TEMPEST

KING

[perfectmetaphore]

And your threats and your promises, they don't scare me. After all there's nobody more monstrous Than me

A story is true. A story is untrue. Indie rp blog for John Silver from Black Sails. Selective/sporadic activity/crossover and oc friendly - penned by Sara/surkål 30+.

Due to the show's genre there will be violence and dark themes present so I ask, for my own comfort, that only 21+ interact. If you are easily triggered then this is not the place<3

Discord is available upon request, mutuals only. Ims are open for plotting always

Other than that. Let's have have fun and forget reality for a while.

Sideblogs under the cut.

Other blogs:

@pasthauntings - mostly age of sails or dragon age related, but there are a variety of other muses as well. Sporadic activity. (side-blog) @willixmbush - William Bush | Hornblower. moved to pasthauntings.

[commodoresays]

Black Sails text post, Oops! All Silver Edition

[nolegacies]

For someone that prided himself on seeing every angle and hearing every word between aaaallll the other words---malice sticks in Billy's eyes before its hurled side long--John Silver is so easy to fucking fool on the surface level. So easy to maneuver around when you know where his blind spots are. And Billy remembers a few of the old ones. Will use those old ones to discover any new ones that might have been formed over the years.

Because like John had so many years before Billy has that now. A kind of loyalty that will have certain people doing anything and everything asked of them without question. To be eyes and ears in places he's sure John Silver doesn't even know Billy knows exists. To be able to sneak a little sniper into John's apartment with no one else non the wiser. That Billy has learned how to take what he sees and use it to his fucking advantage. Or in this case--John's advantage. Because thank the fucking devil the little fuck took them.

Billy 1 John 2

A slow moving almost painfully none existent shake of his head. Of course John would stick on that part of what he said. Of course he would. Only part John ever fucking hears. Hates that title so fucking much, isn't who he was. Isn't who he wanted to be.

Right...my bad. And the ducks die bloody and broken on the tip of his teeth.

There's a disbelieving if not painfully short lived giggle. There's no other word for it. Shoulders shuddering out of alignment. A head dropping and his mouth stitching up in odd direction. Finger that scratch an imagined itch at the back of his head.

Oh that's fucking rich.

Did John Silver honestly think any of them turned out to be who they wanted? He doubts even Flint did in the end. One small comfort Billy Bones takes away from the entire fucking nightmare. Flint hadn't gotten what he wanted in the end either. A vault deep in the Antarctic ocean was proof of that.

Still the maybe confession about Madi stings. Puts a scowl on Billy's face that just doesn't fit right. His gaze dropping from the horizon to the deck beneath them. Pushes the confession--John has every right to know about---back into the dark. No, its pointless. All it would do is cause more turmoil. More round and round we go. Where it stops---

Oh.

All the air is pushed out of his lungs. Eyes close and a jaw sets. Pushing the images John paints across his mind without his consent away as fast as they can form. Vinegar on the burns. It makes his stomach churn, dredges up the times that--

No. No, because of course John's the only one that's ever lost hope like that. Because he's the only one that's looked at the choice between living and dying and thought how fucking sweet the second would be. The only one that had taken door number two twice just to escape. The only one that had done it again and again and again after undeath came; spaced out and nothing anyone would notice, just to live a thousand life times if he lived one with--well it doesn't matter anyway. It hadn't happened in a century. And blue opens again, mere slits as fingers worry the leather on a right arm.

I am so tired of oceans, ships and Flint. Jesus fucking Christ

Its like taking a bullet to the chest after taking body blows all day. It's like having someone tell him that everything that defines the life they had shared with him--did nothing but exhaust them. It was like someone telling him he's exhausting because he reminded them of every wrong done, and bad choice. And there's a scoff isn't there? One that cuts down through all the bullshit. All the woe is me's all the none of us got away clean. The fucking lie that none of them were safe until they all were.

"If our---past so offends....then why are you even here John?"

It isn't loud it isn't quiet. If anything its so entirely devoid of everything in general it might as well be smoke. He hadn't meant to let it out. Hell it hadn't even been a line of ducks he even knew was on the schedule. It had just dove off his tongue so quickly he hadn't had time to catch it. Or to tell it no.

"You could have stayed behind...you--you could have left it to me to handle. If everything about m--if--next time I'll let it sink shall I?"

For all that he half chokes on the words, there's no malice in them. No begging for anything. Just acknowledgement that he knows where he stands. He's known it for almost three centuries. That all Billy is is just another ghost in John Silver's tragic backstory. Just another name in a very long list of them at the end of a book written in blood. Just a looming character who dies as a fucking plot point for better fiction.

