An original silver and coral mounted flintlock pistol originating from Italy, late 18th century.

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@its-captainsparrowarchive
An original silver and coral mounted flintlock pistol originating from Italy, late 18th century.
My guess is about 16-17 years old (Jack's supposedly a charmer, is he not?)
"13."
Guess the age my muse lost their virginity
The sea is full of monsters and first among them is the sea.
Oh yes, she has her favorites—Odysseus and Gan Ning, Aruj and Edward, Jack, Davy. They are all witty; they are all empty. She fills them with herself, rimes their heartstrings with salt and teaches them how to wantwantwant like the pounding of the tides. She comes, and goes, loves and does not, for she is the sea and moves by her own secret currents. None may command her.
They try. They all say, at this point or that, fit here in my palm and fly to my hand; lick the blood and spars of ships from your teeth and cast your eyes downward, quiet your rage and quiet your hunger—there is too much in you, I do not like it; be warm and small and shallow for me, be there for me, be for me.
But her laughter is the sound of waves breaking and the hurricane-cracking of masts, and she tells them all no.
(they do not like her answer)
He still smells the same. It’s that musky scent, tell-tale signs of the sea’s ravaging nature all contained within the column of his throat, crashing waves splintering into a t h o u s a n d shards of lost moments ricocheting beneath his skin. She lets him hold her; lets herself be i m m e r s e d in his embrace; golden femme sinking beneath the waves; letting all he is & all they could’ve been w a s h over her in the moments they have. Then the cold glass of bottle meets her palm; his warmth cruelly torn away; & she is brought back to surface; r i p p e d from the brief regression. She regains posture; a brief nod, a smile; tendrils of a w k w a r d n e s s lapping at her flesh. Has it been too long? She endeavours to drown all such thoughts with the spiced rum in hand. & turns away, pouring them both a glass. ( she hasn’t wrapped her lips around the mouth of a bottle & d r a n k directly from decanter since she was a youth. A lost idol of such sweet childhood day - dreams may be present now, ( Jack floats from her like a child’s doll lost at sea, returning, abashed, & a little more rugged than before, on the sand at her feet; but only when the tide is in her favour, only when the wind carries the sparrow to the lioness’ den. ) but habits die hard, & she is a Q u e e n, now. It would be i m p r o p e r.
❝ —— Tell me about it; your time away. ❞
What can he tell her without feeling guilt crash at him? She has resented her position as long as he has known her, longer even, probably. He wonders if she had been a baby prone to crying, throwing toys from the cradle in protest that they were not swords and that there were bars to the crib. Lioness by nature and name. But he has never been able to stop himself indulging her. He had whisked her away for moonlit adventures, taught her to spar and hold a sword with his hand on hers and his breath at her ear. He will give into her, he's doing so now with every step he takes further back into her world.
There's a small little stringed instrument - he forgets the name for it here, but he remembers the way to pluck each string. Lounging like he owns her rooms, legs stretched out, fingers coaxing the music from the instrument like he used to. The words hang low in the back of his brain. The king and his men/stole the queen from her bed/and bound her in her bones.
Jack taught this song to Cersei, once. Almost a lifetime ago. A lifetime before Elizabeth Swann and her pirate's life song. Surely she can see that his time away has changed him. Brown skin is now swirled with black lines, piercings in his ears and nose, hair that was once curls now lying entangled with trinkets, looking like rope. He wants to deny her, but she is his lover (he won't use past tense, not with her).
"Far and away more pleasant than your time here, though not without its share of trouble." His gaze is on the strings still, though he could close his eyes and still play well. "I left my father. Tried it out as honest as a Teague can get and still ended up with a brand and a bounty on my head. That's luck for you, fickle mistress that she is. I've been pirating, love. Sailing, fighting, drinking." Whoring, though he wouldn't tell her. Jack's not fool enough to tempt Cersei's temper.
❝ —— It is to keep you safe, Jack. Don’t you understand? ❞ No, of course he didn’t. He didn’t hear what went on in that tent; a night, so long ago. No one did. Not even Jaime knew.
"Safe." Forgive the derision in his tone; she wasn't there to keep him safe when he sold his soul, when he was condemned to be a pirate, when he went to Davy Jones' locker. "I'm afraid that don't understand, what with the fact that I've been keeping myself safe all this time. What's changed?"
For every ☠ I receive in my inbox I will reveal a roleplaying pet peeve.
You may not like where these go; but please don’t be offended. They’re only personal opinions.
send me a “☁” and i will put my itunes on shuffle, pick my favorite line from the first song that comes up and use it for a starter.
❝ —— This is how I show my love. ❞
"Your love?" He's not even angry. Just - disappointed. "Your love is to have me followed by guards?"
