#potc imagine

[multifandomfix]

Imagine Barbossa waking you up with his wandering hands.

The soft sway of the ship rocked you gently in your cot, but it wasn't the choppy waters that woke you. A calloused hand slid down your side, tracing over the curves of your waist, fingers grazing with enough pressure to send a shiver down your spine.

"Didn't mean to wake ya," a familiar voice rasped near your ear, the scent of rum on his breath unmistakable.

You cracked an eye open to find Captain Hector Barbossa leaning over you, his crooked grin illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the cabin. His hand lingered, and you couldn't help but arch slightly beneath his touch, though you tried not to show how much his presence thrilled you.

"Didn't mean to wake me? So, you're just getting handsy in your sleep now," you teased, your voice a little husky from being woken so suddenly.

"Aye," Barbossa drawled, his fingers making slow, deliberate patterns along your hip. "Seems me hands have a mind of their own when I'm near ya."

You rolled over to face him, catching the mischievous glint in his eye. "Seems they know exactly what they're doing."

He chuckled, low and rough, as he leaned in closer, his beard tickling your neck. "Might be they do."

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in your belly. "And what's your excuse this time, Captain? Storm keeping you up?"

"Storm? No. More like the promise of somethin' sweeter than rum," he whispered, his lips hovering just above yours.

Your heart raced as his hand found your waist again, this time tugging you closer. "I should make you walk the plank for this," you warned, through your heart wasn’t in the threat.

Barbossa grinned. "Only if you join me in the water, love."

You chuckled softly, giving in to the warmth of his body against yours. "You're lucky I don't mind sharing my cot."

His voice lowered, rough and teasing. "Aye, and I'm lucky you’ve got such soft skin for me to wander over."

Your breath hitched as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt, his touch light but firm, leaving no doubt about what was on his mind. "Keep that up, and I'll have you swabbing the deck." Another jest, but it was routine for you, playing the damsel in distress to your captain.

Barbossa smirked, his hand still exploring. "If it means I get to wake you up like this every mornin, I'll be swabbin' for all eternity."

You couldn't help but laugh, pulling him closer with a playful glare. "We'll see about that, Captain."

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Hector Barbossa: @whither-the-wind-goes, @bluenystic, @puppy-coded, @fog-on-the-moon, @music-bird, @phantomofclownery, @thewildomega, @hotshot624, @witchthewriter, @ha1taniwh0re, @thekirbishow

[hannaswritingblog]

Imagine: Jack Sparrow and James Norrington getting jealous of you

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean

Suggested by anon [x] – I really hope that this imagine is at least close to what you had in mind and that you like it! And if you have any other suggestions, my inbox is always open. 😊

You're walking down a pier in the Port Royal harbour, trying to clear your mind. Everyone's been waiting for James Norrington to be promoted to Commodore for a while now and today, on a day of the official ceremony, the area is buzzing with excitement.

Being a part of James's immediate circle, you should feel that excitement too. Deep in your heart you certainly do. But at the same time you can't help but wonder how your life would've gone if you didn't abandon your life at sea. Your life as a pirate...

Lost in your thoughts, you don't realise you're not alone anymore until you feel a tap on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around only to see the soon-to-be Commodore next to you.

"Is something bothering you, Y/N?" Norrington says, smiling softly.

"Oh, it's... nothing, James. Nothing's bothering me. I was just thinking about... my past."

His smile immediately fades away, but he manages to keep his composure as he tells you:

"You don't have to worry about your past. Nobody around knows that you were a pirate except me, and I intend on keeping your secret safe, just as I promised."

"Thank you. But... you know who was my captain during my time as a pirate, right?"

A solemn expression crosses his face before he says:

"Yes. Yes, I know. And it doesn't change a thing."

Deep down you know it changes a lot, but neither of you is going to admit it. But even though his pride must be hurt, you appreciate that James is steady in his promise.

"I'm glad. If you could give me one more minute alone though. I'll join you soon."

"Of course."

He bows to you slightly and walks away. You wait for Norrington to be gone from your sight before reluctantly following him.

On your way out of the harbour you pass a familiar figure. It takes you a second to realise where you know the person from, but once you do, you can't help but turn around and call out:

"Jack!"

"Oh. So it really is you, Y/N," Jack Sparrow says, walking back to you. "Didn't expect to see you around, sweetie."

"As if it wasn't where you dropped me off last time we saw each other," you respond.

"Okay, so maybe I knew I'd find you here. But not in the company of an officer of the Royal Navy, for sure."

"Oh, Norrington? He's just a..." You stop for a second when you notice that Jack's usual sly smile is now gone. "Wait... are you jealous?"

"What, me? Jealous? Of some officer? Never." Only when you raise an eyebrow at him, he admits: "Okay. I might be just a little jealous. But if this is how you live now..."

"Yes. I believe it is."

"...then I won't try to change your mind."

Something in your heart stings, as if you wanted him to try. You almost ask him to, but instead you catch yourself saying:

"Thank you. I still hope you'll stick around; Norrington is promoted to Commodore today, it's a chance to have some fun."

"You should stop tempting me, Y/N. A chance to have a good time and be in your presence? I reckon I shall stick around."

Jack sends you a smile before you part ways. And that smile is how you know he's back to his usual self and besides the fun, you can definitely expect some trouble.

[fandomimaginewasteland]

Please like, reblog & credit if you use!

[demigoddessqueens]

the captain and the witch

Summary - he thought he could have it all, but it left him lonely. He sees the similarities between him and Jones starting to grow, and it pains him.

