This might as well happen.

intolerablexsacrifice‌:

~

_{Hal wasn’t drawing back, and he wasn’t relenting, either. What he was doing was making this entire situation worse (which until now had, in general, been Flint’s job – and even he would never pull this shit). Their foreheads were still resting together; Hal’s breath was on his face, his voice a rumble in the little space between them, and despite the fact that he was clearly referring to Flint snapping his fucking neck, the unusual tension between them simply wasn’t going away.}

_{His hands twitched. His body shifted under Gates, like he might be working himself up to start fighting again. That would have been the intelligent thing to do. At least, it would have been the intelligent thing to do in comparison to what Flint did do, which was decidedly up there on the list of stupid, impulsive decisions he’d made throughout his life.}

_{Flint kissed him. It took only the slightest tilt of his head to allow it, which in Flint’s mind was only proof that Hal should never have been this fucking close to his face in the first place. It was the briefest press of lips, but it was decidedly more than a peck, which could have been played off as a jest. This–could most assuredly not be played off. But what the fuck did Hal think was going to happen?}

_{Probably not this, Flint’s mind supplied helpfully, while he burned with adrenaline. Just about anything else, maybe.}

_{He was already trying to come up with some kind of excuse in his mind as he withdrew, wide-eyed and whole body burning (and shaking, which he supposed was only natural after kissing a man you had no business kissing). With nowhere else to look, Flint simply glared like this was Gates’ fault, and tilted his chin up slightly without a word.}

Perhaps he should not have provoked him.

In truth Hal couldn’t have said what possessed him to do it in the first place, but there was no denying the outcome was already leading to panic. He could feel the man shaking beneath him – and even if he couldn’t, the effort Flint’s face and neck were presently making to dress as one with his hair would have been a dead giveaway regardless.

So, this was a quandary if there ever was one. On the one hand, he still had Flint pinned ( and it had a whole new context thanks to that little bit of cheating on the captain’s end! ) and could certainly get on up out of here well before the damn spitfire registered he’d bolted for it. On the other hand –

Ah, fuck it. Whatever remained of his immortal soul already had it’s soul nailed to this fucking idiot anyway. What was another sin for the coffin?

“That was shit.” A rude critique, but it was true – barely a fucking peck, and hardly anything to brag about. Lifting up, Hal kept his grip and shifted so that he could get up and haul Flint with him. Once they both had their feet under them, Hal was good enough to give Flint his arms back – bu only so as to reach up and yank his lanky ass in for a proper kiss.

This might as well happen.

intolerablexsacrifice‌:

~

He doesn’t know what the fuck he expected, but this most certainly wasn’t on the list. Retaliation had been inevitable; Flint had known that from the moment his anger snapped him into motion. A punch, or a shove, or a fucking slap, he might have expected. But Hal slamming him into the floor and keeping him there?

He stares at him, wheezing a little. There’s a brief struggle as soon as he can breathe again, Flint’s hips lifting and twisting as he tries to wriggle out from under the bastard to no avail. He shoves uselessly at Hal’s knees, glaring silently up at him. The back of his neck is burning. Sitting on him like this is one thing- does he have to just look at him like that, too? Smug bastard.

“That you’re fucking heavy, for one thing.” That Hal could probably break Flint in half, for another, but Flint’s fairly certain that’s always been true, even before Hal became–whatever he is now. Flint narrows his eyes, waiting until he’s sure he’s fully composed himself before reaching to grapple with the bastard again, throwing his whole damn body into the effort of getting Gates off of him. He very likely looks like a fish struggling out of water, hair all over the place and body contorting, but that’s an indignity he’ll take any day over just lying there under him in defeat.

Hal huffed at that, “Now you’re just being rude,” The admonishment was lost a moment as Flint took this opportunity to flail at him – but seeing as there was nothing actually in reach to smash him with the man was all but sailing upstream without a wind.

“You done?” He asked as he rode this out, only to have to lean back as Flint swiped at him like an angry cat. Well enough of that then.

Grabbing the flailing arms, he brought them together and locked them in his grip so that all Flint could really do was buck and wriggle – which admittedly probably was not the best look. Heaving a sigh, he shifted, locking their position again and leaning down suddenly to press his forehead to Flint’s while still maintaining his grip – considering using the shadows to bind the man if he had to but hoping that the very unexpected headbump might knock the fight out of him more effectively.

[intolerablexsacrifice, for Thomas, pick a verse any verse] 💖 Lean in to give my muse a sweet/chaste kiss

{ Nonverbal Starters }

Oh Heavens, look. The dear thing thought himself clever. Thomas maintained an uninterested expression – his focus seemingly on the sea, and the horizon it reached to. When James was just close enough he couldn’t escape, he turned what had likely been meant as a sweet kiss on the cheek into something a little more – intense.

