👌 Push my muse down and give them a massage | TF’s Joji to Charles.

Anyone else, and this would have ended in a very different fashion. Charles remained wary in spite of his present compliance, and with the rather grim awareness that it was counterproductive to the other man’s efforts.

On the one hand, he knew what Joji was capable of – and frankly after the fuck of a day he’d had, he could use the attention. On the other hand, there was still a great deal outside of this cabin that was not yet managed in a way he felt wholly comfortable with, and as long as there was a threat the concept of relaxing was as foreign as the man working his muscles into something vaguely resembling suppleness.

He knew the crew could manage it. Fuck, Anne could manage a good sixty percent of this island by herself if she was of a mind to – of that, he had no doubt. More than enough corpses piled up at her feet to make that irrefutable, and if it meant she had to work with someone to achieve a bigger body count from time to time, he knew there were people who’d rather follow her than stand against her.

Rackham might not have been able to fight his way out of a sandcastle, but he was smart enough to keep the crew maneuverable, and ensure that nothing would get to fucked up if Charles let himself indulge for a few hours – not to mention Joji himself, if everything went straight to shit, was plenty capable of shifting from calm to untouchable force of nature if it called for it.

Yet despite knowing all of this, relaxation just wasn’t coming. And after a good five or so minutes of letting the man work, he twisted himself back up and moved away, shaking his head. He didn’t need to explain shit to Joji – one of the great things about the man’s silence was it meant he could keep his own, and still make shit perfectly clear.

Until the fires died down, nobody on the Ranger would rest. And if they kept burning, then the crew might well have to prepare to go and put them out.

Permanently.

@tidefated

[intolerablexsacrifice, for Vane in That Verse] 😬 Snarl/show teeth at my muse [ i’m sorry you have to regularly check on a DEFENSIVE ANIMAL at this point ]

{ Nonverbal Starters }

“Well aren’t we fucking petrifying,” The tone could not have been more scathing if he tried, fucked vocal chords be damned. He was getting damned sick of this – there was no telling what he would encounter when he showed up here, which was irritating enough as it was – but every time Flint tried to take his shit out on him was a waste of his fucking time.

There was no sport in fighting a man whose only reason for it was pain. He’d been there himself enough times to know the look – to know a man who wanted to hurt just so he could feel something other than the fucking dogs at his heels, the emotions making a fucking disaster of everything else. Pain could be a clarifying thing – but it was also procrastination, a refusal to turn around and shoot those fucking dogs – and Charles would be damned before he was anyone’s fucking distraction twice in one lifetime.

“You want a fight, Flint, how about I bring him over for a visit so you can get this shit over with?” Honestly, he’d almost like to see it. Hamilton fought like a man possessed by devils, and Flint fought like a man whose only opponents were devils, so who the fuck needed rules? It’d be a fucking showdown to talk about, and if it put an end to this infernal moping, good riddance.

@intolerablexsacrifice

[intolerablexsacrifice, for Vane in That Verse] ✨ Playfully shove my muse’s shoulder [ :3 ]

{ Nonverbal Starters }

“Watch it,” The warning tone was belied only by the amusement on his expression, “Unless you want folk to start thinking you’ve crawled out of your depression pit.”

It was fucking good to see the man acting human though, no doubt about that. It was reaching the point Charles had genuinely considered asking Rackham if not shooting Flint at this point was doing him a disservice. There had to be a point when a man got back up – or those around him just accepted the fact he never fucking would.

Gates and Silver might be willing to let this fuck languish around and rot, but if all he was going to do was bloat himself in the interior and refuse to make anything of himself then what point was there in living and wasting valuable resources?

“Come on.” He offered no further explanation than that as he headed off – either Flint would follow, or he would slink back into his hole. Whatever action he chose would tell all that needed to be said on whether or not he was genuinely getting better, or just being a prick.

@intolerablexsacrifice

In What We Hide

@tidefated continued from [x]

The question sounded like the kind of thing a man didn’t want an answer to – either because he already knew his thoughts on the matter, or he intended to make a point through the inquiry itself. For that reason, Charles maintained a steady silence in its wake, which proved to be the proper course as William carried on.

He was a strange sort of man, and it was at times like these Charles found himself reminded as to why he had taken interest enough in him to begin with, to have Rackham run him through the duties expected of a man aboard the Ranger.

Although the other man captained Fancy and was no longer technically quartermaster to Ranger, the two ships operated in perfect tandem together, resulting in their crews tending to share space and resources often enough that come hiring rounds, Charles and Jack would head out together, their respective quartermasters minding the men as they set to work hiring for a combined crew.