Author’s note: Yes i based these headcanons off this song! Yes I still love this character and always thinks he deserves better.

It seemed perfect to him! All the praise and glory back in his hands until Jones interferes as always.

Capturing you was a side quest, a means to taunt the goddess Calypso with her kinsmen, but one that Norrington greatly objected to given the cruel nature of it

James was drawn to you for the obvious reasons — your immortality, power, the history you shared with the Sea herself but you looked at him with such a disdain it got to him. Easily.

Still, it compelled him in the short few days you had together when he came by your “quarters”, either to drop off food for you or seek information.

Every word, be it a taunt at him or the blasé nature of yours in withholding, still kept him hooked as if it was your siren’s song.

You thought it annoying at first how this mortal man kept coming back to your cell. Does he wish to taunt you? But it becomes more than that.

He amused you. Very few cared what you had to say back then and now, except for him. Maybe he was try to be empathetic (or just liked the sound of his own voice), but you slowly began to tolerate him. Small accounts here and there, bits and pieces of life stories that fit like puzzles. Though it was humorous at seeing his eyes widen when you told the ancient tales of your life, you appreciated the images conjured by his life story.

Even though it made you feel sad and somewhat pity him.

James didn’t think it was anything serious until he heard you say his name. It rolled so flawlessly off your tongue, and it coursed through his body.

Was it your old magicks or the realization that something more had grown between you two?

When the crew of the Pearl had been captured and placed with you, they recognized you from the tales and stories used to scare others.

Call it an alliance of convenience when you escape, but before you flee The Dutchman, James catches you with the rest.

If this is goodbye, then it was a treasured time he does not regret. James knows it’s too late for him, but he can’t help but pause at your offer as you hold your hand out to him.

“Leave with me. Join me. I’m taking my life back. Will you do the same?”

Still, you deserve better, with or without him. The kiss goodbye catches you off guard before he sends you past the railing to the safety of the ocean.

You feel the life of him slip away when you hit the waters. It’s a sharp pain that leaves you gasping for air.

You want to see him again, uttering a meek offering to whatever deities of yours still reside in the oceans. Prayers mixed with the bitterness of what possibilities were taken from you.

“You foolish, idiotic caring man…” 💔

After the end of Jones’s defeat and the pirate world is freed for now, you dare to hope and reunite with James aboard the Dutchman.

Whoever heard your demand, you’re thankful to him. Part of the Dutchman, part of the crew, his eyes meet yours across the waters with that soft smile you looked forward to.

Despite the rivalry he once had with Turner, there’s a newfound appreciation he has for it. Because when Will crosses that shore, it’s for Elizabeth.

When James crosses it, you’re there for him. Fear of abandonment no longer exists in that hollow chest of his, and when the curse is lifted, you two will be together again.

“I found you.” “Can’t get rid of me that easily now, can you?”

[nightingale2004]

BROS Jack Sparrow in HOTD, but he is one of the illegitimate sons of Corlys Velaryon and is a pirate of the Westeros seas

Do with this as you will

Seriously, look at these two 👇

There is untapped potential here guys

[kathaariawrites]

Nights in Cádiz - Armando Salazar x Reader (Chapter 3)

I know I should be ashamed to come back and write another chapter as if nothing happened BUT at least I'm back so yay.

The dress I picture [Y/N] wearing here is this one. Also, because it's mentioned, here's a guide on the language of fans in the 18th century.

As breakfast progressed, with stolen glances and smirks from your part, Armando felt his face flush. It was highly, highly inappropriate for a lady, specially this young, this joyful, to behave like this. He was her father's friend, he left for his last trip when her mom was pregnant. [Y/N] had her whole life ahead and shouldn't be giving her attention to him.

He looked at Lesaro for help but he only shot him knowing glances back and it made him frown. No, this would not do it. He excused himself and stood up, going for a walk outside the house. Fresh air, instead of the suffocating atmosphere inside.

Lesaro found him soon after.

"¿Dónde vás?", his voice made him pause. It was too easy to forget he was a commanding officer too.

"I need fresh air, Gui."

"I can see that. You're troubled today, Armando, and your face is showing it to everyone. ¿Qué pasa?"

Armando turned around then, a loud sigh leaving him. "It's the señorita, Gui. I...Diós."

Guillermo chuckled, approaching him with slow steps. He knew his friend too well, the same good old Armando from the Academy days in front of him now.

He remembers how Armando was, how he always has been. Passionate, intense, a handsome man who always let insecurities get the best of him on these matters. When they were young sailors, it would brew down to him thinking no respectable woman should be with him because of his father's actions. Then, as they rose ranks practically together, it extended to his capabilities, to him being away for too long and not wanting to hold a woman "hostage to his work", as he said.

Armando never planned on being a captain until Guillermo himself vouched for him. He would be a good one, and time proved him right at every possible instance, but at the cost of his own captaincy offer. Guillermo was a man of the crew, Armando was a man of command and it was the way it was supposed to be.

Being on so many different ships together, the deaths, La Maria and the curse, had brought them impossibly close together. They confided everything to each other. The young Armando who relucted in seeking comfort with brothel women in their stops was in front of him again, insecurity and fear shining in his deep eyes and Guillermo almost laughed at how unfitting it seemed to see this man, strong and stubborn, like this.

"What about her, amigo? You seem to be enjoying each other's company enough."

Armando blushed and Lesaro's eyebrows shot up as he said, "She showed up in my dream last night. We talked, Gui. She held my hand, not even flinching at my cursed face."

"Impossible. She never saw us cursed, never even been on La Maria. Armando, are you sure you simply didn't dream her being there?"

