#hangusall

Send me 🗡 for the last words my muse would say to yours before passing on.  |  Accepting

It had happened so rapidly that events in his mind were disorientated and hard to conceive. The pain pulsing a steady rhythm through every muscle that could ache helped matters little. Snatches bled through to his conscious mind; being locked in a battle of wills with the odious wretch baring the title Guvnor, the chain of the cuffs tight around Rogers’ throat limiting his breath and leeching the very life from him and then the crash as the carriage collapsed; tampered with from the outside. Rogers had been thrown clear, but chained as he was, Jack had been forced to bare the full brunt of its demise; splintered wood piecing him and his bones rattling as he was flung around as carelessly as a child’s ragdoll. 

Disorientated, he forced his eyes open, fighting a weariness that had settled into his limbs to meet the unwavering gaze of Charles Vane. “Thought you were finished...” he murmured, alarmed by the pitiful strength of his voice the fading quality of his usually vibrant tones. When Charles said nothing he summoned what little strength he could to glance down, and saw the reason for his once captain’s silence. Protruding from his gut were several lethal shards of wooden debris and broken twists of metal, enough to explain why he felt so damn tired. Blood oozed around the entry wounds of his impaling, slowly staining his finery crimson. 

“Ah... that explains a lot...” he murmured, words slurred a little as his eloquence was lost to him in favour of the fewest words possible to conserve his strength. “Anne?” Charles’ glance outside had him turning his head in a graceless flop where he saw her fiery hair billowing about her in a manner almost akin to an avenging angel, the fury alight in her very movements demanding vengeance and retribution as she ensured the Guvnor’s men would not leave this place alive. 

“She made her peace while you were out, thought you’d already gone. Should have realised you’d be a stubborn fuck about it.” 

Laughing in a wheezed, fading gasp at Charles’ words, Jack could not even bring himself to regret doing so, despite the searing flare of agony it induced.  He fell silent soon after, sapped strength lingering only enough to meet Charles’ unwavering gaze, saying a million more words than he could summon. From crew mates, to at odds, to friends; Charles had come to be someone of great significance to him, the man he had sought after, aspired to impress and proved his worth and loyalty to, even after the obstacles they had passed. Having him here, at the end, was a comfort. 

“Fuck you, Charles...” he murmured, the reversal deliberate, the words infused with his gratitude and remorse, not ready to bow out of the fight and yet unable to linger. Lifting his hand feebly, he dropped it upon Charles’ wrist, clasping as tightly as he could. The grip implored him to look out for Anne in the coming days, to fight the fight, but also to forgive him his weakness. 

Anne hadn’t expected it to be Charles beside her after the battle was over. She’d always presumed that it would be Jack that watched over her as she departed from this world, though whether he was on her other side she could not tell, she’d been blinded there during the fight. The ship was quiet except for the groans of the injured and the words of The Ranger’s doctor who was crowded over the few who stood a chance of still surviving. 

Was that why Jack wasn’t there? Because he’d known from Anne’s injuries that she wasn’t going to survive this one, and he couldn’t face that? This wouldn’t be the first person any of them had watched bleed out on this deck, and nor would it be the last for either of the men, but perhaps this was different. 

Her breath came in rasps as she watched Vane carefully, not able to see him well enough to read his expression. She wondered what she should say to him, if there was anything that she needed him to know. There was little point in telling the captain to look out for Jack, that much went without saying, and she trusted Charles to do that of his own volition without needing the words of a dying woman to remind him, the two men were certainly close enough that Anne didn’t need to worry about either of them having someone watching their backs. 

“Don’t let him do something fucking stupid because of this. You know he’ll try.” Anne paused, her perpetual frown never lifting from her features. Talking was getting harder now, as her breaths came shallower and shallower 

“Glad I went down fighting. You were a good captain, don’t fuck it up.” 

There was so much more she could say, she could thank him for giving her a chance, a place in her crew. She could tell him it was an honour to sail with him, and that she had no regrets despite the way things had ended. But that all seemed false somehow, as if she was trying too hard to mimic what Jack would say, as if channeling the wordsmith of the crew would somehow make any of this easier.

from xx | @hangusall// accepting!

The slap rings through the tavern and suddenly the noisy chatter comes to an abrupt halt. It stings, but damn if she’s going to let him know that. Refusing to press her palm to the burning cheek where she’s sure she’ll see a print of his palm, Eleanor glares up at him. All around her, she can feel eyes on her, on them, and she imagines jaws agape, mugs halfway to open mouths, waiting to see how she would react.

She knows better than to return the slap; he would catch her wrist before it even got near his face and she would be more humiliated than she already is.

Shoulders tense, she grits her teeth and jerks her chin toward the door.

pastdriven kingroun stormward thetiffanyblews thomashamiltcn darcybby cameoutofabottle symbolsoftheirtime hangusall

wow i can’t believe i’m my biggest fan

The Black Sails ending was the balm I needed after...

i’m so spoiled how could uuuu lol jk jk i loved spartacus ;_;

[Cheeky. xP 

I am deceased. Send the coroner.

// accepting!

Eleanor barges into his tent, eyes blazing. He’s in the middle of a conversation with Jack and Anne, but the moment she enters, they falter and stare at her. She stares right back, hands on her hips. Cheeks flushed, chest heaving, Eleanor jerks her head toward the entrance, a clear invitation for them to get out. Jack opens his mouth to protest but decides against it, and glaring daggers at her, they exit the tent, leaving just her and him.

She doesn’t waste any time, shoving him back onto the pile of furs and straddling him.