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[sticky post] All Pirates of the Caribbean Fics List

Behold, The Fics...

Firstly, all my potc fics can be found at AO3 here or fanfiction.net here. There are many.

Alternately, if you like pain, as I seem to, you can read some of them here on LJ. I find navigating fics on LJ mildly infuriating. So, I will only post fics here when they're finished, so all chapters are grouped together. You can also navigate with the tag system, by clicking on POTC fics or the fic title, under TAGS. That said, I hope you enjoy!

You can also find me at apirateslifeforme123.tumblr for more POTC Sparrabeth creations and fun.


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Fic - To Meet A Pirate

Summary: For the prompt "I think it'd be rather exciting to meet a pirate”. Me too! :) Pre-COTBP, slightly AU. Not technically Sparrabeth, because Lizzy is too young, but Lizzy/Jack-centric. A young Elizabeth slips away from her governess, hoping to find treasure on the beach, and stumbles upon a legendary pirate instead.
Rating: G
Words: 3298


To Meet A Pirate

A storm had raged all the night over Jamaica, disturbing the sleep of Elizabeth’s governess Mrs. Burns. When the middle-aged woman fell asleep while Elizabeth labored over her embroidery, a tedious activity of which the little girl detested, the Governor’s daughter lost no time in slipping away. It was a thing she did often when Mrs. Burns snoozed, and so long as the girl was not gone too long she would emerge unscathed, the governess reluctant to admit to her employer than she herself had fallen down on the job.

An exhausting job, in the case of young Miss Elizabeth Swann.

Elizabeth slipped out the garden gate and down the path that would circumvent the town of Port Royal, leading to a more secluded beach outside the booming colonial city. Storms always meant something interesting to be found upon the sand the next day, and she carried a sack in anticipation of finding covetable treasures.

The beach was deserted, and where some children may have been afraid to venture out on their own, Elizabeth never felt more free. She kicked off her shoes and raced down the wet sand, picking up sea shells and odd bits of flotsam that interested her. A rather nice piece of driftwood caught her eye, perfect for a cutlass, and she scooped up the stick to whip it two and fro. “I am the dread pirate queen, Captain Red Lizzy!” she snarled at invisible opponents. “Surrender or die!”

They did not surrender, and so she was forced to run them through.

She sang her favorite song as she rambled:

We're rascals, scoundrels, villians, and knaves,

Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.

We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,

Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.

She wandered a long way as she sang, eyes cast down upon the hard sand, keen for treasure. A gold doubloon, perhaps, or even a shark’s tooth would have been a welcome find. She made her way around a bend, and when finally she looked up again to the horizon she gasped.

A ship was moored in the natural harbor, a large dark behemoth with black sails fluttering in the steady breeze. It was a galleon or a frigate, a vessel of older design, though unparalleled for elegance of form.

Elizabeth stood transfixed for a long time, drinking in the sight.

Who were they? Why hadn’t they gone to the main harbor in town? Just as her imagination began to run with the possibilities, a voice cut in from behind her. “She’s a sight, innit she?”

With a gasp Elizabeth turned, finding three men standing behind her. One was squat and balding, and one tall and skinny, both of their clothes in shambles. The seeming leader of the bunch was a comparably handsome fellow, with a mass of dark hair beneath a jaunty tricorn. Beads and trinkets glinted in the light in that hair, and as Elizabeth gawped his mouth split in a smile that reflected gold.

“Ello, Poppet,” said the balding one.

Elizabeth frowned, gripping her driftwood sword rather menacingly in a way that only caused the gold-toothed pirate’s smile to widen.

“Are you pirates?” she demanded, her voice surprisingly defiant for a mite of a girl.

The leader looked askance, his eyebrows lifting high. “Us? Do we look like pirates?”

“Yes.”

This caused the leader to frown a little, and the tall skinny man nodded with seeming approval, a goofy grin on his face.

“Well, have you ever met a pirate?”

“No,” she huffed.

He wagged a long finger bearing a silver ring with an emerald the size of her eye. “Then how can you be so sure?”

“You look funny.”

The tricorn-adorned man frowned, and his compatriots laughed a little, one even patting him on the back apologetically. In the end the man swept off his hat, offering a sweeping bow. “Well, I fear you’re right, love. I am Captain Jack Sparrow. And these are my associates, Mister Pintel and Mister Ragetti.”

“How do you do, Miss!” said the latter, bobbing his head in some semblance of a respectful gesture.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. This was Captain Jack Sparrow? She’d read all about him in her father’s pirate books, popular tomes she would sneak from his study in the dead of night and hide under her bed.

“Move along, gents. I’ll meet you at the launch.” Nodding, Pintel and Ragetti trudged off towards the longboat that was beached up ahead.

Jack Sparrow knelt down before her, tipping back his tricorn so that he could see her clearly. “And what might your name be?” he asked in a conspiratorial tone.

“Elizabeth.”

Jack pursed his lips, noting that her clothing was of considerably better make than your run of the mill villager. It was a troubling detail. Why couldn’t anything ever be simple?

“Elizabeth what, love?”

“Elizabeth Swann. My father’s the Governor of Jamaica,” she imparted with frank pride.

Jack, however, grimaced in response. “Eh? I was afraid of that.”

Bollocks.

Jack would never hurt a child, but he couldn’t say the same thing for some of his crew, this voyage. A Governor’s daughter would look like a mighty enticing hostage to some of them, and worse. Ransom was not an aspect of pirating Jack took part in often, but he couldn’t say the same for his first mate Hector.

Seeming immune to the captain’s troubled expression, she chattered on, bouncing up and down, “I’ve always thought it would be rather exciting to meet a pirate! Wait till I tell my nurse.”

Jack’s expression screwed up. “Where is your nurse, love?”

“Sleeping. The storm kept her up all night. When she dozed off I ran away to see what washed up. I hate embroidering.”

“Ah.” He really couldn’t suppress a smile for this young thing’s pluck, even if she was quickly turning into a stone in his boot. “Well, dearie, the problem is I can’t let you run off just yet to tell anyone we’re here. Pirates, savvy? Don’t fancy being blown t’bits t’day, or hung by the neck.”

“I wouldn’t tell on you,” she pouted.

“Hmm. Not a thing I can leave to chance.”

