the Dalaverse

Guess what today is? Besides Election Day, I mean (GO VOTE. I don't have any poll stories to tell because I voted absentee, but I am still teh proud because this is my first. I still have memories of going with my dad and doing the little mock-ballot. One time it was all people with color names, and one of them was named Indigo Somethingorother, and I I got all excited because I thought it was Inigo Montoya. So there's your polling place story).

ANYWAY. I have decided that today is Random Snippets of Writing Seeing the Light Day. sinister_beauty did something like this awhile back, where she posted little fragments that may or may not grow up into actual fics. So I'm sharing stuff I've abandoned or gotten stuck on. Share back, if you like. And I have an awful lot of unfinished crap, so this may be a two-parter.

Snippet 1:

So I have all these Big Plans for the "Honey and the Moon"verse, absolutely chock-full of angst. The Terrible Trio reluctantly has a kid, James dumps Will, Will seeks refuge on the Pearl and then falls apart because James goes missing and is presumed dead, etc. Most of which I intend to write. Someday. This particular installment is one I intend to rework completely, with the same title referring to Jack's birthday shindig - "A Pirate Looks at Forty" - because dammit! I want to use that title!

It was, James figured, most likely against regulation for a commodore to sup at the birthday party of a pirate. Especially since the guest of honor was not only a pirate but one in particular he’d sworn to put down forever. Especially when he was supposed to be on duty and had lied about an illness in order to attend the festivities. Especially because he’d made said lie while in bed with wide brown eyes and pouting lips promising special attention if he were to go along (“It isn’t a lie, exactly,” Will had claimed. “More of fib, a...creative interpretation of the truth. Just drink enough to make your stomach heave and it won’t even be that.”).

Lying on a beach under a horrid paisley parasol was probably against the rules as well – and if it wasn’t, it deserved to be. James was rather enjoying the leisurely sprawl, but every time he glanced up, he had to suppress a shudder. Will had pressed it upon him so that he wouldn’t burn in the sun. The request to keep his uniform on instead had been dismissed immediately. James couldn’t see why; it was the reason he was so pale to begin with (“You are not pale, James, you’re fair – and I like you that way, and I’d like to keep you that way, so stay under the damn thing, would you?”)

He was probably burning through this clothing anyway – a ragged old pair of breeches and a rough-hewn shirt, the former something he’d outworn and stuffed in the bottom of his bureau and the latter borrowed from Will. The smith had demanded the removal of his stockings as well, though James protested that his feet and calves would then suffer sunburn. A moment of thought and Will had begun digging a hole in the sand, sticking his legs down into it like pikes and scooping sand in a small mountain between and around them, until not an inch of skin was exposed.

To be honest, it wasn’t so terrible. The parasol above his head still allowed the sun to warm him, as did his loose clothing, without burning the skin Will was so determined to protect. He wriggled his toes in their impromptu grave, feeling the cool, hard-packed sand shift while the surface grains glittered against his shaded eyes. He was protected from the sun here, but more importantly from the rest of the little beach’s temporary inhabitants.

The crew ignored him, for the most part, and by now they were at the hazy stupor stage of drunkenness. Their captain reclined on a throne of driftwood and palm fonds, tropical flowers threaded into his matted locks, a shabby-looking tin crown perched askew on his head, and rum bottles available for an easy grab on either side. At the moment, his hands were otherwise occupied; under the truce Elizabeth had ordered for a full twenty-four hours, Jack was allowed access to Anamaria’s long dark hair. He was plaiting it in intricate patterns, running his hands through it, sticking the occasional bloom behind her ear before she’d curse and fling it away. For whatever reason, the woman had relaxed enough to settle back into his embrace, letting out a purr of appreciation at his hands on her neck, watching Elizabeth and Will romping in the surf. Well, not precisely – she watched Elizabeth, her eyes half-hidden beneath thick lashes but never straying from the girl.