William was a man who at times appeared too soft for this life, and at others – such as this moment – where he seemed to lack anything resembling fear as he challenged Charles on what appeared to be some sort of philosophical level. There were contradictions to the man that were beyond fascinating, but as it was Charles could tell the rhetoric had reached an end, and sought an answer in its wake.

“If these ideas are a comfort to you, then I see no reason why you should not keep them,” Charles was not a man for philosophical arguments – a man’s beliefs were his own, and it was not for other men to sway them unless it held some sort of personal benefit to do so. Manipulating a man through his philosophies was the sort of intellectual warfare that set people apart from others – Charles himself had met many masters of the craft – but it was not his strong suit, so he did not partake unless he felt it absolutely necessary to achieving his own ends.

“I do wonder what you hope to accomplish by sharing them.” Was William perhaps attempting to manipulate Charles into revealing some better side of himself – or was the man working to delude himself into an idea of who Charles Vane was, and seeking to shroud himself with false comforts to escape the reality of him?

vengefulpath:

~

“This?” His words are slurred, expression dazed. He’s miking it – but Charles doesn’t need to know that. His face hurts well enough to remind him not to bring on round two so soon after such a spectacularly drawn out round one. “Oh, uh. Nothing. Tripped.” Into someone’s fist. Yeah, he’s not making any friends, and about the only thing useful he’s learned on this damned island is that Charles Vane was a man with a reputation.

A man, who, also likes iguanas.

“So, you have a few as pets or do you just, you know.” He gestures vaguely around. “-watch?”

Satisfied the man before him seemed more afflicted by pain beset on him through fucking around with the wrong kind of people, Charles exhaled the burn that had been resting in his lungs slowly, his disinterest rather clear. Nassau had troublemakers, but none were fool enough to tussle with him while he was sober.

“Any man who thinks he can keep an animal is a fucking idiot.” Like people, animals were beings unto themselves – they stuck around if it pleased them to do so, and left when it was no longer beneficial. Though admittedly, animals were a great deal more honest about that reality than people were – which was indeed what made this notion of ‘pets’ so goddamn ridiculous.

Flicking ash off his

cheroot, he eyed the other quietly, then, “I let them be. If one happens to come along I won’t let anyone fuck with it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

vengefulpath:

@oceanfoamed

“So you like Iguanas?” Ignore the blood on his face, the evidence of a tussle. He’s more interested in Charles’ thing for lizards than the fact he just had his ass handed to him.

The blood on his face in conjunction with that particular opening does not endear this man to Charles even one iota. “The fuck you do?” If you killed an iguana he may have no choice but to feed you to it’s brothers.

Silence Hits So Hard

@intolerablexsacrifice continued from [x]

As had become customary after landing in Nassau and setting Jack and Anne in charge of distribution, payment and supply, Charles had gathered the small oilskin bundle that consisted of Flint’s share. He had talked it over with Thomas before setting it down in the books – an unofficial thing between the men themselves, notarized to spare questioning from the men on the rare account something valuable was included.

A portion of what was meant for Thomas went to Flint and Charles knew enough about the complications there to recognize that no matter which way the wind ended up blowing, it was not something Thomas would change until he felt Flint was standing well on his own two feet. Admittedly, Charles had thought the man was doing better – but it seemed that either the Ranger had been gone for far too long, or something had snapped off again.

He’d taken one step into the small house hidden away in the interior and – upon noting where Flint had hidden himself – turned and walked right back out. It took longer than he cared to admit to hassle some men into assisting him, but the supplies he needed were brought over and he took care of the rest himself. His actions were quiet, and he kept an eye on Flint the whole while – but the man either did not register him, or did not care to know what he was doing. Not until Charles finally went to gather him at any rate.

The sourness of the entire place was sharper and more potent this close to the goddamn source, and Charles bit back the urge to cough from it as Flint snarled like a cornered animal. Having no time for this bullshit, he answered by physically dragging the man to the washroom and pushing him in roughly. A bath laid ready and waiting, as did a change of clothes.

“Unless you want me to take care of this, too, shut the fuck up and wash,” The tone broke no room for argument – if Flint put up a fuss there was no doubt that Charles would find a way to force him into that tub, and it wouldn’t be a good day for anyone involved. “Don’t come out until you smell like a human rather than a bloated rat carcass.”

Seeing as that would likely take at least thirty minutes or more, Charles knew he’d have time enough to get this place in order. Some of it would have to be replaced, but that which didn’t could at least be cleaned up.

😶 | TF’s Joji to Charles

{ Touch Starved Meme }

The lean up against his side earns a look, but as soon as he recognizes who it is, there is an ease to which his body relaxes and presses back against the other. There were not many who could get away with sliding up against him like this, but Joji was among the select few whom Charles felt comfortable enough with to have within his physical sphere.

