heartless (literally)

absurdly casual rp blog for will turner from pirates of the caribbean

canon-compliant, but always open to divergence/AUs

extremely friendly to crosscanon and OCs

IC =/= OOC. get outta here with that nonsense

open to shipping/smut but won’t write polyam ships or bottom!will. nsfw tagged #nsfw but not under read more

writer is 21+, will not write smut with minors

“I don’t hide… Drink? Maybe.” Kylo released the breath he didn’t know he was holding in, “People like me can’t hide. Where I am from, hiding is never an option.”

Looking up at the man, he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.

“We are not the same.” And they weren’t at least, that was what Kylo thought. He was the darkness, the evil, and the hated. The other didn’t seem to be the type, especially since he was on a planet the First order didn’t even know existed. If they did, there wouldn’t be much to take over anyways.

Kylo knew this would be a good place to start. He just had to be careful to not get recognized around here, not that he cared if it happened but anyone could have certain contacts.

He could always move around, anyways.

“What do I have to hide?”

“Between us, I’m sure I’m less likely to know the answer to that.”

But if he’s learned anything from the scallywags that’ve begun appearing in his life as of late, only people with things to hide would ask.

Nevertheless, Will doesn’t press it. If the man wants to hide (and not drink like he’s saying, else there’d be some manner of spirits with him), then he wants to hide. It isn’t as if Will’s any better, coming here to eat a distance away from his companions’ merry acts of debauchery.

“I don’t mind silence,” Will says, taking a wrapped piece of bread from the rucksack he’d taken with him. “But I hope you don’t mind company.

It seemed like his brain stuttered for a moment and his eyes took in more light than expected, every part of him seemed to go on pause while his thoughts catch up. Elizabeth studied Will’s face with amusement, as she brushed a strand of hair from her face.  

Their attraction had been instant. There was something about him that excited and calmed her all at once. There might not be a day where the man standing in front of her, wasn’t on her mind. Will was handsome from the depth of his eyes to the gentle expressions of his voice. All she wanted was to spend more time in his presence, but ever since they were grown adults, it was considered improper to meet a man without a chaperon. 

❝How many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth ❞ her smile broadened, warming her eyes. At least now, with nobody else in their presence, she hoped Will would finally abandon all proprieties. Her eyes traveled towards the bread when Mr. Turner couldn’t find any other subject to converse about. How she had always wanted to confront him about the medallion. It had been safely hidden for years, but recently the old memory had awakened a curiosity. 

❝I’m not here to rob you of your dinner, nor was it my intention to disturb your supper, Will, but since you so kindly offered, might I trouble you for some tea?❞  she replied, deciding to suppress the urge to question him about their first meeting. Dreams came to haunt her often lately, always the same, reminding her of the ship with the black sail.  

She sat down on the chair that was placed next to the fireplace. Momentarily her eyes were drawn to it, mesmerized by the golden flames.  ❝How’s business going? I heard my father gave you a rather big assignment.❞ 

The smile that Elizabeth sends him is brighter than the sun, so much that it’s blinding this late in the evening. Will swallows, but the awkwardness in him bleeds in slow drips-- enough that he’s smiling back, even if he doesn’t quite call her by first name just yet.

“Tea,” he muses, clearing his throat as he gets to his feet, “I certainly can do, miss...”

And perhaps it’s because he’s looking away from her and Elizabeth can’t see the excitement on his face as he says it, but he corrects himself with a soft, “Elizabeth.”

Saying it like he has any right to it feels like a dream, and Will’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest. Then again, Elizabeth had promised to never speak of tonight, and that ought to be enough.

As Will picks up the tea (brewed in a simple wooden kettle, because fine china’s certainly hard for anyone like he or Brown to come by) and a chipped old cup, he tilts his head at the question. “The governor’s given my master a rather big assignment, actually.

“Though” -- he peers over his shoulder, shrugging once -- “I might have been tasked to draw designs.”

