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flyingflosser09 · 1 year

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Cursed / Armando Salazar x OC / Chapter 16

Chapter 15: https://at.tumblr.com/flyingflosser09/cursed-armando-salazar-x-oc-chapter-15/c40kl19rd8c6

Warning: Mild spice coming up. Marked with *** where it begins and ends.

Armando’s thoughts burdened him well into the late hours of day – or was it night? Sometimes, regardless of how long they’ve been here, even he loses track of time. The bottom of the ship is so dark, it might as well be eternal night there.

Lesaro left to join the crew on the deck hours ago, leaving the Capitán to his thinking. If it was three weeks ago, Armando’s thoughts would be filled with every outcome of Jack Sparrow’s death, the several ways he can kill the pirate to end his eternal demise.

But in the Lieutenant’s absence, the Capitán found his head running wild with images of Samira. And in a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to indulge in his fantasies some more.

He thinks of the future outside the Triangle. There is an estate atop a hill overlooking the vast waters of Spain. Samira awaits him at the entrance, dressed in sapphire blue and hair moving in the breeze. She smiles at him and invites him into her arms.

The fantasy escalates and they are on a ship, a version of the Silent Mary before the curse. She commands the wind to fill their sails and the current to steer them towards the horizon. He’s unable to tear his eyes off her. She is in her element, glowing in the mid-morning sun and from the saltwater spray sticking to her cheeks. In a moment of weakness, he has her in his arms and carries her to the great cabin, fully intended to worship her in the privacy of their bedroom.

When he blinks, he is back at their estate, sitting at a desk and writing letters. The door opens and Samira waltzes in. Armando is shocked when two little boys follow her in, chasing each other with wooden swords and using her skirt to hide behind. And when he regards her again, he finds her belly swollen, on the verge of bursting at any given time. He did not know it was possible for her to glow even more, but there she is, outshining the candles and sunlight leaking through the curtains.

Armando is shaken back to reality and frantically looks about, deeply disappointed to find he’s back in the carcass of the Mary, dead, and cursed. If his heart was alive, it’d ache at the absence of the dream and, to be honest, he swears he feels it weighing down in his chest.

No, he decides determinedly, he must not lose hope. He can have everything he desires and more as soon as he rids them all of this curse. He can provide Samira with the life she deserves, a life filled with luxury and safety. She will never run from guards ever again; he’ll make sure of that. She would have everything her heart desires, even the stars if she wished. He will give her everything and more until the end of his days.

Unexpectedly, Armando is struck with the sudden urge to see her. He hasn’t checked in on her yet today, neither yesterday as he was too consumed with his fantasies, he feared he would mistake her for what he sees in his daydreams. But now, he desperately needs to feel whatever effect she has on him.

Deciding what he must do, he begins his trek to the main deck, limping faster than usual. The main deck is mostly deserted as he climbs the steps to the great cabin before entering the room…only to stop in front of the door. The last time he entered without invitation, he saw her ankles. Although not opposed to seeing them again, he instead lifts his hand and deliver four knocks to the wood.

He hardly finished knocking when the door swung open. There stands Samira, hair neatly draped over one shoulder, and hand holding the bodice of her dress to her chest. She looks radiant in the ocean blue that matches her eyes so splendidly.

“Armando,” she greets him with a bashful tint to her cheeks, “I thought it was you.”

“Have I become that predictable?” he quirks a brow, curious about her intuition.

“I heard the thumping of your sword,” she confesses simply and smiles, “And the crew usually knocks thrice, you knocked four times.”

He wants to comment on her observance but doesn’t. “Have I come at a bad time?” She must have been getting dressed, hence her clutching the dress to her chest.

“Your timing is perfect.” Before he knew it, she pulled him into the cabin and closes the door. Samira moves toward the light of the lanterns and turn her back, saying, “Can you please tie me up? I must admit, I’ve grown spoiled with your help, Capitán.”

If only she knew that he wouldn’t have it any other way. Feeling his dead heart spike at the invitation, Armando steps forward and takes the dainty strings between his fingers. He holds his breath in a very un-ghostly manner and gives the first slow and gentle pull.

However, he is displeased to see the first pair of eyelets meet in the middle, concealing a part of her lower back from view. This needs to last longer, he needs to move slower. And that’s exactly what he does.