The Pearl had taken some damage in the storm the night previous, making it unnervingly necessary to stop on Jamaica’s shores for repairs. So far they’d made it undetected and unscathed, until this little mite of a problem wandered across their path.

The boys should be finished repairing the spar soon, Jack reasoned. He could take her aboard for a few hours until they’d done. He really couldn’t risk her running off and telling of their presence. He had a responsibility to his crew, and their voyage. They were off to find the treasure of the Isle de Muerte. They would be rich as kings, and Jack intended to leave this sordid world of piracy far behind him. He wasn’t willing to give up that chance. Not even for an innocent little girl.

“What say you we play a little game, eh Lizzy? How would you like to be a pirate for a day? You can have a new piratey name, and I’ll show you my ship. Hmm?”

Elizabeth’s expression glowed like the dawn breaking the horizon. “Oh, may I? Can I be Red Lizzy? The pirate queen scourge of the Spanish Main?”

She brandished her stick cutlass excitedly, skewering an invisible opponent, and accidentally whipped Jack across the shins.

“Oi!”

“Sorry!”

Jack laughed in spite of himself, rubbing his smarting leg. “You’re a right little devil with that thing. Red Lizzy it is. NOT Elizabeth Swann, Savvy? Can’t have a Governor’s daughter on a pirate ship. It’s against the Code.”

Elizabeth nodded earnestly. She’d heard of the Code, as set down by Henry Morgan and the Brethren of the Coast years and years ago. She felt madly proud that Captain Sparrow would take her into his confidence.

“Aye aye, Captain!”

Jack’s smile split wide, his gold teeth almost blinding in the sun. “That’s a good lass. Shall we?” He waved towards the long boat, where Pintel and Ragetti were waiting.

They began to walk down the beach, and Jack started as a small hand slipped into his, a tiny fist latching onto his rough fingers. “What’s your ship’s name?” she asked, oblivious to his discomfort.

“The Black Pearl.”

Elizabeth sighed longingly, itching to clamber upon the decks. “She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you kindly, darlin’.”

He relaxed, her little hand clasped in his, and he felt a niggling curl of warmth in the depths of his heart, a place he’d thought long ago walled off from the world. Captain Jack Sparrow, feared buccaneer and nursemaid.

Ye Gods.

He could not have guessed the half of what he was in for, but it was too late to turn back now.

She chattered away, asking questions about pirate life as they rowed across to the Pearl. Ragetti and Pintel engaged her in conversation easily. Their mental capabilities were about on par with a precocious ten year old, Jack reckoned.

Without hesitation the little girl clambered aboard, and from that moment Jack spent the next four hours chasing her back and forth. She dashed two and fro, asking about the cannons, the ropes, the pulleys, the sails. The crew watched with flabbergasted amusement, used to their Captain’s eccentricities, but so far this trumped all.

She demanded to stand at the helm, a feat of which was facilitated with the help of a crate. Delightedly she clasped the smooth-worn pegs of the wheel, imagining steering the Pearl through treacherous reefs, murderous schools of mermaids, and the Royal Navy in hot pursuit behind.

Next she scaled the rigging, Jack only catching up to her once they’d reached the crow’s nest.

“Why don’t you teach me that song ye were singing on the beach?” Jack suggested, desperate to get this bloody child to stand still for ten minutes. So she did, and soon they were serenading the rest of the crew below, her sweet voice complemented by the captain’s surprisingly comely baritone. In time they all began to sing along:

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

We extort, we pilfer, we filch, and sack,

Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.

Maraud and embezzle, and even high-jack,

Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.

Jack was only able to convince her to vacate the magnificent view of the crow’s nest with the promise of a very special treat in his cabin. Chocolate, stolen from a Spanish merchant ship. She’d only had it once and remembered it was the most heavenly sweet. She scampered after him down the ratlines, showing not the slightest hesitation for what would be a long fall down to the deck below.

Once in the great cabin, Jack fell down into his desk chair, heaving a great sigh as he rifled through a drawer in search of the chocolate. He hoped it had not melted. He jumped a little when Elizabeth crawled up into his lap, watching his rifling with interest. She soon turned her attention to his navigational instruments, turning over a very valuable astrolabe in her tiny hands.

“Trade you, love,” said Captain Jack, producing the chocolate from the back of the drawer. It was only a little soft. Happily she relinquished the globe, and Jack placed it as far out of reach as he could.

She was quiet for about two minutes, chocolate in hand.

Next, she was curious about the trinkets in his hair, and asked him about every single one.

“This one is pretty,” she said, fondling a bead of bright blue faience.

“Ah. A bauble from the deserts of the East,” said Jack. “Khar Mohreh. Means good luck.” Actually it meant mark of the donkey but he was too tired to explain. “Wards off the evil eye.”

“You’ve been everywhere,” sighed Elizabeth, fascinated by the dreamy blue of the bead. “I should like to travel like you someday.”

Jack pressed his lips, loathe to tell her that when she was older she would probably be married off and never get the chance. It was a woman’s lot. And yet she was a singular young girl, and so who knew where life would take her? He wondered if she would always haphazardly court danger, the way she had today. If any other pirate had happened upon her…the thought gave him unhappy chills, making his stomach flip-flop with dread.

He began to unbraid the raven lock that secured the bead, and slipped it from his hair. Elizabeth watched with awe as he began to braid it into her own hair. “I think you need this more than me, love. It will bring you protection, good luck, and long life. I want you to have it.”

When he finished she happily looked down upon it, hero worship shining in her eyes. “I should like you to have something too,” she said, looking down at her person. In the end she settled for tearing away a section of lace from her hem. Lace that had come all the way from France, and was very expensive. She wrapped it around Jack’s wrist twice, and tied it neatly in a knot. “So you’ll always remember me.”

Jack smiled, that damnable icky mushy feeling assailing his heart once more. “Don’t think I could forget this day if I tried, love. You are an unusual little girl, Red Lizzy.”

“Thank you,” she said primly, her attention turned to the chart on his desk. Discretely Jack nudged a piece of paper over the Isle de Muerte, obscuring it from view. He couldn’t help but take account of Elizabeth’s freckled profile. She was all knees and elbows now, but someday he surmised she would be a real beauty. If she survived to adulthood, fool hardy young thing.

