bending-sickle:

the ot3 o/

imma do three time stamps because fuck it, so a) before nassau, b) during nassau, and c) after nassau

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway?

a) james leaves the hamilton residence – when he does – as late as civilly possible, leaving thomas awake and feverish with ideas and books until miranda blows out the candles, and even then thomas lies awake just thinking, miranda on his chest listening to his heart and eventually falling asleep, on the other side of town, james lies in his small cot of a bed, awake and remembering

b) at sea, flint sleeps when his body gives out, but on land, the stillness and quiet keeps his mind awake long after his body’s given up, so he’ll sit at the bare table and stare at their meagre library, remembering every prize he took the books from. sometimes, when the heat won’t let up, miranda will play the piano, but it’s out of tune and aching. like him. like her. eventually they both retire to the bed, for the comfort of each other’s warmth and the pretense of sleep.

c) james thought he’d buried flint at sea. carved him out of him like a cancer and cast the pieces into the waves, until james mcgraw emerged anew, pale and soft like a crab after its molt. but parts of the monster still cling to him, sharp barnacles caught on his underside, and so sleep does not come to him easy. but thomas – ah, thomas. he is a comfort and a balm and the only prize this ghost of a pirate could ever want. so eventually, he sleeps.

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking?

a) miranda does not care what they say about her, but still, sometimes, it stings. the slights and barbs cut into her with each smirk, each flick of feathered fans, the titter behind goblets. drinking soothes the sting, when she cannot escape this company that calls itself high society, civilised, but it also loosens her tongue, until thomas takes her hands and asks her to dance instead, or james takes her hands and asks her for a word.

b) she still drinks too much – by her own standards, not those of the company james, no, flint, keeps – but for other reasons. now, it is grief that tilts her glass. boredom. frustration. the hot rage in the deep pit of her belly she cannot extinguish, yet must not feed.  when she is alone, all that stops her is the empty bottle, but when flint – james – comes ashore, comes home, he is the one who stops her. he is the one who takes her into his arms. who reminds her of the good, distracts her from the bad. he does a poor job of it – being a vessel full to the brim with his own grief and frustration and rage – but he tries.

c) the bottle calls to him, after so many years of trysts, even though he goes by another name now, and is no longer the pirate who drank rum at taverns and watered-down beer in the hold. it quiets the past, too. voices that clamour too loud in his head, now that there is time to think. now there is time to regret. thomas indulges this, at first, but slowly, gently, weans james off it, as he has weaned him of the sea.

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder?

well damn, ain’t nobody got selfies here but

a) thomas doesn’t know whether to be flattered or bewildered when thomas orders him one afternoon to sit – “here, where the light is good” – and commissions a painting of him. a small painting, to be sure – hardly worth the word, in fact. perfect size for a locket. miranda smiles indulgently and straightens james’ silk bow. “it’ll be over quickly, and he’ll be ever so happy,” she whispers into his ear, smiling as the painter stifles a cough.

b) it is so rare to see him like this – to see the lines on his face smooth, the youth return to him. he’s aged so much – they both have – but the salt sea and the sun have been especially cruel to james’ face. miranda holds him close to her breast as she continues reading aloud, though her audience is fast asleep. she holds on to this moment, this image, wishes she had a mirror with which to see the two of them together in this bed they’ve made. 

c) james cannot stop staring at thomas. every waking moment, he finds himself staring at him as if he were the sun, and any moment now the storm clouds would return, hide this vision from view, and bring the storm that was his constant these past ten years. even while thomas sleeps, james drinks him in, relearning every inch of him, every sign of time and age on his love’s face, every mark life’s injustices have dared make on him. sometimes thomas wakes, smiles, and kisses james. “i’m not going anywhere.”