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caitlinsnicket · 5 months

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izzy hands sfw headcanons part 3

a/n: part 1 here, part 2 here. theres a lot more under the cut. its huge but i didnt want to make a thousand parts. have a nice meal

he has the habit of blowing things out of proportion, no matter how tiny and insignificant they are. he's dramatic and whiny, even theatrical at times, and something that never fails to get a reaction out of him is when you call it out

maybe he'll be screaming at the crew, saying that they should know how to clean a deck, threatening them with death or a beating, until you ask him what got his panties in a twist

he just stills. completely. no movement, just a frozen izzy in the middle of everyone, expecting his reaction. he just runs a hand thorugh his hair, moves his shoulders around and leaves the place without another word, dissapearing into his cabin

after a little while, you go to him and he's taken his outer clothing off, sitting on the bed and rubing his face with his hands. you go to him and hug him, massaging his shoulders next, caressing his hair until he melts onto you. he's just tired, and when he's tired he's dramatic

although sometimes, he's just dramatic for the sake of it, and then you allow it, entering in his rare shenanigans to humor him

his resigned smiles when you flirt with him are the best thing in the world, it never fails to make your heart flutter inside your chest

he has many different smiles, and as he learns to be more at ease with the crew, they become more frequent and bright. it makes you feel good, tha he's learning to become a functional person again, and that he's allowing other people to witness it

he has a habit of sitting on your lap. in the begining he was reluctant to do so (even though he wanted to), saying that he was no damsel that needed rescuing, but after the firsttime he did it in a tavern, drunk in booze and love, he's surrendered to his desires and now constantly rests on top of you

when you're eating at the table, when you're at stede's cabin, when you're just lounging on deck or having a party, he claims his place on your lap and rests there, his ungloved hand caressing your shoulders and back comfortably

because he gets more used to pda and relaxes more around the crew, he also gets more comfortable with touching them casually, like showing someone how to do a specific knot or teaching them how to fight in a specific way

he gives hugs (rarely and quickly though) and gentle taps on shoulders, ruffles hairs and taps knees. he's taken the role of the resigned father, and even though he'll never admit it, he's very happy to be this figure to everyone

although, sometimes he'll get overwhelmed with feelings and just cuss everyone out in an attempt to stop the ache in his chest. he calls you twat, cocksucker, idiot, and other variations, but there's no real venom behind his words. just a fear of closeness that he clearly doesn't want to feel

when hugging, he begins stiff, barely touching you back, and then suddenly he just melts, nose buried on your neck, his eyes closed and his eyebrows creased, leaning on you to the point he's almost put all his body weight on you

he needs these touches, these cuddles and hugs to recharge after a long day of piracy and ordering around. with the way the capitans act, he might as well be the one in charge, and it wears him out. sometimes all he needs to keep going is for you to pull him to a corner and engulf him with your arms for a while, in complete silence, just so he can ground himself better and feel good enough to go back to work

sometimes when the two of you are kissing, he'll just pull back, his hands on your shoulders, and just look at you for a moment, scanning your face as if to commit it to memory, and then he goes back in, taking your breath away. it's like can't get enough of you

izzy is a conflicted man, and at times, it feels like he's sorry for loving you. like he's apologising for his feelings, like he feels guilty for being devoted to you. "I... love you". he says it as if it's an inconvenience, as if he's trying to warn you that this is happening. like it doesn't need saying, and it's a mistake to actually put it out there

so tell him you love him back, reassure him, make him feel good about loving you, encourage him to put himself out there and he'll learn to see his feelings as a gift, and not as a disease

he often feels that he's not good, that he's an infection and that you shouldn't get too close or you'll get sick too. but when you tell him again all the good things he's done, all the lovely feelings you have for him and how he's entitled to not having good days and being angry, he almost believes it. and for now, that's enough

at first you don't ask him about his scars, thinking it might set him off or make him defensive, but one day he asks about yours, and you tentatively ask him about one on his cheek. he tells you gladly, even cracking a joke or two, and you feel more confident to ask him about it

so one day the two of you are laying in bed and he sits up, getting ready to go on about his days, and you run your fingers on his back scars. the question tingles on the tip of your tongue, but you don't say it. instead, with a soft raspy voice, he questions you. "would you like to know?". and so he tells you all the gruesome details and sad parts, and he doesn't let any of it out

he's scared that you'll see him differently, but you just hug him from behind, kissing his shoulders and the scars you can reach, earning a low chuckle from deep in his chest. you reassure him and pull him back in the bed, keeping him there for a while before you allow him to go to work

when he takes up on wearing feminine, soft clothing, it's a whole thing between the two of you. you steal some stuff from stede, maybe you already had it before joining the crew, and one day after he's taken a bath he sees it and he just puts it on, in an attempt to be sexy and seduce you

but it just shifts something in his brain, he finds out how much he loves soft, delicate fabrics rubbing on his skin, and then he starts stealing your clothes. it sparks an awkward conversation between the two of you, until you just tell him that he can wear your stuff whenever you want, and that you'd like to buy him more delicate stuff

next time you're on land, you buy him more soft stuff, and you decide to take a corset too. you show it to him and say he doesn't have to wear it, but you thought he might like it and so there it is

he just feels so overwhelmed with the care and consideration you have for him that his cheeks get extremely warm, and he almost cries when he tries it on for the first time. he looks absolutely dashing, and he feels like it, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen

he's a little hesitant in wearing these things in front of the crew, but many conversations with you, wee john and jim manage to get him out of his shell and he just flourishes after that. he wears a mix of dresses and leather and soft fabrics and lace and fixes his hair in a way that makes him feel cute and no one respects him less for it. he's still the feared first mate, best swordsman ever known

