#thescourgeofpiracy

[fratresatrium-blog]

⚠ thesCOURGE

who wants a shitty powerpoint || @thescourgeofpiracy || accepting

[horizonfate-a-blog]

@thescourgeofpiracy The sudden increase in work had piqued his interest. A significant more deaths of the select kind meant it wasn't random. Seeing a very much not dead James Norrington at the wheel of the last standing ship had come at a surprise. Will had cast the man off himself, watched him float off into the fog and presumably moved on. Living dead were much more of a rarity these days. Naturally, he had prodded James for an answer with a none too casual shout of "why aren't you dead." It was his response that was the most concerning. Will never saw James as ruthless. Determined, of course, but never cold and seemingly uncaring. When things had escalated he had done the next obvious thing and tossed an extra shoe. Despite the shape being much less precise to throw than a sword, it hit its mark and effectively nailed the other captain in the head. An amusing sight on any other day, less heartening when dealing with someone he would've once liked to call friend. "I believe I have surpassed you in age, given the current circumstances." He carefully maneuvered the Dutchman around still smoking debris to line her up alongside the Dauntless. "And here I was thinking you were smart. Would've hoped you'd have realized you actually can't beat me, James. You never really could. Not then and especially not now. We wouldn't be having this conversation if you'd stop decimating everything that floats."

[murdermayhemandjack]

@thescourgeofpiracy

“I am a Detective you can’t treat me like some beat cop. Nevermind the Detective part, actually. I’m your partner James. We’re supposed to be working together on this shit.”

[lyingbytellingthetruth]

continued | @thescourgeofpiracy

"Time enough for that later," the mysterious woman replied. "Now let's go." They still had to leave immediately, before the rest of the camp figured out the chalices were missing and took to searching for them. She led the admiral through the dense jungle, ducking under branches and Vines and not bothering to see if he still followed or not. When they were far enough into the foliage that she felt they could stop, she turned back to assess her tail. "Who are you?" she countered, not bothering to acknowledge the little thought that perhaps that might have been a better question to ask earlier, not that there had been time.

[kingsmanne]

To say she was a little bit miffed was an understatement, but then again, she didn’t know how important it was to say goobye to a boyfriend who was being deployed. Still, it had been an hour, and Anne had lost hope that Claudia would return before the shop closed. How ... predictable. But she was one of her few friends, so it was difficult to be cross with her, at least for a long time. But still, she wondered if she’d also come to the docks when Anne herself was sent off.

It was against everything she imagined what it would be. Instead of being assigned to Bletchley Park, as she had hoped, she was one of the very few women assigned to a ship. It had been to free men for naval service, not to replace them! And she had argued. There must’ve been a mistake, but no, her name was on the papers she was carrying around with her, in that bag which was almost carelessly draped over the back of her chair.

She had come straight from the college, still wearing her black uniform, not wanting to change in civilian clothing - why should she go home to change, just to sit here a few hours, waiting for a friend that wouldn’t come? - and they treated those who wore uniforms here quite nicely, man or woman, even alone.

They grey sky had become darker, and it wasn’t only because nightfall soon would be upon the city, but as the first thick raindrops splashed against the window, as she had it anticipated it for the whole day, she cursed the fact that she didn’t had her umbrella. Only her hat, laying on the table next to the almost cold tea and the half eaten piece of cake.

STARTER | @thescourgeofpiracy

[pearlsparable-archive]

thefreshprinceofdownton replied to your post: What kind of AUs do you desire actually cause I am...

I THINK ABOUT NORRINGTON AT SHIPWRECK COVE EVERY DAY

OKAY BUT, SAME?????? I think a lot about Norrington -- Admiral James Norrington, who once upon a time would rather see his own ship at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of a pirate, Norrington who stole the Heart of Davy Jones and gave it to Beckett, who is the catalyst for everything currently happening, walking into the Court Room with all of the Pirate Lords, who are all wanted for inordinate amounts of money, one step behind Elizabeth. Like I'd love to know what his reaction would be, and what Jack's reaction to him, walking into the Court, would be??? It's a thread I've wanted to play out for approximately one million years, tbh.

[bertievi]

@thescourgeofpiracy hunting the Bismarck

After news hit the cabinet of the sinking of HMS Hood, the hunt for the Bismarck began in full swing. Albert had little to do with the direct manurers but he had a keen eye himself, calling upon those with a naval eye to match his own, which included Lieutenant James Norrington. He did not summon his officers to the Palace, instead going to see them at their various bases and since James was the son of his First Admiral, it was he who the King went to see.

Pulling up outside the base, taking the first saluted greetings and going straight for the officer’s room, Albert greeted James with a soft smile. “I am --glad you were able to -meet with me, Lieu-- Lieutenant.”

[snowing-willow-archived]

Royal Truffles

@thescourgeofpiracy

Port Royal was hot. Well, Willow reasoned, in the humid darkness to herself, you should have thought of that before you decided to sail across the sea on a cramped little ship, with practically nothing but the clothes on your back, and that damn sword. Alright, so that was only half true, she did have a few other dresses, but they were hardly made for the muggy temperatures that seemed to permeate every shore of this part of the world. It was downright abominable. From what she heard, it never snowed here either!

What were you thinking? She growled quietly, rubbing a clammy palm over her brow, and stared at the barrel of apples she would somehow have to lug inside. Her temples throbbed, reminding her she hadn’t drank, ate, and she certainly hadn’t slept since she’d arrived nigh two days ago. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford to rest, to buy herself something in the meantime till she set up shop, she hadn’t been that brash in her planning…

It was that she didn’t want to. Whatever she sought here – in this burning, unforgivable climate – had yet to come to her. Then again, she hadn’t known what she was expecting… A sense of belonging perhaps? Like one she’d never had? Willow had been tempted, of course, if nothing for a fraction of a moment, to go to England. Her parents were originally from there, after all, even if she had never met her father. Her mother had never spoken of him, though back then, she was far more outspoken and brash… Willow nearly snorted. She still was, though age had slightly curbed the unsightly habit. Nevertheless, when she’d asked after him, her mother would get a far off, somber look, usually sigh, and quickly try to distract her. It worked for a time, though eventually she started to notice, and that was where the decline started.

Of her mother’s health, and her own innocence. Raoul had said as much – that her eyes looked too old to be in her body, deep and dark, like the mist that rolled over the sea in the early morn. The kind that blotted out the sun, brought a icy breeze, and warned of crueler things beyond. And yet… they were lost, forlorn in their helplessness to grasp and hold on. Willow was used to loss. It was etched into her bones, into her skin, from the moment she was born.

She was used to having nothing, and working twice as hard for what she had. Willow sighed, flopping down upon the stoop, the eerie, orange glow of the candles inside the bakery casting strange shadows through the gloom. From the slanted arch of the door, to the dull shafts that split through the window panes, she watched the quiet, unmoving shadows of Port Royal. She was tired and hot and filthy, but she couldn’t find it in herself to move, as the fire fought the silvery shine of the moon, which splintered out from behind a cloud.