Jack was watching his back at the prospect that Anamaria would turn her claws on him at any moment; Anamaria was watching Elizabeth; James was watching all of them, but mostly Will. Will with his wet shirt clinging to every curve of muscle, Will in his old trousers with the patch on the left knee, Will as he laughed and flicked hair out of his eyes and lifted Elizabeth high into the air. Now and then Will would turn, catching his eye and altering the heat of his smile to indicate his plans for the night ahead. Come here, James would think at him, come kick sand in my face so I’ll have an excuse to chase you and pin you down. But then Will would turn back to his childhood friend, his Elizabeth, the girl whose sentences he could finish and whose merry dancing eyes matched his own, and anyway James would never carry on so with all these people around, lawless pirates or no.

The rays of the sun seemed to spread an extra layer of heat along his body, as if to suck out the most moisture as they weakened. He closed his eyes, feeling grit collect in the corners, and thought about how likely it was that his lieutenants would believe his story tomorrow. They knew the thing he was most desperate to keep secret, after an unfortunate bout of fever he’d had onboard the Dauntless a few weeks ago during which he had called for Will in red, fearful delirium. He suspected they must have an inkling about Sparrow as well, after his being ‘kidnapped’ by the Caribbean’s barmiest pirate at the very same times Will happened to have gone inland to visit a distant aunt’s nephew’s cousin twice removed.

They really had been about as subtle as one of Will’s hammers whacking on an anvil. The fear that their relationship would eventually become known to people who did not care about them both and therefore turn a blind eye was a very real thing, a phantom that sometimes woke him in the night. Never Will, though – the man slept like a lead weight, snoring to wake the dead if James didn’t kick him quiet. On the nights he was beset by his fears, he would stretch himself alongside Will and try to be comforted by the sound of his breathing. Only it wasn’t a comfort, not really, because it only served to remind him that the stopping of that breath could well be James’s own fault one day.

Something splattered onto his belly, soaking through the cotton shirt to cool his skin. He squinted up at Will, turned bronze by the sun lighting his back. The other man squeezed final droplets of seawater from his hair and flopped down beside James, running a damp hand down the line of his buttons. “Hello. You looked like you were having serious thoughts. Did I not make it clear that that was forbidden for today?”

He looked so young and free of cares that James hated the idea of mentioning the troubles plaguing his mind. Instead he said, “I was only thinking about my abhorrent manners once again.”

Will rolled his eyes, digging his heels into the sand as he settled himself half atop James to duck his head into the shade of the parasol. “For the last time, James, no one was expecting you to bring a gift. I offered to include you when I gave Jack mine.”

“You forged that sword,” James replied. “I had no part in it, and I even complained when you were making it.”

Remembering, Will grinned. “Like a child needing every ounce of affection concentrated on him.”

James was slightly insulted by the comparison. “I beg your pardon? Who among us is the senior, may I ask?”

Will ignored this question to nuzzle at James’s ear, the scent of salt and sweat and heat bearing down upon him. “You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself, not fretting.”

“I am enjoying myself,” James said, accepting a kiss to the side of his mouth. Frowning, he tried to direct Will’s lips to his own, but they darted away to peck his chin.

“And you look it,” Will said with a wry grin, evading James’s further attempts to trap him, “sitting out here all by yourself. Perhaps I could help improve conditions for you?”

Snippet 2:

Just titles and summaries. This originally included "'Tis Better to Give," "Season of Peace," and "My True Love Gave to Me," but those three were the only ones I got written.

Filename: All I Want for Christmas (Is You)

What sort of Christmas gift do you get for the blacksmith-pirate who has everything? Elizabeth thinks she knows.

Psst -- it's Jack. OT3.

Filename: White Sails on the Horizon

When Norrington gets stranded on the other side of Jamaica, it seems Elizabeth is doomed to face her first Christmas as a married woman alone. Can two squabbling pirates let go their quarrel long enough to perform a little holiday miracle?

