Although this has been mentioned to @tidefated, it occurs to me I never actually posted it. Derek’s situation is an extremely unique one – up until Buford’s interference in his life, he had never once set foot on land. His first actual experience of it was not until shortly before his lieutenant’s examination – and he needed a great deal of help getting his legs under him.

He walks in a mincing fashion on land and is no more comfortable there than a bird of prey. Aside from his lieutenant’s examination, he has since managed to stay aboard and avoid going to shore – so he has not developed any land balance whatsoever.

This will be especially notable in his Black Sails verse, which is the only one which features Derek in a situation where he would be forcibly landbound for an extended period of time – for the first time in his life, no less.

Mun Note: This will be uncomfortable and triggering for people who have experienced institutionalization, a forceful loss of agency or suicidal ideologies as a symptomatic response to the trauma of either event. Abuse of power and medication is mentioned. Please do not read this if you are uncomfortable with descriptions of abuse in medical facilities. Also warnings for homophobia.

Thomas doesn’t talk about Bedlam. He will speak freely of his time in the plantation – both the good memories and the terrible – and may at times have moments where he considers the plantation to be a trial he was meant to face and one he believes held a positive influence on his ability to empathize, compartmentalize and socialize with people of all classes, colors and creeds.

In these times, he will speak almost glibly of his experiences – mingling memory both monstrous and humorous into consumable moments of recollection. He will humanize his experience there because it is important for him to acknowledge that portion of his life as something he survived and overcame – but also as something that saved him from a fate that was infinitely more terrible.

The plantation comes easily, because Thomas is so deeply and agonizingly grateful for his transfer there that words cannot frame it into a reality anyone else would understand. It is a reality he is still learning to come to grips with and there are elements of it that will cripple his trust in medical practitioners and places where physicians gather until the day that he dies.

Thomas had not believed his father would see him subjected to the horrors Bedlam was capable of – in truth, when Miranda came to visit he was still blissfully under the impression that this was all performance. His easy assurances had come from a terrible, misguided faith in his father’s desire to maintain appearances with minimal personal scandal – and completely underestimated how genuinely appalled by homosexualism his father actually was.

After James and Miranda had disappeared without making a fuss – aided by Thomas himself, as orchestrated by his own father ( who had him granted unusual freedoms in the hopes he would fall under the exact illusions he fell into and thus, ensure that neither the wife nor the lover would stir up a scandal ) the honeymoon period at Bedlam came to an abrupt and terrifying halt.

Ambushed by orderlies in the garden where he sat reading, Thomas was dragged off for the beginning of his therapies. He underwent many experimental procedures, and was victim to the same cocktail of sedatives that rendered other patients calm and malleable – if not openly suggestable.

The worst aspect of this for Thomas was the way his mind seemed to grow numb – he could not remember things he had memorized, and when presented with the simplest of problems it could be sheer agony summoning forth an answer that would have once come so quickly. The awareness of the answer was there, he had it in his mind, but held no ability to communicate it while under the influence of his medications.

Eventually, Thomas began to grow disruptive – violent in his efforts to fight off his medication, to clear the fog of his mind enough to think, to formulate a means of escape – and these outbursts were punished in severe fashions – generally involving an increase of sedative to the point it would knock him out. He would wake up in cells, or tied down to beds and chairs with no recollection of getting there. He would find himself in rooms he did not recognize, and there could at times be alarming apparitions as a result of his medical overdose.

Thomas did not fare well against the visions and the voices these medications summoned and eventually began to attack himself in a desperate attempt to escape the horrors he was being subjected to. It was in the wake of one of these attempts and another overdose that Thomas’ mother came calling unexpectedly – and in an absolute fury at what she discovered, immediately reached out to her brothers before confronting her husband.

It was Thomas’ uncles that ultimately blackmailed his father into setting Thomas off to the plantation, and his mother who held the man accountable for the lengths he went to in the first place. Shortly upon Thomas’ secretion from Bedlam to Savannah, one of his uncles ( Andrew ) observed his state and took matters a step further, quietly forcing the retirement of Alfred Hamilton to his properties in the Bahamas, where he too would live in exile under the jurisdiction of his wife.