“You know, Lizzy, not all pirates are as nice as me.”

“I know.”

“If you ever meet one again, and you’re in trouble, say Parlay. That way they have to negotiate. It’s the Code.”

She nodded sagely. “I will.”

“If I write a letter to your father will you give it to him for me?”

“Yes,” she answered, her little finger tracing the outline of la Cuba. She seemed quite content to look at the chart, a thing he’d not even let his first mate see, and so he quickly scrawled out a missive on the best parchment he had, and sealed it with his ring.

Jack rowed Lizzy ashore with Ragetti and Pintel once more. He was loathe to let her make the trip back to Port Royal alone, but frankly he didn’t trust his crew of scallywags not to leave him behind. After playing nursemaid all day he would have to do something exceptionally piratey to win back the respect of the crew. She hugged him around the neck, waved to the other two pirates, and scampered off down the beach.

Once back aboard the Pearl Jack barked in his most menacing tone, “Prepare to set sail! That treasure won’t spend itself, lads!”

A chorus of happy ayes and arghs answered his order, and in good time the Pearl back at sea. Jack watched the increasingly diminishing little female form skip down the beach, and Hector came to join him on the quarterdeck. “Could have got a pretty penny for that one, Jack,” he leered.

Jack huffed at the thought. “We have bigger fish to fry. Ransom for a little girl would be small potatoes, compared to the treasure that awaits us.”

Hector Barbossa shrugged, looking at his captain sideways. There seemed to be an extra measure of disdain in Hector’s voice when he said, “Wouldn’t mind having a look at that chart, Jack. Seeing as we’re all equal partners here.”

Jack bit his lip. His instincts screamed that wouldn’t be his finest idea, but as little Elizabeth vanished from view he felt more and more foolish for how he’d spent his day. What kind of a pirate was he? Perhaps he’d better prove he hadn’t lost all his wits to these men.

“Very well, Hector. It’s in my cabin.”

***

When Elizabeth returned home Mrs. Burns was frantic. She shook the child a little, before young miss happily informed her that if the governess spanked her she would be sure to inform her father that Mrs. Burns had taken a nap on the job that day. “Ye little imp,” huffed the woman. “Worried me sick…”

She grumbled on for some time, but Elizabeth ignored her. She felt a crinkling in her pocket, and remembered the letter from Captain Sparrow. She examined the red wax seal. It was tempting to break it and read the letter, but she’d made a promise to Captain Jack, and she wanted to honor it. It was her duty, as Jack had told her she was now an honorary member of the Brethren of the Coast.

Finding Weatherby in his study, she handed the letter to her father with a solemn nod. Thinking this was yet another of little Elizabeth’s games—the child had a vivid imagination—Weatherby thanked her and set it aside for later. He was busy reading the latest reports from Captain Norrington. A pirate ship called the Black Pearl had recently been sighted near Jamaican waters…

***

Exhausted after a long day, Weatherby retreated to his study after dinner, pouring himself a generous measure of brandy. Only then did he remember the letter Elizabeth had handed him with such a serious expression for such a young girl. With a chuckle he sought it out upon his desk.

Weatherby regarded the seal curiously. It did not contain a crest, or a monogram, but a rather ominous death’s head with a sparrow flying above it. Where had she gotten such a seal? Suddenly very interested, Governor Swann popped it open, finding a missive in a flowing hand that read:

Honoured Sir, the most distinguished and venerated Governor Swann,

Greetings, and it is my hope this letter finds you in good health.

It is my regret to inform you that Miss Elizabeth’s governess is in dire need of termination. I, a pirate of some renown and repute, found your young daughter wandering on the beach alone, and spent the better part of the day with her upon my ship. A buccaneer of crueler inclination would not have hesitated to acquire a coveted hostage, an insult you would have felt acutely in your coffers and undoubtedly, your heart. However, the lass and I contented ourselves with stick fighting and singing pirate songs, of which the dear girl inexplicably seems to know a great deal.

As I write this at the end of our day I am utterly exhausted, and my shins do pain me (the lass is deadly with a wooden sword, which is actually not a bad skill for a young girl in these uncertain times and I hope you will continue to encourage her). I would advise perhaps the hiring of a small army to keep track of your daughter; one lazy woman certainly cannot be enough to keep Elizabeth out of trouble.

I thank you kindly for the use of your shores for much needed repairs, and it is my hope you will not hear from us again. I have returned Miss Elizabeth to you unscathed, and I hope this incident will remain in your impeccable memory with generosity, should we ever meet in less than favorable circumstances.

Respectfully yours,

Captain Jack Sparrow

Weatherby paled more and more with every word read.

By the time he reached the end his hands were shaking, and he leapt from his plush chair by the fireplace. Governor Swann did not often raise his voice, but he woke the whole house when he bellowed with a mixture of fatherly panic and fury, “Elizabeth!”

Fic - Deeply

Summary: A ficlet for Sheliesshattered, and the prompt "I'm deeply flattered, son, but my first and only love is the sea." Mid DMC, Elizabeth finds Jack on Tortuga, and it's only polite to greet old friends with a kiss. :)
Rating: T-ish


Deeply

“I’ve come to find the man I love.”

Jack paused upon the gangway, his accoutrements swaying with his sudden cease of motion. He froze not because of the nature of the phrase, what should be an alarming declaration to any pirate worth his salt, but because he would know that voice anywhere. He heard it in his thoughts constantly, even his dreams gave him no respite of it.

Elizabeth.

She was here, in Tortuga, undoubtedly to find her whelp of a fiancé, the fool of whom he had sent skipping off to face Davy Jones.

It had been so easy to get rid of Turner he almost felt obliged to rescue the young bugger.

Almost, but not quite. Especially not quite, seeing as the rum-burning fiancée Jack so coveted was now here, as it were.

The words fell from his lips before he could stop himself; let it not be said Jack Sparrow ever lacked a witty retort. “I’m deeply flattered, son, but my first and only love is the sea…”

It was not what he’d imagined himself saying to Elizabeth Swann, should he ever manage to come face to face with her again.

A cacophony of voices chanted in Jack’s head.

A high-born lass’ first taste of freedom, words filled with joy as they raced about the fire. . We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs, Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.

