2d animated, and set right after the events of the third pirates of the Caribbean movie.
It follows three main plots.
The first is Pirate King Elizabeth, as she struggles to raise her child as a single mother while her undead husband is off. And being the Pirate King, which is hard because the pirates are not used to having a king. The vibe is office sitcom. She has to yell at stupid pirates to put that very-obviously-cursed treasure back wherever they found it, and mediate fights between rival crews and pass judgement on instances of pirates breaking pirate code. No one listens to her, everybody fears her, and there's a running gag that every time she barges into barbossa office (she gave him a job out of spite) he's lounging on his desk in new and weirder ways. (And the monkey has a smaller desk on top of his desk)
The second is Captain of the Flying Dutchman Will Turner, as he misses his wife and mourns the fact that he can never properly be there for their child. And his job of ferrying souls to the dead. It's a more heartfelt and gentle storyline. Focusing on him helping people make peace with their deaths or letting them finish their unfinished business before they move on. He writes long poetic letters to Elizabeth and gets very sweet love notes back from her. He occasionally asks someone to join the crew. And is constantly staring longingly out to sea in the direction Elizabeth is in. It's the deeper half of the show, focusing on grief, loss, the burden of duty, and the nature of death and moving on.
The third is Grandpa Bootstrap Bill Turner, trying very hard to be a good father and father in law and helping babysit his absolutely insane grandchild. Along for the ride is all your favorite pirates from the crew of the black pearl, and the monkey. He struggles to keep an eye on the kid (who starts as baby and grows into a teenager as the show goes on) there's different hijinks every week. From running out of clean diapers and scrambling to find more to runaway baby carriages. As the kid gets older the hijinks change, first word is a curse word and now they are all scrambling to hide the fact that they taught her kid curse words from Elizabeth. The kid learns to walk and promptly wanders off and gets lost, toddles up a ramp and is now on a navy ship that just so happens to be departing in exactly ten minutes. The kid is a menace, I mean, he has to be, it's Will and Elizabeth's kid. His dad is escorting your dad to the other side and his mom is laying waste to some pesky navy ships because shes had a hard week.
Now here's the most important part. Because this is a Pirates of the Caribbean show, and Captain Jack Sparrow does not appear as a main character.
He's still very much there, but he is, he must be, exclusively in the background. He never really interacts with the main cast, barely ever effects the plot.
Pirate King Elizabeth is trying to negotiate with a hostile pirate?
Caption Jack Sparrow is in the background inexplicably losing a fight to a seagull.
Captain of the Flying Dutchman Will Turner is gently letting a little girl say goodbye to her mother before he escorts her to the other side?
Caption Jack Sparrow is in the background trying to bail out his current rowboat.
Anyways if anyone would like to give me infinite time and money I'll do this show myself.
Customary ( Noa x Human! Reader ) Series.
**UPDATED 7/8/2024**
Summary of the series: You were found by Noa, Anaya and Soona - on the brink of the death - healed back to health, you were faced with being let go, or staying with the Eagle Clan. Food, shelter and safety. The catch? Their Leader wanted to know about Echo ways of living and never bargained feelings into the transaction.
(This will be updated as chapters are posted. )
SERIES PLAYLIST.
Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand
Rating: M (this may go up—if it does, I will give everyone fair warning before there is any explicit content)
Notes: So this AU is… A bit of a jumble. It’s a Modern/Professor/Archaeology/Immortal…AU. It still takes place in the world of Game of Thrones, but hundreds of years later.
The Sunken Palace
Firsts
You Know Nothing
Reasoning
Focus
Blackmont Cove
Two Days
The Depths
Summary: Your first day outside of the bunker you grew up in turns your world upside down.
Warnings: Indoctrination, blood.
Word Count: 1525
A/N: I love entering dead fandoms, actually...😔✌️
Growing up within the thick, concrete walls of your bunker, you were taught apes are rash, dangerous creatures, with a mind only for violence. That they tear frail human flesh and bones apart for their own entertainment, leaving what’s left of you to rot on the soil.