He shook his head, "No, ella estaba conmigo. She mentioned it today before breakfast, when I met her at the hall. No sé que hacer."

To say Lesaro was more amused than he should was an understatement, "Perhaps it is a sign, amigo."

Salazar squinted at him, "No te atrevas..."

"A sign your affections are mutual and you need to stop this nonsense and ask Hugo for her hand."

"¡Guillermo Lesaro!", Armando said, eyes going wide and face red. "¡No, absolutamente no!"

"Armando, we got another shot at life to make things right and be happy. If it lies with her, allow yourself to feel it."

"¡No, Guillermo! La señorita is young, I'm an old, seasoned sailor. It is highly inappropriate and wrong to even suggest such a thing."

"A lot of things changed in these years we have been gone, amigo."

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of someone approaching. One look at her and Armando's eyes softened immediately and she gave them a curtsy before looking up at him again. The dress, green skirt and floral overcoat, the hat on top of her head, the way she looked up with the fan in her left hand, open, the message conveyed so elegantly.

"Am I interrupting, ¿almirantes?"

"No, señorita! I was just telling Armando I have something to attend to at the Armada headquarters so if you will excuse me.", Lesaro bowed to them and walked away, a smile on his face at the playful betrayal.

Armando, on the other hand, held her right hand and planted a kiss on it in greeting. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Walk with me, Armando?", she said, smiling. And Armando would not, could not refuse. He offered her his arm, smiling as she took it and they walked towards the gardens.

Spanish translations:

¿Dónde vás? = Where are you going?

¿Qué pasa? = What's going on?

Diós = God

No, ella estaba conmigo = No, she was with me

No sé que hacer = I don't know what to do

Amigo = Friend

No te atrevas... = Don't you dare...

¡No, absolutamente no! = No, absolutely not!

Almirantes = Admirals

Señorita = miss

[shuckfacedcarrot]

Thought I had a great new idea for a book only to figure out it's basically just a James Norrington fanfic. Then again who doesn't love Commodore Norrington? I haven't written fanfiction in ages but if anyone's interested I might just go ahead 👀

[primary-022]

Starting of slow

Okay I got a concept of what to write for and about.

So I have a list of movies and shows and some video games I can write for.

The Umbrella Academy ☔

The maze runner 🏃

Ready player one 1⃣

Pirate of the Caribbean 🧭

Marvel

Lord of the rings ���

The Hobbits 🧙‍♂️

The house of wax

Jeepers creepers

Texas chainsaw massacre

Halloween 🦇

Friday the 13th

The lost boys

It

Spree

Silent hill

Dracula ( all kinds of sorts) ( sort of)

Hellboy

God's of Egypt

Bill and Ten Excellent Adventure

Tank girl

Stray game

If anyone has other movie ideas, please share them below. Thank you! <3

[theblogofdavyjones]

It’s my birthday!!!

Can I request for someone to do a Davy Jones fic for my birthday? 🥳 🎂 ���

Requests ideas: A story that begins with angst after Davy snaps at the reader on false accusations, realizes he was wrong in the end and tries to make it up to her as the story ends in fluff

Davy comes to her rescue after witnessing a crew mate trying to intimidate and inflict fear by using his height to tower over her, Davy steps in front of her, does the same to the crew mate before sending him off to get his punishment for hurting her

Thanks so much!

***

@theblogofdavyjones / @savvythepirate

Requests: Open

Tags: @always-on-hiatus @princessofthornsandroses @justafairytailofinnocence @friendlynova @mypookiebeardavyjones @marsswann

[silverefflux]

*Plane* Capt. Jack Sparrow

Imagine an airline just jokingly putting a Jack Sparrow actor in the cockpit?

I can hear the slurring on the PA like

"Uhhhladies and gentlemen..this is ur CAPTAIN speaking...CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow, with my copilot...uhhh---*away from mic* whats ur name again?---*returns to mic* First Officer Will Turner."

Then mid-flight he just does the Jack Sparrow run all the way to the lavatory at the back LMAOOO

[absentmindeduniverse]

"you try to kiss him like you're not halfway through the depths of love"

I'm losing my shit over here ok ?

The motif of quiet throughout the story?

The "He/You deserved it" to finally show what you truly both deserve?

100% support the slutty norrington one off <3

WINE-EYED  ;  j.n.

summary: you loved him once. set during potc:dmc.

pairing: james norrington x f!reader

tags: unrequited love, angst, comfort, a dash of injury and worry, flashbacks to port royal & powdered wigs, a nice dock makeout scene

a/n: bro idk. bro IDK. had some pirate thoughts and then this 3.6k mess happened.

"You always did love her."

Those words, raw and cold from your lips, feel like salt in a wound — as stinging as the sea whipping James Norrington’s sun-split cheeks. The warmth of the setting sun does little to melt your icy disposition, and the ex-Commodore’s well-stoked and unbridled self-loathing rears once more.

He deserves that.

It’s evening, now. Most of the crew has settled below deck for well-earned rest and picking over supper — and you’re here, avoiding the raucous company in lieu of this. Quiet. Peace.

It’s not something you’ve had for weeks now, following Lizzy around the sea in chase of wandering loves and willful compasses and some still-beating heart in a long, lost chest.

She’s with Jack, now — chatting quietly in the evening air as they continue to plot a course by the stern. Far enough away that they’re in their own little world, as muddled and confusing as that thing between them is. Far enough away that James can stare, and wonder, and reminisce in heartwrenching loneliness.

At the sound of your voice, his head snaps forward along the horizon. He stiffens. James leans on the port banister and exhales.