and after a little while he starts experimenting with makeup, with the help of wee john, and so he starts training on you and he finds out that he's a great artist. he doesn't do it fancy all the time, but in special ocasions he goes overboard and oh boy. it's the brightest he's ever smiled

tell him he deserves soft and beautiful things

he's always worn leather, but now he wears more feminine cuts and special corsets that make his chest puff out even more than normal. it makes you foam at the mouth, and when he really wants to tease people, he gets dressed completely in leather and strings, swaying his hips as he walks away with a smirk

sometimes he'll catch you staring at his tattoos and he wonders what you think about them, if you wonder about the circumstances that originated them, if you'd like him to talk about it. he doesn't ask. he also wonders what kind of tattoo you'd give him, and the idea of having you permanently inked on his skin sends chills down his spine

if you're the same height he likes that you're always at the same level, and it's more likely that he'll give you cheek kisses. if he's taller than you (its possible people), he'll always kiss your forehead, and it gives him a buzz of power that you have to look at him through your eyelashes. if you're taller than him, he'll kiss your chin and tuck his head under it, and he'll swoon at how you look at him from above

slut

praise him constantly, you'll see how good it makes him feel. praise him for the little things and the big things too. he specially likes it when you watch him train and you start praising him for his fighting skills, his strength and his body. he'll finish his training beaming and with a light flush on his cheeks

#imagine #headcanons #our flag means death #our flag means death fanfiction #ofmd #ofmd fanfic #ofmd x reader #our flag means death x reader #izzy hands #israel hands #izzy hands x reader #israel hands x reader #izzy hands imagine #israel hands imagine

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demonic-snake · 10 months

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Zolu 🍷

Fanfic 🍖

4 part 👻

The scar on his chest seems to have become a full-fledged wound again, almost a hole, and is bleeding. Through it, organs and bones are visible, which, it would seem, were set on fire and they are about to turn into coal. Habitual smile becomes creepy; the skin from the face is almost peeled off, in places the skull is visible, somewhere - solid muscles, and where there is no patch of hair, Zoro sees part of the brain. One eye fell out of the orbit completely, the other - quite a bit, hanging on the optic nerves.

Zoro backs off abruptly. The gray color that was sitting inside of him disappeared and was now engulfing Luffy. He swallowed it, literally ate it. The gray color inside Zoro disappeared, but his heart suddenly hurt even more. Luffy holds out the remains of an arm that was almost entirely bone, asking for help. Zoro stretches out his hand in response, trying to grab the bony palm, but it turns to dust right under his fingers, and the rest of his body follows.

Zoro reaches out and catches air. Jumps up sharply, breathes heavily, through time, choking. It felt like a bucket of hot water had been poured over him, because his whole body was wet and his hair stuck to his forehead. Rubbing his eyes wearily, Zoro takes a deep breath in and out.

Dream.

Just a dream.

Law sits nearby, his usual katana in his arms, looks up at Zoro from under the visor, then lowers his head again. It's not in his nature to pry into other people's problems, and Zoro is somewhat grateful to him.

Zoro gets to his feet, goes to the cabin and checks on the floor (apparently having fallen down ) and hugging a pillow. Smiling slightly, Zoro lets out a sigh of relief and goes to the crow's nest.

The dream vanished. Better practice.

In the afternoon, when the restless pirate wakes up along with the rest of the crew, Zoro allows himself to sleep. So you sleep a little less comfortably, the noise is slightly annoying, but much more calmly. Hearing the capitan's screams is safer for his dreams, because during the day he does not have such nightmares.

This goes on for several days, and Zoro doubts that anyone has noticed the strangeness. Everyone is used to the fact that Zoro is always sleeping, and when he does not sleep, he trains, and when he does not sleep and does not train, he corrects the brains of the bad capitain. This is his usual schedule for the day, which can only be interrupped by an unplanned flight when they get into another adventure.

No one noticed except...

F@cKing Law Trafalgar.

#zolu #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #zoro x luffy #lovers #one piece #pirates in love

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genshinsidepiece · 2 years

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A Matter Of Trust

IDK what this is. In the middle of working on the Capitan stuff, Diluc decided to invade my brain with the concept of what would happen if the reader unknowingly captured him and this is the result. Possible Part 2 inbound.

This is Diluc when he was out whoring about for four or so years. Since he's younger, I like the idea that he's sassy and flirtatious, especially after a fight.

Warnings: Graphic Content (Blood and wounds), Implied Capture, Implied Prisoner, Implied Nudity, Light Bondage, Probably OOC for him

SFWish, 18+

You didn’t know where he had come from or who he was. All that you knew was that he had materialized while you had been gone and he was bleeding. It took a moment or two for your initial shock to wear off. Not the best reaction considering he was badly wounded, but what else could you do? You lived alone, in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t every day that an incredibly handsome stranger turned up in your house, let alone unconscious on your bed. You had to get past the sight of him before you could ever start to help him. The face of an angel, broad shoulders, long muscular legs, and hair that was the color of fire. He was magnificent. He was also half dead.

Snapping out of your stupor, you set your basket down on the floor, rushing over to his side. While his clothes were practically coated, your initial assessment revealed that not all of it was his. The main source of his blood was a deep cut on his left side. You would regrettably need to undress him to see if there were any other wounds hiding under his heavy waistcoat and shirt. “Sir?” He didn’t respond. You pressed your hands into his chest, giving him a little shake in the hopes that would help. “Sir, please.” Another shake. “I’m going to remove your jacket and vest. Is that alright?” Again, nothing. He just continued to lay there, his brow growing paler by the second. “Fine.” You began the struggle of getting his jacket off. “But if you wake up, don’t be mad. I did ask.”