You’ll be the most fearsome pirate to ever sail the Spanish Main.

Where ever we want to go, we’ll go.

And Tia Dalma, laughing at him with that all-knowing burnished gold gleam in her eye.

Jack Sparrow does not know what he wants! Or do you know...but are loath to claim it as your own?

Well, he did bloody well know, thank you. It didn’t take a compass to really tell him that, though it damn sure could sabotage taking a useful reading. Maybe, just maybe, if he could get it out of his system, the compass would bloody work again?

He whirled to find her standing at the foot of the gangplank, a hand upon her hip, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Those caramel colored eyes gleamed from beneath her hat, and a hint of golden hair. She looked rather well for a woman dressed in boy’s togs, and he found that confoundedly annoying.

“Meaning—”

Before she could say any more Jack dashed down the gangway, catching the blasted woman up with an arm about her waist, descending upon her mouth with his before the chit could say another infuriating word. For a moment she stiffened with surprise against him, and soon after melted like chocolate beneath the Caribbean sun, moaning as his tongue caressed her lips. Her mouth parted in a tentative permission of its own volition, and Jack swept inside, diving into the sweet warmth of her mouth with reckless abandon.

When at last he drew back she gasped, speechless, her hat askew. “You were saying, love?”

His blood roared in his ears, and he knew well enough that this experiment had been a failure. There would be no getting her out of his system with just a kiss.

Elizabeth could hardly remember her own name, much less what she’d been saying.

“I…you…unhand me?” was her questionably coherent reply, her fingers actually tightening their grip upon the lapels of his coat as though to pull him closer.

Jack grinned wide, gold flashing in the torchlight. “Come to join my crew? Knew you couldn’t resist me…”

It was then that she regained her composure, shoving against his chest. “Despicable man!”

“Pirate, darlin’.”

“Oooo I should slap that that smirk right off your face, Jack Sparrow!” As she said it her hand travelled to the pommel of her sword, a rather alarming set to her jaw.

“Now Lizzy, no need for this encounter to turn murderous so soon,” said Jack, staying her hand with his upon her wrist. She looked down at the offending mitt, eyes wide, and he could feel her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers.

“I have come to find Will.” This sounded as though she was reminding herself as much as informing Jack of her intentions.

“Eh? Could have fooled me,” he teased, mischief dancing in his eyes, even as his stomach did a sickening little flip at thought of where exactly the whelp found himself at that moment.

“Jack…” There was a sudden thread of fragility in her tone that gave the pirate pause. He considered what it must have taken for her to travel all the way here, a woman alone—and hadn’t Will said she was in jail? Clever lass, this one.

“Come on darlin’. You can tell Captain Jack all about it in my cabin.”

“I can’t go in your cabin,” she protested as Jack’s hand closed about hers, tugging her to follow him up the gangway.

“You’re already a fugitive from the law, and finding yourself upon a pirate island, love. What more harm could I do to your reputation?”

“Plenty, I am certain,” she quipped, though she followed him across the deck.

As soon as her feet touched the deck of the Pearl she felt herself relax, a breath releasing she didn’t even know she’d been holding, as though finally she had gained safe ground.

The search is not done, she scolded herself, running a loving hand along the gunwale of the Pearl. Yet she could not shake the feeling of coming home, as though this ship—this pirate—was what she’d truly sought all along.

Fic - No One Has To Know

Summary: Elizabeth questions the silver "piece of eight" in Jack's hair on Rumrunner's island. Written for the Tumblr prompt: no one has to know. Its Sparrabeth, of course.
Rating: Maybe a hard PG.
No One Has To Know

Fire shadows danced upon the sand. Elizabeth Swann found herself trapped upon a desert island with a legend of a pirate—in close quarters she was finding he was actually only a man. Initial disappointment faded quickly for this truth; she liked a Jack Sparrow with mortal faults more than the immaterial promise of a fairy tale.

A fable she could dream of, but a man she could touch.

This knowledge became increasingly more dangerous with every passing minute.

They had danced like mad pagans about that fire just to her right, chanted sea-bandit ballads at the top of their lungs as though to invoke a spell. She wasn’t sure if she felt the aftereffects of that magic thrumming beneath her skin now, or simply the consequence of her first imbibing in the libation of the sugarcane.

Jack Sparrow lounged beside her with the easy grace of a sleepy leopard, relaxed in everything but a watchful gaze that missed nothing. There was a predator’s gleam in his eye to accompany that trickster’s twinkle; his immunity to the vile drink was a weapon in his arsenal she should have calculated.

“Piece of eight for your thoughts, Lizzy,” he offered, his clever fingers drawing patterns in the sand between them.

“You haven’t got a ha-penny upon you, much less a piece of eight,” she taunted, more venom in her tone than was necessary, but only because she felt as though much more than the revelation of her considerations was at stake.

He fingered the silver tasseled token bound into his hair absently, his gaze distant for just a moment. “You might be surprised, love. But no matter. I actually already know what troubles you.” The latter he delivered with a sly little smile that quickened her pulse, and Elizabeth narrowly resisted the impulse to slap him.

Or kiss him.

Oh dear.

“I very much doubt that, Captain Sparrow.” She attempted to put some distance between them with the formality, but seemed to only stoke the fire of his vanity, gold gleaming in his widened smile. Yet something irresistible whispered in her ear, and before she could stop herself she said, “Though you may humor yourself, in attempting to guess.”

There was a spark of delight in his onyx orbs; pleased that she would dare to play his game. Brave or foolish: at this juncture of the evening she could hardly tell the difference.

“You are wondering what it might be like if I kissed you,” he brazenly volunteered. “You’re afraid you might like it.”

Elizabeth affected disgust, though secretly her heart quickened two-fold, her blood pounding in her veins. She should have slapped him. She should have leapt up from her place on the sand and stormed off to find somewhere else to spend the night. She didn’t need the fire; the Caribbean evening was balmy enough for comfort.

Before she could retort Jack finished for her, “No worries, though, love. Captain Jack Sparrow does not take advantage of lost little virgins.” He lay back in the sand, propping an arm behind his head. He made the very picture of a heathen deity in repose, the flames dancing in his eyes. “Your virtue is safe—at least as safe as you wish to keep it.”