He didn’t say anything – companionable silence was to be expected with this man in particular, and after a night spent listening to Jack talk circles around everyone in the room, only to get challenged by Gates, who built walls with his words that Jack and Eleanor then maneuvered up and over and around – silence was a much desired and needed respite at the moment.

😶 – Quietly lean against my muse [ for Vane, in That Verse, RIP ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

The dynamic between himself and Flint had shifted dramatically since Charlestown – though nothing from that point could have indicated to him that matters would culminate into what they were now. It was like two tigers that had held territorial dispute for years, only for one of them to get caught in a poacher’s trap and the other to inherit everything. Yet unable to leave it’s fellow to die, it began looking after it – defending and caring for it – until its old rival was in fact a brother, a comrade it would defend to the last breath.

The wounded one hadn’t lost its claws – it was still as strong and as terrible as ever – but it was slower to engage. Quieter than it used to be, less interested in the things that used to be exciting, less engaged in the things it ought to do in order to survive. It could recover – but so long as it was too hurt inside to overcome the attack, it needed another – and moments like these, when Flint leaned on him in silence like an old friend, were indicators that the hurt was still bleeding somewhere deep within.

Charles did not draw away – nor did he draw any particular attention to the contact between them beyond a slight lean of his own, increasing the solidity of their position. Silently assuring that so long as Flint needed strength, he could rely on Charles to provide it whenever he was present.

The book in the other’s hand had fallen lax, and seemed to be drooping toward the floor. Quietly, he reached out and collected it, glancing to see if the man was awake or if he had fallen asleep. From the glassy stare, Charles deduced he was somewhere in between both and turned the book over in his hand, peering grimly at the pages before him.

Teach had taught him letters, the art of reading and writing. It was not his strength, but Rackham made him keep up on it, insisting it was a valuable skill set – and it had proven to be so a few times, when the other man hadn’t been available to consult on something. This was – a different matter altogether, but he was not equipped to deal with Flint’s wounds the way he could stitch up a crew mate, or plug a hole on a ship. This was – stranger, than any of that, but queerly familiar enough that he had some fundamental understandings. One of which was that the state Flint was presently in was not safe, and he needed to be drawn out of it.

Huffing softly, he set his hand on the page, and began to read the words aloud, hoping his voice and the phrases from the book might stir the man out of his stupor. “By MANNERS, I mean not here, Decency of behaviour; as how one man should salute another, or how a man should wash his mouth, or pick his teeth before company,” Charles paused – and as a man who read slowly, it might not have been too notable overall as he tilted his head a bit slightly at the book because frankly he’d been unaware there were particulars in how one picked their teeth.

Carrying on dutifully, however, Charles maintained his slow but steady passage down the page. “- and such other points of the Small Morals; But those qualities of man-kind, that concern their living together in Peace, and Unity. To which end we are to consider, that the Felicity of this life, consist not in the repose of a mind satisfied. For there is no such – such – “

The fuck is that, Charles fell off, staring and trying to make sense of the letters, before sliding the book back to Flint helplessly, because that didn’t look like English – and if it was, it was no word he had heard before or knew to pronounce.

“How long have you been out here?” | TF’s Edward to Charles

{ Isolation Starters }

He recognized the voice even as he turned to face it, and sure enough he found himself in the presence of Horatio’s commander, captain Pellew. They’d split off nearly two months ago – Horatio to work on maneuvering the frigate to the south side island without cluing this very man into the fact he was ferrying them to tasks both dangerous and incriminating if the admiralty were to catch wind of it. The intention was for Charles to cross the island and meet up with the ship on the other side, taking care of the job on land in the meanwhile.

Things had not gone according to plan though, and Charles had known it when the storm struck that his chances of actually being recovered again were damned slim. Still, he’d gone to the area he was supposed to be at and he’d waited. When he became too hungry and cold to wait any longer he had slipped back into the trees and settled in for the long haul. He knew he would not be abandoned indefinitely, but there was no reason to let himself suffer while awaiting Horatio’s inevitable return.

What he had not anticipated was getting picked up by Pellew – at least, not without Horatio in tow. That told him two things – either Horatio had overestimated Pellew’s goodwill and was now presently hanging at the gallows for witchcraft, or the clever little witch had slipped off to continue their work and Pellew had found him independently in the meanwhile.

This man was a safety beacon to Horatio – the witch would find his way back to Pellew, so it would be wise to linger with him and make it easier. So he answered semi honestly with, “Lost track – more than a month, to be sure, but less than three.” Which was precisely around the time that the Indefatigable had been in this region, stopping for water and game. “Guess I didn’t get back in time for setting sail.” There was no blame in his tone – he hadn’t meant to be on time for it, after all. “I’m guessing you’re not back for me, though.” This was a common trade stop, after all.