#ellelen

[vowel-in-thug]

silverflint "nevermind, the moment's gone"

also calling out @ohflint‘s post here as the major source of inspiration, and by that I mean megh and elle told me to write this, and here we are.

in which i steal from POTC again

“nevermind, the moment’s gone.”/ “that was a perfect example of how not to do things.”

It hasn’t started raining yet, but Flint looks over at Silver just as a particularly bright bolt of lightning crackles through the sky. It illuminates the shine of his long hair, the sweat pooling low on his throat, the blood splattered across his cheek, the livid snarl of his teeth, and the flash of his sword as he swings it through the air and into the gut of a Redcoat.

He’s never looked more beautiful.

Flint pulls his own sword out of the soldier in front of him and says to Silver, “You should marry me.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Silver responds automatically, whirling on the next soldier.

There are only a few more left on the bottom deck of the Walrus. By the time they dispatch of them all, Flint is breathing heavily, feels Silver doing the same where he’s pressed against his back. The ship belonging to these soldiers is a smoldering wreck out in front, but the last one is steadily gaining on them, just like Flint planned.

“Wait,” Silver pants, looking at him over his shoulder. “What did you say?”

Flint turns to him and nearly slips on someone’s misplaced intestine spilled out on the deck. “Nevermind,” he says, scraping off the sole of his boot. “The moment’s gone.”

“No, it isn’t.” One of Silver’s hands grips the front of Flint’s jacket. “Say it again.”

“You should marry me,” Flint says.

Silver frowns at him, and opens his mouth to speak but doesn’t. He’s probably thinking -- two men don’t get married. It just isn’t done in this society. But men also don’t wage a war against an entire ruling government, act in open rebellion against the Crown, find pleasure in killing, and steal whatever they can get their hands on. Since when did they care what was done in society?

Having apparently reached the same conclusion, Silver pulls Flint close, until they’re flush together, but he doesn’t kiss him. He calls out over his shoulder, “Jack! You need to marry us!”

Jack isn’t paying attention, up on the top deck, gesturing wildly to someone with a loaded gun. Anne is beside him, however, looking down at them like they’ve grown two extra heads.

“Hold fast on the starboard side!” Jack shouts. “Starboard!” He looks down. “What did you say?”

They still hold their swords, they’re still pressed closer. “Marry us!” Silver yells over the roaring wind.

Jack blinks down at them. “I’m not marrying you!” he says. “What about Anne?”

Anne scoffs with her whole body, and storms away, bumping into Jack hard as she passes. She starts poking the bodies on the ground as she makes her way to the bow, checking to see if any of them are still in need of killing.

“Us.” Flint now grips Silver’s jacket as a strong wave crashes into the side of the ship. “You’re the only other Captain here.”

If Jack is confused why two men want to marry, he doesn’t voice it. He does, however, ask, “What, you want to do this right now?”

Flint looks back at Silver, but he doesn’t look for very long, because Silver kisses him just as the clouds above finally split open. He tastes the assuredness on Silver’s tongue as well as he can taste the tang of someone else’s blood there, as well as he can taste the rain. He wants to crowd him against the mast and forget the whole plot for awhile. And he moves them one step back to do that, but then someone overhead shouts, “Incoming!” And they break away with the shuddering rock of cannonfire.

“Gun crews!” Flint stumbles away from Silver to look down at his men. “Fire at will!”

He turns back to see Silver kneeling, his hands dripping with blood, and his heart stops for one sick, horrifying, long second, fearing the worst.

But Silver is just wrestling a ring off a fallen soldier. His sword and his crutch are on the ground beside him, as he balances precariously on his knee, uncaring of the mayhem around him. He’s carving at the dead man’s finger with a small knife, muttering to himself as blood coats his palms down to his wrist, until the ring finally slides off with a slick sound. Silver holds it up and smiles. “Let’s do this right, darling.”

Anne, who happens to be running by at that second, stops in her tracks beside them. Flint knows she’s in just the right mental state to kill them both and not even remotely care. “I ain’t an expert with this shit,” she spits at Silver still on his knee, before turning away, “but I think that was a perfect fucking example of how not to do that.”

Silver pouts at Flint, struggling to stand. “You don’t want it?” He fiddles with it awkwardly, his sword forgotten on the ground. “I just thought --”

Flint snatches it out of his hand. “Pick up your fucking sword,” he says, sliding it on. It goes easy with all the blood, and it fits him perfectly. He looks back up on the top deck. “Jack!”

They all duck as debris goes flying. The final Navy ship is within boarding distance, and his crew makes their way over without waiting for Flint to tell them to do so, because Silver trained them all to know when Flint is too fucking busy to lay out the simplest order.

Even through the chaos, Flint can see Jack sigh. He’s not even looking at who he’s shooting in the face as he says, “Dearly departed, we are gathered here today --”

“Beloved,” shouts Flint, as the first Redcoat makes the mistake of trying to board the Walrus right in front of him. “Have you ever even been to a wedding before?”

