#appetentia

me, loving on all your jack verses??

    Anne shoots Flint a look that’s a cross between confused and curious. “I don’t reckon lurin’ anyone to their deaths could be considered safe.” For any involved, really. The matter of getting a man alone was easily done with a pretty smile, a twirl of a ginger curl around a finger and a conveniently loose button that might pop if she breathes the wrong way. Were that man… so inclined. Seduction wasn’t her favourite way of getting a fella alone because the risks involved usually outweighed the gains. Anne’s nose, once button had been left a little crooked from a scuffle gone wrong once the rest of the crew had come into view.

He hadn’t lived long enough to regret that decision once James had gotten his hands on him after the fact. A broken nose was neither here nor there. She’s had worse – been shot once, stabbed twice and owned pretty hefty scars to prove it. “So long as the fella’s fond of women, I can lure as many as ye’d please to where ye need ‘em. Say the word, I’m yer lass.”

@appetentia

He wasn’t really surprised when he spotted the woman coming his way, after all, it had been months since the two last saw each other and he shifted some in order to allow her comfortable access to his lap. 

send flirtations you fools

Silver is not, in fact, looking. Rather - he isn’t looking at first, because he’s preoccupied with hauling himself aboard, passing his crutch off for someone to hold until he’s properly on deck. He takes the crutch back, and balances himself, and it’s only then that he recognises the feeling of being watched. 

It sends a curious feeling up the back of his neck. Before Silver even turns his head to look, he knows who it is. What he isn’t sure of is the look Flint was giving him. Silver’s first thought is that Flint might be angry, for one reason or another, and that he ought to deal with it; to defuse his temper before he unleashes it on the crew. But he’s seen Flint angry before. It doesn’t look like that.

Without reporting to Billy or DeGroot as he normally would, Silver simply makes his excuses and turns away - heading straight for the captain’s cabin, where he’s certain he just saw the tail of Flint’s coat disappear to. He knocks, but doesn’t wait to be invited in before entering.

“Would you stop that?” Silver muttered, without opening his eyes. “I can hear you over the rain.” He had curled himself back up in the makeshift bed by the window of Flint’s cabin, his back facing the glass. The sea was rough but not dangerous; the heavens had let loose hours ago and had not stopped since, rain pelting down on the ship and spattering over the glass windows. Silver, still in no condition to do anything but lie in bed and try not to scream every time he thought about the future unravelling ahead of him, had barely said a word since Flint returned to the cabin to read. He’d thought of asking for a book himself, but then the idea of trying to concentrate on reading when he was sick and in pain was too much, and he’d opted to nap instead. 

     excitement shone in calanthe’s eyes at the sight of her beloved cousin. her dear meve. she had something special prepared for her arrival, and she couldn’t wait to show her, knowing well enough that oh, she was going to love it! the newly crowned queen leaned softly against the other’s shoulder, a chuckle escaping full lips as she brushed them against the soft cheek. it felt so good to have her back. each time she had to go back to lyria, the ashen haired queen almost couldn’t bear the loneliness. 

The process of waking is every bit as unpleasant as the nightmare itself: there is pressure on his chest, and reality stabs through him and yanks him forcibly into wakefulness. Silver nearly screams: it’s cut off before it ever really begins, coming out as a short, muffled yelp, his body jerking under Flint’s hand before he forces himself to be still. He knows it’s Flint. He knows it’s him. But the terror doesn’t leave, and all Silver can do is lie there, frozen in place, breathing hard through his nose because he doesn’t dare make a sound even now.

It takes him a minute to realise he has one hand under his pillow, grasping for the knife there. It’s a miracle he didn’t pull it out and stab Flint without realising. It’s a miracle he was too scared to move.

“What is it?” Silver rasps, staring anxiously up at Flint in the dark. “What’s wrong?” The lanterns are out; there’s only moonlight, Flint’s face hidden in shadow, but Silver can see the flicker of his eyes. He still can’t move. The nightmare is already fading from memory, but it leaves behind an awful aftertaste. His heart won’t stop pounding. He tries to breathe evenly. More than that, he tries to keep hold of where he is, and when.

Those words seemed true the moment they were spoken, weren’t they? Not out of some cruel disdain, but an understanding years of wandering and fleeing had made them understand. Except, Adrian’s pain seemed younger while Sypha’s had soured and fermented long ago, a foul abscess still clinging to their heart. At the end of it all, even if Adrian sometimes mystified them, he was still one of their dearest friends. That would always be true, Sypha thought to themselves as they wordlessly took Adrian by around his shoulders and brought him near until their temples touched, a soft and strange motion reminiscent of two brothers. Friends. That’s what they were.