They had plenty of time, of course – with the night settling in, there was little to be done but rest. Leaning away, Thomas gave his dear lieutenant – ah, captain, – a wink before patting his chest and moving to step past him. Admittedly expecting him to be frozen enough not to react just yet – but, then, it had been ten years….

Who knew what else might have changed, aside from a simple surname.

@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

[intolerablexsacrifice, for Abigail] 🥣 Bring my muse soup/medicine when they are sick [ listen let her be thomas & james’ neighbour or some shit ]

{ Nonverbal Starters }

The sound of his boots could have been likened to thunder against the crashing ache inside her head, and it was all she could do not to bury herself under the covers like a child to escape being seen in so pitiful a manner as this. Still, in the end, she did sit herself up – pressing her back against the wall so as not to lose all sense of equilibrium in so doing – and found that in the time it took her to adjust comfortably, he had already set something down on the bedside table.

Silence reigned a moment as she observed the hot soup, something strange twisting up inside of her that she could not place. It had been years – years now since Charlestown, and all that she had lost. She had learned to manage for herself, had learned to keep going even when she was absolutely miserable with a cold, and she knew she could have managed this one just as well.

Gazing up at him, she found she couldn’t quite speak past the lump in her throat as she realized that this was the first time someone had cared for her, completely without prompting, since Miss Barlow had encouraged her through a letter to follow Eleanor. Her time with the woman had been short, but unfailingly kind – and of course, before then, she’d had her father, and her handmaiden –

Forcing herself to breathe, finding the ache in her head and chest only made worse with emotions could both be eased by focusing on her lungs for a time, she offered a smile as she reached out, gripping the bowl with care and finding at last, something to say as the heat brought reality to her palm, and woke her back to the present.

“You didn’t have to do this,” She drew the bowl into her lap, curious to why he had, or if perhaps it had been Thomas who had set him to it, “Thank you – it’s very kind.”

@intolerablexsacrifice

[intolerablexsacrifice, for Abigail] 💥 Try to calm my muse during an overwhelming emotional moment

{ Nonverbal Starters }

“Stop,” She could not bear yelling, even now after so long and far away from how she was raised, it rankled against everything that felt proper to raise her voice any higher than it was now – and maybe that was the problem. Maybe if she did let herself yell – maybe if she did opt to exorcise her demons in some unholy scream of fury she might feel better.

But the last woman to do that had ended up dead on a dining room floor, so maybe it wasn’t propriety that chained her voice after all.

Taking a shaking breath, she eased herself farther away from him – needing space, needing to breathe without feeling as though each fill of her lungs was taking in more poison than clarity. “I don’t need you to tell me how to feel.”

Was she really addressing him? Or the ghost inside her mind that still sounded ever like her father? Opening her eyes, she made herself take in the man before her. A wide, mismatched gaze that did not beseech as much as it insisted, an abortive motion of a calloused hand that sated itself by furling and unfurling it’s fingers at a side that was too still by contrast. A beard that did nothing to hide the twisting twitch of his lips, but rather framed them in a way that made each flicker all the more notable. He was nothing like her father – and that alone was enough to banish the last lingering whisper of the man’s ghost, for now.

“There is nothing that I can say right now that won’t be hurtful in some way. You understand that, don’t you? That you’re the last person I can talk to about this? About missing him? Regardless – regardless of everything he did to you – he was still my father.” And there were days when she hated admitting it. Hated that such a man had raised her – and how much she still loved him.

Worse – there were days when she hated the felt like she felt she should have to hate him. Days when she wished she had never gone with Eleanor Guthrie, and had just waited for her ransom to be paid, because then she could have gone on seeing pirates as blackguards with no interests beyond their own personal gains, rather than human beings as flawed as any other – and more willing to show the truth of their ugliness. She would never know the kind of man her father truly was – and it would be terrible, but blissful, in a manner only ignorance could provide.

“Please – just. Go.” She just needed some time today. It would pass. It always did. Birthdays only came once a year, and all the memories and regrets that came with them would fade in the light of tomorrow.

@intolerablexsacrifice

❝ it’s the same story over & over again. you’d think people would know better by now. ❞ [ @ weatherby, from one (1) cynical james mcgraw ]

{ 100 Random Starters }

The smile that crossed Weatherby’s features was a patient one, even if he felt anything but at present. Hands folded behind his back spoke more to his posture than to what he was hiding, which was just as well considering his grip was so tense it announced only too clearly his displeasure with their present discourse.