Oh dear god the cheesiness

Snippet 3:

This was supposed to be an Anamaria-gets-Will-and-Jack-together ficlet, with the possibility of OT3. I think it was going to be the Jack/Will ficathon 2 story until I decided to give "Collide" a go.

Should’ve known the day would turn out funny when I saw the moon last night. Round and heavy and this bright rich color, not quite orange, maybe like the flesh of a peach with its darker pits and pockets. See a moon like that, you know to hold your purse tight and keep an eye out for the crazies. I guess I didn’t think much on it ‘cause we were long at sea, where you’re mostly looking out for storm clouds or the low haze that means no wind. There’s all kinds of sailors’ superstitions ‘bout the moon, but though Joshamee’d call me a fool, I’ve never put much stock in them.

Guess I forgot whose ship this is, and the manner of crew he’s got hanging about, me included.

Day starts off easy enough, a fair breeze up from the south. Jack’s been meandering through the Caribbean for a few weeks now, taking it easy on account of the boy coming aboard. He’s leery of scaring the lad off, plus the swag we picked up from Isla de Muerte’s kept us well stocked.

Snippet 4:

This was supposed to be the HatMverse fic where Elizabeth a. finds out she's pregnant and b. decides to keep the child. I'm still going to write this one, but from a different angle.

“What day is it?”

Anamaria was busy prying a splinter from Jack’s foot while he tossed his head about on the pillow and moaned theatrically. “Thursday,” she said without looking up.

“No,” Elizabeth insisted, “the date.”

“Seventeenth.” Anamaria smacked Jack’s bended knee. “There, cobarde.” She peered up at the other woman, the bed bouncing slightly beneath her as Jack twisted his leg up to inspect his foot. “Why?”

Elizabeth hesitated, her throat suddenly closing on the words. Hard enough to accept it herself; much worse to explain it.

Anamaria, bless her or damn her, took all of two seconds to understand what she was not saying. She sat bolt upright, staring at Elizabeth, who averted her eyes. When she looked up again, Jack was on the floor.

“‘Ey!” he protested, rubbing his backside. “What the devil was ‘at for, woman?”

Leaning over the side of the bed, Anamaria took a swipe at him. “Lecherous poxy bastard,” she hissed. Jack scooted backwards, imploring Elizabeth’s intervention with his eyes.

“Ana, leave him alone,” she said with a sigh, though her own first thoughts had been rather unkind toward the outnumbered sex in their trio. She hurled herself onto the bed, burying her head in the mass of pillows.

With one last snarl for a cowed Jack, Anamaria crawled up to the head of the bed. Picking pillows off until Elizabeth was uncovered, she leaned down to kiss her cheek. Elizabeth reluctantly opened her eyes to see the grave concern on the other woman’s face. She reached out and pulled her close, suddenly glad to have someone who understood in a way that Jack, savvy though he was, simply couldn’t.

“You absolutely sure?” Anamaria wanted to know, voice muffled against the top of her head.

Elizabeth nodded. “Over three weeks,” she mumbled into the hollow of her throat. “I haven’t been three weeks late since I was seventeen.”

Jack’s head appeared as he crouched at the side of the bed, eyeing Anamaria warily. “What’s this about three weeks? Late for what? If somebody’d just tell me what’s – ” He broke off as both women craned their necks to look at him. Anamaria had all the grace and deadly power of a wildcat about to spring. Elizabeth was merely troubled. She winced, watching his face blanch as he figured it out.

“Oh,” he said faintly, rising to his feet and then sinking down on the bed. “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh,’” Anamaria snapped, “as in ‘oh, what a bloody fool man I’ve been.’”

Jack ignored her, staring at Elizabeth. “But – you have that nasty-smelling tea...”

“Which isn’t foolproof,” she said quietly. “Anyway, I don’t take it often because it makes me sick.”

“Precisely the point,” Anamaria said, huffing in irritation. “You ought t’ go brew some right now.”