“Have you come to mock me, then?” he replies in that same smooth voice you’d loved long ago — but it’s bitter and harsh, like the sting of an expensive whiskey.

You lean against the mass and cross your arms. The Eastern wind is cool — but it carries the edge of a coming storm. Give it two or three days, you reckon.

You cross your arms over your chest, and the barrel of your long rifle sways against your back. It’s cool through the thin cotton of your billowed blouse.

Your eyes slip coolly across his posture. The tumble of dark, salt-curled strands are pulled loosely into a blue ribbon. He doesn’t turn to face you, and instead turns his eyes to the honeyed-rose sunset dwindling along the horizon.

You deserve that.

You push off the mast and swagger forward. You come to rest beside him, and plant your calloused palms on the weathered wood of the Pearl’s railing.

“Pray, how is that mockery?” you say lightly, though your tone is sharp. Confident. Sure as the setting sun, “It is but the God’s honest truth.”

For the first time since he’s come aboard, he turns his head and looks at you then — truly looks at you.

James realizes then that you are not the woman he once knew in Port Royal.

There’s a new scar on your cheek. Your hair is different — styled in a more practical sense than perfectly placed like he remembers. You lack ribbons and rouge and petticoats. You’ve dawned trousers and boots and belts and sashes.

The only thing he recognizes is that rifle on your back.

You always were an impressive shot.

Though sport was rare on the island of Port Royal, your reputation followed you from England. Your father, the Governor’s Treasurer, took every chance he could to boast about his daughter’s accomplishments. James remembers many a dinner where you sat, as soft and doe-eyed and girlish as could be, and sported a bashful smile at the praise.

You were different from Elizabeth.

You always had been.

While Elizabeth had been infallible — high, and unattainable on a pedestal he’s half-aware he built himself — you had been present and interested and kind. It was clear you held a spot in your heart from the Commodore, even then. Even when he was intent on having Lizzy’s hand. Even when his attention was always wrung from conversation by her approach.

Even when he left, heartbroken and intent on chasing pirates.

You can feel his eyes on you.

His words are slow and very serious. “I’m not in the mood for jests, my lady.”

The jab doesn’t land. You continue on, unbothered.

“There was a time I would do anything for you to look at me like that, you know,” comes your easy reply as you move to crawl atop the cannon to your right. You perch yourself with ease. There’s a moment of silence that settles between you and James feels an uneasy itch crawl into his heart, “God, I would have thrown myself from the Fort’s cliffs, even.”

You never admitted your feelings for him.

Not before now.

He knew, God, of course, he did. Of course.

But, he’d been blind, then. Ignorant to the devotion of one woman, eagerly chasing the untouchable affection of another.

Finally, you look at him, and he feels like it’s ten years past again — and you’re chatting in a quiet room at a boisterous dinner party over the ethics and intricacies of Queen Anne’s privateering laws. He remembers the candlelight and the companionship and the comfort.

You were friends, once.

Your voice is quiet, carried away by the wind. You watch him, albeit distantly.

“Now look at us.”

Two tired souls, each as lost as the other.

With a flick, your gaze finds his. James’ eyes are the color of sea glass — they search yours for a moment before his jaw tenses and he drops his gaze to the water.

He’s quiet for a while, and so are you. For now, it’s just the calm swell of the sea. The sun has all but extinguished now, and the stars are creeping up over your back.

His voice is softer now.

“I doubt an apology would mend much of anything.”

You screw your face uptight. You move to pull your knees up. You’re quick to placate the assumption with a dry laugh. “I didn’t come up here seeking an apology—”

James straightens his posture and turns, fully allowing you to occupy his attention. “Then why did you come to me at all?”

His voice was colder than he intended.

You wince.

Years of loneliness, of regret, of shame, of guilt — they’ve all eroded the soul he had before. He’s as changed as you. Propriety would once call that this conversation be chaperoned; now, he finds himself yearning for a moment alone with you.

His eyes snap away again.

“...It’s what I owe you,” he says — this time, purposefully softening each syllable to paint his intent; he tries to placate the ache he sees in your face, “You... You were always kind to me. Even when I hardly deserved it. Even now.”

His eyes are soft.

Your lashes flutter.

“...It was always impossible to be anything but kind to you, James Norrington.”

He’d forgotten how his name sounded on your tongue — coy, gentle and warm. Sweeter than he remembers now, punctuated by the briefest slip of a smile. It leaves with the passing wind.

With that, you slip down from your perch and slip away.

James watches you climb to the Crow’s Nest — agile and graceful — and wonders why he ever let himself forgo your affections in the first place.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The storm rears upon them sooner than anyone expected.

It’s as if in an instant, the Pearl is swallowed by clouds darker than it’s pitch-colored sails. The electric snap of lightning splits the sky open, and in the span of five minutes, the Pearl careens into the worst storm First Mate Joshamee Gibbs has seen in ten years.

The winds send waves high — and in the chaos of bone-rattling impacts upon the deck, the crew is sent into a scramble trying to maintain the heading. They’ll lose day's worth of travel if they let the storm have her way.

The rain is coming down so heavy that James Norrington can barely see — all he can hear is the hoarse barks of orders by Gibbs and the roar of the thunder and his own thoughts.

Tripoli. The Dauntless. Hundreds of men.

Tripoli. The Dauntless. Hundreds of men.

Tripoli. The Dauntless. Hundreds of men.