“You have, perhaps, become quite accustomed to the Hamiltons and their view of the world,” He observed mildly, neither condemning nor condoning said worldview, “But you were not always so understanding of their ideas. Perhaps it would behoove you to think back on your own stances, to the way you viewed the world before, and consider both how and why you shifted your position. If you wish for people to – as you say – know better – then perhaps you should start by considering how information is being introduced or withheld. Not all of us can be so lucky in our enlightenment as to have friends like the Hamiltons, after all.”

[intolerablexsacrifice, for Theodore] 👗 Fix/Straighten my muse’s clothes [ FUSSY DOMESTIC CARROT CAKE REQUIRES AN OUTLET FOR IT ]

{ Nonverbal Starters }

The tugging on his shirt sleeves stills him, and after a brief time finding himself brusquely adjusted, he could not help but smile. “I’ve gotten too comfortable among the crew, I think.” He had not lost his naval discipline by any stretch – rather, he recognized the fact that adhering to it when he needed to appeal himself to pirates would not be at all endearing, and so he had endeavored to relent in certain areas that were more immediately notable, to make it easier for them to accept him. Now, it came without thought – though he supposed there were limits to it. “Thank you,” He offered, making a note of what the captain preferred, so he might be able to replicate it consistently.

@intolerablexsacrifice

Flint seems to stay in Theo’s orbit, now and then- brushes past him with a pat to the arm, or lingers nearby without touching at all, like a cat keeping company. It’s no secret that Flint’s allies have tired of him; with Silver gone, there’s no disguising that he is now tolerated for his utility, and nothing more. It’s perhaps no surprise, then, that he’s driven to seek Theo’s company this evening, and settles a little closer than usual. “You don’t seem concerned by the tension in this place.”

He has grown accustomed to Flint’s presence – having sought it out himself, Theodore can only presume the man found some sort of solace in the closeness now that he registered it as permissible. It was interesting to note though, that as the crew seemed to distance itself all the more from the captain, the man himself seemed drawn closer still. It was difficult to tell if he had always been comfortable this close, or if it was simply more notable, now that everyone else was so keen on being as far away as possible.

The remark, when it came, draws Theodore’s gaze from the book in his hand, and he is thoughtful a moment before pointing out simply, “The world is full of tension. You can either freeze up, or continue to move freely through it – personally, I have never been a fan of stiffness in day to day matters, so I prefer to simply behave normally whether those around me are capable of doing the same or not.”

Closing his book, Theodore leaned back, smiling a little as he confessed, “When it becomes a problem for me, I will address it – but for now, these concerns and frustrations are not something that really involve me. What purpose does it serve to allow my own humors to be set out of alignment over something that won’t shift my position either way?”

‘so many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed.’ [ @ author!abigail! ]

{ The Heart Of Everything }

Her heart is still racing in her chest, the violence of the moment rendering her immobile in all but the pounding behind her breast, as if her heart were a bird trapped in a cage, desperate to escape the cat perched upon the sofa. Red stains the pages of her work, bleeding the ink and drowning demons in it’s wake, an eerie and poetic sight in the face of the one her words had summoned.

She hadn’t heard him coming up the stairs – hadn’t heard the door open, either. When the ink fell from her quill so readily, the words forming faster than she could pen them down, the whole world shut itself off. She lost track of where she was, of who she was with – and today, she lost track of reality itself.

It hadn’t been Captain Flint that entered her room – nor had it been James McGraw. When she heard his voice, she’d gotten up so fast she’d knocked over the wine – forgotten from dinner – and contronted Redbeard without thought. He was so alive in her mind, in that moment, that who else could it have possibly been?

Now, as the world came back to her, she found herself at a loss. His words were profoundly painful, in the light of her story – but in the shadows of the day they held deeper and more personal meaning. She took a shuddering breath, and after a moment of regaining herself, she thought back on what she had asked her character.

“What would you say to her if you could?”

She took another breath, closing her eyes and willing her heart to slow down, to beat in silence rather than raise all this painful noise in her chest. Opening them, she faced him again – all of him. The man who lost her – the demon who walked beside her – the character who lived with her only in the stories fashioned by a young woman who had barely known any of them. The man, the demon, or the woman.

Lifting her chin, she addressed them all, on behalf of herself only for the fact she could not bring voice to a dead woman without a pen, and would not dare to try even if she could.

“How long will you focus on what you lost, in pursuit of what you now have?” She stepped forward, beseeching his pain, and bidding him to let it go before it consumed him in ways not even Thomas could heal. “When will you say, I won’t lose what I have, instead of, look what I lost to get it?”