the Dalaverse

The first five, all...drabble-esque, at least. Under 900 words total. That's good for me.



A Wig of a Different Color Jack, James, a wig; hils

“This wig,” said James, plucking it up with thumb and forefinger, “is stolen.”

Jack pouted and planted his hands on his hips. “Honestly, Jamie, I promised I’d fetch you a new one and so I have. I’d think a gen’leman might show a bit more grace. Besides,” he added with an insulted sniff, “what’s your proof?”

“It is long, curled, and gray,” James replied flatly, gazing at the wig like it was a dead rat. “I recognize it. You forgot your promise and stole this from the governor’s collection on your way here.”

Flinging himself down on the settee, Jack kicked his heels up on James’s lap and grumbled, “Such a prissy bugger y’are.”


Navy Blues Will, Groves, a kiss; captsparrow4evr

“Pirates,” Will Turner muttered, shaking off the hands of several officers into whose preferred tavern he had unfortunately stumbled. “Bloody pirates!” he shouted into the street, startling a few passing revelers.

“I’ll see him home,” said Theodore Groves, holding tight to Turner’s arm above his elbow. To general surprise the blacksmith quieted somewhat, lifting his mug to his face and stumbling against Groves’ side. He blinked in confusion when Groves plucked it from his hands and handed it to a concerned barmaid.

All the way back to the smithy, Groves listened patiently to the man’s drunken ramblings about the inconstancy of the female sex and the reliable blessing of male friendship (provided those men were not also pirates, Groves assumed). Under the sign newly bearing his name, he lurched to a stop and flung Groves against the door, nibbling at his neck.

“Not tonight, Mr. Turner,” said Groves, turning his face away from the attention. “You’ll be bad enough off in the morning as it is.”

Will pressed maddeningly against him and whispered, “‘M fine, Theo, honest – please –”

Despite himself, Groves wavered, and stayed still long enough for a messy, eager kiss while he considered probabilities. When the probability that Will would vomit on his shoes decisively trounced the probability that Groves would find himself pleasantly rewarded for his troubles, his mind was made for him.

“Sorry,” Will mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s all right, Will,” Groves sighed, guiding the inebriated blacksmith through the door. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”


The Truth Shall Set You Free Norrington, James, a truth; oneiriad

The little vial cost him dearly, but when Jack was struck by a whim, few things could discourage him. His conscience did its best, but lost out in the end – it was all words in the end, no harm done. Expecting something along the lines of I kissed an altar boy once or The scent of peppermint makes me ill or Sometimes I think about you in corsets and skirts with silk garters binding your wrists, he leaned over and whispered in James’s ear, “Tell us a secret, Commodore mine.”

James shook his head, fighting it, his face pale and pinched. Jack was beginning to feel very badly about his fun when the other man said, in a voice like his lungs were closing in, “I love you, more than I can stand, and I fear we’ll be the death of one another.”

He gasped, fingers clutching at Jack’s shirt. Jack closed his eyes, laid his cheek on James’s shoulder, and cursed himself.


Brokering the Peace James, Jack, a hat; elessil

He had the shot – the perfect shot. Jack turned his hat over and over in his hands, poking his fingers through the twin holes in the brim, as if he could puzzle out the whys and wherefores by close examination of the evidence. And yet he didn’t take it. What is it he wants?

For weeks the incident haunted his mind, long after the Pearl’s repairs were complete. The next time they docked in Tortuga, he found a package awaiting him at the Faithful Bride.

My apologies. I do hope it finds you in good health, and if you were to reciprocate with a replacement for the coat torn under your blade, it would be very well-received. JPN.

Jack tucked the note into his pocket, cocked the smart leather tricorn on his head, and set off for the tailor’s.


Worth Beyond Measure Jack, Will, a sword; sparrowhawk723

“Jack,” said Will, awe evident in his voice and his wide brown eyes, “this is too fine a gift for the likes of me.”

“Nonsense,” Jack replied, uncommonly still as he watched Will handle the curved blade with the reverence of a pilgrim, testing its edge with a fingertip, grinning at the blood beading on his skin. He fingered the hilt of his own Turner-made sword. “It’s a piece of art fit for a master, an’ it suits you well.”

Biting his lip, Will slid the katana back into its scabbard and turned his worshipful gaze on Jack. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Suggestions flitted through Jack’s head – let me show you how to wield it, let me take you to meet the man who made it, ask me for the blade it’s meant to have as mate.

Instead he swallowed hard, battening them down, and reached into his pack. “Where might the missus be? I’ve a present for her as well – silk enough for a gown as well as something in wee Anna’s size...”