Generation after generation, children listened and believed the words of their instructors, including you. Every lesson painted the same picture: massive silhouettes emerging from the shadows of the forest, ripping apart unfortunate wanderers with terrible ease.
As a child, you were terrified, waking up crying after nightmares of enormous hands reaching into your room. You'd cling to your blankets whenever the emergency drills simulated breaches, convinced furry monsters lurked just outside the thick doors.
You had promised yourself you would never set foot outside. But time passed, you grew up, things changed. It has been give or take 300 years since the fall of the old world, since what was left of intelligent humanity surrendered their life on the surface.
Perhaps, it’s time for a change of view?
The elders continue to teach the same lessons, but the monsters in your imagination slowly turned into question marks. The archives were of little help. Access is restricted, which only added to your growing curiosity. So naturally, you figured out system bypasses, stole keycards, and sneaked into the restricted areas as much as you could get away with.
Piece by piece, a different story emerged. There were fragmented photographs, videos too damaged to fully play. It became clear the old world had not simply fallen overnight. Apes had once been... simple creatures. Animals, as much as you are anyway.
Then a serum, or virus, as sources differ; It cut down the human population by ninety percent, while the other primates seem unaffected, aside from an increased intelligence and the ability to speak.
You never spoke of your discoveries. Curiosity, after all, borders on heresy. So you buried it, your research, your curiosity, all of it. Or, tried to, at least until the announcement of another surface excursion, the first in your lifetime.
Supplies dwindle, they say, they are in dire need more outside resources. The quiet room immediately filled with worried whispers as volunteers were requested. Your mind spins. Outside. Actually outside. You could see the world with your own eyes instead of through an old computer screen...
For several long seconds you stared at the registration sheet lying on the table, the butterflies in your stomach making you feel physically ill. But curiosity won, and your hand moved before your fear could stop it, and with shaking hands, you signed your name.
The bunker doors open with a heavy groan. Fresh air floods in and it smells… alive. There’s a bright light, and your eyes need a second to adjust, but then… You’ve been sent to work in the greenhouse plenty of times; you’ve seen plants, shrubs, trees even. But not like this. No artificial recreation could ever replicate this.
You step beyond the threshold. The sky stretches endlessly overhead, impossibly blue, the occasional cloud drifting overhead. Sunlight kisses your face with genuine warmth, not the fluorescent imitation of overhead lamps. Wind tickles your skin, carrying scents impossible to separate.
Leaves whisper high above. Branches swaying together in a slow dance. Somewhere unseen, birds sing beautiful melodies. For a moment, you simply stand there, overwhelmed. For the first time in your life... you understand why people once lived here.
Your assignment is simple: Observe and record. You dutifully scribble notes between stolen, wistful glances at the world around you. It’s different from what you saw in the bunker, wilder. Massive ferns unfurl like feathers, vines wrap around ancient trees thicker than the hallways you used to walk, flowers blooming from cracks in fallen stone.
The old world hadn't completely vanished, it had returned to the wild. You wanted to keep walking out here forever. Your senses yearn to experience everything this world has to offer. To see everything. To understand everything.
Then someone screamed, the sudden noise shattering the peaceful chorus of birds, followed closely by a second scream. "RUN!" The word echoes through the trees. Branches snap overhead as dozens of figures drop from impossible heights as horses gallop through your company.
Apes.
They are everywhere, swinging effortlessly through the canopy, leaping between branches with terrifying speed. Others charge across the forest floor on horseback. Their shouts and commands fill the woods. They don armor pieced together from rusty metal, armored with spears that spark with electricity.
Everything you learned, from your teachers or by your own choice, nothing could have prepared you for this. Your group scatters, many vanishing beneath charging figures with bone-chilling cries of fear and pain.
Your body finally remembers its ability to move. Your legs stumble into a running pace, notebook long forgotten. Your lungs burn, thorns claw at your boots and branches whip across your face, but you don’t stop, you can’t.
Something catches your arm. Pain explodes as you cry out. You are bleeding, heavily. There’s a long gash across your upper arm and shoulder, instantly soaking your sleeve crimson. Warm blood trickles down your fingertips. You stumble, but keep running as the sounds behind you grow louder.
