her bedroom and towards the bathroom. “Do you wish for me to call upon Sovereign Conwinna to assume your role tomorrow?”

“No,” Minerva shook her head, which seemed to be the only movement she could muster her body to make. “I may not be fit to ride a horse tomorrow, but I can still sit on my throne.”

“As you wish.” Laudine nodded, but Minerva could hear the hint of uncertainty in her handmaiden’s voice.

The bathroom was thick with steam from the hot bath that had been drawn, fogging up the windows and leaving a haze only comparable to the mists that surrounded the island across the room. Some form of eucalyptus scent had been placed into the water, filling the room with its scent and calming Minerva, though her heart was still racing against her chest like drums. Slowly, Laudine peeled Minerva’s blood-soaked nightgown from her body, pulling it over her head and from her shoulders before handing it to Igenes. She didn’t look down beneath the curve of her breasts, but she knew that the blood and sweat mixed against her skin was a sorry sight, and she felt pity on Igenes, who had not been in service of the castle long enough to see Minerva in that kind of state, like most of the other handmaidens had. She wondered if the young handmaiden had children of her own, or had dealt with infertility such as Minerva had. Her mind wandered, she wanted it to stay put.

“Can you step in yourself?” Laudine asked, gesturing to the tub in the centre of the room.

“Yes.” Minerva swallowed, holding tightly onto Laudine as she took one step up, legs still shaking, and laid her right leg into the scalding hot water, sighing at the relief it gave her.

“Ingenes, you may call for her bed to be stripped.” As Minerva submerged herself save for her head into the hot water, Laudine instructed Ingenes to leave the room, and she did. “Oh, my dear.” Laudine sat on her knees next to the tub, face-to-face with Minerva. “I am so sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Minerva sobbed, her voice as shaky as her legs. “Why can I not bear a child? I have prayed forever, it is the only thing I have ever wanted.”

“Some women do not have the body to hold a child, my dear.” Slowly, Laudine reached out to Minerva’s head, stroking at a piece of her hair. “Something inside of them is uninhabitable, despite the prayers and the herbs.”

“I have not asked for anything else,” Minerva cried, tears flowing freely down her cheeks and mixing with the hot water and slight blood surrounding her. “I did not beg for power, I did not beg for acceptance, I just wanted to be a mother.”

“I know, darling.”

“It was supposed to be him. He was the only one I could see as a father. What am I if I can't even bear him a child?”

“He loves you for much more than that, just as your people do.”

“I just want to be a mother.”

Laudine nodded empathetically, and Minerva’s head collapsed into her neck, her body wracked with sobs and cries. She felt as if she was six and ten again, crying into Laudine’s arms in the bath for the first time. Her mind was so young back then, yet she had regressed to the same state nearly five years later after the eleventh time. It was such a raw and new feeling, to have fallen in love. Minerva, for the first time, could see herself alongside Will with their child; she wanted to know if he would be a son as handsome as his father or a daughter as wise as her mother. She could see him teaching them how to clash swords and her showing the ways of Cantre'r Gwaelian medicine. Minerva cried deeply again, the sound of Laudine shushing her reassuringly and the hand stroking the back of her head only spurring it on. She didn’t want to feel so strongly anymore, she wished to be able to move on as other women were able to, to find a new lover when theirs left or to simply live alone when their babies passed.

Despite losing so much, Minerva never changed the nursery. It would sit there, unused and gathering dust and cobwebs across the cribs and the toy chests, until the end of time.

#will turner #will turner fic #will turner x oc #potc #potc x oc #potc fic #pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the caribbean fic #pirates of the caribbean x oc

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