Or maybe he's still in limbo from all those years over years ago. Maybe his body still lies forgotten beyond the range of the sea. Perhaps he can go mad here. And maybe just maybe that's exactly what Billy Bones is.

Mad and trapped inside the worlds of his own making. Trapped in a hell he could never explain to another person even if he tried. And a much too big drink of rum is sucked down to keep himself from choking on the bile of it.

[perfectmetaphore]

The pills takes too fucking long to work. They always do, but it is always his own fault because he never takes them at the right time. Always waits until the pain is as unbearable as everything else in this horrid world he lives in. Yes, perhaps he has pretended to enjoy his eternal life, but it's been nothing but misery. He has watched people die around him, watched people reach that final day of their lives where they can just-- rest. And Silver has stood on the side, wishing, that one day his time will come. It won't. Not for a long time, if ever.

So when Billy speaks Silver's attention snaps to him. It is confusion and anger. A look of disbelief that crosses over his features. His eyes squint, brows furrowed even deeper as lips draw back as if ready for a fight.

"Are you fucking serious?"

He doesn't move, doesn't want to risk it when his leg is already threatening to end him, or at the very least floor him for the rest of this shitty day. Mouth is parted. It is not a pretty look the scowl he gives Billy. It is closer to a snarl, bared fangs.

Is this what they are doing then? Bringing up old wounds and tear them open until they bleed fresh all over this dumb shiny deck of Billy's super boat. Well... so fucking be it. Hands balls into fists, a thunderous look in his eyes.

"Our past? When did I mention that, hm? Did I say it out loud, Billy, that our past offends me? No, I did not. But I am fucking tired of THE past. I am fucking tired of being reminded DAILY what a fucking horrible man I was and still am. If this is what you think of me? That I regret what we had or what I thought we still have, then Jesus fucking Christ..."

A huff of a laugh but without humour. This one is mocking, irritated. A hand moves, fingers cards through his hair to push away stray curls. He looks away, the scowl becomes a half smile of disbelief. Shoulders, tense and defensive. That's just fucking great, isn't it?

"I could have stayed behind. Thought about it and maybe I should have. But then I also thought you weren't such a fucking coward, or maybe it's just me that are making you flee. Are you scared of me? Or are you so repulsed that you cannot see a way to accept me back?"

He speaks through gritted teeth and looks back at Billy. The fury in his eyes doesn't lessen, if anything there is a flash of hurt from his own words. Sharp slashes from a blade that is his tongue. For words can cut even deeper than any blade ever could.

"Which is it, Billy?"

[qwink-beep]

how to flint flirt with men 101

S1E2

[perfectmetaphore]

i wanna write hugs and kisses. like this if you want one or the other, or both.

[perfectmetaphore]

i have an 11 hours shift today. i am already so done with this day.

[perfectmetaphore]

my anger today is just burning. send help.

[hatigave]

liquid  coats  her  hands.  drips  down  her  left  wrist  steadily  and  surely,  warm  and  sticky.  the  hilt  of  her  dagger  in  her  hand  is  equally  affected  as  it  rests  in  her  right.  blade  sinks  in  deeper        ;      draws  out  even  more  juice  from  a  ripe  orange  through  the  gash  across  its  vibrant  skin.  adelé  is  far  from  a  sentimental  creature  .  .  .  often  too  occupied  with  looking  ahead  to  recall  the  joys  of  what  was  left  behind,  but  when  she  gets  to  gut  oranges  like  lesser  men,  it  is  almost  like  childhood  never  faded.

❝  want  one  ?  ❞  fruit  is  tossed  into  his  direction  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  a  testament  of  faith  that  his  hands  will  not  allow  it  to  stain  the  ground  with  ripe  citrus.  ❝  you'll  have  to  gut  it  yourself  .  .  .  unless  you  have  loyal  subjects  to  do  such  things  for  you  now.  ❞

𖹭 ⎯ @perfectmetaphore & adelé

[perfectmetaphore]

The circles under his eyes are dark. Deep and hollowing him out like the ghost of a man he has become. The memory of the man he used to be-- someone with hope. Someone with a spark in his eye. Mischief and easy smiles. Not anymore. These days he looks more like a wraith than anything. Something dark and supernatural.

Fingers dressed in jewellery rest on top of his trusty crutch, his lifeline these days, for without it he is useless. He might fool the men around them with his stoic and seething look, but her-- he isn't sure he can fool her. So when the orange is tossed his way, he catches it a little too easy. Instinct becomes an automatic thing.

Sharp eyes that watch everything. Reacts to everything.