Undressing him was a ghastly affair. In part because he was an entirely unwilling participant. Even with his athletic figure, he was still heavy for you. His arms refused to cooperate when it came to the tight sleeves of his overly ornate jacket. His torso flopped the second you let go of him. You would have had an easier time wrestling a dead puffer fish. It took every ounce of strength you had just to get his jacket off. By the time you were done, you, your clothes, the bed and him were all covered in a mix of fresh and congealed blood. The sight made you gag slightly. As a small measure of revenge, you tossed the cursed jacket aside, taking the thunk of the chains on the floor as a personal victory. Good riddance to it. Thankfully the rest of his clothes were less of a challenge. Even with the heavy gash in the rich fabric, the leather straps of the waistcoat unbuckled with relative ease and you were finally able to get to his body. Another small victory. In any other case, you would have celebrated that fact. In this one, all you could do was groan.

The laceration in his side was long and it was deep. You guessed it had been made with a sword, but you had to wonder. There was a Fatui camp over the next ridge. The deep burns on his shirt and around the edges of the wound made you wonder if he hadn’t run into one of them. It also made you wonder if they were looking for him. The thought alone made you pause. The last thing you wanted was to be arrested for aiding a potential criminal. Your friends were few and far between out here. The one neighbor you did know wouldn’t help you. The rest wouldn’t bother to wait for you to be gone before they looted your cabin. But the alternative was to let him die. Surely you couldn’t do that, could you?

Your eyes went back to his face. They traced over his handsome features while you silently questioned what you should do. Letting him die was wrong. You knew it was, but you also had to think about yourself. If he had gotten in a scuffle with the Fatui, then it would be both of your heads if they found him. But that was a big if. Surely if he had they would have been here by now, right? Maybe he wasn’t what you thought. Maybe he was a soldier or a mercenary that was just passing through. Maybe he had been attacked by treasure hoarders. “Archons-” You rubbed the bridge of your nose in frustration. There were too many what ifs to justify doing anything but helping him. You had no other choice.

Pushing off the bed, you made a b-line for the medicine cabinet in your small kitchen. He needed a poultice and some stitches. As for the rest, you could ask him how he got into this mess later, if there was a later. For now, you knew you had enough supplies to get him through the night, but you would need to restock come the morning. You rolled your eyes at the thought of dealing with the Fatui soldiers who seemed to occupy the roads these days. Archon forbid they stopped you and began to ask questions, especially when you were on your way home. If they were looking for him, then a basket full of medical supplies would be a dead give away. You could worry about that later. For now, all you could do was do your best to keep him alive.

Thankfully when the morning came, the roads had been empty of soldiers. Thankfully you had been able to get up to the local outpost without incident or question. Only the owner had raised an eyebrow at your purchase and that was simply due to the amount that you were buying. You offered no explanation as to why. You just quietly placed everything in your baskets and went on your way. Your only topic of conversation had been about the Fatui camp that had been wiped out by an unknown vigilante a day or so prior. Apparently carnage and fire had rained down on your region’s unwelcome guests.

Carnage. Your new housemate had been covered in blood when you had found him. Aside from the wound on his side, he had been relatively unharmed. It proved not all of the blood was his Fire. In addition to the blood, his clothes had also been singed in whatever battle he had fought. You had dismissed it to running into a Pyro agent. You clung to that theory until you fully undressed him. That’s when you found the delusion on him. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Three days you watched over him. Three nights you silently prayed that you were wrong. That it was a case of mistaken identity. But in your heart, you knew it wasn’t. His body was rife with scars from other battles. The weapons on his person, including the giant claymore and the delusion proved he was deadly. The man, whoever he might be, was dangerous. The entire situation was dangerous. You needed to do something to protect yourself and you needed to do it before he woke up.

Diluc felt exhausted. His last memory was of stumbling his way towards a small house after taking a strike from the business end of a pryo agent’s attack. After that everything was a mixture of reality and fantasy before it all went dark. The only thing he could discern was that to his relief, he was warm and dry. The feeling of a comfortable mattress and soft sheets added to his feeling of safety, though the lack of clothes was an odd sensation. Whoever owned the house must have helped him while he was unconscious. He could feel the bandages rubbing against the skin of his torso. There was a slight sting from the wound, but wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He went to touch it, only to find the resistance of his hands being bound to what he could only guess was a headboard. “Hm?” He twisted his wrists, feeling the bite of a rough rope against them. It was an peculiar sensation in his groggy state. Maybe he wasn’t as safe as he initially thought.

Slowly, Diluc opened his eyes a little more, testing his bonds once again. The ropes were loose around his wrists and the knots were poorly tied. His captor wasn’t a very good one. He worked his lithe fingers against his bindings, finding they would be easy to undo if he needed to, but for now he left them be. He had been tied up for a reason. Diluc found that reason when he noticed the sword that was pointed directly at his face. “Oh” He looked you up and down pleasantly surprised by what he saw. As far as being held hostage, he could think of far worse circumstances to wake up to than you. “Hello.” You didn’t answer him. You just stared at him, scared out of your wits. He could tell based on how hard the tip of the sword was shaking. It was a little unsettling, but not unwarranted. The issue was that even if you held the sword wrong, the last thing he wanted was to be stabbed, again. Not after you’d gone to the trouble of getting him well.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Diluc blinked steadily, his eyes continuing to scrutinize the situation. You weren’t a threat to him. Even with his weapons and delusion on the other side of the room, he could easily disarm you. It wouldn’t take much. All he would need would be to get hold of one of your wrists and your positions would be reversed in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t something he was opposed to. He decided you would look cute tied to your own bed. You would look better tied to his at home. It had been awhile since his last tryst. He wouldn’t mind you moaning under him while he… “W-why are you smirking at me like that?” He blinked again, his thoughts and his attention coming back to the present. “I apologize. I -” He feigned contemplating an excuse for a second before he continued on. “I was thinking of something else for a moment. It was entirely ungentlemanly of me.” He purposefully kept his voice even, in the hopes it would calm you down. It didn’t. You just insisted on standing there, eyes wide with fear while you held the sword level with his face. “Tell me, do you intend to stay like that or will you perhaps take me at my word that I have no intention to harm you?” “I don’t know that.”