Armando shamelessly allows his gaze to roam the exposed skin on her back. Such flawless skin, such a delicate arch and, despite not having the luxury of a bath with oils, she smells of the ocean in the early morning hours. Perhaps, he can allow himself a fracture more…

…

I gasp when feeling his cold fingers brushing against the skin of my back. The brief contact sent shivers down my spine but at the same time, I want to lean back so he can do it again.

“Forgive me, senorita,” his voice sounds behind me, “The strings, they are –”

“Oh, no, it’s alright,” I quickly say before he gets the wrong idea. Quick, think of something that will make him do it again… ah, I know! “Perhaps tug a bit slower? I wasn’t aware this corset is so sensitive.”

“…if you insist.”

The next tug is slower and gentler I thought he was capable of. I have no control over my body as my back arch ever so slightly, my skin coming alive when I feel his cool fingers brush against me once more. It takes every ounce, every fracture of self-control not to utter a sigh or to let my head fall back in ardent bliss.

But, to my disappointment, it ends too soon. Armando steps back after tying the strings and I’m forced to accept the absence of his skin on mine.

“Thank you,” I tell him kindly, hoping he doesn’t notice the blush in my cheeks. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit? Am I in trouble yet again?”

Armando huffs but a ghost of a smile graces his features. Was it my imagination, or was his eyes lingering on my lips a second too long? “The only trouble you are in, senorita, is not forcing Magda to admit defeat. I have never seen him outsmarted in a fight before.”

“I discovered a person’s true intentions are evident in their eyes,” I confess my winning strategy, recalling how I determined Magda’s next move by his gaze. At the mention of that, his eyes lock with mine, and I hope he can read every emotion swimming in my gaze.

To my dismay, he looks down and clears his throat. The black goo is slowly starting to build up at his lips, something I’ve learned happens while in the presence of the living. Although, by now, I can’t be bothered by it anymore.

“I just wanted to see if you’re doing well,” he says, suddenly in a hurry. “I will leave you to it, then –”

“Wait.” Armando stops at my command. Honestly, it was a desperate attempt to keep him here a bit longer.

After learning from Moss that the Capitán enjoyed dancing back in the living days, fixing that music box has become my soul purpose. And only this morning, I won the battle and bested the tiny gears and mechanisms. I fixed a music box. If any man saw it, they would certainly accuse me of being a witch.

Realizing he is waiting for me to speak; I quickly retrieve the music box from the desk to show it to him. “I fixed it this morning. Perhaps this small victory was what fueled my confidence and drove me to beat Magda.”

Opening the lid, the atmosphere instantly lights up as a delicate melody fills the silence. Placing the box on the table, I brace myself for what comes next.

Without asking, I take his hand and place my other one on his shoulder.

Armando takes an abrupt step back. “What are you doing?”

“I happen to fancy a dance, and you, Capitán, happen to be here.”

“No,” he tries retreating again but his feet are rooted to the wooden floor. Instead, he counters with, “It would be no good.”

Following his gaze to his sword acting as a cane, I realize he’s referring to his limp. That damn limp.

But I’m not taking no for an answer.

“I’m not asking you to do a salsa, Armando,” I jest calmly and take a cautious step towards him, “All I want is for you to indulge me any way you can.”

This time, he allows me to take his hand once again. The conflicting temperatures of our skins send a frenzy of shivers through my arm as I place my other hand on his shoulder. It’s like a once dormant instinct coming alive inside him. My heart forgets to beat when his free hand settles on my waist, however, I feel there is still too much space between us.

A final act of boldness drives me to press myself against him, our faces inches apart, so close I can feel his floating hair tickle my cheeks.

Perfect.

I start swaying slowly to the tune coming from the music box and he stiffly follows. Of course, it has been twenty-five years since he danced with anyone, let alone having a woman stand so close to him. It fills me with so many questions – has he been loved before? Was he in love before the curse? Has he ever been…intimate with a woman?

Not that I would know anything about intimacy but given the heavy beathing of my heart and the knot forming in my stomach at the thought of him sharing that with me, I believe my body would know what to do when that time comes. The waves know to crash at the shore just as the ocean knows the tide is high at night.

“Can I ask you a question?” I whisper above the soft music.

Armando nods, “Anything, senorita.”

“Have you been…were you courted before the curse?”

A short silence follows as if he needs to remember before answering, “No, I was not.”