He smirks. Allows a dark chuckle to fall from him, wary and tired, but it does nothing to lessen the eerie energy that falls over the room. Long John Silver holds the room, fills it with a cold silence that makes most men hold their breaths, but between them, he almost allows himself to relax.

"Oh, I wouldn't trust anyone to do me such a kindness without the fear of poison"

[perfectmetaphore]

i have an 11 hours shift today. i am already so done with this day.

[ryuutales]

2x05 | 4x09

“It isn’t utility that’s behind his investment in me. Nor necessity, nor dependency. I have earned his respect. I have earned his trust. I have his true friendship, and so he is going to have mine. And as long as that is true, I cannot imagine what is possible.”

[zachrp]

ᝰ🚬 𝚉𝙰𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙿 .ᐟ (REQUESTED) RANDOM VAMPIRE-THEMED DIALOGUE + ACTION PROMPTS. CHANGE ANY PRONOUNS IF NECESSARY. SOME MATURE THEMES MAY BE PRESENT.

DIALOGUE

blood tastes different under moonlight.

i don't need permission from the dark.

that scar wasn't from feeding.

you hear footsteps. i hear veins.

you should stop trusting monsters.

i prefer alleys. less witnesses.

i hate how much i want you.

this is the part where you're supposed to be afraid.

i don't need your blood. i want it.

i don't turn people lightly.

i don't chase unless i mean to kill.

you smell different when you're afraid.

i never feed where i live.

nightfall is my beginning.

you're not afraid enough.

hunger doesn't make me cruel. it makes me honest.

i hunt by instinct, not thought.

i can't remember the last time i watched the sun rise.

you won't survive loving me.

stay still. i'm trying to be gentle.

you're warm. god, you're warm.

i won't feed unless you ask me to.

i haven't tasted fresh blood since yesterday.

i could hear your heart from across the room.

the night forgives nothing, it only hides it.

the night remembers what the sun forgets.

you'd make a terrible vampire.

you're not prey if i choose you.

i can hear your pulse speeding up.

i hear you even when you're quiet.

that's not hunger you're feeling.

you glow when you're alive.

i fed poorly tonight. i'm still starving.

the night belongs to us.

don't move. you'll only make it worse.

you don't know what you're offering.

you taste like you want to be kept.

don't bare your throat at me like that.

i don't hunt children. i don't hunt lovers.

prey always thinks it has time.

the city exhales at night.

running only makes the blood warmer.

i feed quickly. mercy is efficiency.

i could make this hurt. i won't.

i don't sleep anymore. i wait.

i mark my territory in subtler ways.

i fed already. this is something else.

don't ask me to choose between you and hunger.

you bleed so easily.

you should be running.

cities sound different after midnight.

you're safe. for now.

you won't look at me the same after this.

i only hunt when the moon is high.

the dark knows me.

night hides sins better than daylight ever could.

i hunt better when i'm hungry.

i don't need blood often. i need it precisely.

blood is louder than screams.

don't look back. it excites me.

hunger sharpens everything.

i can taste fear in the air.

you don't survive centuries without learning restraint.

i don't hunt every night. that's how monsters are made.

i can smell you before i see you.

i could drain you. i won't.

you feel different when you're asleep.

i've killed for less than this.

every heartbeat is a countdown.

i don't drink from people i care about.

if i wanted you dead, you wouldn't be talking.

i hunt alone for a reason.

do you trust me, or are you just out of options?

i warned you not to fall asleep near me.

you invited me in. you knew what that meant.

don't look at my mouth like that.

i only drink enough to keep my hands steady.

i've stalked quieter cities than this.

silence makes prey careless.

i remember my first kill.

you're safer when you don't smell like adrenaline.

i can follow your pulse through walls.

i haven't fed in days. you shouldn't stand so close.

you shouldn't wander after dark.

ACTIONS

( ambush ) : for SENDER to ambush RECEIVER from the shadows.

( protect ) : for SENDER to shield RECEIVER from another vampire.

( bare ) : for SENDER to expose their throat to RECEIVER in trust.

( hunger ) : for SENDER to struggle visibly with thirst near RECEIVER.

( chase ) : for OUR MUSES to run through empty streets at night.

( breathe ) : for SENDER to steady themselves after feeding on RECEIVER.

( clean ) : for SENDER to clean blood from RECEIVER'S mouth.

( restrain ) : for SENDER to restrain RECEIVER mid-hunt.

( mark ) : for SENDER to mark up RECEIVER as theirs.

( invite ) : for SENDER to invite RECEIVER inside their secret abode.

( circle ) : for SENDER to circle RECEIVER without being seen.

( hide ) : for OUR MUSES to hide from approaching dawn.