Diluc raised an eyebrow at you. He was entirely surprised by that answer. You appeared to be such a meek little thing. The fact that you hadn’t crumbled in front of him intrigued him more. You could be fun. “There’s a fatui camp not far from here. You dress like them. There’s also a rumor going around at the local outpost that a vigilante burned it to the ground.” He shifted his hips slightly, his smirk returning. Diluc could help but be slightly impressed. “You’re well informed. It is bold of you to make an assumption I’m connected to either based on the few words we’ve just shared. I’m a simple traveler, nothing more.” “It’s not exactly an assumption when you had a map to it in your jacket pocket.” Diluc let out a small chuckle. “It’s rude to go through people’s things you know, especially when they’re unconscious.” “Injured or well, it’s rude to take over people’s homes when they aren’t home.” Touche. “Your clothes were covered in blood. I emptied the pockets to wash them for you.” He felt slightly grateful for that. It saved him the trouble of doing it later. “Even if I hadn’t, you have a delusion and the outpost owner told me the flames from the attack could be seen for miles. He said he’d seen a man with bright red hair pass through a day or so before everything happened. You bought produce from him.” He watched you take a deep breath. “I’m not interested in any trouble from the Fatui or you.” “That is a tad awkward since I’m currently bound to your bed. I’m sure it would make some Fatui underling’s year if they found me like this. No doubt you would get a handsome reward if you decided to turn me in.” You swallowed, the edge that had been lingering in your voice softening slightly. “I’m not going to turn you in. I don’t want you here, but I know what they do to prisoners. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” A sense of relief washed over him. It eliminated the worry of fighting his way out in his current condition, but it didn’t answer the burning question of what you did intend to do with him.

For the moment he was happy to play your little game, but he knew it would get old, fast. He also couldn’t run the risk of the Fatui finding him here. It was all well and good to joke about it now, but news would spread across the camps in the region. Eventually someone would want revenge. The last place he wanted it to be was here and naked when they did.

“So….” He lightly shrugged his shoulders. “What now? I am still at your mercy.” You bit your lip as a sign of doubt. The answer was you didn’t know. This wasn’t a normal thing for you. The signs were all there. Tying him up and holding him at sword point after he had woken up was nothing more than a precaution for you. It was likely you had thought he was going to die at one point. But he hadn’t. Now you were at an impasse as to what to do with him. You were alone and in your eyes, Diluc knew he was a threat. He knew you were worried he would hurt you or worse. Part of him was slightly insulted, but he didn’t blame you. It had been a risk to help him at all. You didn’t want to be rewarded with injuries of your own.

Shifting again, Diluc winced as he tried to resettle into a comfortable spot. The sword lowered slightly at his sign of pain, but it didn’t go away. “Are you-?” His eyes found yours again, finding that the fear had melted into worry. “It’s nothing.” He lied. “May I offer a suggestion since you seem unsure?” The tip of the sword moved, a clear motion for him to continue. “You untie me and give me at least my pants back. Though if you prefer me naked and at your disposal, I’m sure we could make arrangements. I do owe you for saving my life” A light blush crept across the apples of your cheeks. It was adorable. “I promise to be on my best behavior if you do decide to release me.” Another lie. He would behave as long as you did, provided he couldn’t lure you into bed with him. Then all bets were off. “What assurance do I have that you’ll be true to that promise? I don’t know you.” Diluc lightly chuckled again. “Nor I you. I’m sure I found this place quite on accident. You could have turned me in while I was unconscious or worse let me die. But you didn’t. Instead you nursed a known vigilante back to health.” You chewed your lip again. “Now you have me in a weakened position. You could easily take that sword across my throat and I wouldn’t be able to stop you. A poor return on your investment if you ask me.” He paused to offer you another sly grin. “You won’t turn me in, I doubt you’ll kill me, so that leaves you the option of keeping me tied to your bed for the rest of our lives or letting me go.” In the distance, you both heard thunder rumble. An ill omen given the present situation. “I suppose it all comes down to trust, doesn’t it?” He watched you turn your attention back to him. “So my lovely captor.” The term of endearment grated on you slightly. “Do you trust me?”

#diluc headcanons #diluc smut #genshin diluc #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc scenarios #diluc x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin fic #genshin fiction #red dead diluc

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camille-lachenille · 6 months

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I got tagged by @polutrope for the last line meme

So, hum, the last line I wrote is part of my ‘questionnable erotica crackfic’ and is a snippet of a book Elrond finds. So it’s purposefully bad and awkward.

The ship rocked gently, cradled by the waves as in the arms of a lover. In the capitan’s cabin the two lovers shared their own embrace, spurred by months of separation and despair.

And I tag @thescrapwitch @deadqueernoldor @swanmaids and @leucisticpuffin

#tag game #tolkien #the silmarillion #tolkien fic

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fridagentileschi · 1 year

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Siamo cresciuti negli anni in cui i Duran Duran se la battevano con gli Spandau Ballet, negli anni in cui le ragazzine erano divise su chi era più affascinante se Actarus o Terence. Siamo cresciuti guardando i cartoni di Bim Bum Bam.