His back burns as his hands grip the sea-slick ropes and he heaves, pulling taut the mainsail with four men at his back. A wave slams them from the starboard side and sends a line of sailors tumbling — and James gulps for air when the ice water strikes him hard. But, he stands firm. Keeps hauling.

Tripoli. The Dauntless. Hundreds of men—

It’s your voice, suddenly, that cuts through the roar of the storm.

“HOLD FAST!”

The starboard side is being battered by the wind and the waves and the rain. Hit after hit, the crew tries to maintain footing as they adjust the sails to correct the heading — and now, you’ve planted yourself at the front of the line.

James’ head snaps to you — and he watches a wave nearly ten feet high slam down on the deck, directly atop your head.

Somehow, you stay upright.

But, it’s like drowning.

Your hair clings to you in wind-whipped tendrils of snarls. Your shirt is soaked through, and the chill is settling into your bones. Still, better down here than up in the Crow’s Nest. The mast, at that thought, groans loudly under the push of the wind. Your boots slip, and you stagger back as you try to haul the sails back to the position — behind you, Gibbs is braced.

Your hands are bleeding.

Lightning cracks close, and you try to breathe.

“BRACE!” suddenly comes the hard call of Gibbs in your ear — but it’s neither too late nor too soon, it’s simply not enough.

The rogue wave hits the Pearl hard.

You hit the deck harder.

In a tumble of limbs and shrieks and pain, you’re rolled violently towards port — and as you gasp hard to try and get up again, you’re slammed with another cold shock of seawater. It seizes up your lungs.

It’s a whirlwind of panic that seizes you the second your back slams against the port siding. It’s water and wind and thunder and the dizzying confusion of pain crawling up your temple — and then, it’s James.

James is there.

James is there, wild-eyed and soaked and holding your face in his hands as he’s shouting something — but your ears are ringing and you’re trying to see his mouth in the downpour.

Then, just like that, the world swims back into focus.

“GET BELOW DECK.”

All you can do is nod.

He helps you, with a bruising grip, towards the lower deck’s hold — water is pooling down here, up to your ankles, and it sways and rocks with each pitch the Pearl takes. Your knees wobble as you descend, and you spare James a single, long look back as he slams the deck door’s shut with a rattle.

The animals one level down are panicked.

There are a few souls down here — most nursing injuries, some praying.

Your stomach tumbles as the ship lurches again and you stagger into a bunk on the wall. Your hands grip the ladder tightly, and it’s then that you realize you’re still bleeding. You haul yourself up, muscles still burning, into a vacant top bunk. It’s nearly dry here — but the noise of the storm and creak of the ship’s bones does little to bring comfort.

Your head is pounding.

And so you stay there, in the lonesome dark, and try to remember the quiet psalm some tired soul is whispering into a rosary. A sailor’s prayer.

Slowly, as time creeps a half past the hour, the violence of the storm begins to subside — and on the seventeenth repetition of the prayer, sunlight begins to peek through the slats in the deck overhead.

You’ve turned your eyes to marvel at the warm rays pooling into the water that has gathered below deck. Little flickers of light dance around the space — and it’s almost heavenly. Peaceful. Quiet.

Then, James.

He’s fast to make his way to you — as the rest of the crew dwindles down, wrought with exhaustion and pain. His hands are as bloody and spent as yours; torn to shreds from the coarse ropes. And still, despite this, his touch is so gentle you swear you could cry.

“Are you alright?” he asks, in a desperate whisper, as his hand finds your knee and he gestures for you to come down from the bunk.

Your nod is far from convincing.

Truth be told, you’re off. Dizzy and confused and your entire back aches. Your ribs protest with each breath.

James sees it.

He’s gentle — and suddenly, so gentlemanly — when he slips his hands beneath your arms and gently helps you down from the bunk.

You slip down his front, hands tangled around his shoulders.

The act is enough to wind you.

You plant your forehead against the sopping wet cloth of his jacket.

This moment is enough; it placates the yearning you’ve stoked for years. It’s horrible in that way — that you’re allowed this now, after so long. After so much. But, James doesn’t pull away.

Instead, his hands slip to push matted tendrils from your temple.

Worry is heavy in his deep voice. “You’re bleeding.”

You’re exhausted.

And so is he.

What he’d give to collapse into his own bunk now — to sleep for a day, or maybe more. But, his heart won’t let him. Not when you’re here, and when he... when he almost thought he could have lost you.

...But, truly, he never really had you to lose.

Nor you him.

And maybe that’s the poetic part of all this.

Suddenly, Elizabeth is calling your name from atop the deck.

You slip away, hands brushing his chest as you do.

His hands trace your arms, and you’re gone.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You have no idea where you are.

All that matters — however — is that the Pearl is docked, your feet are firmly planted on land, and you’ve got a warm helping of food in your stomach.

The crew needed this after that storm.

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, and loosen your grip on the bottle in your hands. It’s rum — cheap rum. But, to the dear Captain’s point: rum is rum is rum. You watch him, and Gibbs, and Elizabeth, and Marty converse about something with animated intent.

From across the crowded tavern, Lizzy offers a smile.

You honor it with a commemorative swig.

The bar is busy — working girls flit in and out with men on their arms, venturing upstairs for privacy. There are card games between tables, a fight in the back alley, and music blaring loudly from the corner. All in all, for being a small little port in the middle of nowhere, it’s good business.

Not very quiet, though.

James, all the while, is trying to ignore the gnaw of yearning the sight of you brings.

He’s staring — openly, now — from his position on the balcony. His own bottle is nearly half-gone. He’s by his lonesome up here, pestered every now and again by a woman or two promising a lovely evening. But, each time, he passes. And each time, his gaze lands back on you.