It feels like years, but his face hasn’t aged. It feels like decades, but his voice is still the same. It feels like too long, & he is still the same. Speaking his idioms, muttering his riddles, dark eyes filled with knowledge & nonchalance all at once. It has been years since spiced rum has touched her lips. ( it’s been years since he has, either. )
C o n d o l e n c e s rang hollow through her skull; a bitter smile formed lips full with grief, with courtesy-demanded thanks for such e m p t y words yet tainted with melancholy fondness, at the memory-ridden solace bottled, there, in his hand. A sole representation of their days spent on the beaches of Casterly Rock, playing amongst the sand together, the tang on his tongue as he kissed her. ❝ I suggest we make a start on it, then. ❞
"A wise decision, love." The smile on his lips is neither friendly nor amused. People forget, when faced with dreadlocks, tattoos, rings, and all, that Jack is a captain, and he has lost men along the way. He's selfish, and self-preservation protects him, but he isn't unfeeling.
It's been so long between them, but Jack isn't letting time weight them down. He sweeps towards her, presses the bottle into her hand, and wraps his arms around her. The last time they embraced, it was the night before her wedding to Baratheon.
A million regrets and miles had cursed him, when he chose to run from her and him, rather than stay. But Jaime had been there, and Jack needed to be more than a Queen's childhood companion. Now, he had a title under his belt, and he had years of experience. His chin rests on her shoulder, just for a moment, before he pulls away.
it’s a comfy jumper and knee socks kinda night 👽👽👽
reblog my obnoxious selfies bc it’s my birthdayyyyy
I N T R O S
❝ —Jack Sparrow here … Did you miss me ? ❞
"Tia Dalma! Always."
❝ P A T I E N C E is scarce one of my virtues. ❞ A moment’s pause, as she scans his rugged, f a m i l i a r visage. ❝ Have you any idea of what has taken place during your absence? ❞
"An absence usually removes such a question. After all, the act of being absent from one place means that one is usually quite removed from the events and news of any other place." But Jack does know what's taken place. He had to leave on Elizabeth's command, Shipwreck Cove needed him. And now he's back, and he knows. They're calling it the Purple Wedding.
"Condolences, love." Jack can't pretend he held any love for the recently deceased boy king. He loved Joffrey's parents, loves them still. He always held his distaste for the boy like a secret in his throat. "I remembered how you enjoyed dark spiced rum, though. Brought it back with me. If I were you I'd be treating my grief with it, and if you were I you would have brought it. So here we are, with me being me, and you being you, and a bottle of rum between us."
❝ All too well,❞ she replies, irony only outweighed by her bitterness; because she d o e s.
"You seem rather less than pleased for that fact, love. Why is that?"
Brows knit together, something akin to confusion crawls across the captain's face. This isn't how it's supposed to go.
Enough For Now || Jack&Daniel
He’s not particularly proud of himself, mind. Sometimes he wonders what his sisters or, goddess forbid, his mother might think if they were to see him curled up in the lap of a pirate like a good little lapdog. Such is impossible, he knows; his mother dissolved to sea foam years ago and his sisters haunt the ocean waves, probably having forgotten his existence. Yet Daniel tries not to think on it all too often, especially the idea that he is so easily erased. It’s not a comforting notion, even for a ruthless merman.
Despite all his pouting he happily returns the kiss anyway, curling his arms around Jack’s neck and tugging him down. The image is clear: mine. “Are you implying I have reason to, pirate?” Yet the words come out practically as a purr instead of the usual rebuke, and any trace of monster from before has slipped off to sleep. For now, at least. “Besides,” he mutters, curling his fingers in Jack’s shirt, ever the petulant child. Or perhaps just manipulative enough to pretend to be so. “I thought you liked my company. Or preferred it over whores, at least.”
The analogy Jack gives makes him frown, and he’s quick to argue it despite the knowledge that their customs and cultures differ greatly. While children are a liability in Daniel’s world, they are a thing of great value in his captain’s, an idea that the former still cannot comprehend. “But I actually lo-” He catches himself before the word slips. “…like you. I don’t mind it so much when it’s just you, us. But them…” He trails off, nose crinkling in disgust at the thought of them. “They’re loud, and boisterous, and they should feed themselves. I am no nursemaid.”
"Now where would you get such a notion, hm?" Jack teased, bumping the tip of his nose against Daniel's. "You don't need to grip the shirt so tightly, love. I'm not going to be slipping off with the crew for a tavern for wenches when I have you here, now am I?" As he spoke, Jack's fingers roamed across Daniel's form before gripping his hips tightly: a promise of what was to come later, when they had made port. "I'm not asking you to be a nursemaid - you're rather under equipped for such a task. Just bring a few fish back for the cook to work with." Convincing Daniel to do anything he did not wish to was as easy as herding cats. But Daniel could be persuaded, given the right circumstances.
So Jack pressed kisses along the column of Daniel's neck and continued until he reached his earlobe, nipping and sucking lightly, swirling his tongue over the shell of Daniel's ear. "Daniel." by now Jack was murmuring, voice a gentle rumble. "I'll make it worth your while if you do, love."