You throw yourself behind the tangled roots of an enormous tree just before several apes rush past. You press both hands over your mouth. Holding your breath, you press yourself closer to the ground, the smell of petrichor invading your senses.
One ape stops in front of your hiding spot. You squeeze your eyes shut. Please, please, please... After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps continue, their voices fade, and you are left alone with the forest.
Slowly, you lower your shaking hands. You stay on the ground, your arm throbbing as blood drips steadily onto damp leaves. You can’t stay hidden forever. So, with trembling limbs, you crawl from beneath the roots, and freeze.
Someone stood only a few paces away. No. Not someone, an ape. An orangutan, to be precise. Unlike your armored attackers, he wore a simple shawl. A satchel rests against his side, and around his neck hangs a necklace with a metal symbol.
His eyes meet yours. He makes a curious cooing sound deep in his throat, his head tilted slightly to the side. Your heart nearly stops. Your mouth opens, but refuses to let out any sound. Your voice has abandoned you.
You scramble backward, panic seizing every muscle in your body. Damp leaves sticking to your palms as your injured arm screamed in protest. The orangutan immediately lets out worried chuffs and raises both hands, palms facing you. Not advancing or threatening, simply... Showing they are empty.
His voice is slow and calm as he starts speaking. "Don’t be afraid." Every instinct inside of you screams that this was a trick. You stare. He knows human speech. Perfectly. "I am Raka." He motions to himself. Raka slowly gestures toward the blood running down your arm. "You are hurt."
He waits several long moments before moving again, slowly. One hand carefully reaches toward the pouch at his side. Your muscles tense up. He pauses immediately. "I only want to help."
From the pouch he removes a small container. Still trembling, you can’t move. Raka kneels several feet away first, giving you every opportunity to flee. Only after another long pause does he inch closer.
He looks at you one last time, silently asking permission. You can’t answer, but you also don’t pull away. Gentle fingers spread the cool paste across your wound. You flinch despite yourself. It stings briefly before soothing the fiery pain. The salve smells strongly of crushed herbs; earthy and sharp.
You watch suspiciously as Raka works carefully, smearing the soothing salve on the gash before layering broad medicinal leaves over it. Not once did he cause unnecessary pain or did he force you.
When finished, he leans back again, giving you space. You stare at the neat bandage, then at him. Nothing about this makes sense. The monster from every childhood nightmare has just treated your injury more gently than any of the bunker medics had.
Raka quietly begins gathering fallen branches and twigs. He hums to himself while arranging a small fire. You watch as he makes camp, refusing to let your eyes wander. He keeps mumbling to himself, or you rather, though you can’t find it in yourself to react.
Exhaustion settles over you like a heavy blanket. You fight it, listening to Raka as he speaks softly about someone called Caesar, whose name carries unmistakable reverence. Your eyelids droop anyway, vision blurring around the edges.
"I will keep watch." Raka says quietly, noticing your exhaustion. "So you may sleep." You want to argue, to stay awake and keep watching the ape in front of you. Instead, the warmth of the fire, the ache in your body, and the overwhelming weight of the day finally claims you.
The last thing you see before darkness takes you is Raka sitting peacefully beneath the trees, hands folded in his lap, keeping silent watch as your subconscious drifts off into a dreamless sleep.
Summary: Your sheltered life comes to an end when you meet a devoted orangutan. Will you give into your curiosity? Or go back to the comfort of your ignorant life?
im sorry it's so funny to me how aemond and aegon are having a telepathic argument about which of them was their mother's favorite child and all the while she literally traded them both in a heartbeat for helaena's life weeks ago
summary: as soon as his palms brush along your cheeks, it’s almost as if his soul snaps out of its frenzied rage, looks at you, and embraces you with a warmth that says, oh, I’ve been looking for you for ages.
WARNINGS: angst, fluff, happy ending, medieval magic, blood, death, swearing, yearning, mentions of sexy times
pairing: immortal!bucky x fem!mortal!reader
word count: 12.0k
a/n: soulmate au and reincarnation au where you come back and find each other whenever fate deems it fit. written for @jalapenobarnes and @startrekkingaroundasgard. my prompts were not like this and won’t lose you again which i changed slightly.
happy birthday, bucky.