A scuola ci andavamo col montgomery, con il diario Smemoranda e lo zaino Invicta tutto scarabocchiato e rigorosamente da soli.

Usavamo i ciucci colorati, masticavamo le Big Babol all’uva e all’anguria, collezionavamo le sorprese degli ovetti Kinder.

Aspettavamo il Festivalbar e le classifiche di superclassifica show con DJ Super X.

I testi delle canzoni li leggevamo dal Tv sorrisi e Canzoni e li imparavamo a memoria per poi cantarli sotto alla doccia.

Avevamo “la compagnia” e si passavano le giornate a giocare o chiacchierare sui muretti della città.

Siamo cresciuti Happy Days, Hazzard, A-Team, Magnum PI, Spazio 1999, Arnold, I Jefferson, Willy il principe di Bel Air, I ragazzi della terza C, Beverly Hills 90210, Goldrake, Mazinga Z, Jeeg Robot, Capitan Harlock, Holly e Benji, Mila e Shiro, Georgie, Candy Candy, Lady

Oscar, Occhi di gatto, ed Esplorando il corpo umano.

Collezionavamo i poster di Cioè.

Sognavamo l'amore e le feste e il nostro tempo delle mele..sognavamo di stringere il nostro Pierre Cosso.

Abbiamo telefonato dalle cabine telefoniche e i gettoni di rame erano le nostre ricariche.

La sera a casa guardavamo la Corrida, Giochi senza frontiere, Portobello insieme a Mamma e Papà.

Tremavamo di paura ma aspettavamo con ansia le puntate di Twin Peaks.

Erano gli anni degli yo-yo, del Vestro e Postal Market, delle macchine fotografiche col rullino che non vedevi l’ora di sviluppare e che su 25 ne uscivano bene 3 o 4 di foto al massimo.

In gita scolastica se eri fortunato ti compravano quella usa e getta e sul pullman eri un “criminale” se sedevi in fondo.

Ridevamo dei ceffoni di Bud Spencer e Terence Hill in tv e rimpiangiamo tutt’oggi la Lira, perché con un Deca ci facevi serata.

Quanto mi mancano gli anni della mia infanzia...

Quella felicità semplice fatta di presenze a casa, a scuola...

quanto mi mancano gli anni '80.

Cit.

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nauticadreams · 4 months

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During 1691, Jack Teague was born during a typhoon aboard a pirate ship. Named after the brother of his father, Edward Teague, Jack grew up without his unknown mother amid the seafaring outlaws at Shipwreck Cove on Shipwreck Island. Not eager to be yet another crewmate, Jack Teague insisted on one day becoming a captain of his own vessel. After serving as a cabin boy, he would find himself the captain of the Barnacle, a small fishing boat that had been left abandoned at Salty Cove on the island of Tortuga.

After a bout of adventures around the Gulf of Mexico, the Grand Barnacle would be destroyed in a confrontation with the English Royal Navy by cannonfire intended for Edward Teague’s ship, the Misty Lady.

After many more adventures, Jack would later find himself as a crewmember of the Wicked Wench, under the captaincy of Captain Morgan (not to be confused with the buccaneer and later governor of Port Royal of the same name), when they would be confronted by Capitan Armando Salazar around 1711. Salazar had been in command of the Spanish galleon, Silent Mary, and had been putting effort into the extermination of pirates in the West Indies out of vengeance for his father and grandfather who had perished at the hands of pirates. The battle would take place near the Devil’s Triangle west of the Windard Isles in the Lesser Antilles, and would see the Silent Mary destroyed as she ran aground a collection of rocks shortly after entering the triangle while in pursuit of the Wicked Wench - a result of actions spurred on by Jack “the Sparrow.” For a while, Jack found himself elected captain of the vessel, as their captain had perished in the confrontation.

Some time later, Jack no longer found himself aboard the Wicked Wench, as he had been press-ganged into service aboard a French brigantine named La Vipere, captained by Christophe-Julien de Rapier. Not long after, he had been left at sea in a longboat with fellow crewmate Robert Greene. Upon reaching dry land again, the duo began working for the East India Trade Company for five years, and Jack served as first mate aboard the brig Fair Wind. In 1716, after taking control of the Fair Wind, defending her from pirates, Jack Sparrow was offered captaincy of the merchant vessel Wicked Wench (which had apparently fallen into EITC hands by this point) by an impressed Lord Cutler Beckett, who was a director of the company regarding West Africa.

After a number of voyages on behalf of the East India Trading Company, Jack had been ordered to deliver a cargo of enslaved Africans to New Avalon in the Bahamas. Jack however despised the idea of humans being deemed as cargo and instead freed them, stealing Beckett’s ship. Shortly afterwards, a number of vessels were dispatched to capture the pirate Jack Sparrow, and before long he found himself imprisoned.

Months later, Jack would be brought to the coast of West Africa and be branded upon his arm with a “P” labeling him forever as a pirate. Just off the shore, he was made to watch as the Wicked Wench was torched. Breaking free from his captors, he swam for the ship but found himself trapped within her cabins as she sank beneath the waves.

Jack Sparrow found himself somewhere between life and death, on the path to Davy Jone’s Locker or the Land of the Dead. There, a deal was struck with Davy Jones that if Jones would raise his ship, after thirteen years he would forfeit his captaincy and serve onboard Jones’ ship, the Flying Dutchman. The blackened, charred ship would rise above the waves once more and be renamed the Black Pearl.

Two years later, in 1718, Jack would have Hector Barbossa aboard the Black Pearl, naming him first mate in a voyage to search for Aztec gold that had been stashed by Cortes. Prior to its discovery, the crew mutinied, an act which Barbossa spurred into being. Jack was marooned on a desert island, and Barbossa claimed captaincy of the Black Pearl.

