#fond of the Flint sketch too

[cheesecake801]

Have some Volkner digital sketches ! The first two sketches are fanarts of a Volkner with a cool outfit designed by @/protagpigeon (you can find her on Twitter), it's a Luxray themed outfit, it's so so so good I love it so much you can actually see for yourself here (also a lot of amazing other drawings were made in this event !):

And also a Flint sketch ! The therapist thing comes from the fact I dreamed about him being a therapist once, I thought it was fun !

[leotheloafus]

About the Muse

Y’all

I spent an hour writing a post for this and Tumblr had the audacity to tell me there was an error and deleted it. AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Anyways :) The lovely @fluttyseed tagged me and this looked like some good ol’ fun. Haven’t posted much about my rowdy OC’s, so here ya go: Deputy Delia Flint! Also want to make one about Sedona, her sister/reluctant cult babe, and some of Sedona’s kiddos who take the main role’s in ND storyline.

Name: Delia Flint

Favorite faceclaim or Picture: of all my FC characters, Delia’s visage has alluded my drawing skills the most. I can see her perfectly in my mind, but can’t for the life of me find a good faceclaim. Am relatively happy with this sketch, tho:

Two Head-Canons:

1) On her wicked scars - Delia’s first trial with Jacob strays from the canon. She hadn’t run into the Whitetails yet, so the plan for her to kill Eli wasn’t one Jacob had in mind. Instead, he threw her to the literal wolves and she had to fend off a pack of judges by herself. She did her best, but one mauled the right side of her face, leaving her partially blind and scarred.

2) Later in life, Delia comfortably floats between using she/her, they/them, and he/him pronouns. Sedona, fresh from living in California and expanding her own education on sexuality/gender, introduced her to the idea of non-binary folks existing pre-Reaping. Something about it resonated with Del at the time, but she felt like she was too old to make that change publicly. Oddly enough, Joseph is the first to strictly refer to Del as they/them once she takes the role of the Judge and others in New Eden follow suit.

Three Things your muse loves doing in their spare time:

1) smoochin’ gorgeous gals

2) gardening; v fond of her plant babies, particularly the herb garden she cultivates outside of New Eden @ her private abode

3) brewing and/or finding the perfect cup of coffee: Delia spent her early 20′s as a barista at a short-lived coffee house in Fall’s End. Learned how to make any and every drink you can possibly think of (frappes were surprisingly popular among the mountain folk of Montana), but she prefers to take her cup mostly black with just a dash of cream

Seven People your muse loves:

1) Sedona (baby sister, best friend, partner in crime)

2) Faith (eventual partner, few years after leaving the Bunker. Yes, Faith lives, I’m a sucker for my flower wife :’)) )

3) Sedona’s kids: Ace, Uri, Junia, and Areli (doesn’t meet them until the events of New Dawn, but family is everything to Del and she’d die for these kiddos)

4) Companions in 5 that she switches between: Sharky, Hurk, Grace, and Jess

5) Wheaty (Sedona's bff, surrogate lil’ brother)

6) Her Dad (he died when Del was a teen, but they were very close)

7) Ethan Seed (He’s an absolute little shit who never realizes how much Del cares for him, but she’s tried to provide a gentle, guiding, parental role where Joseph so blatantly failed)

(is this more than 7? Yes. Do I care? Naaahh not really)

Muse’s Greatest Fear:

Delia is terrified of heights. Once an avid mountain climber (Dad owned a rock climbing business), after her Dad died in a horrendous fall, she couldn’t bear climbing, hiking, even driving up some mountain pathways. She does her best to combat this fear once the Reaping rolls around and she’s forced to venture to all corners of the county, but hell if she didn’t almost fall off a radio tower or two when she accidentally glanced down

[slverjohn]

19 and s2 flinthamilton :)

EDIT: it’s been pointed out to me that this was meant to be flintham but i misread the ask and it ended up as silverflint??? i’m so sorry?? this is why i shouldn’t do things while i’m sick it’s like my brain only half works

oh my god this was a hard one…i changed the dialogue slightly but the sentiment is the same sdkljghasdkgj

inspired by that one description of flint’s cabin in some early script that mentioned a half painted landscape 

19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

It’s dark and dusty in the hold, and beyond that absolutely stifling. Silver’s sweating through his shirt after spending two minutes in the cramped room. Why he’s been asked to look through the stores on the Warship is something of a mystery: Flint had asked for him within minutes of returning with the Ashe girl, and instead of asking him to corral the men or take a headcount, like Silver had expected, he’d sent him below deck without a moment’s hesitation. 

