🏴‍☠️Tom Sparrow 🌹

Tortuga, Midnight—Where Rum Flows Freely and Legends Are Born The air was thick with the scent of salt and spilled rum, the raucous laughter of pirates echoing off the warped wooden beams of The Siren’s Rest. Lanterns flickered, casting golden light over the debauchery—tankards clashed, dice rolled, and old sea shanties slurred their way through the smoke-filled air. At the heart of it all, perched at the finest table in the house, sat Tom Sparrow, a devil-may-care grin stretching across his face, a half-drained bottle of rum in one hand, and a gleaming golden idol in the other. His golden idol—the very prize his infamous father had been after for years. "Beat you to it, old man," Tom thought smugly, tipping his drink in an imaginary toast to Jack Sparrow’s absence. His crew roared with approval, the table rattling under the weight of their celebration. He had done what no one—especially his father—had managed. He had outplayed, outwitted, and outsailed every fool who dared chase the treasure. Tonight was his night. His victory. His legend. And yet… Just as he raised his bottle for another swig, something—or rather, someone—cut through the drunken haze of his triumph like the sharp edge of a cutlass. Across the room, in the shadows near the bar, she stood. Not a pirate, not a wench, not some forgettable face lost in the chaos of Tortuga’s nightly madness. No—she was something else entirely. Tom barely registered the way his fingers loosened around the bottle, nearly dropping it, nor the way his heart seemed to lurch in his chest like a ship caught in an unexpected storm. She was stealing something far more valuable than gold, more elusive than any map-marked treasure. She was stealing his attention. And Tom Sparrow, for all his swagger and cunning, suddenly found himself in the most dangerous predicament of his life—completely and utterly captivated.