Jack flung out an arm, pointing to her. “An’ that charm! You’re the one got us that charm, and a damned fortune it was, too –”

“I told you it went funny around a full moon!” Anamaria retorted.

Snippet 5:

This was originally what I was going to write for the Tertiary Character Ficathon. The request was for Gillette/Groves/Elizabeth getting it on under the table at Will/Elizabeth's wedding, but I couldn't do it, so I altered the concept originally, never getting to the smutfest finale

“I don’t see why he had to bring her along.”

Groves tried not to roll his eyes. It was far too early in the day to lose his patience. “They’re married now, Andrew.”

Gillette scowled, tugging on his hat. “Plenty of men are married. It doesn’t mean she’s nailed to his side, unable to be parted from him for a few weeks.”

“We did get called away while they were on their honeymoon,” Groves reminded him.

His fellow lieutenant clearly was not appreciative of this rationalization. Pacing in short laps upon the forecastle deck, he shook his head. “I should have known she would manipulate him like this. It is exactly the sort of thing she would do.”

“Elizabeth is quite headstrong –”

“She’s a hellion! Entirely unsuited to the commodore!”

“– and James was well aware of it before he took the girl to wife,” Groves continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“That hotheaded Turner boy was supposed to cart her off to his hovel,” Gillette sulked, glaring at Groves as if he could somehow direct his rage at the former blacksmith. “James is much too good for her. Not to mention the impropriety – women do not belong aboard a ship of the fleet!”

“Or in James’s bed?” Groves asked quietly.

At this, Gillette fell silent. Regret began to color his fair skin, cooling his temper. “That’s no concern of mine, certainly.”

“Only because you’ve never had the chance to tell him how you feel.” Groves held up a hand to stave off protest. “Don’t argue with me, Andrew. I’ve always known you fancied James. If it had bothered me, I never would have...” Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he gave Gillette’s backside a quick squeeze, grinning at his indignant squeak. “...taken up with you to begin with.”

Blue eyes saucer-round and fearful, Gillette stared at him. “You...you know?”

Groves swallowed old bitterness down and smiled. “Of course I do. As I know you care for me – and I don’t mind the one because of the other. But listen to me, Andrew,” he said, lowering his voice. “It would really do you good if you were to let him go. Like it or not, he is in love with the new Mrs. Norrington. She’s a permanent part of his life now, and thus ours. All the lamentations in the world won’t change that.”

Despite his assurances to the contrary, it pained him to think that Gillette’s mind might wander when they were in bed together. But what hurt worse was seeing the other man’s shoulders slump, the unhappy set of his mouth.

“I’m well aware of it,” he replied with a sigh. “I still think it is highly improper for her to be here. She’s a...distraction, among other things.” Returning to his black mood, he jerked his chin in the direction of the commodore’s cabin. “What if we met a Spanish warship, hmm? Or filthy pirates, God forbid – that damned Sparrow is probably showing Turner the ropes in these very waters.” His fingers twitched, and Groves knew he had meant to cross himself.

“Then you would just have to go in and disturb them, wouldn’t you?” He bumped his shoulder against a red-faced Gillette’s.

Before his superior had the chance to berate him, the subjects of their speculation emerged on deck. Elizabeth had conceded to wear a dress today, no doubt due to her husband’s entreaties (and, incidentally, to Gillette’s obvious relief). Still, it was a shockingly simple affair – little more than a shift – that Groves knew she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in Port Royal. Her hand rested on Norrington’s arm and her full lips were curved in a small, telling smile. The tint to her cheeks was rosier than the sunlight could account for.

For his part, Norrington looked very much as though someone had thumped him on the back of the head. He blinked up at the sky. “Lovely day, this,” he said in a hearty voice.

“Indeed, sir,” said Groves.

The commodore, beaming at Elizabeth, noticed neither his aborted chuckle nor Gillette’s sour expression. When he finally did become aware of their presence, he gave a start before smiling broadly. “There you are, gentlemen. I was wondering if you might escort Elizabeth while I make the rounds this morning.”