“No. I’ve ruined several before. Does that count?”

Pirates swing from their ship to the Navy’s, crossing paths with soldiers doing the same, like vines, or dead men, hanging beneath a willow tree. Boots hit the deck all over, a rallying cry is heard over a tumultuous crash of thunder, Jack fires his pistol again and yells, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today for a decidedly different fucking purpose than a fucking wedding --” He’s cut off when a particularly burly Redcoat tackles him around the waist, apparently forgetting they both held swords.

“For fuck’s sake,” says Flint, slitting the throat of the man in front of him. He pivots towards Silver, who is bringing down his sword on a soldier like he’s holding an axe and not a sword. “John Silver, do you take me to be your husband?”

“I already fucking said--” Silver stabs someone else and faces him. “Oh, this is the -- right. Yes. I do.”

“Fantastic,” says Flint, and then he’s against the wall with two soldiers attacking at once, swords singing all around him like a flock of birds, and he’s keeping them back because they aren’t coordinated at all, but then Flint blocks a blade from above and another catches his side, just a glancing blow, but it makes him falter, bending instinctively to protect his new wound.

And then one of the men’s head explodes from the side, and his dead weight falls into the other soldier, both of them tumbling into the ground.  Silver stomps up, pistol still smoking, as Flint pierces the living man right through the heart.

“Captain --” Silver stops. “Flint -- McGraw? James.” He throws his empty pistol over Flint’s shoulder, smacking a soldier right on the forehead, knocking him down into the raging sea. “Do you take me to be your not-so-lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, or, as is more likely, in brutal killing or in health, ‘til death do us part?”

“I fucking do.” Flint pulls Silver close again, and drives his sword into the man running up behind Silver with a gun. “Though we wouldn’t be parted for long.”

Silver grins. “Never,” he says, with blood in his teeth.

An overwhelming boom, like thunder but closer and tangible, resounds, and then a great crack is heard as the Navy ship jolts hard. Despite the waves and the wind and the storm, it seems like the ship is utterly still for just a moment before it breaks, the snap and twist of splitting wood sounding like the bones of God snapping.

And Jack is somehow, miraculously, still alive. “As a Captain, though not actually the Captain of this godforsaken ship,” he shouts, his face so bloody he looks like he’s wearing a mask. He’s also somehow standing on top of capstan, staying upright despite the turbulence. “I know pronounce you husband and wife, and I’ll let you decide amongst yourself who is who because I absolutely do not want to know. You may now ki--”

Jack falls, and they all fall, too. The force of the Navy ship sinking has sent a tidal wave crashing into the Walrus, and the ship is almost horizontal. Flint finds himself dangling from Silver’s crutch, Silver hanging onto a piece of rope. He can’t see what it’s attached to. Their eyes lock, because there’s nothing they can do in this moment other than hold on and see what happens, and all Flint wants to see is Silver. He lets go of his sword and uses both hands to pull himself up, until they’re face to face. Flint sees some fear in Silver’s eyes, some anger. But mostly he sees himself, reflected in their clear blue.

Over the din of screams and water, he vaguely hears someone shouting, “You may now k--”

The Walrus creaks dangerously as it struggles to right itself. One moment it is on a precipice, existing simultaneously between devastation and survival, which is how Flint has always lived his life. Which is how he isn’t surprised when the Walrus finally shifts upright. Flint survives -- it’s what he does.

Everyone is still on the floor, but quickly get to their feet. Except for Flint and Silver. They stay on the ground, clinging to each other, bleeding on each other. The only weapons they’re holding are each other.

Anne runs by again. She’s even bloodier than Jack, but she looks intensely satisfied. “Just fucking kiss,” she says as she goes, and Flint listens.

He could hear more fighting going on around him, but in the dark they must look like two more bodies on the deck, tangled together in death, and no one bothers them. Flint kisses Silver and thinks that’s fine. Let him be mistaken for dead, let him be dead, for all that it matters, as long as he dies like this. He has no need for final words on his tongue when Silver’s mouth is on his, swallowing them down. His enemy is falling, the rain is washing away his blood, and his husband is cupping his jaw and kissing him deeper. There are no better ways to die.

And then Silver is pulling away. “Stop it, dear,” he says, using the rope to pull himself upright. “I can always tell when you’re kissing me and thinking about dying. Now get up, find your sword, and get back to work. We haven’t won yet.”

Flint stands. “Already with the nagging,” he says, and he wipes a drop of blood from Silver’s brow with his thumb before it falls into his eye. “I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Silver says as he turns to stab one of the few remaining soldiers running past. “I can tell you now, I’m an incredibly demanding spouse. And I won’t have you dying before I get my wedding night.” He kisses Flint once more, as hard and giving as himself, and then stomps back into the fight.

Flint survives.

[spiderrrling]

ELLELEN I LOG YOU HO MUCH ITS NO FAIR WHY YOU NE SO CUTE STP IT I wan jjd firjend bean

is grey a bit tired? i log you too cutie 

halloween & birthday sleepover!!