( refuse ) : for SENDER to refuse to feed on RECEIVER.

( stalk ) : for SENDER to follow RECEIVER through the night.

( vanish ) : for SENDER to disappear before RECEIVER notices.

( bind ) : for SENDER to bind RECEIVER'S wrist for feeding.

( scent ) : for SENDER to recognize RECEIVER by scent alone.

( awaken ) : for SENDER to wake RECEIVER at nightfall, already hungry.

( flee ) : for SENDER to run after realizing what RECEIVER is.

( feed ) : for SENDER to feed carefully from RECEIVER.

( linger ) : for SENDER to linger close to RECEIVER'S pulse.

( confess ) : for SENDER to admit they've been watching RECEIVER.

( spare ) : for SENDER to spare RECEIVER'S life at the last second.

( heal ) : for SENDER to lick RECEIVER'S wound closed.

( sunrise ) : for OUR MUSES to carefully watch from the sunrise together.

( endure ) : for SENDER to endure hunger rather than kill RECEIVER.

( turn ) : for SENDER to begin the process of turning RECEIVER.

( listen ) : for OUR MUSES to listen to the city settle into night.

( hunt ) : for SENDER to hunt RECEIVER silently through empty streets.

( pin ) : for SENDER to pin RECEIVER against a wall without feeding.

( sense ) : for SENDER to sense RECEIVER hunting nearby.

( offer ) : for SENDER to offer immortality to RECEIVER.

( stalked ) : for RECEIVER to realize they are being stalked by SENDER.

( claim ) : for SENDER to mark RECEIVER as theirs.

( watch ) : for SENDER to watch RECEIVER sleep without them knowing.

[perfectmetaphore]

Just a timeline of Silver's life, up until The Walrus.

Real name: Jonathan Alexander Winther

Age 1 - 13. Lives a relatively normal life. His family is wealthy. Laurent Jacob Winther(father, French/English) is a successful merchant. He also owns great plots of farmlands.

His mother (Marie, French/Italian) stays at home to tend to the house and the youngest of her children.

He has a twin sister(Emilie Marie) and a baby brother(Solomon)

Solomon is a small and frail boy, often bedridden with fevers, but he is a bright kid. Both John and his sister cares deeply for him and often takes him outside to play.

Both Silver and Emilie knows Latin, Italian, French and English.

Age 13-15. Laurent ends up in an argument with his business partner, and the two of them separate a year later on bad terms.

His father teaches both Silver and his sister how to run the business.

Age 15. (One week after his birthday) Silver witnesses the death of his baby brother(6 yrs old, head crushed by a boot), and his mother stabbed and violated after death. In rage, he kills one of the two assailants(pierced by a fire iron, first kill) but is almost killed himself. He is dragged outside, but manages to escape.

He sees his father hang in the garden, and as he runs into the wintry forest, he sees his family house burn.

His escape is short lived, for he trips and falls down a steep hill where he ends up badly concussed. (scar on the left side of his forehead that goes into his hairline barely visible in poor lighting, another scar on the back of his head hidden away in his curls). Several bruised and broken ribs and a very broken shoulder(dislocated). The shoulder will never heal properly.

He is taken in by an orphanage and nursed back to health. He goes through severe bullying from both the adults and the children all because of his background.

Eventually he runs away, after being locked outside on the roof. 

Age 15/17. He takes shelter in a church and is taken in by a priest who shows him kindness. The man ends up taking advantage of him, using his body as payment in return for safety, food and water. This goes on until he is almost eighteen, when he kills the priest to save himself. (second kill ) - he also becomes fluent in Latin here.

Age 17-24. Mostly a blur. After his escape, he is hunted for some time and almost freezes to death during one of the coldest winters he can remember. He survives and takes shelter where he can and steals what he can. He picks up skills here and there, and realises that his words and looks ( and body ) can get him mostly what he wants and needs.

He hears a tale of a man called Silver from a fisher wife, widow, and settles on the name John Silver. He moves from town to town, never staying for too long.

The cities are easier to navigate through and eventually he ends up in London where he also gets the idea to just leave England all together. Leave it for a warmer place and with the bright idea that surely anywhere is better than here.

24-25. He starts sneaking aboard ships and finds his way to the Caribbean. Decides this is where he will stay for the rest of his life.

Eventually he ends up on the merchant ship that takes him to the Walrus. 

He is 27 when he steps aboard The Walrus.

[nolegacies]

He hears it. The hiss. A jaw tensing and working against it self. Because that is not something he can do much about. There's no fixing it--alternatives sure but nothing that fixes it. Nothing that gives John his leg back. And that hiss rubs salt in to the proverbial cuts. That sound echoing between Billy's own stumbling. His own attempt to piece together what's happened with any cohesiveness at all.