Jack Sparrow would escape his solitude on the desert isle, and sail the seas having many more adventures over the next 11 years, until Jones would later reappear to him in 1729.

#captain jack sparrow #pirates of the caribbean

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mai-komagata · 9 months

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the nexus

making this a separate post: does anyone else ever feel the nexus is sorta like the bad place? or a very weird vision of heaven if at all? Like I know picard misses his nephew and that is a sweet thing to want, but like Christmas with family and A LOT KIDS sounds like the opposite of what Picard would want after 5 minutes. And I guess he is only there for 5 minutes but that must have gotten his spidey senses tingling.

Also Kirk would not want to be in a cabin in the woods chopping wood and riding horses. That is like Captain Pike's ideal vacation. It is literally the first five minutes of SNW. Captain Kirk would be out there free solo-ing El Capitan before absconding with the Enterprise.

#the nexus is the bad place #star trek generations #jim kirk #james t kirk #star trek #i'm willing to do a lot of mental gymnastics for canon #but like this one never made ANY SENSE

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omoghouls · 2 years

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I don’t love bathroom denial, I do love someone choosing not to go to the bathroom because of a reason they made up.

Izzy’s got it into his head that Stede wouldn’t want him using the captains’ washroom or chamber pot, so he holds. He also wasn’t dismissed from their cabin so he’s stuck. He spends too long pacing around the room, hoping one of them comes back but they don’t and he ends up pissing himself and making a puddle on the floor and he has to wait with it until he’s excused.

Omg how does it feel being a genius????

Y e s omfg- he tells himself this is a captain's quarters, and, even if he thinks Stede is some pandy-dandy of a pirate, Stede is still a captain, so,,,he has to give an ounce of respect to the man

He's practically grinding against his gloved hand, trying SO hard to hold it- he's a grown man, he should be able to hold it until one of the capitans return. But, he had drank quite a bit today, and it's all settled nicely in his bladder. Leaving Izzy to be crossing his legs and inevitably,,,loose control alllll over the pretty floor beneath him.

And, since leather doesn't absorb, the puddle is quite large- and Izzy has to stand there, waiting to be dismissed

Omfg the moment Stede and Ed come back (bc ofc it's both) they just freeze in the doorway as they see the swordsman standing in the middle of the room like a dog who knows they've done naughty-

Ed ofc isn't really phased bc/ he knows Izzy and is just like, "Jfc Iz, you're dismissed, go clean yourself up."

And Stede is standing there like "???? Why didn't he go to the latrines??"

Ed explains that Izzy tends to take his role as first mate quite seriously, by the books and, those books have given him the mindset that he needs dismissal, even if he's got to piss-

Stede shakes his head, "Well, at least it wasn't on the carpet."

#m #omorashi #omocute #fandomo #izzy hands

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therapardalis · 9 months

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[ @chromium-siren liked for a starter.]

A Spanish Navy ship, somewhere in the Caribbean ...

Somewhere, distantly, she could hear the Capitan shouting. Right then he was doing so from habit rather than necessity - the usual need to shout over wind filling the sails presently wasn't there. They weren't exactly in the doldrums, but the breeze was so light that the canvas, and therefore the ship, barely moved.

Thera sat by an open window of the great cabin, reading and letting that breeze ruffle her hair and chemise. Now and then she looked out across the water, or down to where it barely churned in the wake ... and on one such glance she thought she saw the glimmer of a long, scaled tail ...

#Chromium-Siren #Historical AU #//I think I remember you being fond of a mermaid AU? ;)#Let me know if this doesn't work and I'll come up with something else

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smokeys-house · 4 months

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💚

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

Puukko usually isn't one for labels and doesn't really understand them. Since she's sort of a self insert that I made into her own character, it's safe to say she's possibly some flavor of trans and some flavor of lesbian, but I also don't really do labels soooo and I feel labels don't really suit her. The general rule is she's a woman who likes women primarily, but she's not against the idea of being with someone who's not a woman, she just shows a clear preference. and as far as her own gender identity or assigned gender at birth? Well, that's a little bowl of secrets for me 👍✨️ what's in her pants? Well, she hasn't got any! Least not since her pirate days anyway. Her pride flag is the black one with the skull and crossbones on it

#smokey answers #capitan's cabin #ask game #if u asked her what her type was she'd say:#'ladies unhappily married to navy men and other sailors'

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genshin-side-piece · 2 years

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A Matter Of Trust

This is Diluc when he was out whoring about for four or so years. Since he’s younger, I like the idea that he’s sassy and flirtatious, especially after a fight.

Warnings: Graphic Content (Blood and wounds), Implied Capture, Implied Prisoner, Implied Nudity, Light Bondage, Probably OOC for him

SFWish, 18+

#diluc headcanons #diluc smut #genshin diluc #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc scenarios #diluc x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin fic #genshin fiction #red dead diluc

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15ktherapy · 10 months

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george and sapnap were just on shadounes post mcc stream for a few minutes. they talked a bit about mcc and maybe future travel plans. shadoune is invited to their house after twitchcon vegas (he's going but george and sapnap haven't said if they're going). and shadoune invited them to go to peru to visit capitan gato afterwards. sapnap wants everyone to go to a cabin in the woods in montana instead for christmas because he wants to fight bears

okay all that sounds very good and very nice except the last part SOMEONE NEEDS TO REIN THAT MAN IN.