“So, you have never been…” I blush, unable to finish that sentence in fear of how it might sound.

“What is it, Samira?”

My cheeks are ablaze by now, but I gather my courage to say, “Have you ever been with a woman? Before the curse, I mean.”

Instantly, he stops moving and I look up to meet his eyes. He looks at me with emotions I can’t read, although, I believe one of them might be shock.

“I think I should go.” His words fill me with panic, and I grab him before he can pull away. “Whatever it is you are planning, I advise you to forget it. Nothing good can come from any of it.”

“Why?” I challenge him.

“Look at me, Samira. Do you not see what the curse has done? Do you not see the cracks and the filth that leaks from them? Do not tell me you are not repelled by the mere sight of me!”

“I am not.” He tries pulling away again but this time, I grab his hands and guide them to cup my face, holding them there in fear of seeing him walk away. This stuns him enough to pause, giving me less than seconds to convince him of my true feelings. “Armando, I am not repelled by you. I don’t see the cracks or anything you consider revolting; all I see is the curse and what it’s done to you. You are not vile, you are not evil, and you are most certainly not unworthy of love.”

“It’s no good…” he mutters, tracing his thumbs over the apples of my cheeks. “It’s no good…”

Black liquid builds up at his lips and I quickly use the dress’ sleeve to wipe it off. And while my hand is close to his face, my fingers find their way to his jaw, tracing the cracks more gentle than a mother would hold her baby.

He weakens at my touch and leans his head into my hand, “It’s no good…”

I feel a force pulling me closer to him. I’ve never been in such a situation before; but I listen to the instinct and hoist myself up on my toes. With both hands now holding his face, I press my lips to the corner of his, avoiding the black goo as much as possible.

Armando stills like a statue, not daring to move but rather choking on a breath. His hands drop to my waist to hold me there, clutching my hips like he would to his hope to be mortal once more.

After a few seconds, I pull back. However, I’m overwhelmed by emotions and whims urging me to go even further. Like a tidal wave, they build and build until, finally, crashing down on each other and drowning me in wild passion.

Looking up, I meet his eyes, swirling with specs of gold and desire. As I told him before, a person’s true intention is visible in their gaze. And his is enough to set me ablaze with fiery passion. That moment I knew, we both want the same thing.

“To hell with it,” I say before this time, planting my lips fully on his.

The suddenness of the kiss is all he needs to completely fall victim to years of unsatisfied urges resurfacing. The rapier hits the floor with a thud as his hands seize every inch of me they can find, gripping, touching, and holding in fervent desperation. Guiding him to the table without breaking the kiss, I hoist myself up so he can step between my legs. The music box continues its delicate tune, muffled by the ringing in my ears and my labored breaths.

With the last of my self-control lost to the storm within, I reach back to undo the lacing at my back…only for his hand to stop me.

Breaking the kiss, Armando steps back just enough to study my face, thumb lightly tracing my swollen, stained lips before coming to a gentle rest on my cheek.

“We must stop while we still can,” he breathes, hardly as out of breath as I am, being a ghost and all.

“Or we can continue?” I smile and pull him back.

“Dead men can’t act on bodily desires, Samira.”

“You believe that?” My question catches him by surprise, and he stills, hands shaking lightly where they hold my face. He lets go of me gently to observe this new effect, turning his hands over as a frown etch between his dark brows. I know what he’s thinking: does he truly believe himself incapable of desire? Taking that a cautious sign to continue, I say softly, “Now, should I undo my own lacings, or are you going to help me out of this dress, Capitán?”

…

Armando has never been so confused and conflicted in his life – and death. Here she is, an outrageously beautiful woman with perfectly living features and a sharp mind, giving him, a cursed man with skin littered with cracks and scars, permission to act on his desires with her.

And he wants to, he really, really wants to. Since when did he allow himself to feel anything but rage and pain?

Cupping her face once more, his thumbs explore the contours of her skin, brushing over the apples of her cheeks, tracing her lips, and spiraling her hair around his fingers as he wished to do so many times. She doesn’t pull away and holds his gaze, fully accepting of anything he decides upon.

“I am not the man I once were, Samira,” he finally says, desperately trying to suppress the rising heat within him despite wanting it to consume him. “I fear you might not like what you will see.”

If his face is as horrific as it is, he’d rather not behold her expression when she sees what lies underneath his uniform.