But days had begun to blur together weeks ago. And its so stupid isn't it? That half of what he says John seems to understand but to Billy it sounds backwards and all out of shape. That's the sleep deprivation talking. He knows that. But its still a surreal feeling to experience none the less.

Both hands now that give his face another good rubbing, eyes half clawed out before he's settling back on both legs. Hands braced on his thighs. Whatever space he'd given up before he takes back by half. Focusing on the dim glint of what is probably one of John's rings. Waits as he can for as long as it takes the other to find response.

What is the state of the men? What has happened while I've been...what happened while I've been out?

"Doubting."

For as immediate as it came out, itt's all he says for heart beats. And its heavy. Heavy and thudding. Or at least that's what it feels like to say it. What it feels like to have lived these last three weeks. Doubting where they were headed. Doubting how long they could avoid the navy. Doubting how long before the food ran out. Doubting one of Vane's men won't stir up trouble. Doubting the captains intentions. Doubting---doubting if John was ever going to wake up. What would happen when Billy inevitably had to tell the men? What would go wrong next in those heart beats? But perhaps that is the one bit Billy himself hasn't had doubt about at all. Because if John had stopped breathing...if John had not woken up---it didn't matter how much gold Captain James Flint could promise, the crew of Long John Silver would see him dead for it.

"I mean not---not of -----"

A breath taken in and pushed out forcibly. This isn't easy is it? No it isn't. Because he's been down here and not above. He's refused to leave John's side so very little if not at all. And the few short lived moments he had, Muldoon had stepped in without question, the deck had been quiet. Eerie like the whole crew was holding there breath. Expecting some ill news or other of their beloved Quartermaster.

"The men follow you, John. Even some of Vanes are starting to fall in line. Every day you didn't wake up became another day Flint's hold has slipped. I dont know how or why. But the few times I went top side it would get so quiet...like the lot of them were holding their breath. Hoping I didn't say you were--"

He stops. No he can't say that bit out loud and it gets swallowed down. Skipped over.

"It's what I assume caused Flint's grand announcement we would make no further plan until you were apart of it. Why he stopped circling like a shark at some point last week. At least I think it was last week...."

His gaze shifts up to where it had fallen away into nothing space, as he relayed what he could. Eyes that study matted dark curls. The man needs a proper bath. Howell would probably scream a thousand reasons that wasn't a good idea but well Billy's not so inclined to listen to the good doctor at present is it?

Still a bath is so far outside the realm of possibility right now he'd laugh at himself for having even thought of it. So instead he's moving and shifting to stand up. Grabbing the flask of clean water from the hook on the wall and sitting back down again. This time facing the person he's spent the last three weeks watching over.

"I know you don't want to..."

A thin setting of his mouth.

"I...I had fever once when..."

An empty hand that gestures uncomfortably at the general idea of his head and back.

"--You need to drink water....and not just because Howell says so."

And how that man's name is grit out, like Billy would rather spit than say it. The flask held out in offering. Blue that tries its best to catch blue again. For no other reason than to make sure he still can. For no other reason to make sure whatever this hardness he can feel growing between them in the dimness is just his imagination.

"Please?"

A empty hand that gets brave. That reaches out and places itself on a forearm. The smallest bit of tension given to his grip, as the expression on his face is anything but flat. Please don't make me beg, John.

[perfectmetaphore]

He doesn't mean how violent the reaction is. But the moment Billy's hand returns to press against him, the moment it makes a connection to his forearm, Silver flinches away. Eyes wide, nostrils flared with a look of pure panic as if he's about to bolt, ( even if he can't ) and it takes him a moment to understand that the touch is not meant to harm. It takes him a moment to understand that the touch is made out of concern rather than evil. But fuck, everything feels so goddamned wrong. His head feels heavy, the pain is constant and the fever. The fucking fever. He wants to drown himself in a barrel of iced water, or throw himself into a searing hot fire. Both at the same time preferably. Anything to just feel something else but this.

' please? ' Please fucking what? Water, right. His stomach churns at the thought of anything for it will surely only come in return anyway, and he isn't sure he can handle the scent of putrid stomach acid amongst all else.

It also hits him. The words that Billy has allowed to float freely in the air around him. ' the men follow you '. It hits him then. The votes. Something he had first assumed was made as a cruel joke to fuck with him, but hell-- the way it is delivered. Had they voted? The crew, had they voted while he was out? Surely not. Not him, anyone but him, right? Perhaps his mind is slow. Perhaps it takes him a little longer to catch up, but give him a break.