#idk. how to spell that rein… rein? reign? rain? I hate when words sound the same

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flyingflosser09 · 1 year

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Cursed / Armando Salazar x OC / Chapter 14

Chapter 13: https://at.tumblr.com/flyingflosser09/cursed-armando-salazar-x-oc-chapter-13/1gc6n53ugsfd

That encounter in the great cabin haunted me for three nights on end. I may be a woman, but I’m not daft. I am a healer who can speak three different languages, I can name every part of a ship as I would name the herbs I use in my craft, I know the map in the stars like the back of my hand, and I know when the weather is perfect to set sail upon the open waters.

I know things, things that obviously would classify me as a witch as so many people believe me to be. However, one thing I never knew was that I’d someday be lying awake at night in the great cabin of a cursed ship, thinking about its ghostly, revenge-driven Spanish captain…and what it would be like to embrace him any way I wished.

Absurd, I know.

Madness, yes, yes.

Am I crazy? I’ve also pondered that thought many times.

But I believe in myths and facts alike. If Henry says there is a trident that can break all the curses of the ocean, then damn it, there is. And if there is a meaning for my rapid heart whenever I’m in the Capitan’s presence, then surely, it can only mean one thing.

I’ve felt anger more times I can count. It consumes you like ravenous flames would a piece of dried driftwood, leaving nothing but ash that blows off in the breeze.

Second comes the constant melancholy that my curse brings me. Those days drove me to ideas on how to end it all and just be done with life…

But when I found Henry, I learned what happiness felt like. It was the complete opposite of anger and yet, I also compare it to fire. Not there to burn and destroy, but to warm and nurture my heart and to boil the laughter from my stomach. And from that same fire, more positive emotions saw the light. I learned to laugh, to jest, to be mischievous, to care, to be kind, and to love myself for who I am – curse excluded.

Most importantly, I learned to love. I love Henry and Elizabeth with all my heart. They have become the family that I’ve lost to the ocean so many years ago, the ones that taught me the proper way of how a person should be treated.

I learned something new last night, however. It is more a theory than a fact at this stage. Could there be more than one form of love? I’m pondering the question because I love Henry, but he doesn’t make my heart swell and stomach flurry as the Capitan – Armando – does.

There must be more than one form of love then, there is no other explanation for it.

The next question now is, do I love Armando?

As I said, I am well acquainted with anger and melancholy, but love? I need to understand why he makes me feel these things, why I enjoy being close to him, and why I crave to know everything about him. As a cursed being who hasn’t felt any form of emotion except rage for almost three decades, I don’t believe asking Armando – or any officer – would help me much. But…

…after being unable to sleep for three nights, might give me some time to search for answers myself.

Books are wonderful objects. They contain useful information on healing, herbology, astrology, and many more subjects I’d like to know more about – such as love. Fortunately, the pirate captain Armando killed had several books in his cabin, some about love to my surprise.

Lighting one of the lanterns beside my bed, I pick up one of the books to start reading.

…

By now, it has become routine for Magda to train the girl at the break of dawn. She has grown accustomed to the time in the Triangle, having figured out when to rise to start her training. He would await her at the usual spot beside the broken mainmast, cleverly thinking what educational torture he’d inflict on her that day.

However, today, that routine was rudely broken.

Magda waited for what felt like hours before he finally had enough. “Increíble! How am I expected to perform my duty if the señorita has no regard for punctuality?”

“Ah, that’s not fair, amigo,” Santos says from the forecastle deck, also waiting for Samira to appear. He’s been enjoying overseeing her training the past week and a half. “Usually, she’s on time. Something must be wrong this morning.”

“Wrong?” they turn to Moss, who happened to float through the floorboards that moment. “Is something wrong with the señorita?”

“We aren’t certain,” Santos explains, “But she never misses sword training, does she, Magda?” The officer in question huffs in annoyance. He knows Santos is right, but he wouldn’t admit it loudly. “Perhaps one of us should make sure she is well.”

“I’m not going again,” Magda quickly protests, “I train her, that is it.”

“I think it’s Antonio’s turn.”

Moss’ head jerks to Santos, “W-what? No, I… I can’t. I…she…”

“She doesn’t bite,” Santos ensures him and start ushering him across the main deck to the great cabin.

“It’s not that I’m worried about…” he tries escaping Santos’ hold but fails. “What do I say to her? What do I talk about?”

“Anything, she’s not picky. Tell her about poetry, she’ll enjoy that.”

And just like that, Santos leaves him at the door of the great cabin, quickly drifting off to stand beside Magda. Moss swallows dryly – something ghosts don’t do – and tug at his collar. Looking back, he pleads his fellow officers not to send him in.

Magda and Santos, however, only wave their hands, signalling him to go ahead and knock.

Realizing no help will come from them, the young officer must face his fear on his own. With no way out, he raises a shaky pale hand and deliver three knocks on the door.

Silence is all he hears, and he grows hopeful.

But to his dread, the door handle jiggles and then, she is standing in front of him, dressed in the usual attire she wears to sword practise, hair slightly dishevelled, and clutching a book to her chest.

“Oh,” she blinks in surprise, “Don’t believe I’ve had to pleasure of meeting you yet. I’m Samira.”

Moss isn’t sure if ghosts can faint, but he felt seconds away from it…until he recognized the book in her hold. “Is that…”

She looks down at the book and hold it up for him to see, “Eternal Depths. I found it among the pirates’ loot. It’s about a governor’s daughter who falls in love with the general of an enemy armada. Once their love is exposed, he is mutinied on a deserted island to live out his days alone and –”

“Eventually die of starvation,” Moss interjects and feel himself relaxing a bit, “I know the story, senorita.”

“You do?” she blinks.