818 - agape: the highest form of love
James doesn’t know how long he runs for. Your blood is seeping between his fingers as your fingers dig desperately into his neck and his breath is burning in his lungs as he screams himself raw. His blood is boiling beneath his skin, sweat soaking through his chain mail as he swallows down dry air, and his throat is tearing itself as he sucks in harsh breath after harsh breath.
“Hold on, foxglove,” he whispers. You let out a faint moan, and he raises his chin to the forest surrounding him. Here. The woman said she’d be here. Golden and amber leaves swirl around him, dancing in the breeze. Stumbling through the forest, his boots sink into the moist dirt as he fights to keep himself standing. Running, running, running. Where is that woman? Where? “Hold on.” As he glances down, he sees your eyes flutter shut and he chokes. You’ve lost all colour in your lips and cheeks, face dashed with scarlet red. A strangled sensation crawls up his throat just as his boot shifts beneath mud.
BIRBS WRITING FOR SILCO??????? (SLAMS THE BUTTON) WEE WOO WEE WOO
HOBBYISTS & FINER THINGS. ; silco / reader
summary: perhaps all this trouble is worth it. or, you come into ownership of the lilac lounge and after a business inquiry, find you've earned silco's interest.
word count: 2.1k
pairing: silco / f!reader
a/n: a little something i've been stewing on. enjoy what will undoubtedly become a little series, knowing me. this pretty gif is by @aestheticsicrushon from this set here!
read me on ao3 | next chapter >
"Tea?"
You're beginning to think this whole thing was more trouble than it was worth. By 'thing', you quite candidly mean the fact The Lilac Lounge — one of three brothel's residing along the Lanes' main strip — was now under your ownership.
You'd be lying if you said it hadn't come as surprise.
(The sort of surprise that had riled half the Lanes the next morning — your screams of disbelief had ricocheted down the strip, the squawk sending whatever poor gutter rats and ravens fleeing from their morning meals. WHAT?!)
You and Yeleni — the previous owner — had never really seen eye-to-eye. She was a disgruntled, old courtesan who could rarely admit a single fault, and yet you stuck around. Be it loyalty or stubbornness, you're still not quite sure. You were one of her best girls; you've spent the better half of your life working in that plush, little brothel.
Those rooms have seen your maturity sharpen.
Whatever. Fuckin' Yeleni. She put your fuckin' name on the deed. Then, she up and croaked. Slipped away in her sleep. Not exactly the way you'd imagined her going, but it happened. You always thought there would be more screaming, more clawing — a last, desperate cling to life just like she clung to her vanishing creams smuggled from Topside.
Eugh.
There's a whole pile sitting on your desk back at The Lilac Lounge. You can't seem to get rid of them fast enough. You thought handing off a dead woman's half-used beauty regime would be easier. Turns out it's quite the contrary.
...Perhaps Silco...?
You silence the intrusive quip with a quick flash of your lashes.
You have to admit — you anticipated the man before you to be a bit more... garish. From the way Yeleni had spoken of him, it seemed as if he was a pain to look at. From her stories, every interaction between the two verged on violent. Though, you suppose that eighty-six-year-old whore rarely had any sort of functional relationship with any of her coworkers, patrons, or protection. It was charming... in a twisted way.
His back is to you now. He is in the corner, by the phonograph. There's a cart there with a myriad of pretty little bottles and pretty little spirits. The offer of tea comes as a surprise.
From your place between the two of his enforcers, you shift in your chair. Your cross your legs and rest your knotted hands on your stockinged knee when your coat has parted.
"Sherry," you speak slowly; the point in your words remains pleasant if not professional, "If you have it."
Across the room, Silco takes pause. His own drink is forgotten for a moment — and he's suddenly struck with the fact you are not Yeleni. You're... well, little old Yeleni would have already threatened to castrate him for suggesting he didn't have her tea ready on her arrival.
"Not a fan?"