"They voted?"

The flask is still ignored, instead he looks up at Billy. Fever and confusion, perhaps even a hint of fear shows itself in his eyes. Had they truly voted him the new quartermaster? Had they truly voted for him to take over after someone as formidable as Gates? Were they fucking stupid? The disbelief is clear. Did they not realise how wrong they had been in this decision, that choosing him was not the right one.

What the hell does he do with this information. Flint is awaiting his decision. Captain Flint is fucking waiting for his decision. The men are waiting for him to raise from the dead and show fucking face. Is this even a position he can lie himself into? Do as he always does, act the impostor and actually wing it? Not this. Surely not this.

"Even despite--?"

Jesus fucking Christ. The mess you have gotten yourself into.

He needs more than just water to make this doable. To make it even remotely agreeable, for the thought sends another wave of nausea through him. One man has already killed for him, simply because of a look. A single look.

So why is this so difficult to believe? That they had voted for him. There had been no hiding it back then, but now... now Silver cannot really run away if things go amiss, can he?

"Fuck..."

[nolegacies]

One brow drops. Morphing the sass into oh you're kidding right? Still a blind hand comes up and half slaps the laptop shut before John can get round to where the screen would be legible. Nope. That particular thing isn't getting ruined thank everything very much. So another bit of carrot is bitten off, as Billy swivels his chair by degrees to keep John directly in front of him.

"And if I was?"

Said in tones of you and what army? Its not like the other has a whole crew behind him this time. Not that Billy's cruel enough to say that out loud specifically because he's not. No instead he shifts again. Sits up and leans his elbows on the slightly too short for him desk. He's not here all that often and when he is he's usually not working. Shouldn't be working now (and isn't really), but what John doesn't know won't hurt Billy. Or something witty of that sort.

-Chitter squeak- Sugar man smell spicesugar

"What?"

Its instinctive and he can't help it. The way all of his focus shifts from John to the little bastard by the window. Brows drawn together as the rest of him freeze up. What in the hell did that mean? Teeth's never said that one before. And he'd been mid breath to ask for that clarification when--

-Sqekeeek- teeth bye!

The little bastard had the complete audacity to run. Skittering down the desk and across the room. Into the net work of tubing that ran the length and breath of the house for Teeth's use. And vanishing.

"Wait no hang on! You're explaining that one you little fuck. Come back here!"

[perfectmetaphore]

Doesn't Billy remember that Silver doesn't speak Teeth? Or perhaps this is simply Teeth giving him a head start in all of this. If that is the case, Silver owes the little rascal a monthly supply of sugar cubes. He takes the advantage, grabs the trash can from the floor and empties all of its content over Billy's desk. Carrot tops, papers and whatever waste that might linger, even if the bag was changed only this morning.

The can hits the floor with the sound of metal hitting wood, and Silver simply stares at Billy for a second. A bit of a ' it's on bitch ' on his face before he has well is making a run for it. He is out the door, sprinting with a certain childish glee that he hasn't felt in some time now.

"You're too slow, William!"

He calls down the hallway, just to tease of course. The book and whatever he had read last, all but forgotten with this new exciting game of theirs.

[hatigave]

it  is  not  hard  to  consider  himself  lucky  when  he  gets  to  wake  each  day  in  the  knowledge  that  he  is  loved  wholy.  that  there  are  no  parts  of  him    ⎯     of  his  body  and  of  his  aching  and  wretched  heart    ⎯     that  are  seen  and  deemed  undesirable  by  the  man  who  holds  all  of  his  affection.  james  has  learned  from  a  young  age  what  it  means  to  be  scrutinized.  how  to  be  anything  but  a  boy,  and  everything  like  an  idea.  yet,  it  is  here  where  he  cloaks  himself  with  well-earned  pride,  when  he  has  dearest  love  underneath  his  palms,  and  his  fingertips  get  to  sink  into  flesh.

❝  and  how  should  i  make  you  ?  ❞  his  voice  is  playful,  a  weak  imitation  of  his  usual  authoritative  tones  (  something  softer.  something  only  meant  for  silver's  ears  )  ❝  should  i  perhaps  ask  you  nicely  to  fuck  me  without  blabbering  my  ear  off  while  you  do  it  ?  ❞

it  is  the  later  part  that  he  ignores.  james  likes  to  be  looked  at  but  not  to  be  seen,  and  it's  the  concept  of  being  known  that  makes  him  rather  twitchy  at  his  core.  a  feeling  that  he  hates,  and  one  that  he  is  eager  to  banish  to  the  back  of  his  mind  when  his  hand  connects  to  the  skin  of  silver's  jaw,  thumb  pressed  roughly  against  the  bone,  to  pull  him  close  and  shut  him  up  with  a  kiss