Silver suspects that Flint wants his prying eyes and inquisitive mind away from the Barlow woman for as long as possible. He can’t blame the Captain, really: he’d do the same, if he were trying to maintain some mystery. 

He can’t say he particularly minds, despite the physical discomfort; better here than in the galley with Randall.  Even further, Silver would rather not spend too much time with Flint at the moment. Despite the many years of practice he’s had of self-serving double crossing, standing in Flint’s presence so soon after he’d betrayed him had made Silver uneasy. Something almost like guilt had begun to settle in his belly.

Perish the thought. 

Billy comes down just as he’s finishing his task, only one crate left to sort through. 

“What’s in that, then?” Billy asks, peering over the siding.

“A few jars of paint, I think,” Silver says, double checking the checklist hanging on the wall. 

“You should bring that to the Captain’s cabin. Call it a peace offering. Can’t have you glaring at Flint all the time, after all.”

Silver stares at Billy as if he’s grown two extra heads. “I’m sorry, you want me to put the paint where?”

“Look, Flint’s a bastard. I’m sure whatever he said to make you so cross with him was fucked up. But if the rest of the crew realizes how angry you are with him, it’s going to make our lives a lot more difficult.”

Silver doesn’t think the crew cares quite that much what he thinks of Flint, but he’s still stuck on the paint. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand what paint has to do with any of this.”

“Flint’s a painter. Back on the Walrus, if you’d bothered to pay attention, you’d have seen all those half-finished canvases scattered around.”

Silver had seen the canvases, but for whatever reason he’d never quite made the connection between the artwork itself and Flint as an artist.

Billy moves on, asking about Logan, about how Muldoon is taking his friend’s sudden departure, but Silver’s participation in the conversation is half-assed, at best. 

He remembers seeing the paintings, he remembers thinking they were slightly out of place in a pirate captain’s cabin, but he cannot for the life of him remember what was on the canvases. Were they landscapes or portraits? Romantic or realist? Good or bad?

He has no idea, and he’s burning with curiosity. 

It is this curiosity more than anything else that leads him to Flint’s cabin after dinner, the paints in one hand and the other hovering just over the closed door. 

“You could just knock, you know,” an amused voice comes from behind him, and he whirls around to see Mrs. Barlow watching him with a smirk. 

“I was going to,” he insists, though he feels himself color slightly at her raised brow.

“Well, no need to knock now,” she replies, and with that she simply walks in, holding the door open behind her. “Come along, Mr. Silver.”

Silver’s surprised that she knows who he is, but he’s distracted almost immediately as Flint stands abruptly at the sight of him, the heavy desk chair scraping loudly along the wood.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Flint demands, and (though he doesn’t break eye contact with Flint) he could swear he hears Barlow let out a put-upon sigh. 

Silver thrusts the box of paint out in front of him as if it could shield him from Flint’s irritation. “I brought you these.”

And Flint - Flint actually looks surprised at that, like the last thing he’d ever expected from Silver was a gift. Silver doesn’t want Flint to think he likes him or anything, though, so he’s quick to elaborate.

“I found them in the hold, and Billy mentioned that you like to paint. I figured they’d be better off here in your possession than gathering dust in hold.”

“Oh, how thoughtful, Mr. Silver. James so rarely paints, now, hardly ever has the patience for it. When was the last time you did something other than just a charcoal sketch?” The longer Barlow speaks, the more Flint’s eye twitches. It’s truly a fascinating cause-and-effect relationship.

