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⚓ There is freedom in the dark. ⚓

@stormward / stormward.tumblr.com

They paint the world full of shadows and then tell their children to stay close to the light. Their light. Their reasons, their judgments. Because in the darkness, there be dragons. But it isn't true. We can prove that it isn't true. In the dark, there is discovery, there is possibility, there is freedom in the dark, once someone has illuminated it."--- James Flint RP blog (indie, selective)
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soracities
A monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.

Ocean Vuong, from “A Letter To My Mother That She Will Never Read”, published in The New Yorker (via soracities)

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Anonymous asked:

I ask because there's a rumor that a teenager might be yours. Or so his mother claimed. Can never be sure though I /can/ see a resemblance.

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“That so?” His brows knit closer together. “And who is said to be the mother? I would hardly place my faith in rumors, as it is.”

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❝I would last just fine. If I was willingly going with them, they would not really be my captors, would they? They would be…people that took me away. Escorted me away? To a beautiful ship, off to see the world.❞ The never quite liked the notion of traveling too much and constantly. He preferred staying in one place,  making his best efforts to aid people in need, trying to change it, change the world even. But that was before. Now he is just happy to be here, by James’ side, next to that wonderful village they chose to live by.
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His finger makes trails above the other’s chest, half following the sunlight that was coming in. He smirks slightly, momentarily.  ❝Oh am I? How so? There are so many men out there that resemble a treasure, I am certain of it. Perhaps you were unlucky in your encounters? Or perhaps people do not find being called items flattering.❞

This time, a low chuckle escapes James. “You think them too good, dear. You always have.” He brings Thomas’ hand up towards his lips and kisses his knuckles gently and shakes his head. “I suppose you must have missed the part where I named you unique. One of a kind, unrivaled in its value. If there were others that bore that resemblance, I should think it would be futile naming you such.” He rolls to his side without letting go of the other’s hand, and kisses it once more. 

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He pauses then, lost in his thoughts for a moment to ponder something that Thomas has said, his brows knitting together before he continues to ask. “Would you want to? See the world?”

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Anonymous asked:

Do you think you have any unknown children running around London?

Children?” A frown, his tone surprised. There were some instances in which he found himself sharing a bed with a lady, but they were hardly common enough for there to be a possibility of him not hearing if any of them were with child.

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“I would hardly think that to be the case, and yet I suppose… I cannot claim to be entirely certain.”

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Moments like this make the years they wasted away from each other seeming like someone else’s life, a story they once heard in a tavern at a late hour, when it was almost empty. Moments like this do not last for long, but they come more often as the time goes by. ❝They would abduct me, you reckon?❞ Thomas pretends to think about it for a while. ❝Forgive me but I do not find the prospect of being provided with several options so dangerous. Some of them would surely make a handsome and satisfying partner.❞ he tries not to smile too much, although every time he attempted to retain a serious expression in such situations, he failed miserably.   ❝However, I do wonder…how many men have you mistaken for treasure in the course of your career in the sea?❞ 
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James knows Thomas’ expression all too well, truly, for he can see through the other’s fiercest attempts to remain serious with ease. He sees the twitch in the corner of his mouth, the glint in his eye that betrays the mischievous intent behind them. Once upon a time and what now feels like a lifetime ago, he would get flustered by it, knowing that he is about to become the butt of a joke and was uncertain how to respond to it with the difference in their status at hand. 

In this moment, however, he finds it entirely endearing, and feels utterly and incredibly lucky to witness it, and moreover that Thomas would now have the chance to feel this way in the first place.

“Is that so?” he responds with a half smile and a feigned disbelieving snort. “You expect me to believe you would run off with one of your captors? —You would not last a day--!”

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James too pretends to ponder for a moment, despite the answer being clear as day in his mind. “I do believe none have compared. Rather unfortunate, truly. It would seem you are quite the unique item.”

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     When she glances up at him from the mending she’s been occupying her hands with, there is a seriousness in her eyes that belied her years.  She is not afraid of him, not now, and she will certainly speak her mind.  She would even if she was afraid.  Her words are something her mother told her many years ago and they never fail to remind her of what her hope is.
      “You must find it.  Shoulders shrugging slightly, brown eyes drop to the work in her lap again.  For me, my God is my hope.  That faith will never fail to fuel my hope.  But I am certain there must be something every man and woman can find to bolster their hope.  A person… or an idea… something.

He lets himself stay silent then, resorting to merely observing the other as she continues in her mending task. It has been long, he thinks, since he has considered things to be that simple, to be this... focused, this certain of what one believes in, and for a moment, he wishes it could be that way once more. It is not often that this type of thought gets recognized in his mind, truly — more likely than not he has learned to push it away, prolong its implications for a later time. A calmer time. 

As much as this particular moment seems to be nothing more than a calm before another storm, it is a calm still nonetheless, and it is why the thought this time stays; the thought of a simpler time, a simpler man, so far now from this persona he created and yet no longer able to return.

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“What do you think?” he responds then, an impulsive ask that might not have been posed at most people. And yet, perhaps this manner of certainty is what this situation requires. A... familiar sort of steadfast faith in what one believes in. He continues to gaze at her steadily, almost intensely. “I am asking you. What would you have these men believe in? If it were you — what would you have them fighting for?”

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cont. from (x)

@thomashamiltcn
❝No, you have not told me that.❞ he laughs as he says that and kisses James collarbone before sitting up. It takes him a moment to stop laughing and when he speaks, he is still grinning. ❝Is that how pirates are really like? They look for anything that has the colour of gold?❞

James reaches out for Thomas hand as the other sits up, as if subconsciously attempting to make certain that this particular gesture does not mean getting up from bed fully. It is, after all, entirely too early for that. Once he makes certain that Thomas is, in fact, staying, he loosens his grip to a gentle hold, and then a caress.

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“You would be surprised,” he states, and in truth he is only half jesting. There, in his middle, there is still a a memory, serving as a reminder of the greed pertaining the Urca gold. The prizes, the hunting, and how easily they all were convinced that all that glitters will certainly provide for their livelihood. But it is a memory now long buried. “If they saw you as I do, in this moment, you might certainly be in danger.”

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