She'd been a mythic woman. Quite small, but mighty. Respected.
Why she left The Lilac Lounge to you remains to be seen.
He moves, the lip of the crystal tinkering neatly against the glass. He turns back, both drinks in hand.
"No," you explain lightly, "I can never get past the sting of the water."
You get a good look at him then, backlit by the jade windows that suck in the dim light from the Lanes outside. Your chin is held high, posturing rigid as a board. Silco is a bit surprised to see you've kept your coat on. The high collar brushes your cheek.
He offers the sherry and your gloved fingers brush his.
He holds your gaze.
You're a pretty thing. Beautiful, even. Not in a delicate sense, but in a pointed sort of way. Sharp. Perhaps it's the wicked way your eyes narrow ever so slightly when they meet his.
Hm. No, not bad to look at. Not at all, you reason.
His eyes lift and with a wave of his hand, he gestures for his men to wait outside. You watch, sherry raised to your lips, and only sip once the door has clicked shut. When your head swivels back, he's still watching you.
Finally, he leans back and ventures around the center table to his rouge loveseat.
The spirit stings your throat. It's nice.
"You know," comes the slow drawl as he leans and gathers a cigar before dropping down to the sofa, "Your predecessor would have threatened me four times over at this point in our meeting..."
You snort into your drink. Quiet. Lady-like, still. Your voice echoes in the crystal as you hesitate a sip.
"Would you prefer I begin now or later?"
Silco almost laughs. Almost. The corner of his lips tug. You see a flash of intrigue narrow his good eye. The other, burning bright as embers, stares on.
"Hardly," he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Gracefully, he clips the cigar and procures a heavy, gilded lighter from the same box. He snaps it open with a satisfying tink before lighting the expensive piece of tobacco. It's a gesture. Reminding you where you are.
"Yeleni thought highly of you."
It's Silco's turn to snort. "Did she now?"
"No," you cut it down, resting your glass on your knee as you watch him extend back like a cat. He props his arm up and takes a long drag of the cigar; your smile is cunning, "But, she never thought highly of anyone but herself. So, perhaps let me rephrase: she respected you."
Silco lets that settle in the air between the two of you.
"And you?" he asks after a moment.
You swirl the glass. Your gloves are sheer. Dashed with glimmer little bits of woven metal. It flashes silver in the jade light of the office. When you lift your eyes, they inadvertently land on a painting over his shoulder. Your face snaps, a tension breaking, at the sight of—
"A Friedlingmer?"
Silco blinks.
His head turns, following your gaze.
...Ah.
The painting of the idyllic topside pasture has ensnared your attention long enough for Silco follows the trail of your figure. The glitter along your cheekbones catches the light as a stream of light filters in from the afternoon.
"It was a gift," he speaks into his whiskey, ignoring the stroke of admiration that blooms in the wake of your interest.
"It's beautiful," you speak slowly, eyes still trained on the intricate frame holding the painting, "And rare. He only completed eight paintings in his time spent Topside. You're the sole owner of one, it seems."
"...You're an academic, then?" Silco prods, "It's not often I have the pleasure of holding company who can speak on Friedlingmer's residencies."
Your laugh is melodic. Like a diamond. Pretty and rough and rare. "You flatter me, Silco."
His name is honey-sweet on your tongue. It rolls off easier than you mean for it. Silco's lip tugs again.
"It was merely an honest inquiry."
"No, no, I — I'm a hobbyist, if you will," you wave it off, your attention turned back to the man before you, "But, at the end of the day, we all chase the beauty of things we cannot have, don't we?"
Oh.
Lights alive, you're something.
...He gets it now.
This is dangerous. This little feeling that's nibbling at his heartstrings. This is — fuck.
Silco clears his throat after a long moment.
Stick to business.
"Yeleni and I had an understanding," he speaks carefully as his cigar burns between his fore and middle finger. The smoke rises up, dancing in fine lines of smoke around his face, "I take it you were aware."
"I'm looking to extend the terms of the agreement."
Silco almost chokes.