Yet, to his bafflement, she says again, “Should I undo my own lacings, or are you going to help me out of this dress?”

The last of Armando’s self-control crumbles and he gives in to his wants. As if reading his decision in his eyes, Samira slides off the table and turn her back on him, looking at him from over her shoulder. There is a slight upturn in her mouth corners, and he slowly pulls the lacing he’s done minutes ago, loose.

The more of her skin he sees, the more it clouds his head, making her the object of his desire. There is no Jack Sparrow, there is no Devil’s Triangle, and there is no curse. There is only her.

Her dress is now fully open at the back, and he allows his fingers to glide down her spine, dipping at her arch, and nearly driving him wild with desire. She is so soft and warm…

She slips the boddice over her shoulders and pull her arms from the sleeves. His once beating heart spikes wildly as she folds down the remaining boddice to reveal the full extent of her back, now bare and open for his eyes to explore.

Before she could turn around, Armando’s hands are running down her sides and around her waist, settling on her stomach and staying there. His entire being is alive with desire by now and a dormant instinct has awakened within him, guiding him to lean down and brush his lips against the crook of her neck.

The soft hitch of her breath stirs something primal in his chest as he drags his lips up her neck to whisper in her ear, “Have you been with a man before, pequeño?” She shakes her head and arch her back against his chest. “Then we do this my way, understand?”

Samira nods, too dazed to speak.

“I will not take your purity today, but I will give you the release you want. But you will have to be quiet. Don’t want one of the crew rushing in while I’m indulging you now, do we?”

To test that, his places a feathered kiss underneath her ear, smirking as her breath hitches but no sound escapes her.

“Good girl.”

***

The breathless whimper she makes at the praise give him to confidence to begin his ministrations. Armando’s hands begin their trek upwards, ever to gently, as he goes back to kissing the crook of her neck. Samira squirms under his touch when he stops just below the curve of her breasts – he yet has to behold their magnificence. A part of him is greedy to look, another part wishes to postpone that pleasure for when he’s mortal and can indulge her properly.

Samira worms in his grip, attempting to get him to take her into his hands. At last, he does.

Armando’s eyes fall close at the feeling of her soft and warm breasts in his cold hands, perked and hard with desire that he brings her. He gives them a gentle roll before lightly running his thumbs over her peaks. Samira’s hands come up to grasp his, arching her back when he gives each a soft tug.

Knowing she has never been with a man and experienced any of this before, makes it all the more rewarding to observe her every reaction. He wonders how fast he can leave her panting and whimpering…

Feeling it’s time to put that thought to the test, his hands let go of her breasts to lift her onto the table. With her back still pressed against him, he takes one of her mounds in his hand while trailing the other down her stomach and underneath her dress.

Samira gasps before biting down her fist, remembering she needs to be quiet. His hand is exploring places hers has never ventured for pleasure.

“Shh, shh,” he whispers against her cheek as her breathing becomes labored and quicken the pace of his fingers, reveling in how ready for him she is. How he wishes he was mortal now.

Samira just about swallows any sound that dares escape her lips by now, clawing at his forearm with her free hand. Realizing she is close to her peak, he curls his fingers at the same time his lips return to the crook of her neck, this time with the intention of leaving a mark...

The Mary jolts as a wave crash against the waterline the moment she finds her release. Samira slumps back against him, chest heaving, skin glistening, and utterly spent and satisfied.

***

At last, she can stop biting down her fist and he gently holds her hand to his face, noticing the slightly bloody teeth marks she left behind. “I take it it was good then?”

Breathlessly, she nods and a smile of fatigue graces her face. “It was perfect.”

His chest swells with pride as he lifts her up and carries her to the bed. Somehow, they settle in a comfortable position with her pressed up against his side, hand resting above his heart.

“I half-hoped you’d allow me to return the favor,” Samira rests her chin on his chest and looks up at him with eyes he wants to drown in. “We could’ve shared this moment together.”

Yes, they could have, but there is a reason why he chose to wait. Slipping a charred, black as coal ring from his finger, he lifts her hand and slide it over her ring finger. Clearly, it’s too big for her, but it’ll do for now.

She stares at the ring wide-eyed until he speaks. “The only time I will indulge all your desires, Samira, is once I’m mortal and have courted you properly – if you’ll have me.”

She looks between him and the ring in stunned surprise.