“Nearly afternoon,” Gillette muttered under his breath. Groves uncrossed his arms, making sure to send an elbow into Gillette’s ribs in the process. No one had ever seen their somber-minded commander in such a state of contentment, and Gillette wasn’t going to spoil it if Groves had his say.

“Of course we shall,” he said, ignoring Gillette’s small noise of disagreement. Norrington didn’t take the slightest bit of notice – but Elizabeth did. She narrowed her eyes at Gillette, dislike written all over her face.

“Oh, good.” Norrington moved to kiss her cheek. Elizabeth caught him by the neck and pressed herself flush against him,




“Elizabeth, I would have your full attention, if you please.”

Pulling him down for another kiss, she smiled brightly and said, “It’s yours, James.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then some wayward thought isn’t in fact troubling your mind?” At her emphatic head shake, he resumed sliding her dress down her shoulders, following its path with his mouth. And he waited.

“Well, it’s just one small thing,” she said not five seconds later, as she lifted her hips to facilitate the removal of the garment.

Resigned, James propped his chin on her breastbone. “What is it, darling? Are you not enjoying yourself? I had worried you would grow bored –”

“It’s not that,” said Elizabeth, carding her fingers through his hair. “I love being at sea, being active, learning new things. And,” she added, locking her legs around his waist, “being able to steal you away whenever I like.”

Snippet 6:

This was supposed to be a companion piece to "'Tis Better to Give, in which a grown-up Elizabeth finds her old toy sword, discovers it was Will who made it for her, and has some pre-marital nookie with him up on the attic (because damn, wouldn't you?) And then I decided it sucked.

“Do you believe it’s possible to die from dust inhalation?” Will asked, sneezing as more motes were disturbed by Elizabeth slamming a trunk shut. He covered his face with his sleeve and tried to find cleaner air to breathe.

“I’m more likely to expire from the heat,” Elizabeth groaned. “Oh God, I simply can’t take this any longer.” Breathing through the filter of sweat-soaked linen, Will silently concurred that the attic was abominably stuffy; however, used to the heat of the forge, he was far more troubled by the dust of nearly nine years’ accumulated rubbish. Governor Swann had many possessions and luxuries as befitted his station, but if all the things he didn’t use were to be taken into account, it was going far overboard.

Finally getting control of his lungs again, he glanced up through reddened eyes to see Elizabeth busily unlacing her dress.

“Elizabeth!”

Twisting her hands around behind her, she said, “Give me a hand with this, please?”

He forgot he was kneeling, so his efforts to back away only landed on his rear. “It’s bad enough that we’re up here alone, you can’t be – be naked

Snippet 7:

Meant to be a pure Jack/Elizabeth/Anamaria PWP in the HatMverse. Might perhaps be written when I'm feeling especially saucy.

“It’s hot,” Elizabeth complained.

Jack, slouching against the wheel, said, “Yes, we know that, love. No wind for three days. Could boil an egg on me head. Take another swim.”

She shook her head, too sticky and frustrated to explain herself. “I want to fuck.” Jack raised his eyebrows, then bared his teeth in a wicked leer.

Snippet 8:

This was the J/W in which Will gets kidnapped by ruthless pirates, becomes a ruthless pirate himself, and almost kills Jack. Very angsty.

It had been Jack’s own curiosity and foolish pride that had gotten him into this mess. After months spent making merry terror upon the western coast of the Americas, he’d returned to the warmer waters of the Caribbean with a sorrowfully empty hold, but no reason to suspect a fellow pirate ship of treachery. Upon his leaving, relations between the various captains had been relatively stable – nothing like the original Brethren, of course, but it was patently understood that their common enemies were the English, the French, the Spanish, the Dutch, and any other ship flying national colors, so they left one another mostly alone. When the Pearl had come upon a ugly hulk with a tattered white flag hoisted, he’d thought nothing of pulling up alongside the larger ship and sending scouts aboard. After they returned to report finding no one on board, he’d swung a line across himself. An unspoken truce was no reason for him not to take advantage of another’s misfortune.