She despised him in that moment, embarrassment a hot flush that painted her cheeks red. She hoped he couldn’t see it in the shadows, though by the glint in his eye she suspected he knew.

He knew everything, all too well.

The urge surged in her again to do him bodily harm, her fist clenching beside her. With a sliding glance beneath half-closed lids Jack seemed to make note of it, and Elizabeth decided she would settle for a little hair-pulling instead. “Then I suppose I shall have my piece of eight,” she huffed, reaching for the talisman in his raven’s wing mane.

Quick as a mongoose, he caught her wrist, tugging her so that she fell on top of him. “Ah, ah, dearie, that deal was for your volunteering of your musings. And I fear I cannot surrender that particular piece of eight to your greedy little hands. It is far more valuable than its weight in silver.” His grip upon her shifted, his thumb caressing her palm in a way that sent a frisson of...something through her core.

She should have bolted from her position upon him. Should have shoved him away with admonishment, and ran for the safety of the trees.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Jack’s body was warm and firm beneath hers, a lithe divan of whipcord muscle upon which to lounge, and she found an indescribable pleasure in this new discovery of unchartered territory. Jack represented all the undrawn portions of the map of her limited experience of life.

Here, there be monsters.

She found she wanted to fill in the blank gaps of her knowledge of men, just a little.

Elizabeth turned a skeptical eye to the bauble in question, pretending that Jack’s fingers laced with hers was not playing hell with her sanity. “Tis not even a real piece of eight,” she observed. “Tis a Mohammedan trinket; the script looks like Arabic.”

She read surprise in Jack’s eyes; a bare moment’s flash of wonder. “My, Lizzy. And what do you know of Eastern scripts and Mohammedan silver?”

“Hardly enough to fill a thimble,” she confessed, her gaze inadvertently drawn to his lips as she spoke. All too aware, Jack’s dexterous fingers slipped into her hair next, kneading her gently at the base of her skull. Heavens, but that felt good. For a brief moment she allowed herself to close her eyes, a sound escaping her that sounded damningly like a purr.

“We can’t do this, Jack,” she sighed as she felt him shift beneath her, his face rising to meet hers.

“Just a kiss, darlin’,” he whispered, beguiling and yet a note of something surprisingly vulnerable in his tone. “No one has to know.”

I’ll know.”

He smiled above her mouth, his lips a breath from hers. “All part of the fun, love.”

“This is all just a game to you, isn’t it? Just another chapter in the Legend of Captain Jack Sparrow.”

His smile widened, those wicked lips so close to hers. “Who knows? Perhaps I am just a page in your book, Elizabeth Swann. He—or she who lives tells the story.”

“Then what if we both die here?”

“All the more reason to kiss me now, while we have our strength and the world is fine.” He stroked her hair, tucking a salt-kinked lock of gold behind her ear. “Very fine,” he appraised, his eyes softening.

And so she did, pressing her lips to his lightly, a tentative taste. For all the time she spent imagining what it might be like to kiss a man, she really didn’t know what to do. Jack was all too happy to show her, his tongue sliding between her lips, slowly coaxing her mouth to open to him. He palmed her cheek in his hand, his sea-roughened palm impossibly gentle upon her.

He was not harsh or demanding, all the things she expected a pirate to be. Jack possessed a beguiling charm, far more dangerous than brute strength or a sharp blade. Had he used the latter against her she could have fought him, could have hated him. But this: magic called with the flash of a smile and conjurer’s sleight of hand—she could love him for that, and the thought was as startling as was enticing.

Breathless, Elizabeth jerked back from him, suddenly sitting up in the sand.

What did she think she was doing, kissing a pirate on this deserted island all alone?

She expected a taunting jester’s grin, but this time his smile was gentle, the barest curve of lips that contained a hint of sadness. It mercilessly squeezed her heart, and she pressed her hand to her chest as though to relieve the ache. Before she could say anything more, accuse him of sorcery or ask a question too dangerous to answer, Jack rolled on his side, giving her his back.

“Go to sleep, love,” he sighed, his body on fire from head to…well. “Big day tomorrow.”

Unsteady in her own skin, Elizabeth lay back, her eyes fixed upon the spinning stars above. Her hand remained upon her chest, her heartbeat a frantic drumroll beneath her fingers.

Oh my.

She had to do something to get them off this island, she resolved. Otherwise…

She looked to the pirate who lay so close beside her, yet so far away, appraising the shape of his broad shoulders and long torso, his slender hips leading to long legs curled in the sand.

Otherwise, he would pillage her heart, without even firing a shot.

Bloody pirate.

There was a surprising lack of venom in the thought.

Despite her own wise advice of caution, she scooted closer to Jack, curling her svelte body alongside his. For a moment he stiffened, before relaxing back against her. Their curves fit with the alarming perfection of a dovetail joint, his delectably round derriere nestling in the cradle of her hips, her long legs tangling with his. He stroked the bottoms of her feet with his toes, sending a thrill up her legs and spine. Her arm slipped over his waist, holding him to her, and he captured her hand in his, pressing it to his heart.

No one has to know, love,” he whispered again, and she realized he was promising not to ruin her with boastful claims of how he’d had the governor’s daughter all alone on Black Sam’s Spit, and what an adventurous lass she proved to be.

He who lives tells the story.

In that moment she desperately wanted to survive this seemingly innocuous but all too deadly little island.

She didn’t know what came over her, when she murmured against his broad back, “To hell with them, anyway.”

Elizabeth felt him shudder with what she assumed was laughter, and then his breathing deepened, sleep finally claiming the trickster captain. She followed him soon after, her sleeping mind painting pictures of heathen gold and the promise in a midnight-eyed pirate captain’s smile.

Fic - The Happiest We Ever Were

Summary: AWE, the hour of the final battle is nigh. King Elizabeth looks back on her journey to this moment in time, with a specific pirate in mind. Mildly Sparrabeth, even *mostly* canon, but J/E none the less...
Rating: T
Words: 800
Notes: Written for sheliesshattered, according to the Tumblr prompts:


What you said:
After you kissed me.
When we were the happiest we ever were.
I wasn’t meant to hear.