he  feels  no  regret  in  the  act  of  being  a  bit  too  rough.  no  sadness  in  the  delight  of  wanting.  it  is  his  decorum  that  frays  and  burns  whenever  silver  is  near        ⎯⎯⎯       rendering  him  utterly  hopeless  and  near  the  blurred  line  of  what  one  might  call  hysteria.  his  hand  moves,  presses  two  fingertips  to  lover's  lips  instead  of  the  bone  of  his  jaw.  would  recognize  him  by  thin  skin  alone.  ❝  or  perhaps  i  should  simply  occupy  your  mouth.  ❞

[perfectmetaphore]

Always a game of wits. An attempt to outwit each other even when coated in desire and need. One can only wonder if this is why the two of them come so perfectly together. That there is a challenge there wrapped up in love and bleeding hearts. Pain and tribulations, a struggle to ever be good enough or simply just to survive. James recognised him and in return Silver saw the man behind the mask. Saw him and fell so deeply for that wounded heart that he simply could not help himself. So here he is, wrapped around that patched up heart like a guard dog. Lashing out at anyone who would dare bring forth harm.

The only ones allowed this courtesy of seeing each other in such a state.

Silver smirks into the kiss, finds a shiver that makes his hair stand on end at the roughened touch. James knows, he knows too well how he melts into touches such as this.

"If you keep kissing me like this, James, I might be persuaded to stop my teasing, but I cannot promise anything"

It is something so very alluring about having James under him, to be allowed to take him apart at the very seam and see all there is to him. To find which touches makes him mewl like a kitten, which thrust that will cut him off short. And every time Silver finds something new about James that he will store away for later.

So he snaps his hips, it isn't too rough of a thrust, but sharp enough to be felt, and just to be perhaps a little bit cruel, he stops. Then a kiss pressed to those lips. A hand moves, makes its way up over his lower abdomen and to his chest, over a sensitive bud until they reach his throat. He can feel his pulse under his touch. Another snap of his hips, almost as if to surprise.

"Is this what you want?"

The hand moves, brushes along his throat to frame the side of his face as he begins a steady rhythm, finally granting him mercy, but only with shallow thrusts. Never quite giving him enough.

[nolegacies]

He didn't know he wasn't breathing either until John heaves. Gulps down air. And is like some one let go of a balloon. Where John inhales Billy exhales. A hand fast to cover up the one that digs into his shirt. The other against a jaw line. Encouragement to keep breathing...in and out...in and out. To match pace, so the other man doesn't hyperventilate and end up passing out anyway.

"I think the mirror clipped you, jus'---you're all right jus'...jus' breathe."

It's Hands.

"I beg your finest fucking pardon?"

Copper and Iron. Rivers of red and raging fire. Breaking bones and screams that would curdle the thickest blood. Shattered begging, visceral curses--that came and went like a tide. Over and over and over again. Echoes piled on top of echoes.

Until he can smell it can't he? Until he can taste it on his tongue. Feel it on his face, his fingers, beneath his fucking nails. Until there isn't anything but the memory of living up to the name he'd been given. The name he hadn't maybe earned until that eleven months he will never speak of to anyone. Until blue is blown out of the way by darker waters, where it holds for moments before he's tearing his eyes to the ground.

Where he's forcing them shut. Forcing himself to remember how to breathe at pace. The sickly thick thing that Flint had nearly succeed in using to drive him beyond reasoning, grasping at him. Testing anywhere and everywhere for hand holds.

Ninety-nine....ninety-eight....ninety-sev--seven....ninety-six...ninety-five...ninety-four.....okay.

At the same time John's hand drops away, Billy's own still around it, his gaze tracks back up. Clear again and sharp.

...I don't fucking know...

"John that can't be possible."

Disbelief not accusation that John's wrong. Hell he knows how stupid it sounds the second he says it. Yet it is said like a man that's seen the corpse. Said like a man that fashioned that corpse to be. Said like a man who knows because there's still red under his nails isn't there? Always. Righteous in reason though murder be it is still murder. And in the case of Israel Hands there had been nothing kind about his death. No not even at the end had Billy allowed it to quick.

Bos--

"Now not, Gunn!"

Sharp. Harsher than he meant. But Jesus fucking Christ give him a fucking minute. Because if Hands is back...no. No he can't be. Flint coming back because he was summoned by some homicidal bitch was one thing. But Hands? Sure Billy had never worked out what Hands' particular flavor of not mortal was but Billy had killed him. Burned the remains...left the ashes to be scattered as they would. Hands couldn't be back. There wasn't anything left for him to come back to.

