💪 – 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.