Had he been so stupid?

Had he been so damn blind?

He could have had you — you, beautiful and witty and charming and sharp. You, kind and gentle, as devoted as the sun is to the moon. He could have had friendship and love and all the things touted in a marriage.

But, no. He couldn’t have Elizabeth. And so, he went and he left and he fell apart at sea. He lost what he was, and drowned the man he used to be.

Sea-green eyes watch you stand from your table. You shrug on your rifle, drop your hat atop your head, and toss a few coins down for the barmaid.

So, James swigs the rest of his drink and follows.

The port is quieter — but still, the noise from the tavern bleeds into the town’s night air. Here, with music droning on as the waves lap at the dock, you find a bit of peace.

“Mind if I join you...?”

You turn, eyes pulled away from the moon.

James’ eyes are soft.

You give him a consenting nod.

It gives you a moment to take him in.

The two days in port have done him some good. He’s washed up, taken a bath, even shaved. But, the shadow of a beard has already begun to creep back along his sharp jaw. His hair is long, swept neatly away, and a few stray strands move in the cool breeze. His hands hang on his belt, loose and easy.

He’s always been tall — imposing. Very handsome. Even in that god-awful wig.

You remember that sandalwood cologne he favored back in Port Royal. Clean. Warm. Pervasive. Expensive. The sort of thing the salary of a Commodore could allow for.

Now, he smells like gun powder and rum.

His arm brushes yours as he sidles up beside you on the dock.

“It’s dangerous to be out here alone.”

Your eyes flick up to see him watching you — and you see humor there in his eyes.

You scoff. “Come to save me, have you? Once a dashing officer of the King’s navy, always one.”

His face twists into a bitter scowl. Like he tasted something sour. “I am inclined to disagree.”

You nudge him with your arm. “Fine. I amend everything from that previous statement, up to and not including the dashing part.”

For the first time in years, you hear him laugh.

Truly laugh. A real, low, thunderous chuckle creeps from his chest as he ducks his head and smiles.

It spurs you to muster your own laughter. You try to tamp it down, to keep it quiet and easy and light. The smile that digs into your cheeks intends to remain. The ache there is sweet.

He’s watching you again.

This time, you feel as though... as though this sort of look is different.

When he speaks, his voice is tender. His words are as sweet as a summer breeze.

“...I’ve made many mistakes in my life,” he begins, “But, I now believe forsaking you may have been my biggest.”

And it feels as if someone’s plunged a knife into your chest.

You aren’t sure how to respond to that. How could you have ever been prepared for that? In a thousand, heartbroken, lonely years, you never imagined you’d feel the returned affection of the man before you. And yet, here he is, bending to take your rope-burnt hands into his own.

“I am sorry.”

And again — and again, and again. The knife is twisted, and suddenly you feel months' worth of agony rush up. Words whispered between men at the docks, the HMS Dauntless was lost on the coast of Tripoli. That Commodore Norrington was declared lost at sea. He had left with barely a word. Hellbent and heartbroken.

You never imagined an apology.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles and your swallow roughly.

“James—”

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek.

“Do not protest this,” he says quietly, “You know it is what you deserve. After all I’ve done.”

You’re shaking your head when his thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone. It’s enough to make your head spin. You find both hands clinging to his own now as you shake off the dizzying thought of him in your space.

You feel like a girl again.

“You had a duty—”

“To you,” he corrects sternly; his eyes are set in a serious manner, framed by dark brows that pull taught as he brushes his fingers against a stray lock by your ear, “And I should have seen that. And I didn’t.”

It’s then that you finally look up at him.

It’s his turn to be robbed of breath.

You speak quietly.

“...You’re a good man, James.”

“You need not lie to me,” he whispers back, the space between you both enough to send the moonlight spilling over your entwined shadows.

“I would never,” you insist, your hands moving to brace flat against his chest. Your thumb brushes a bare patch of skin just along his sternum. He feels as if he’s been set on fire.

“Then, tell me,” James breathes as his nose nudges yours, “Would you allow me this?”

His eyes flick to your mouth.

All you can muster is a nod.

And then he kisses you.

His fingers hold your chin, and the kiss is as chaste and gentle as any — it’s slow and kind and warm. It’s punctuated by a deep breath as you both sink into the feeling of one another’s hold.

He... He feels hale and whole.

In a thousand, heartbroken, lonely years, you never imagined you’d feel his lips against your own. And yet, here he is, bending to break your composure with a hand that ventures around your waist. His other cradles your jaw. You cling, and allow the chasteness to dissipate into a feverish sort of chase.

It’s your tug on his lapels, the bunched grip of your shirt, the stagger of boots against the deck as he bends at the knee and nips at your bottom lip. Your arms swim around his neck, and you try to kiss him like you’re not halfway to the depths of love.

You’ve tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, leaped onto the tips of your boots, and allowed for his hands to grip the curves of your waist tightly as he hides a desperate kiss into your smile.

And then, a voice.

“’Bout time, I’d reckon.”

Captain Jack Sparrow — in all his glory — stumbles by.

And James Norrington has to try not to kill him then and there.

[drugs-and-daddyissues]

It's always "giving Jack Sparrow head" this and "Jack Sparrow bending you over" that but what about Jack Sparrow who eats your pussy like it's his only salvation?!?!

He spreads your legs, leaving your soaked cunt exposed. He leaves kisses and bite marks on your thighs as he trails upwards.

He's not necessarily delicate, but he's not overly rough either. He slides his tongue into your needy hole like he hasn't had a drink in years. Your taste is addictive, absolutely divine. It's enough to make him fall to his knees, pray to your alter. You are his religion, his salvation.