Although this action ultimately lead to the death of Alfred and Thomas’ mother, his uncles never sought vengeance for either nor took any action to return Thomas to society, deciding to leave the secrets of their family buried. This did not sit well with Andrew, but he was unwilling to task his elder brothers on the matter and so he made frequent trips to Savannah to monitor Thomas’ progress, and bring him small treasures in the form of books and spices.

It was on the plantation that Thomas suffered his withdrawals ( which nearly killed him ) and there that his demons were exorcised by priests, fellow slaves and even one of the overseers through assurance and discussion that eventually came to an end. After three years on the plantation, he suffered no more thoughts of death, and sought nothing more than to live peacefully. Though life could be strict, and it was more taxing than ever before, he believed the plantation to be his salvation in many regards.

Yet he craved freedom from it. He craved freedom for himself and every other castaway society had deemed unwelcome and unworthy. He craved for better things – and in some cases he acted on those cravings, while in others, he cleaved to his gratitude, and simply bowed his head to fate.

It is important to note that although Stephen tends to bicker with Jack almost constantly, one of his primary motivations for doing so stems from a quiet fascination with the way in which the man views the world. Though there are certainly points in which they butt heads on a genuine level – and there are indeed topics to which they stand at polar ends – for the most part, Stephen holds a genuine respect for Jack’s ideology and passions.

It is in part for this reason that he constantly asks about the ships and sails and other bits and bobs – not because he can’t retain it – or even because he is all that interested in understanding the difference between a reefing line and a reefing cringle – but rather because it sets Jack off on tangental escapades that are a genuine entertainment for him.

It is a harmless means of seeing the man’s more excitable edge without bearing the risk of argument, and in truth a part of Stephen incites these tangents to learn how to be more engaging when speaking about things a listener might not care about. He knows himself to be painfully monotonous even when he is talking about something he has spent years researching and believes that through observing Jack, he may learn to become a better public speaker.

@seafaired

Although Gates never married, he did have two sons by the same woman. It was a complicated relationship – she was married to his closest friend, and the two were unable to conceive together, so he was asked by the two of them to provide some assistance due to his friend’s rather desperate need for heirs. It would have been a horrendous scandal if the true parentage of the boys was ever discovered, so the three of them did take care to ensure the secret never left the bedchamber.

The boys themselves ( Rowland being the eldest and Barnaby the younger of the two ) both proved to be exceptionally healthy and robust lads, much like their biological father. Luckily for the three of them, Hal looked near enough to a brother of his friend that the similarities between himself and the boys were easily attributed to their acting father.

Still, their mother began to grow paranoid that rumors might start, and to put an ease on the small family, Hal distanced himself physically and eventually stopped visiting altogether. Though he maintained a friendly exchange of letters with his friend and the boys, it was ultimately deemed for the best when those eventually stopped as well.

Having never mentioned his boys to anyone, or much at all about his origins, the fact nobody saw fit to inform his next of kin of his death is not all too surprising.

😶 | TF’s Joji to Abigail when she seems to be feeling down or upset

{ Touch Starved Meme }

The warm sensation of his presence has kept her steady for long enough now that she doesn’t stiffen anymore when he gets close. Between how often he has helped her weather storms, to the way he has maneuvered her in their training together, she has grown familiar with the touch of his hands and the feel of his side pressing against her. She has even come to know the feel of his arms when they enfold her for additional security when the world gets to be too much, and she has never known a hug more gentle and kind than his.

Her mother had feather light touches that were more performance than embrace, and her father had a way of gathering her up so tight and so close she thought she’d stop breathing and yet, she never failed to feel safe in his arms. With Joji, it was as if the best of both their hugs and something a bit more came into play – all the security of her father, all the gentleness of her mother, and all the great and unwavering kindness that was Joji himself.

Perhaps it was thoughts like these that made her an odd girl, but it was also thoughts like these that made her accomplished in her craft so she couldn’t really decry them. Sighing slightly, she shifted so that she could rest more securely against her friend, wishing these days of melancholia would leave her. She knew it was all about time – about patience – but it bothered her to feel so strong one day, and so weak the next with only the strangest thing to set her off.

“I don’t know what I would have done, if you hadn’t found me when you did,” She confessed softly, “You’ve made life infinitely more bearable – and I really don’t think I thank you enough for it.”