The Happiest We Ever Were

Once upon a time, had I been told that someday I would parcel the stages of my life according to the words of a pirate, I would have called the bearer of said prophecy mad. I would not have accounted for so many things, chief among them that said pirate’s name would be Captain Jack Sparrow.

A Governor’s daughter should never have delighted so in mad hijinks upon the sea, skeleton pirates cursed by greed for Aztec gold. A proper lady would not have reeled around a fire singing buccaneer songs at the top of her lungs, breathless and dizzy with rum and something far headier, something dangerous and far more damning.

You spoke words of freedom, words of a future of us, together. You said Wherever we want to go, we’ll go.

It was the happiest we ever were.

Later, on the deck of the Dauntless, your face painted in moon-shadows, a fey gleam of approval in your eye, you said: Peas in a pod.

Fool that I was, I told myself it wasn’t true.

I should like to say after that adventure I forgot about you, but it was never so. When fortune interrupted a wedding that would bind me to a good man, but rob me of my freedom, my heart breathed a secret sigh of relief.

The little voice I so tried to ignore in daylight and polite company chanted fate intervened.

Wicked thing, my heart reveled in the chance to pick up my sword and play pirates again on the high seas. It rejoiced in the necessity to find you again. It delighted in the uncomfortable stiffening of your shoulders on the dock when I called I have come to find the man I love, even as I marveled at my own brazen mouth. It exulted in the shape of your lips that curled wickedly with recognition, a trickster’s smirk flashing gold in the night.

The longer I spent away from drawing rooms and confining lady’s fashion, the more my true self came to the fore.

You saw it all with those dancing gypsy eyes, straight to the core of my black little soul. The day I finally kissed you, a Judas kiss, a Judith seduction, the threat of the Kraken all around, you said with admiration: Pirate.

From the safety of the longboat, I watched Jones’ sea beastie drag you and the Pearl to hell, and a crucial piece of my soul gone with it.

I felt nothing until the day I lay eyes upon you again in the Locker, unable to breathe, coldly able to exist but not live in a world that no longer contained the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow.

We traded insults and threats, continued to plot, each of us holding our cards to our chest, trusting no one. I thought you must hate me, and I could hardly blame you, until the night in Shipwreck Cove when your voice rang above the cacophonous din of pirate lords all declaring their own superiority over their peers.

You said my name.

Elizabeth Swann.

You crowned me King.

When I looked to you in disbelief, for the briefest moment I witnessed a flash of something that struck me like lightning. I saw in just a glance that after all we have been through, you believed in me. When our eyes met you retreated fast behind your walls once more, and I suspected that part I was not meant to hear just yet.

Somehow despite the dangers we face, the journey has become easier, your returning confidence a soothing balm, infusing me with newfound strength. A certain glitter has returned to your onyx eyes that long remained absent, and I know I would have sold my soul thrice over to see that spark of life in you again.

The hour of battle is nigh, our armada of ragtag pirate vessels of all flavors a sight to behold, the Black Pearl the flagship among the pack of sea wolves. Like great birds of prey we hover atop the water, our sails proudly unfurled, guns at the ready.

We will stand and fight.

They will hear the ring of our swords, and they will know what we can do! By the sweat of our brows, and the strength of our backs…and the courage of our hearts! Gentlemen! Hoist the colors.

As I say these words I do not think of my fiancé, or my murdered father, or an answer to Barbossa’s insolence. As I say these words, Jack, I think of you, and what was lost, and a spit of an island where joy reigned unfettered, even if for the briefest few golden hours.

I go to war for the hope that someday, we will be so happy again.

A Good Man


A/N: Written in response to a Tumblr prompt for princesspenelopenerfherder. Something you said:  through your teeth, when you were drunk, and I wasn’t meant to hear.
You can find me at apirateslifeforme.tumblr . Come plaaay with us!! :)


A Good Man
Rating:T
Setting: DMC, just after Elizabeth finds Jack on Tortuga.


He really did have a dress in his cabin.

“You look tired, love. Why don’t you take my berth for a kip?”

She was tired. She had not slept really, since stowing away from Port Royal. That, paired with the stress and worry about Will, her father, Beckett, and the full force of British law bearing down on them—she could only imagine the ragged picture she presented at the dock.

Somehow Jack did not seem to mind, regarding her curiously with those bright polished mahogany orbs, the corner of his mouth pulled in a Puckish smile.

The garment in question was a white confection of fine lawn, a nearly diaphanous night dress and a horribly improper thing for a lady to wear in proximity of anyone who was not her husband. When she asked him why he had such a thing in his trunks Jack just flashed a gold glinting smile, one eyebrow raised suggestively in an invitation to guess.

To her surprise, he did not taunt her further, relinquishing his cabin to her privacy with a flourishing bow, grumbling through his teeth on his exit about his crew being only a mildly villainous lot of scallywags, but still not to be trusted with a beauty such as her in their midst.

She didn’t think she was supposed to hear that last bit, and the thought that Jack Sparrow found her beautiful despite her unkempt state inspired a most vexing warmth to spread through her insides. She knew she shouldn’t care for the infamous pirate captain’s opinion one whit. She was engaged to a good man, and that was that.

Wasn’t it?

With a sigh Lizzy changed into the night rail, for it was luxuriously soft and her clothes were soiled with the finest filth Tortuga had to offer. It would have been a very grand gesture of appreciation to transfer that questionable muck into Jack’s bedlinens.
The berth was surprisingly comfortable, a feather mattress no doubt nicked from some fat French merchant ship, and she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

He mind spun a hurricane of cacophonous dreams.

Lord Beckett and the entire Royal Navy pursued her, and caught her. As she was about to be clamped in irons by a redcoat she turned to see the soldier’s face was Will’s.

Suddenly Jack was there, swooping in by means of a rope and some improbable feat of acrobatics. He snatched her out of harm’s way, his firm arm about her waist.

What are you doing here, Lizzy?

I’ve come to find the man I love.

Ringed fingers in her hair, drawing her close.

Fire shadows glinting in eyes black as coal.

Eyes that could see straight into her soul.

Lips.

That insouciant mouth, so full and pretty, too pretty to belong to a pirate, nearing closer.

“Jack…”

Elizabeth sat up with a gasp, clutching the bedlinens to her chest. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Not a jail cell in Fort Charles. Not the hold of a ship. Not Tortuga.