Feeling worry stir within him, he adds, “I promise I shall buy you a better one once we step foot in Spain, if that is what y—”

She kisses him before he could finish that sentence. Armando welcomes her lips greedily, tangling his fingers in her hair and allowing her to climb atop of him. Her hands on his cracked cheeks leave burning trails in their wake, setting him ablaze with passion and emotions he once thought was dead.

“Yes,” she breathes against his lips and smiles radiantly, “Yes to courtship, yes to the ring, yes to everything.”

Armando can hardly believe her excitement. It has to be another cursed trick the Triangle played on his mind, so he had to make twice certain. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

A curse-free life flashes before him, a life outside the Triangle, an eternity with Samira and whatever they wish to achieve together. It’s enough to make his dead heart beat to life.

“Promise you will wait for me? Promise you will be patient until the curse is broken.”

“I promise.” Unable to contain her happiness any longer, she kisses him once more and somewhere in the distance, even the ocean shares in her content.

Samira makes herself comfortable atop of him and, after a minute, he hears her steady breaths, telling him she fell asleep. Armando silently enjoys watching her peaceful features while playing with her hair, careful not to wake her. Overcome by what can only be love for this woman in his arms, he closes his eyes, relishing in her warmth and everything she makes him feel…

…until he opens them as realization hits.

Not once during their intimacy did he leak black liquid from his mouth.

#armando salazar #armando #salazar #pirates of the caribbean: dead men tell no tales #pirates of the caribbean #potc dmtnt #potc #dmtnt #jack sparrow #henry turner

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flyingflosser09 · 1 year

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Cursed / Armando Salazar x OC / Chapter 29

Lesaro and Santos help a numb and emotionless Salazar aboard the Silent Mary as Poseidon’s Tomb falls close in crashing waves and sea foam. Even the ship’s curse has been broken, and most parts restored to their former glory.

But the atmosphere is dead, just like the Capitán ’s soul.

Magda, who’s been at the wheel all this time, hands it to one of the officers and quickly descends the helm to see the look of joy on his fellow officers’ faces. He’s been so happy when he felt it skin regain color and feeling, overjoyed to smell and taste the salt in the air. He and the few officers that followed him at Samira’s command, celebrated on their own while the others were still at the bottom of the ocean.

However, he pauses at the quarterdeck when he notices the ashen expressions of Lesaro, Santos, and the others. Surely, they should have more color in their faces, no? He almost checks his hands just to make double certain that the curse it broken.

When he approaches them, he’s perplexed to find them…grieving?

What did he miss?

It hits him like the hilt of a sword to the back of his skull. Searching their faces for one in particular, he feels cold dread creeping down his spine. “Where is the señorita?” When no one answers immediately, he grabs Moss by his collar and almost shouts, “Where is Samira?”

Lesaro looks between Magda and Armando, expecting the latter to share the devasting news with the rest of the crew. But his Capitán just sits there, face passive, but eyes empty of emotion. Lesaro isn’t even certain if Armando heard what Magda said.

So, he takes it upon himself to fill everyone in. “Samira, she sacrificed herself so we can live. She is…” he can’t bring himself to say it as a knot form in his throat.

But those who didn’t see her get crushed by the waves, heard enough to know what happened. Magda’s expression darkens as he feels a sinking feeling weigh him down. He had to sit to process the tiding.

“No,” he shakes his head, unable to accept it, “No, she’s not dead. She cannot be. The ocean will bring her back like it did before. It will bring her back…”

“Mi amigo,” Moss takes a seat next to him, placing a sincere hand on his shoulder, “she’s not coming back. When she broke the Trident, it took away her power. I’m sorry.”

That’s all it takes for Santos to back up and retreat to the forecastle deck, wanting nothing more than to be alone, to grieve alone.

Lesaro looks about the Mary, conflicted. As the second in command, a Lieutenant, he knows duty comes before personal matters. Looking at his fellow officers, he feels he needs to give them a motivational speech to lift their spirits. And while the Capitán is not himself, he needs to give the orders so they can set sail.

But alas, Lesaro can’t find it in himself to do either of that. He needs time to grieve. He might not have loved Samira in the way the Capitán did, but he cared for her just as much. She brought out the good in him, and oh, how he longed to feel that after twenty-five years.

Now she’s gone, gave up her life for theirs.

The Lieutenant slowly approaches Salazar and joins him on the deck. He knows he needs to handle this matter delicately to prevent any raging outburst.

