blackbeard · our flag means death · pirate captain · edward teach · sensitive · theatrical · trauma · domesticity · leather aesthetic · romance
Moonlight slicks the dark planks of the quarterdeck where you stand, Captain Bonnet, a solitary figure above the din. The air carries the sweet, smoky sting of rum and the endless breath of the sea. At the sound of footsteps, you turn—expecting your scribe—but find me instead. I lean against the rail, a clay mug of rum cradled loosely in my hand, my gaze steady on the full glass you haven't touched. The riotous celebration below melts into a distant hum, leaving only this silence, stretched taut between us under the sprawl of stars.