😏 – Playfully headbutt my muse [ for Gates, because Flint is. LITERALLY a cat. A cat that likes to butter him up for nonsense. ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

“Nope.” Hal refused to be swayed by cuteness today. Absolutely refused. He was not going to budge –

Another nudge of Flint’s head against his shoulder and he could feel himself cave. It was like dealing with an overgrown cat – or worse, a very big toddler. Irritated with himself for being amused by the damn antics, he shifted just as Flint leaned in to try and get him again, looping an arm around his neck and hauling him in to knuckle the top of his head and fuss ginger locks into a nest so disastrous not even a seagull would love it.

“Alright you little shit,” He grumbled, “Fine,” He was going to regret this, “I’ll talk to Tabers for you – but no promises.” The captain was about as stubborn as this bratty redhead – though Hal had a feeling Tabers was going to meet his match in this boy yet. Heavens knew he was already done in by the little bastard!

Mun Note: I did some research on this and I intend to do more over time but frankly the overarching politics are not important so I removed them and most of the mentions thereof in order to get this out. Again, snippets have been shared with @intolerablexsacrifice & @tidefated so its time to get all the information into one spot.

Due to the fact Silver never once reveals a true backstory for himself and what little he has given was proven by admission and omission to be nothing more than a pack of adopted lies, I’ve built my own story for who he was before he became John Silver – which, in and of itself has the ring of an alias, and for a man who shrouds himself in lies shaped like truth, and defends himself with truth that tastes of lies – kind of makes sense.

In any case, these aspects of who he was prior to becoming John Silver will have no bearing on threads beyond his monologues and reflections, unless otherwise discussed.

Born Jandro Miguelangel Afonso de Villarreal ( while his mother’s surname remains redacted, he bears instead a surname denoting only the region in which he was born ), the man who would one day be known as John Silver benefitted from experiencing his formative years in Spanish courts. His mother’s marriage united some minor political interests between her family and that of a British military commander, whose long term strategies ultimately resulted in considerable tragedy.

When circumstances made it clear that the resolutions between them were no longer producing results, the marriage was dissolved on account of the untimely death of Jandro’s mother. At the age of twelve, he was more than discerning enough to understand that the circumstances surrounding the murder of his mother and her servants were suspect and his sudden departure to live with his father ( whom, up until that point, had absolutely no hand in his upbringing and in fact, had not even met Jandro ) was questionable at best – though at the time, he had no reason to suspect that his father had in fact orchestrated the attack.

Upon his arrival to England, Jandro was at a vicious disadvantage in the fact he spoke very limited English, could not read or write in English and frankly, had no knowledge of English propriety and customs. He was immediately isolated and indoctrinated, undergoing rigorous “reeducating” and finding himself brutally punished for reverting to his mother language. He was not only made to abandon his country and all that was familiar to him ( including his language and accent ) but he was also stripped of his sense of self in the fact that he was no longer permitted to answer to his birth name.

For nine years, Christopher John Hope was a stranger in his own skin who became more and more familiar with the person he was supposed to become. The only heir to his father, he was slowly adapting to the role he would be expected to play – and even coming to have periods where being an Englishman came naturally rather than with diligent focus. It was at this point that his father remarried to a much younger woman ( one closer to Christopher’s age than his own ) and ended up having another son.

Seven years that dragged on like eternity as the Hope family waited to see if the infant would survive all the worst that could take a child early, Christopher continued to maintain his position as heir of the household with a growing sense of foreboding. When it was determined that his half-brother was certain to make it, his worst fears were promptly realized.

Through a quiet exchange on the part of his father, Christopher was placed under a captain who dubbed him “John Silver” to keep the men from knowing his value as cargo. He was given busy work and made to appear as one of the crew, all the while knowing the intent was to have him delivered to Spain once more, where he was to be held accountable for his role in the death of his mother and be sequestered to a monastery for exile. Thus when the ship was attacked, the now twenty-eight year old rather liked his chances – but only if the captain was dead.

Aware he needed to hide himself from not one, but two militant powers, Jandro once again began to unmake himself in order to fit another mold. John Silver was the first self that he created to suit his own needs – and his firm stance of selfishness reflects this quite clearly, especially in the beginning when his desperation is at it’s highest.

By the time he has been quartermaster on the Walrus long enough to lose Mort, he is established enough as ‘John Silver’ to be considerably less alarmed about discovery and a great more deal concerned with who he is becoming, and who he wants to be.