He returns with the cup then. It’s no fancy brew, not with the rising price of leaves made specifically for tea, but the marketplace had yielded a peculiar variety of plants Will bought for a unique, fresh aroma, more Caribbean than English.

“It’s kept me up,” he admits. “Truthfully, I almost forgot to eat tonight, hence the late hour. But this sword... I’ve never had to make one for the Navy before.”

The child is quiet inside the pod. Though he faintly senses another presence near before the stranger introduces himself. His heart was racing with fear. He was shaking. If he had teeth they would chatter as he huddled there in the darkness. He was making himself small. Wishing he could just hide away from the darkness that had won. Turning an old friend into an enemy..

He gasped softly whe he heard the stranger reach out to him through the Force. But even though he sounded kind, he couldn’t help but hesitate. To then slowly move to open the pod, bracing himself for what he’d find..

Inside the pod was a green child. Smaller than a human baby. He had brown eyes that were wide with fear. His large ears drooped next to his head while he made himself small underneath the blanket that covered him. Fearing that this would be the end for him too. But at least he had some comfort in the fact that he would be seeing his friends again soon..

The Child might not have been on the verge of death, but the sense that he thinks he’s joining the rest pulls at Will’s heartstrings all the same. His eyes soften, and with a careful hand he reaches out without touching, not without permission.

“Hello,” he says, trying at a smile. “My name is Will.”

His hand turns, palm facing upward, in the hopes the Child will take it as an invitation to touch.

“You can feel me,” he offers, “if you’d like. I’m a friend.”

And should the Child attempt to understand Will through the Force, he’ll catch glimpses of things-- of when he was a blacksmith, of when he was a man that sailed the seas and not the skies,  of when the Dutchman began sailing through the stars instead of the water.

He’s been alive a long time. He knows what it’s like to be afraid.

His remark has her tilting her head down,  has her gaze dropping as her hands wring.   She had not been joking,  when she had mentioned being a prisoner during their first meeting.   Gaea has a prominent position on her father’s most esteemed island and it’s shown in a room in the cellar of the brothel she is sometimes forced to call home,  a room with no windows and no hope. She feels like she can breathe up here,  with Will,  looking at the sea.   It feels like she hasn’t been able to breathe for years until this moment.                ❝ There’s something ironic about being on an island and never being able to see the water, ❞  she murmurs,  hands gripping the garb of her dress.    ❝ The closest I get to it is  [ … ]   Is the stories I hear. ❞   And the salt she can taste on her client’s skin.   But thoughts about her profession shouldn’t touch this moment.   Closing her eyes,  Gaea tilts her head back and just listens.                ❝ My mother had a cottage on the beach.   I fell asleep to the sound of the waves crashing against the rock.   And thought she never got the chance to teach me how to swim,  I used to stand in the water up to my knees and wonder what it would like to be completely surrounded.    Nothing but blue. ❞ She turns to look at him.     ❝ How beautiful is it? ❞

“You mean the two times I was out on it?” Will asks, chuckling as he does. “It was... it was open, I suppose.

“When you’re out there you forget how noisy the world is, how... full. It’s just you and the ocean and the wind and sun kissing your skin, and moving your body with the sway because-- because no-one can control the water, can they? I...”

I want to be back in it. I want to sail in it. I want to be like my father before me, seeking treasure and glory and...

“I’d never felt the world was a big place and not been scared of it until I was out there. Out there, on the ocean, the horizon” -- Will’s hand reaches out, fingers pointed towards the rising sun -- “made me feel alive.”

When he turns, his eyes meet Gaea’s. They widen a fraction as he takes in the softness of her features, the kindness, and then Will dips his head and hopes the heat prickling at the tips of his ears isn’t obvious.