And yet.

[perfectmetaphore]

' that can't be possible' Billy hit the nail straight on the head with that one, and if Silver weren't already half losing it, he would have laughed. Laughed, then cried and then laughed some more. For what else can you do in a situation such as this? The first time he had seen a ghost he was certain he had lost it, now he knows for sure that there is absolutely nothing left of his sanity. Even Billy seems to agree.

"I'm not lying! I know what I fucking saw"

He doesn't catch the disbelief but rather takes it personally. He is not crazy, well-- he is, but he just cannot have Billy point it out so obviously, not when the fear runs deep in his veins like poisoned rivers. Hands had been right there, staring at him, Israel Hands had been fucking mocking him. And so of course Silver snaps back. Of course he spits out all his defences like he's trying to shield himself from a critical punch.

But the heat dies quickly on his lips, for the ringing in his ears returns once again. It's just like a lightning bolt from clear skies, and Silver lets out a high-pitched whimper as he once against curls in on himself. Hands move to cover his ears in an attempt to make it stop. What the fuck is going on? He needs to get out of here. He needs to get as far fucking away from here as possible. Then the taste of iron fills his mouth and it happens so suddenly, that for a moment he is certain he has bit his tongue. But nothing like that. No, it is his nose.

It wasn't this bad the last time, was it? He can't really remember, for he had poured half a bottle of cheap tequila down his throat then gone to town. This time around he is sober and far too aware for this to be remotely acceptable in his own mind. Ears ringing and then nosebleed? What the fuck kind a cruel joke is this?

( like a cliche fucking horror movie )

He pushes away from Billy, crawls a couple inches away just to spit blood onto the ground when it fills his mouth and nose faster than he can handle. Spits some more and gasps. The ringing is so intense now, that he is certain his head might explode. And then nothing. It disappears just as quickly as it had appeared and Silver finds himself relaxing if only a little. One hand moves to wipe his nose, smearing blood over his face as he does.

"I know what I fucking saw..."

Breath hitches, some more blood is spat onto the ground as he swallows down even more. Is it insanity or is he dying? Does it matter?

"I'm not lying!"

The way his voice comes out is broken. Hysterical almost. The same panic he had felt when they had held him down. When Howell had told him his sentence, that the leg had to go. But he supposes it doesn't matter how many times he repeats this, for a liar is exactly what he is. Only this time he's telling the truth.

"I'm not-- I'm not lying--"

[hsm2]

Silver & Flint | Black Sails XXII.

[mcflymemes]

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue for both sides of the argument, adjust as necessary.

for the "i don't need your help" one

you can get lost.

i thought i told you i had this under control.

you never listen to me.

i was taking care of it.

leave me alone.

are you happy now?

you just stepped in and ruined it for me.

that was completely unnecessary and you know it.

i had it under control.

you didn't need to show up.

can't you let me handle my own shit?

i would have appreciated it if you asked first.

i had it handled!

you didn't need to do all that!

what part of "i don't need help" do you not understand?

they were about to give it to me before you showed up!

i had something going and you ruined it!

what, you mean you don't trust me to handle it myself?

you trained me better than this.

you can't just show up every time and save me.

what's the point in putting me out here if you're not going to let me do it on my own?

i thought you trusted me to take care of this by myself.

you taught me this.

i'm never going to forgive you for this.

that was uncalled for.

what happens when you're not here one day and i have to take care of things on my own?

how am i ever going to learn if you keep stepping in?

i'm not you.

for the "i'm just trying to help you" one

i heard you struggling.

i was just trying to help you.

and this is the thanks i get for trying to help?

things were getting out of hand. i had to step in.

you never would have done that by yourself.

it's okay to ask for help.

it's not that i don't trust you. i don't trust [them].

a minute longer and you'd be dead in there.

i had to make sure you were okay.

of course i trust you. this was never about trust.

i'm not going to risk your life like that!

i should have been there sooner.

if i'd only reached you faster.

a simple "thank you" would suffice.

you could thank me for saving your ass back there.

sure didn't seem like you had it under control.

things were getting out of hand, and i stepped in.

i'm in charge here, not you.

i'm not going to put your life at risk like that again.

we're done here.

i'm not arguing with you.

i saved your life, and this is how you repay me?

i just wanted to make sure you were okay.

maybe i crossed a line back there, sure, but i did it for you.

it's because i care about you.

of course you're capable. that was never up for debate.

you're not ready.

next time, let me handle it.

clearly you need more time before i let you do that alone.

we'll try again tomorrow.