So TL’DR the timeline of Silver is:

00-14: Name is Jandro Miguelangel Afonso de Villarreal. Life of a Spanish noble child.
14-20: Name is Christopher John Hope. All agency and identity is stolen. Life of an English heir after rigorous retraining.
20-27: Jandro/Christopher now has a brother set to supplant him.
27-28: Supplanted, Jandro/Christopher is set to return to Spain to live in exile. Aboard the ship he is dubbed ‘John Silver’ to conceal his value. The ship ferrying him across is attacked by pirates.
28-29: Seasons 1 – 2, Jandro is struggling to identify as and essentially create Silver, all the while desperate for enough money to hide from two of the biggest armadas on the seven seas for the rest of his life.
30+ everything afterward, Jandro is now officially identifying as John Silver, and is no longer as afraid of discovery.

💪 | TF’ Armando to Jack

{ Touch Starved Meme }

It was difficult to tell what was the more alarming sensation, really. The sudden drop in the pit of one’s stomach when fingers slip their hold or the more forceful thrust of a shoulder into said stomach when snatched out of the air and tossed over it like a kitten plucked from a heavy breeze.

Catching his bearings, Jack was just about to say something when the world shifted rather suddenly, and his position went from potato sack to bride. For a moment, he simply stared before he laughed and slung a lazy arm over Armando’s broad shoulders. {{ You know, there are easier ways to sweep a man off his feet, }} He teased, as if the captain hadn’t just saved him from a most unwanted swim.

💪 – Pick my muse up [ for Silver, yes he knows you don’t like to be helped, just accept this ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

“Don’t do this,” His voice is pitched low, as much a warning growl as it is a desperate plea for something – perhaps mercy – in spite of the hot, lancing agony gripping his injury so tightly it made what was left of his leg prickle. His thigh felt almost cold, and his hip ached as if it had been punched repeatedly – all of which, stemming from the pressure being placed on sewn and cauterized flesh wrapped in nigh macabre fashion over bone.

It was as deplorable to look at as it was to live with, but at the moment he didn’t give a damn about anything – not the pain, not the visual of it all, not even the fear or the melancholy could distract him from stopping Flint from doing what he was about to. There was little he could do beyond this – and his words fell uselessly upon stubborn ears.

Helpless fury and righteous indignation burned through him hotter than the pain as he found himself hauled up over the man’s shoulder like a fucking sack of grain. Hatred of his situation blinding him for a split second – wild and nauseating enough to consider biting the man’s back for all he was worth. In the end though, he did nothing, his entire form stiff with anger and desperation as he was physically carried off the beach.

He couldn’t say how long they walked. Couldn’t begin to account for the time amid the bitter sensations rolling through him, the bile that he kept having to swallow back – though whether that came from his helplessness to stop this, or the sheer amount of physical pain he was in, it was difficult to tell. All he knew was that eventually, he found himself deposited on a chair, in the now-familiar surroundings of Flint’s home in the interior.

His breathing was labored – pain and fury making it difficult to maintain himself. He had enough shit to deal with now that this fuck had retired without being so disgustingly undermined as to be physically carried from his landing point. While he knew full well the man he’d set as quartermaster could manage matters, Flint had now forcibly reminded those present to witness the goddamn event that Captain Silver was a fucking invalid. Something he generally managed to keep overlooked by never acting like one. And then this – this –

“Bastard,” It’s spat out through gritted teeth, jaw aching from how hard it clenched itself against making any sound that might hint toward the depths of pain he was in right now. “If you want your ship back there’s better ways to get it than pulling shit like that.” He didn’t even want the Walrus, and by God he would be damned before he let Flint turn him into something the men saw as disposable in exchange for her.

It didn’t occur to him this could be about anything else.

😶 | TF’s Joji to Charles

{ Touch Starved Meme }

The lean up against his side earns a look, but as soon as he recognizes who it is, there is an ease to which his body relaxes and presses back against the other. There were not many who could get away with sliding up against him like this, but Joji was among the select few whom Charles felt comfortable enough with to have within his physical sphere.

He didn’t say anything – companionable silence was to be expected with this man in particular, and after a night spent listening to Jack talk circles around everyone in the room, only to get challenged by Gates, who built walls with his words that Jack and Eleanor then maneuvered up and over and around – silence was a much desired and needed respite at the moment.