rosietwiggs:

Almost nothing fucks me up more than that moment when Flint sits down and introduces himself to Abigail Ashe. 

How he sloughs off the despair and anger and rage that have become an inherent part of his identity, letting them melt away. How the action of removing his weapons and setting them aside is a physical counterpart to removing and setting aside the person that circumstances have dictated he become. How he must do that in order to release even a whisper of who he once was.  

You can physically see him allowing himself to wake up from a long slumber, ten years of suppressing everything that was kind and gentle in him, because there is no place for it in Nassau, in his war, in his vengeance. 

Nothing fucks me up more than the softness in his eyes and the way his voice breaks,

when he reclaims his identity

and says with a relieved sigh: 

“My name is James.”