He eats you out with such passion that makes you scream, as his tongue does quick motions on your clit, two of his fingers easily slipping into your heat to rub against your g-spot.

His free hand goes up, under your shirt, his thumb teasing your hardened nipple. You're so close already, god, you can feel the pressure building up.

He lets your orgasm wash over you, hearing the moans and cries slip from your lips. He pulls his fingers out of you, before slipping them into his mouth, savoring your taste. He runs his tongue back along your hole, drinking you up.

He's a damn bastard of a man, a godforsaken pirate, he doesn't deserve pussy this good. But you're so pliant under him, letting him take what he needs. He worships you with his body.

And he's damn greedy, because by the time you've come down from your high, he's already delving in between your folds, seeking a second helping.

He'll take as much as you can give.

[yandere-toons]

Yandere: "is that your family?" S/O: "nope, nah-uh, nada. I've never seen those people in my life"

Years of hard data say you're lying, but they're not about to incriminate themselves by revealing so: Huey Duck, Hunter | Golden Guard, Aziraphale, Sheldon J Plankton, Doctor Nefarious, Tenth Doctor, Shang Tsung, Dr Flug, Perry the Platypus, Midoriya Izuku

Suspects the lie but rolls with it: Ian Malcolm, Louie Duck, Anthony J. Crowley, Nick Wilde, Nagito Komaeda, Captain Jack Sparrow, Lightning McQueen, Ratchet, Kaa, Bugs Bunny, Mike Wazowski, Johnny Loughran, Klaus Hargreeves, Sans Undertale, Arataka Reigen, Tyrion Lannister, Legoshi, Rouge the Bat, Wallace Wells, Kendall Roy, Connor Roy, Finnick Odair

Races over to introduce themselves: Toga Himiko, SpongeBob SquarePants, Dewey Duck, Judy Hopps, Kokichi Ouma, Beetlejuice, Celia Mae, Gaston, Mavis Dracula, Undyne, Beast Boy, Deadpool, Alvin Seville, Phil Dunphy

Believes you: Pinkie Pie, Bluey & Bingo, Jataro Kemuri, Chick Hicks, Caligosto Loboto, GIR, Daffy Duck, Bill & Ted, Olaf, Shigeo Kageyama, Starfire, Scott Pilgrim, Ken, Castiel

Laughs at your thin deceptions: Emperor Belos, Bill Cipher, Black Hat, Scar, Shere Khan, Tai Lung, Lord Shen, Pagan Min, Invader ZiM, Shao Kahn, Eleventh Doctor, Rainbow Dash, Shenzi, Randall Boggs, Duncan Pepperidge Anderson, Agent Smith, Doctor Eggman, Han Solo, Alastor, Izaya Orihara, Gideon Graves, Roman Roy, Shiv Roy, Gristol Malik

Alternative interpretation is equally funny — the yandere is pointing out random groups of people and slowly narrowing down their choices.

[oken-art]

more fanart of my two favourite divorced captains

[theblogofdavyjones]

OMG!!! These are so cute!!! Thank you for putting these out there!!!

@the-octopi-and-i

Imagine going to check on Jones late one evening as he hasn't come to bed yet. You have a feeling of where he's at but at the same time you want to be sure so you check the usual haunts: the deck, the wheel, and even the brig. He's no where. Then you check the organ room to find him slumped over the ivory keys yet again, soft snoring echoing off the pipes. He's been sleeping in here a lot lately as the day he can walk on land approaches. You wonder if it has anything to do with that woman Tia Dalma.

You know that waking him might not be a good idea as he needs his rest, so instead you gently lay your jacket over his shoulders. Its a small gesture, but you hope its enough to show that you care.

After watching him for a moment to make sure you didn't wake him, you peck him on the cheek and return to bed hoping he'll be able to talk to you more about it in the future.

[justafairytailofinnocence]

What it would be like if Barbossa was in love with you 🏴‍☠️🌊🌌❤️

It was unplanned. He hadn't expected you, nor did he expect to react too hardly. You had arrived with Captain Jack Sparrow on the black Pearl with Henry and Carina, under the guise of Captain Jack Sparrow on board the dying gull. Then—under Hector Barbossa's authority on the Queen Anne's Revenge and finally on the Black Pearl.

As time drifted on, he found himself staring at you. Whether it would be through his brass spyglass or as he's on top of the helm.

He didn't acknowledge his feelings. He was baffled by what they were and chose to ignore it. Despite this, it still lingered, creeping up on him. His thoughts, ambitions, and goals came in the way, though. They soon ceased as he would once more stare at you at the prow.

If you caught on or glanced back, he would take it out on any of his crew mates—Mutogg and Mullroy—to furiously get you off his track. Albiet, whether it would be to keep a closer eye or to trim the main and gib sails.

His thoughts would silence as he stared at you like a hopeless school boy with a crush. It was baffling and embarrassing. Once before, in his past, he would've taken the opportunity to intimidate you into giving him what he wanted. For his own personal gain and ambition.

When he would try to talk to you, he would only hobble a few feet with his crutch, but even then, he would hesitate. He wouldn't move. Perhaps it was better to settle on one's goals. He's never been in this state before. It's addle. He felt like a sappy love sick fool chasing something he would've laughed at and tossed to the side.

When he did try to speak to you, it was often short, straight to the point. Even then, he would let you go about your business or mock you for your absent knowledge on ships. Or the stars.

