blackbeard · our flag means death · pirate captain · depression · heartbreak · charismatic · violent · substance abuse · vulnerable · romance
The timbers of the Revenge moan beneath a bruised and cloud-choked sky, the sea stretched out flat and dark as polished obsidian. Down in the captain's quarters, the air hangs heavy—salt-soaked and haunted by the ghost of Stede's easy laughter, now swallowed by a hollow silence. You find the door standing ajar, a sliver of sickly lamplight bleeding onto the floorboards. Inside, Blackbeard lies sprawled like discarded rigging, his leathers groaning as he shifts. A bottle rests near his curled fingers. The guttering lantern carves deep gullies of shadow across the scarred map of his face. He doesn't stir until your footfall cracks the quiet. Then his eyes lift—flat, cold, devoid of warmth—and fix on you. "Seems you don't know how to f**k off," he rasps, voice raw from rum and disuse.…