He smothers his surprise, masking it as a clearing of his throat. He leans forward, a hand falling along a crossed knee. He's a lithe man — but long. Tall. Lean and sharp. Handsome, still. You can't help but feel a bit of a bitterness creep up. Yeleni should have warned you as much.
"Our agreement was extensive—"
"I want security present for twelve hours every other day," you say sharply, as the web of the conversation begins to unravel just as you'd hoped, "For an increase to ten percent of our earnings."
"I don't have the men for that."
"Lying is unbecoming."
Your gazes connect and it's white-hot. Like gasoline on open flame.
Silco almost snarls.
"Twenty percent."
"—As if I'd give you anything more than eleven."
...
He misses Yeleni.
But, it seems you're not finished — and for yet another time in the ten minutes, he realizes just why Yeleni left The Lilac Lounge to you.
"We're vulnerable. Shimmer puts us in a dangerous position. The work we do is sought after and demand hits a new peak with every month. Protecting us puts good faith in you. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Silco exhales. Then, he takes a long drag of his cigar.
"Ten percent," he affirms after a stretch of contemplation. His yield is granted with a small tip of his head; his eyes are roaming your face, "And I'll give you ten hours, three men, everyday."
Your brow lifts ever-so-slightly.
"...That's kind of you, Silco."
"Consider it good faith," he remarks dryly before lowering his voice, "I... owe Yeleni as much. She... She was a good woman. And I'm sorry for your loss."
His lips quirk when you bark out a laugh. This one is less lady-like. Honest, maybe.
"As I said before," you harp, "Lying is unbecoming."
"Please," comes the rather comedic urge for a shred of composure, "She's dead—"
"Isn't that a blessing?"
Before Silco can split the air with his own dry laughter, you continue.
"We'll settle, then," you offer your hand across the gap, "Eleven percent for ten hours, three men, every day."
A hum of appreciation settles in Silco's chest. Your insistence on a fair settlement is... different from his day-to-day. Based on principle.
He sets his glass down, drops his cigar to the ashtray, and leans. He catches your hand in a warm shake. Firm. Sturdy. The foundation of a great partnership.
He ignores the burn that clings to his skin when you pull away.
"I appreciate your time, Silco."
The sherry is slipped back and finished in a swallow. His eyes follow the gesture.
"You're a busy man — I won't keep you," you explain as you gather yourself up and gently offer the empty crystal glass to him. The rim is stained with the painted color from your lips. Your perfume threatens to drown the office in a delicate femininity that's all but lost on the space. It stokes a frightening sense of longing in him.
He stands quickly and rounds the table.
"Regardless, I appreciate your time, madame," comes the courteous reply, holding more poise than the official title; and while not entirely unwelcome, the title of madam is still one that you're not used to. Madam of The Lilac Lounge. It has quite the ring to it. You're not too sure of the tune, though. Not yet.
Then, a slow reach for your hand. You allow him to take it.
He offers a chaste press of his lips to your knuckles. The sheer material there does little to save your skin from going alight at the heat. His eyes, all the while, bore into you.
Your expression flits into something akin to interest. It's fleeting. It's replaced with a slow kiss of your lashes to your cheek. You bow your head.
"Be well, Silco."
"Until next time, madame."
When — a handful of days later —a carefully wrapped parcel arrives in the arms of two of Silco's men, you find yourself smothering surprise. It's big, and as the two muscle it through the brothel at the earned attention of nearly the whole house of staff, you can't help but hiss and ha at the roughness with which they treat it.
There's a note attached, tucked into the pretty blue twine.
FOR YOU, A GIFT.
REVERENTLY YOURS,
SILCO
You pull back a torn corner, and then immediately slap it back.
Your head snaps to the doorway of your office, where a gaggle of your workers have gathered. They stare at you owlishly. Your eyes are a mile wide, you reason, because you're met with an excited chatter of gossip. They leer in, rushing forward in a sea of masked, painted-on lovers.
It's a Friedlingmer.
Perhaps this whole thing was all the trouble it was worth.
By 'thing', you quite candidly mean the fact you're now the owner of an original pasture piece by Friedlingmer and The Lilac Lounge.