One day, at the helm, he stood overlooking the stars guiding him when he saw you at the prow. Seeing your hair billow in the wind, looking at the moon. You were to be a prisoner. You should've been tied to the mast.

He snatched Jack's compass he "burrowed" earlier as a way to find the triton. Opening the lid, he held the compass in the air as the arrow spun—think of triton, the triton, the triton!—the arrow stopped. His eyes trailed from the tip of the arrow's red point to you. It didn't lie. What his heart desired most was right in front of him.

His weathered face furrowed with denial as his chapped lips slightly parted. How was this possible—it can't be—he'd never felt this way before—was it even possible?—he was three times your age—is it worth the risk? To risk his position and life of piracy for a chance with you—no. No, it's not.

With an exhale of annoyance, he hoisted himself on his crutch, hobbling further to try and distract himself. He needed to find that triton and smartly before El Matador Del Mar catches fast winds to their stern, and they were all doomed.

When alone, even with the grand gourmet feast, he would find himself gazing at the food with little to no interest. He would day dream, imagining a life with you, marriage was more so at the weighted end yet—he thought of your soft skin, your silky hair, and your smile. The memories that played back in his mind when you spoke or complimented you, he would genuinely smile—like an addled fool. He would lift his finger, tracing it along the outline of the table. Envisioning as though it were you glinting your eyes with a smile, touching your chin. Following from the outer table, his finger landed on the fabric of just the edge of his waistcoat. He touched your smile, then your shoulder. He shouldn't be thinking of this. Then, finally, the lower layer of your clothing, your lips parted with joy. This dream turned to you leaning in. The scent of you lingering. He could only ever envision your smile. This was so wrong—or was it?

He wasn't an ill-desperate man, rather, a romantic at heart. But—this was love.

Though these dreams would soon be interrupted with a knock at the door. He would often become either annoyed at himself or feel like a fool. There's no way he should be dreaming about such things at his age. At this point, he might as well pick up a strumpet from a brothel in Tortuga. Though, he had standards and often his ambition did lead him to become quite a lady's man.

Anyway, continuing on from when he was at the mast. He heard a familiar voice—a voice he did not need to hear—

"Keeping a weathering over the horizon, eh hector. You know the stars are bright tonight, but I couldn't help notice. There's one in particular I presume you're absolutely fascinated by." It was Jack sparrow.

Jack, as the bounded rope, restricted his movements. He pointed his finger to the prow. Clearly indicating you.

In that moment, Hector froze with not realising Jack of all people had caught on. He should've known Sparrow knew him better than most.

Jack glanced at Hector, astounded by his shift in expression, emotion.

"What do you want, sparrah." He said with annoyance.

"Well, clearly, since you oh so unkindly commandeered my ship. Twice mind you. I'm willing to offer an accord, an ultimatem of sorts." Jack said in spite, he was not over Hector stealing his ship, leaving him on that spit of land and leaving him in tortuga. Though he did steal Sao Fangs charts.

Barbossa, appearing more intimidating, slammed his hand against the mast with an expression that would have Jack dead if he slipped one more word from his tongue.

"Firstly, I want my ship." Jack gestured with his hands. Hector snapped "No deal" with a sarcastic gaze.

"I mean, she is a fetching creature, but I have to admit, you are very, very ugly, so how do you think she'll come about when she realises an old sea dog that's what—eighty—eighty-nine stares at her day by day." Jack pointed out. This infuriated Hector, and he knew it.

Jack could tell Hector's face, becoming redder and redder every minute he yabbered on. He just didn't want to admit it, that he was in love. To Jack, he would've thought it would be different, to sweep a lass like that off her feet.

"Tell you what, drinks all around if there's a wedding, after all, I always knew you'd settle down eventually."

Hector scoffed, seeing how Jack's words reflected from when he reunited with Jack—at a wedding. Ironic.

"I wonder what her name is, I'll remember it. She's the one who yabbers on about stars or something." Jack cocked his head. "Oh, what was it, it's on the tip of me tongue?" he stuck his tongue out.

Hector, having enough hoisted the sword of triton from his scabbard. "Do you wanna lose that tongue!"

"The lass is notin' but a simple-minded fool who dwells in nonsense. After all, do you really think a feebled doe would give a thought to a swine?".

He hobbled off, using his crutch. He really didn't need to hear Jack speak of his reality. Oh yes, she'll fall for a swinish blaggard. That'll be believable.

The one moment he truly showed emotion for was when you approached him in his quarters. He was imposing. He threatened you in a sarcastic manner; mocking you.

The moment he allowed his real emotions to take over was when you grabbed the locks of his wig, pulling it off. If this were anyone else, he would've shot them but—

He was more baffled than anything.

Allowing you to see the real him. And he smiled like a fool when you said, "It's you."

As demise comes tragedy. He only ever kissed you once. That was when Salazar was pursuing the black pearl, and he needed to rescue Jack, Carina, and Henry.

He told his coxswain to man the helm only for a minuet. He rushed to you hobbling as you were pulling the halyard for the main sail to maintain speed.

As you reached them when the sea split. You dashed to the bow where the anchor was, leaning over the guardrail. As he commanded to drop anchor. He pulled you back. His hand on your shoulder. Your eyes stared at him in worry.

Without a second thought, knowing this was his last voyage. He pulled you in and pressed his chapped lips against yours. As you were in confusion, he muttered, "You're the brightest star that's guided my fate."

"I love you, y/n." He said in a hoarse voice.

Unfortunately, that was the only time he confessed for—he died—after saving Carina Smyth. Your heart sank, not only losing a fine captain—but only to realise he was in love with you this whole time.