“The señorita’s sacrifice was honorable, mi amigo. She achieved what she set out to do; setting us free.”

“But this wasn’t how it’s supposed to end,” Armando mutters darkly. “She should be here. She would’ve been here if I wasn’t so blinded by revenge, if I didn’t go after the Sparrow –”

“Blaming yourself won’t make the pain go away.” Lesaro places a steady hand on his Capitán ’s shoulder. “The only way to live with it, is for her sacrifice not to be in vain. Perhaps it is time to let the past go.”

“You mean the Sparrow?” He can’t even imagine a world where killing Jack is not on his to-do list. How is he supposed to just let a twenty-five-year plan go to waste? “That pirate took everything from me, and now, he’s taken her!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, amigo,” the Lieutenant almost whispers, “Sparrow might have been responsible for trapping us in the Triangle, but he isn’t responsible for Samira’s fate. From the beginning, her goal was to set us free, and now she has achieved that. Let us not dwell in the past but instead honor her memory and return to Spain. I know she wanted that for us… and for you.”

Armando knows Lesaro is right – he is always right. Samira wanted them to return to Spain to see what is left of their former lives there. He wanted nothing more than to take her with him and settle down in that estate he always dreamt of.

But considering how close he feels to being dead again, he can’t even think about it. How does he move on after this, after her? For a moment he had everything, and now it’s all gone again.

A new sort of rage stirs within him, an emotion he identifies as anguish. There is nothing he can do about it. He can sink a million ships, kill a billion pirates, but nothing will bring her back. He feels helpless and…empty. And that is his worst fear come true.

Armando has remained so long on one spot; his legs have gone numb. But when the looming shadow of a ship cast over the deck of the Mary, he slowly looks up at the row of faces staring at them from across the water.

Pirates.

He sees the boy – Samira’s friend – among them, searching the Mary for her. And then there’s the person he hated the most, making himself small behind his crew in hopes he won’t be seen.

But Armando can’t care less about Jack Sparrow anymore. Yes, he still wants to see him dead, but he’d rather see Samira alive.

“Where is she?” the boy, Henry he remembers his name was, calls to them. “Where is Samira?”

It seems he already suspects the answer to that question, given the grieving looks on the Spanish crew’s faces. But he needs to hear it to accept it.

Standing up from the deck, Armando numbly approaches the rail to hold onto it, not trusting his legs to stand. Tilting his chin, he looks only at the boy and shakes his head.

It’s like watching an invisible man punching the boy in the gut. He’s floored, stumbling backward until the girl at his side steadies him. His face is blank of emotion, but his eyes betray the grief he’s struck with.

Armando knows the boy was like family to Samira. He feels he should say something but can’t for the life of him form any words. So instead, he turns to the bane of his existence and says in a voice dripping with venom, “Consider yourself lucky, Jack. Today, you will live to tell the tale. I will not pursue you further. But if I see your ship on the horizon, if we ever cross paths again, I will attack, I will run my blade across your neck, and I will watch the sharks tear your crew apart piece…by…piece. Now go. VAMOS!”

Jack literally bolts for the wheel to sail away from the Mary as far as he can possibly go. Armando watches the pirate vessel depart, eyes lingering on the boy a moment longer, who hasn’t move since receiving the news.

He could’ve ordered the crew to board the ship and kill at the pirates. He could’ve had his revenge on Jack. But unless it brought Samira back, it made no difference.

Only when the ship is too far for him to see the people on it, does he lose composure and slouch down the rail.

“That was an honorable thing to do, amigo,” Lesaro says behind him, “Samira would –”

“Please,” he cuts him off, and the Lieutenant blinks at the crack in his Capitán ’s voice. Is he…

Understanding that Salazar only wants to be alone now, he nods and says, “I…will order the men to set course then.”

“No, just…” A ragged, shaky breath, and he continues, “…let’s set sail tomorrow.”

He just wants to stay here a bit longer, hoping for the ocean to wash ashore the precious life it claimed. Only once, he wants to hold Samira in his arms before letting her go. Only once, he wants to see her face before returning her to eternal depths of the sea, where she can finally become one with its wonders.

#armando salazar #armando #salazar #pirates of the caribbean: dead men tell no tales #pirates of the caribbean #potc dmtnt #potc #dmtnt #jack sparrow #henry turner

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