The great cabin of the Pearl.

It all came back to her, and she relaxed a little, inhaling deeply. The linens smelled of him, warm smoke, salt, sandalwood—and something else that was distinctly Jack. She found it comforting, and she didn’t dare examine why at that moment.

She looked about, finding the pirate captain in question lounging in his chair, his booted feet kicked up on his desk, hat pulled down low. Yet beneath the brim of his weathered leather tricorn she noticed the onyx glitter of open eyes.

He was awake, and he was looking at her.

“Say somethin’, love?”

Her heart made a good attempt at pounding out of her chest, and so she answered with perhaps too much venom, “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“It’s my cabin.”

“But you said—”

“I said you could have my bed, dearie. But Marty snores like an African buffalo down below, and I would care to catch at least a little sleep before the next watch. Was having a good go at it too, until ye started thrashing about.”

She looked away, admitting sheepishly, “I was dreaming.”

“Indeed?” He rose from his seat, crossing the cabin in a few long-legged strides. The insouciant rogue was even so brazen as to sit down beside her, causing her to clutch the sheet closer. “Because I am certain I distinctly heard you say Jack. Were you dreaming of me?”

“No.”

Her voice came softer than she meant it to, absent of the disdain and force it needed to keep a rascal like Jack Sparrow at bay. He reached up to gently caress the tousled wave of her golden hair, and her eyes slipped closed of their own volition.

“Jack?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

He was closer now. She could hear it, feel him, his warmth beside her like the scorching heat of a flame, but she dared not open her eyes. Elizabeth also detected the fumes of rum on his breath, and it reminded her of their island with a vengeance that made her heart ache.

“Are you drunk?”

“Only a little.”

No more than usual, really, but he knew he couldn’t blame the rum for what he wanted to do. He blamed that deuced night dress upon her, so sheer and inviting, the neck slipping just a little down the delectably round cap of her shoulder. A shoulder that begged for the scrape of teeth, just lightly, then a kiss to smooth it all over, and then…

She laughed lightly, waking him from his reverie.

She should have been afraid. She should have demanded he get out, or push him off the bed, or…

His fingers traced the shell of her ear, sending a damning thrill down her spine, and she did none of those things. Maybe she was still dreaming?

“I’ve been so frightened by all this mess. But the moment I found you, I knew everything would be alright,” she admitted in a breathy whisper.

A small pained sound escaped Jack, and the fingertip that had so gently been exploring the line of her jaw froze.
Why did she have to do that? Remind him that she thought he was a good man, when she, the woman he could not stop thinking about, was here on his ship, in his bed—the Gods had a cruel sense of humor, of that he was certain.

Suddenly he stood, swaying on his feet, intent on vacating the room before he did something they both might regret in the morning. There was something burning in his eyes that she couldn’t exactly read, or perhaps she didn’t dare define. “Get some sleep, love,” he instructed, his voice gruffer than he intended. “Big day tomorrow.”

With her lip clamped between her teeth she watched Jack scurry for the door, paying her a haunted glance over his shoulder before stepping out onto the deck. A breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding escaped in a whoosh, relief washing over her. Jack was a good man, of that she had no doubt. But out here, caught up in the freedom of the high seas, it was perhaps too easy to forget she was supposed to behave like a lady.

On Sparrabeth...

“Anybody who thinks that Jack and Elizabeth are meant to be, oughta have their bloody head examined!”

This was a lovely message I received through ff.net this weekend amidst many other far more kind and enthusiastic missives. Of course, the above is the one that has stuck with me the past few days.

Despite my amusement that this comment was left anonymously (of course it was, you chicken $hit) and on the *seventh* chapter of the Sparrabeth fic (if it was so bloody awful why read all of it?) it did make me think a bit more specifically about the fandom that has been as intrinsic a part of my being as surely as my heart beats and my eyes are blue.

I’m not arguing that maybe my head needs examining, exactly, but it got me thinking about the Jack/Elizabeth fandom, Sparrabethers, and why the character of Elizabeth resounds like a thunderclap in a place rooted deep in my [our] soul[s].

The love of Jack really is the no-brainer. He’s fun, witty, handsome, creative, clever as the devil and yet somehow still a good man. He is Trickster Incarnate. He’s Johnny Depp, for chrissakes, what more could you possibly want? Furthermore, he really is the leading man, so why shouldn’t he get the girl in the end? Elizabeth is a more difficult creature to put one’s finger upon.

Elizabeth is beautiful, yaes duh ok, but she is smart as a whip, and there is a ferocity in her that boils beneath the surface of her comely exterior. There is a strength in her spirit that cannot be tamed. She possesses a wildness that in the beginning, only Jack sees. Peas in a pod, the pirate recognizes one of his own.

I think she speaks to those of us who have ever been put in a certain box because we are a pretty female, and expected to be weak, only to meet the world with head high and claws bared. She speaks to those of us who will always choose the path that holds adventure, even if it will be difficult. We recognize a little girl who would dare to sing a song of pirates, just to see what may part the mists. We know a woman who would do an ugly thing that was necessary, even if it killed her inside, and we identify a woman who would go to the mouth of hell itself for a man she loved.

We are adventurers and travelers. We are artists and dreamers. We possess souls forged in fire and hearts deep as the ocean. It takes quite the pirate to call himself our match. The lovely ladies I’ve met in this fandom have been some of the most intuitive, creative, intelligent, and interesting people I’ve ever had the pleasure to correspond with.

So if you think that’s such a terrible thing, maybe you need *your* head examined. Savvy?

::sticks out tongue::

Aye!

Vexed


Vexed

Giselle loves Jack. Jack loves the Sea. That’s the way it’s always been. When Jack returns to Tortuga with the Black Pearl he should have everything he’s ever wanted. But something is vexing the legendary pirate. A little angsty post COTBP Sparrabeth, through the eyes of Giselle.

This could be considered a prequel to my fic Her Match. Or, not.

Rating: T, I think. Some adult themes, etc, though nothing spelled out too explicitly, for me anyway. If anyone objects let me know.

Length:3600 words.

Disclaimer: Duh. Do I look like a mouse in big yellow shoes? Don’t own it, mate. Make no money either. Just enjoying the scenery, as it were…

I.