“The general’s love was so strong; he built a raft with his bare hands and sailed the perilous water to find his love. In the end –”

“Oh, no, please don’t tell me,” She quickly interrupts him, “I’m only at page two-hundred-and-seven.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He also doesn’t know if ghosts can blush but swears he can feel his cheeks gaining warmth. At last, he says, “I’m Antonio, Antonio Moss.”

…

I vaguely recognize his face from the times I searched the crew for either Santos, Magda, or Lesaro. He seems younger than most of the officers, even as a ghost, and would always avoid my eyes at all costs. At first, I believed he didn’t like me, but after more observation, I learned he was quiet and reserved, and enjoyed being on his own instead.

“Please, come in,” I open the door for him and gesture at the dimly lit cabin.

Moss peers in, on the verge of crossing the threshold yet too cautious. “I…I shouldn’t.”

“I promise, I don’t bite,” I jest, “But if you must go, then I shall read all those books by myself. Lots of stories about adventures, sea beasts, voyages, love…”

The word ‘book’ was enough to grab his attention. Moss perks up and tugs at his collar. “I suppose I’ve got time for one book.”

He floats past me and into the cabin, stopping to take it all in. It must look different with the lanterns, the hammock hanging from the ceiling, and the makeshift furniture I made. For years, they were used to seeing the carcass of the ship they once sailed proudly on, a ship that could sink any vessel in its path, now reduced to a husk of coal and burnt hope.

The flickering lanterns must seem friendlier to him, and he continues his way to the pile of books on the table. I quietly allow him to read the titles. In the time I’ve struggled to sleep, I sorted the books by genres – a pile for history books, for astrology, for healing, for fiction, and romance. Moss, however, seems to take an interest in the latter.

He picks up a book I know to be poetry and flips through the brownish pages. His ghostly features light up at the words. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds…”

“Which one is that?” I inquire, rounding the table to have a look at the poem.

“It’s one of my favorites, written by William Shakespeare.”

“Can you read it to me?”

My question takes him aback. “Read it…”

“Please?” If Armando was right and I instill purpose within his crew, then that is what I will do. Clearly, Moss enjoys reading. Why else would he have noticed the book? And while Lesaro, Santos, and Magda all had their turns to feel something again, I doubt Moss had that luxury yet. “No one has ever read to me before. I never had that privilege as a child, even less a woman.”

Yes, as soon as someone learns a woman can read, they instantly think she’s a witch and send the guards running after her. I had to keep my hobbies secret behind closed gates at Elizabeth’s estate.

“Oh, uh, if you wish, then…” Moss clears his throat and begins reading.

‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.’

By the end of the sonnet, his words have dissolved into the air, leaving me with nothing but my imagination to fill the blank canvas the poem presented me with. But I had no idea what half of it meant. The poet had an interesting way of saying what he felt and thought.

“That was beautiful, but what does it all mean?” I finally ask the young officer. “I know it’s about love, but what about it?”

“It tells us what love is and what it is not, señorita,” he begins to explain, “Love is perfect and unchanging; it does not admit impediments, and it does not change. In the second quatrain, we are told what love is through a metaphor: a guiding star to lost ships that is not susceptible to storms. Lastly, we see what love is not: it is not susceptible to time; love does not change with hours and weeks. Instead, it remains until the end of time.”

“You seem to know a lot about love.” Should I ask him about what it is I’m feeling towards his Capitán? I don’t know him as well as Lesaro and Santos. Of course, I would entrust Santos more with a secret like that, considering Lesaro’s loyalty to Armando. And Magda…well, he’d wave it off as merely a distraction. “Antonio, I have something to confess. But you can’t tell a soul, it is our secret only.”

He nods and leans in for me to whisper to him.

“I…I think I might feel things for your Capitán.”

He frowns. “What sort of things?”

“It is difficult to say, I never felt these things before.” I decide to outright describe to him what I felt last night. “Whenever I am near him, my heart beats fast, faster than the Mary could sail before she was cursed. My stomach tosses and turns like waves against rocks, and I am overcome by this…warmth, like I’ve been standing in the sun a whole day. Is this the love the poet speaks of?”

To my surprise, Moss is smiling broadly. He looks the epitome of a child in a candy shop, eyes filled with awe and anticipation.

“Si, si, you are in love, señorita. What you are feeling…I think many of us longed to feel so many years.” His smile falters as he is overcome by melancholic yearning. “Many of us were married or betrothed before the curse, some of us had families. I watched so many of my fellow officers lose all hope of ever returning to them. Today, most of our loved ones surely passed away, never to see us again.”

My heart sinks at the thought of mothers, fathers, brothers, sister, wives, and children waiting for their sons, brothers, and men to return after their battles against the pirates. Imagine them sitting at the docks or on the beach in Spain, patiently searching the horizon day after day for signs of the Mary. Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and months turn to years, and slowly, their hope start to crumble until, eventually, they are no less hopeless than the crew of the Silent Mary.

Truly, this curse affects both dead and living.

“The Capitán,” Moss continues quietly as if what he’s about to tell me, is a secret, “lost his family to piracy, so he made a vow to eliminate them all. He was not known for having Mercy…”

“And he earned the name El Matador Del Mar, the Butcher of the Sea,” I mutter, nodding my head, I’ve heard the stories, although old and outdated.

“The curse, it took our worst qualities and made us into that. The Capitán…he became vengeance itself. Nothing would sate his hunger for revenge until the Sparrow is dead.” However, looking up at me, his expression lightens. “But you, señorita, changed him. I’ve seen it. You are the guiding star that will lead him to his purpose.”

“But how?” I ask, “I know nothing about this kind of love.” “Love comes naturally, señorita, you’ll see. But, if I may offer a suggestion, he used to enjoy dancing back in the living days…” Moss smiles genuinely before holding up the book, “May I please borrow this one?”

#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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