This is a long-time coming buuutttt I guess I should finally say something. So first off- no, the blog isn’t dead forever! I’ve just been taking a very long, very unplanned hiatus due to personal reasons that I’ll touch on a bit.
Putting it under a readmore because it’s a lot but TLDR version:
EQP is not dead! It’s just on impromptu hiatus until I figure some real life things out.
Ten years at sea, for one day on land. It’s a heavy price for what’s been done, his father had said, mere moments after destiny had played itself out. A decade after, and the statement still doesn’t ring true to Will, especially not when land grows closer with every stroke of the oars. No — It’s not so heavy, not in comparison to the way Will can feel the empty space in his chest begin to soar, when he can feel something beginning to patter in his chest, quick with something like anticipation. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering how it felt when Davy Jones strayed close to the location of his chest. Did he feel the heartbreak every time? The loneliness? It would be like him, Will thinks, to have only felt the suffering. Davy Jones had given up on all the buoyant emotions, all the ones that make life truly worth living.
Will had promised himself, the night he sailed the Dutchman away from Elizabeth, that he would never allow himself to do the same.
Seeing her again is — indescribable. Will doesn’t think he could begin to put words to it. Laying eyes on her still takes his breath away. (The emotions are well and truly overwhelming by the time his foot first sinks into the soft beach sand.) Seeing the boy standing with her — Their son — His son —
No. There are no words to describe this joy. There could never be any words to describe what it’s like to see everything you had never allowed yourself to even begin to dream of play out before your very eyes. His father meeting his son, his and Elizabeth’s child. The look in his father’s eyes when the boy introduces himself as Willie. How could there be any words, in any language between heaven and earth, for this?
His family (his family) aren’t the only ones waiting for the return of the eldest Turner men. As they leave the beach and head inland (the trees, the birds, the flowers), towards the homestead Elizabeth has fostered for the past many years, Will is surprised to see the number of familiar faces milling about the property. Maybe he shouldn’t have been, but he finds new, powerful stirrings in his chest when he spots Gibbs among the crowd, and Marty, Pintel, and Ragetti, and even Mr. Cotton’s parrot. He doesn’t doubt for a second that quite a number of these men (in particular, the ones he doesn’t recognize) are simply here for the sake of the apparently inevitable festivities, but… all the same. This is a gathering for his sake. Well, I suppose I ought to finally stop forgetting I’m not a blacksmith’s apprentice now, Will tells himself with no small drip of irony.
In the midst of mingling, Will happens to glance up at the opportune moment and catches sight of a familiar silhouette, lurking closer to the house — conveniently, closer to the rum. Will’s expression stalls briefly without his realizing it. There had been a part of him that held his breath each time they retrieved souls from shipwrecks. And while there had been, on occasion, people he knew, and even knew well now and then… He still was able to let go of that breath. Now, he finds himself holding it again, and, again, finding himself facing the dilemma of words.
But… It passes, and surprisingly quickly. He makes up his mind, and returns to the conversation he’d been having with his son.
It isn’t until later, when Gibbs has drawn quite a large amount of attention for a tale he’s telling, that Will falls back to where Jack has been hiding from him this entire time. He doesn’t say anything at first, merely refills his tankard of rum in silence. He glances up, his expression schooled into something largely neutral, having decided against trying to feign any surprise. (He knows Jack knows he knows he’s been here.) His eyes betray him, however; there are too many emotions too close to the surface, too difficult to hold entirely back after a decade of lack of practice.
“Nice hat,” he offers, and he’s rather proud of himself for not even cracking a grin.
OH MY GERD GUYS WHAT THE HELL?! MISHA IS JOINING TUMBLR?! NO MAKE HIM STOP! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAM DESTIEL, WINCEST, WINCESTIEL, AND SAMSTIEL SMUT AND WORSE I HAVE ON MY FRIGGIN BLOG! ADMINISTRATORS OF TUMBLR PLEASE DONT LET MISHA MAKE THIS HORRIBLE DECISION! OH MY GERD I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING! MISHA IS TOO INNOCENT FOR THIS SITE AND THATS SAYING SOMETHING! OH GOD I HAVE TO DELETE SO MANY OF MY POSTS JUST IN CASE HE SEES IT! UGH! GUYS YOU SHOULDNT OF EVEN ANSWERED HIS POLL! *ripping hair out* DO YOU WANT TO SCAR THAT PRECIOUS CINNAMON ROLL MAN CHILD?! HUH YOU IDJITS?! WELL YOU ASSHATS?! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT!? WHATS NEXT HES GONNA BE INFLUENCED BY US TO CREATE A WATTPAD AND FANFICTION.NET ACCOUNT?! DONT GET ME STARTED ON DEVIANT ART! OHMYGODYOUFREAKINGIDJITASSBUTTASSHATSONFABITCHES! I HAVENT SLEPT IN TWO DAYS!
Hi! Really weird but I noticed that all the current fic writers on fanfiction. net have stopped updating their stories. Any chance of you putting anything on there to bring back a lil bit of Romyness?
I sure would love to post something new on ff.net, or even a friggin drabble here on tumblr… but I need a Romy fix, too! My ship has been sitting idle in the harbor without the influx of new material or friends to bounce ideas off of. It would be awesome if my fellow fans could throw some prompts at me. Bonus points if they’re humorous!