Giselle regarded herself in the cracked looking glass of her vanity, re-pinning a stray blonde curl. Sparrow had always been a hair-puller, she was used to that.

She thought she was used to all of Jack’s quirks.

He’d never been a man to bring another woman’s name to bed with him though. That one was new.

With long fingers Giselle pressed her cheeks. Still supple, she reckoned. The years hadn’t been as hard on her as some in her profession. She was still beautiful, she determined with an appraising eye. Then why…

Why?

“So who is she?” Giselle spat, rather more acerbic than she originally intended. It was a foolish whore who let her emotions get the best of her, but she supposed she’d crossed that line with Jack a long time ago.

Jack looked up from pulling on his boots, distraction upon his handsome visage. “Whut?”

Elizabeth,” Giselle huffed. “Lizzy. You said her name three times. Who is she?”

Hmmph,” he grunted, stomping his other foot into his boot. Something vexed her pirate captain, without a doubt. Or more like, someone.

Jack had the grace to look embarrassed, but he did not apologize or offer explanation. Did not flash that gold-glinting smile and charm away her fears with a few well-worded if not insincere placations. Giselle knew that Jack thrived on mischief, and so her continual act of gentle disapproval was a game they had always played. But this –this felt like a slap in the face, and Jack had never been so callous before. She was a woman who fancied she’d seen it all by now, but she found herself uncertain what to do.

Jack continued dressing, wrapping that faded red sash about his waist, clipping on all his various effects with those dexterous fingers she so adored. He buckled his belts and tucked in his pistol—a wise man never went unarmed on Tortuga, even in the company of friends. He swept on his long coat and slipped his baldric with cutlass over his shoulder.

The act of watching Jack Sparrow dress was a thing that had always moved Giselle in a way she could hardly put a finger upon. She took pleasure in watching his movements, in the way she did not with most of her other customers. She supposed it was the closest she would ever get to something even slightly resembling domesticity between them. And then there was the fear—always that little cold ball of dread locked at the base of her throat—that he would not return from whatever adventure he set out upon next.

The most recent one had been a close one, she’d heard, with a noose around his neck in Port Royal up till the last minute, though the complete details eluded her as of yet. There was always Gibbs for that. No one spun a yarn like Joshamee Gibbs, especially when you bought him a drink.

Fully adorned with accoutrements, Jack withdrew a gold coin from his purse, placing it on the edge of her vanity with a click that somehow struck Giselle’s heart like a lead ball. When he had the coin, Jack always paid too much. When he didn’t, well, she was happy to give it for free. His silver-tongued promises, his oddball kindness, his generosity between the sheets—that had always been more than enough compensation.

She’d known Jack since she was a very young woman, fresh off the boat and so naïve, just run away from England. She’d fled an aunt who treated her like a slave and an uncle who liked to diddle her behind the barn. She and Jack had been friends and lovers from the start. They had learned so many lessons about life’s sharp edges together. Later, in her darkest hours, only the thought that Jack would come to her again, would laugh with her again—would love with her again—had kept her from slitting her wrists, disgusted with the thought of one more man putting his hands on her for money.

She had been the first to paint Jack’s eyes with kohl, one playful rum-soaked evening when they’d stayed up all night together, talking about where they’d been in life and where they wanted to go, telling jokes, sharing their hopes and fears, and of course fucking like rabbits like only the hopelessly young can do. He’d liked the fierce edge the black stained eyes added to his almost feminine beauty. He’d been teased as a younger man for being pretty, and pestered on long voyages for it besides. That night he’d told her of the treasure of the Isle de Muerte, and how he was going to be rich as a king and he would bring some of it back for her too. It was a common theme for Jack, something he always said no matter what treasure he pursued. She took comfort in that consistency, even if it never came true.

Now she sensed everything had changed somehow. He had changed. They had changed. She didn’t understand why.

“I should charge you double for saying another woman’s name,” she let slip, and immediately she looked away, unable to bear his dark eyes upon her. An incredible weight pressed down upon her shoulders, a darkness she had somehow kept at bay all her adult life, until that moment. All her illusions suddenly seemed cracked and broken as the old mirror before her. She wasn’t exactly young anymore, and without Jack as he’d always been before—she was all out of dreams.

An unbidden single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, and angrily she swiped it away. Really, Giselle, she chided herself. Crying? She hadn’t cried since she was sixteen, still fresh as a lily. It was a useless exercise, and exhausting too.

There was a long pause before Jack answered, “Aye, ye should.”

There was the clink of two more coins on the dresser table, and a wretched sob ambushed Giselle, shaking her body like an earthquake. She tried to hold it back, but found she couldn’t.

She simply couldn’t, anymore.

Amidst the maelstrom there were hands upon her, firm but gentle, strong arms that scooped her up and held her. Giselle tried to push Jack away, but he wouldn’t let her, holding her wordlessly like rigging secures a sail in a storm. In the end she relented, and Jack let her weep upon his chest, his hand upon her head as though he comforted a child.

He knew what it was like to love someone you could never have.

Maybe he was a pirate and a scoundrel too, but deep down Jack Sparrow had a tender heart. It was something Giselle had always known.

II.

A few nights later, Jack found Giselle upon the balcony of the brothel overlooking the street. She was supposed to be flaunting her wares, playfully calling out to the inebriated passersby to drum up some business inside. However, she cut a solemn picture, her kohl smudged already, as though she’d not taken the pains to re-do it for the evening.

Giselle had tracked down Gibbs the night before, and plied the whole story of the Black Pearl/Barbossa/Isle de Muerte affaire from Jack’s first mate with a few flagons of grog.

“So, a Governor’s daughter, Jack? That’s a lofty dream, even for you.”

Jack paid her a crooked smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. For some reason it pulled at Giselle’s heart-strings, when he simply answered without his usual round-about embellishments, “I know.”

She could hardly believe herself, when she pried further, “What’s she like?”

The pirate captain pressed his lips, oddly taciturn for what Giselle was used to from him. It echoed the way he’d been after Barbossa’s mutiny. Jack Sparrow was on guard, she realized, and she supposed his heart was the treasure he stood vigil for.

She never thought she’d live to see the day.

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My amateur attempts at POTC meme-ing. :) One of my favorite lines!

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