👏 – Ruffle my muse’s hair [ fOR THOMAS because guess who just remembered his Thing About His Hair and likes suffering ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

The reaction was involuntary and immediate as Thomas jerked away from the touch and stood sharply – he was already several steps away before his mind caught up to where he was and who he was with. He forced himself to stop moving, though the tension in his shoulders did not leave and the flight response still nagged at him.

He supposed it was because he hadn’t truly lost track of his surroundings. It was more that it didn’t matter that it had been James – he didn’t want anyone touching his hair without his permission. Not even his lover – if not especially him, for of all people, he ought to be the more aware of Thomas’ feelings in this regard.

Closing his eyes, Thomas took a steadying breath before acknowledging that James had never been good at reading people. It had, admittedly, been one of his more endearing qualities in the past. That it had not changed might have been heartwarming, if it wasn’t so frustrating in this particular regard.

Setting his book in front of him, pressing it firmly against his stomach as a grounding source – as a shield of sorts – he slowly turned and remarked stiffly, “I would prefer it if you would check with me before taking liberties with my person, going forward.”

It sounded cold in his own ears, and he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between wanting James to treat him normally – and knowing that in some things, he simply wasn’t what he used to be any longer. All he knew at the moment was he didn’t want this in particular, and that he hated not knowing precisely how to illustrate the difference.

Windows To The Past

@intolerablexsacrifice continued from [x]

He knew from the expressions both open and repressed that Flint had reached some conclusions – likely correct, and sure to bear questions in their wake. Yet there was nothing the man could do to him now that he could not escape. There was no benefit for Flint now that his reason for piracy had ripped reality out from under him. In truth – in this life Flint had damned himself to – Silver was one of the few things he had left. It granted security in revelation, even one as significant as this and that alone was what had afforded this moment to culminate into what it now was.

Still, he had no desire to give more at this juncture than what was needed to make the hell he was presently subjected to by way of Flint trying to pick his way through Don Quixote end. “Seeing as you seem determined to hack your way into it, I feel I have little choice in the matter unless I wish to be victim to that on a regular basis,” The retort was drawled in such a manner that it was clear he was still shaking off the nonsense he’d just heard, while simultaneously offering no further substance to Flint’s little observation.

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.

6. Share an anecdote

RAMBLY MCRAMBLES

😏 – Playfully headbutt my muse [ for Gates, because Flint is. LITERALLY a cat. A cat that likes to butter him up for nonsense. ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

“Nope.” Hal refused to be swayed by cuteness today. Absolutely refused. He was not going to budge –

Another nudge of Flint’s head against his shoulder and he could feel himself cave. It was like dealing with an overgrown cat – or worse, a very big toddler. Irritated with himself for being amused by the damn antics, he shifted just as Flint leaned in to try and get him again, looping an arm around his neck and hauling him in to knuckle the top of his head and fuss ginger locks into a nest so disastrous not even a seagull would love it.

“Alright you little shit,” He grumbled, “Fine,” He was going to regret this, “I’ll talk to Tabers for you – but no promises.” The captain was about as stubborn as this bratty redhead – though Hal had a feeling Tabers was going to meet his match in this boy yet. Heavens knew he was already done in by the little bastard!

💪 – 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.

😶 – 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.

😖 – Bury their face in my muse’s chest [ for thomas! probably bc he’s embarrassed! rip! ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

“Ah,” He had embarrassed his dear lieutenant once again it seemed. Smiling fondly, Thomas raised his hands to the man’s shoulders and began working them in a familiar massage. He waited patiently for James to gather himself, soothing away the alarm with his fingers until at last, those fascinating mix-colored eyes gazed up at him once more.

“Welcome back,” He did not grant any time for the return of nerves as he curled his fingers beneath a familiar chin and brought James up for a tender kiss. It was simply too easy to torment the poor man – sometimes Thomas simply couldn’t help himself. He really ought to hold back on his mischief a little bit, lest he give his dear lieutenant a complex.

💪 – Pick my muse up [ for abigail, jazzhands, it’s Probably Out Of Necessity ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

Abigail saw him coming, and hadn’t thought to be concerned until his large form bent over her, and she found herself caught up in a firm grip. Before she could even think, she was hauled up to her feet sharply and half-guided, half-dragged toward the treeline.

Understanding the need for stealth and swiftness from little more than his brisk attitude, Abigail bunched up what of her skirt she could manage around the journal in her hand and picked up the pace to better keep up with him. Once they were securely out of sight and he’d slowed down, she peered forward, all but peeking around his shoulder as she asked quietly, “Who are we hiding from?”

💓 ANOTHER FOR VANE WHY NOT

{ Learn To Make A Heart Flutter }

Trust him. Charles has a territorial streak a mile wide over what he considers his – be it a ship, an idea, or a person – and once he decides that it belongs to him there is no length he will not go to in order to protect and nurture that thing. In the case of people, one of the fastest ways to gain Charles’ protection and his care is to believe he will do what is right by his own.

To have faith that he will not steer things wrong and to accept his nature for what it is earns both his respect and his will to defend your right to be exactly who you are. Charles is mistaken for a lot of things and it is the people who see through these false ideas and register the truth of his actions – the people who stand by him and hold faith that his actions come from a place of staunch logic and particular morality – who have the highest chance of earning his friendship, and potentially his love.