It doesn’t come naturally to her,  to be cruel or cold.   And perhaps she should be.   It would certainly make things easier for her,  if Gaea didn’t feel everything so strongly.   And perhaps her discouragement and her warnings would be a bit more heeded if she didn’t come across as weak as her father always says she is. And then she hears the man’s words and all she can think is another has been caught in her father’s web. Bleeding is nothing new for her.   Kindness is.   Most everyone here on one of the isles her father owns knows who she is as well as what she does,  in regards to the empire he build with the influence of her mother’s ashes.   It’s almost nice to not be recognized,  though there’s a part of her screaming to tell him to run.   She thanks him and dabs at her wound instead.                 ❝ If you’re not a visitor,  then you must be a prisoner. ❞   Titan is always looking for new blood.   His selfishness and ruthlessness leads to a vast amount of bloodshed.    ❝ And if you’re a prisoner,  I know something about that [ … ] ❞

“My being here is better than the alternative,” Will says, thinking of the girl whose place he’d taken. Growing up he hadn’t had friends at all outside of her, but considering she nearly died in his place, Will would sell his soul a thousand times over if he had to.

“...though I doubt I’ve been here long enough to see what you have.”

He isn’t a fool. He knows, in theory, what happened to the woman in that room. Hell, she reeks of it, and Will’s stomach turns simply because a place like this exists. The sex would be all right if the women didn’t come out looking like this-- if it was for pleasure and not cruelty.

Then again, as little as he knows about the world, he supposes those two things go hand in hand here.

“No,” Will concedes, having learned early on there’re things about Gaea’s life he simply won’t be able to comprehend. “I probably don’t.

“It’s still nice to see you smile, though.”

And it’s equally touching that it could be brought about by something as innocent as the sunrise. If Will had been happy seeing it, trapped as he’s been here for only a few weeks, he can’t imagine what it’d be like for Gaea.

He doesn’t ask questions, really. Who she is and where she comes from isn’t any of his business. But considering she’s one of the few people here who’ll talk to him when they come across each other, it’s hard not to feel attached.

When Will had found a way through the ducts to get to the rooftop, she’d been the first person on his mind to show it to. And while he knows they can’t be here long-- they’ll be taking attendance for her, and Barbossa’ll have him killed if he isn’t there to work maintenance on their tools and firearms when they return from their job-- Will’s got enough optimism left to think a little bit of happiness is still better than none at all.

The back of Will’s neck prickles with heat almost instantly. “Excuse me?”

This is what he gets, he thinks, for keeping to himself so much. Every time he goes back into the world the rules of socialisation have changed, and it seems that includes the simple act of asking for information.

He furrows his brows. “No, I’m sorry. I only thought it wouldn’t be fair to ask for something without giving something in return...”

It’s always quietest when they make passage from the gates to next life to the docks at the edge of the world where the newly-dead wait. Time doesn’t really exist here, Will knows that now, but it feels as close to nighttime as it’s going to get when these lulls in activity happen.

He finds solace in it, standing above deck and looking out into the waters. Comforting the dead is a difficult task, and he finds even with his heart out of his chest the ache that comes when it bleeds remains. After all the noise that comes with helping the dead accept their fate, he appreciates the few moments of silence he gets.

Even when that silence is cut through by a question that makes him smile. “What’s there not to like, Master Norrington?”

Will’s taken his duties as captain to heart, not just in the course of the ship but in the course of how he treats his crew. All those who sail with him choose to, after all-- he doesn’t employ fear, or guilt, or threat to get them staying. Even James Norrington, who he turns to face now with his arms still folded atop the ship’s railing, gets nothing but the best from him. But Will’s never had quarrel with him, really; it’d all been shallow before, all the jealousy of a young man who wanted a woman he could never have, all the admiration of a boy who wished he could reach Norrington’s station one day.

Working with the man now as equals is something Will never would’ve comprehended before, but he’s got the underlying sense he likes being useful just as much as Will does. It makes him wonder if they could’ve been friends in another life, one where Will wasn’t bound to his status as a blacksmith’s apprentice, but he supposes that life is happening now.