But the misfortune, it seemed, had been his own. The crew hidden in the bowels and crevices of the ship was quick to sneak past his own men, capturing his helm before bursting out of the woodwork with fearsome yells. In an instant Jack was on his way back to the Pearl, hearing how eerily silent her decks had become and understanding that he’d been shamefully had, but a rifle butt to his head knocked him out cold.

A rat squeaked in the corner of his cell and he shot it a warning look. The brig of the stranger vessel was not so well kept as his own; it stank of unwashed flesh and blood. Polite inquiries after his crew had been met with kicks to the bars, so he could only assume the worst since none of them were being kept down with him. He’d caught the captain’s name – Black, which niggled vaguely in his memory but was not attached to the ship that had attacked him. No telling how long he’d been stuffed in this rotting hole. Long enough for a lump to have formed behind his left ear and the blood from the wound to have dried his hair to stiffness.

Jack sat amidst dirty straw and broken bottles and waited. They were keeping him alive for a reason, he knew that much. And the Pearl was intact – he’d caught sight of her through the hatch as a man came down to check on him. Beyond that much, he was too exhausted and sick at heart to ponder.

The flame from the single lantern hanging overhead guttered as the hatch was opened again and two men stomped down. One was a massive, shaven-headed fellow he remembered had been watching him when he’d come to. Jack had not been looking forward to seeing his small, malevolent eyes and meaty grin again. The second man was tall, lean but powerfully built, with an unmistakable posture of authority. He stayed in the shadows so that Jack could not see his face, but his boots were fine leather and his overcoat a grand affair of brown velvet. The larger man deferred to him in every line of his body.

Nothing to do but try everything in his power to keep himself breathing. Jack rose to his feet awkwardly, balancing with his bound hands on the floor, and dipped a shallow bow to the well-dressed man. “The captain of this fine vessel, I assume?” He forced a smile onto his face, feeling it strain his nerves, as the bigger one unlocked the door and hauled him forward by his wrists. He ended up on his knees in front of the captain – not a bad position for begging, even if his skills were a bit rusty. The captain back away as if in disgust, turning his face aside. Jack could see him more clearly now, though only in profile: high brow, straight nose, dark hair pulled back into a tail at the base of his neck. His handsomeness was marred by a nasty scar at the corner of his mouth, pulled outward as if someone had hooked him with a fishing line. Something worse must have happened to his right eye, because it was covered by a simple black patch. Whomever he was, scars like that marked him as a man capable of dealing with trouble.

“Leave us,” he said to his shipmate, voice low and rough. The man nodded and obeyed, with a sneer for Jack.

He let the smile fall from his face as he looked up. No need for pretense with this one.

The captain crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, throwing his face into further shadow as he peered down at Jack. “Well, if it isn’t Jack Sparrow, sprung from his roost.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He knew the telltale markers of proper English education, and this man had received one at some point. It wasn’t unheard of among pirate captains, but it was nonetheless rare enough that he would probably have come across such a fellow at some point in the past few years.

As the captain tilted his upper body forward into the light, the damaged half of his face lifted in a humorless smirk. “Come now, Jack, don’t you recognize me?”

“My apologies, mate,” said Jack warily, casting a quick glance at the sword hilt glinting close to his eyes.

“I suppose it took you awhile the last time, too,” said the captain with an edge of exasperation that jogged Jack’s memory. The other man cocked his head to one side, his face immobile as Jack ran over his features again and again, clung to the sound of his voice, his mouth dropping open as several connections were made between various components.

No, he thought immediately, not possible. But he stared up into one brown eye and he knew the truth.

“Will,” he breathed.

More later. Must to shower. Smelly.