“I must say, Captain, I never took you for such an artistic soul. I’d love to see your work, sometime,” Silver says, like the shit he is, because he wants to see if he can make that vein on Flint’s forehead start to pulse.

He can.

“Fuck off, Silver,” Flint says, but when Barlow clears her throat pointedly, He sighs, then continues. “Thank you, Mr. Silver. Now, please fuck off.”

Silver laughs, then walks forward to place the paints on the desk. Before he can turn to leave, though, Mrs. Barlow starts to talk again.

“James, why don’t we go for a walk on the upper decks? It’s a lovely night, and it’s been ever so long since I’ve been able to look upon the sea in such a manner,” she offers Flint her arm, and the look her companion gives her seems to be a strange mix of guilty, fond, and exasperated. It’s amazing, how expressive Flint is when he’s around her. 

“Fine. Silver, put that box in the empty space on that bottom shelf, will you?” Flint points to the bookcase in the corner, then loops his arm through hers. Before they leave though, Barlow catches Silver’s eye, looking between him and a leather-bound book on the far table pointedly.  Silver nods his understanding, brow furrowed slightly; why would Barlow purposefully point him toward something Flint clearly does not wish to share?

Still, Silver’s always been a nosy son-of-a-bitch, and so as soon as they’re gone he all but shoves the paints away and picks up what he assumes is Flint’s sketchbook.

It’s clear that he’s only just started using it, probably having found it after taking the Warship. The first three or four pages are detailed seascapes, vibrant and lively even in black charcoal. Flint’s gifted. Out of practice, Silver can tell, but good.

Interspersed between the landscapes are little portraits, some barely more than the bare-bones of a person’s face, and some intricate and life-like. At first, it’s mostly Mrs. Barlow, in various states of repose. There’s one of her naked, and Silver nearly tears the page in his haste to turn it, cheeks aflame. 

Then there’s a neat little sketch of Eleanor Guthrie, a scribbled out Gates, a kind-looking man Silver doesn’t recognize, and then -

Him.

Silver feels his brows raise, taken aback. 

It was clearly drawn after one of his earliest addresses: the Silver on the page has a bloody nose, and his teeth, bared in a mean grin, are stained dark as well. It really does look just like him, Silver thinks, and he notices absently that Flint seems to have put the most effort into getting his hair just right.

Maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised: they’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets these past few weeks, and it makes sense that Flint would simply sketch what he’s been exposed to.

The next page is him, too: this time in profile, frowning slightly. The page after that is a full-body sketch from behind; he wouldn’t be sure it was him, if it weren’t for the hair and that old cropped jacket he’d left behind.

He flips through the next seven pages, until he reaches where Flint’s sketches end. Every sketch, loose or detailed, small or large, on the most recent ten pages, are of Silver: silver laughing; Silver dripping wet after swimming to the Warship; Silver pouting; Silver playing with his hair; Silver smirking; Silver climbing up the rigging…over and over again, Flint has spent his free time not only sketching him, but thinking of him.

Silver doesn’t know what to make of that. He closes the sketchbook, cheeks red and mind reeling, and only barely remembers to put the paints where he’d been asked to before slipping out of the cabin.

He doesn’t understand why Flint has fixated on him in his artistic pursuits, as he’s fairly certain the man can hardly stand him. Maybe, at most, he finds him aesthetically pleasing (something Silver would never have presumed before seeing that sketchbook), but that is a far cry from tolerating or even liking him.

Silver decides, for the time being, to put this aside. He’s got Vincent and Nicholas to deal with, and he can already tell that they’re going to be the cause of most of his troubles along this journey.

But when he spots Flint standing with Barlow and the Ashe girl on the upper deck, illuminated by the full moon, he can’t help but wish the captain had made a self-portrait. Silver can’t say he would have minded taking it; he has no artistic talent of his own, after all, and surely that would be the only way to find a likeness of Flint.

He thinks he can almost understand Flint’s urge to put pen to page, if only to preserve the memories of the ones who so define the world around him. There’s some small part of him that would have liked something by which to remember Flint, so that he might never forget that fierce look in his eyes, the sharpness of his brow, the jut of his cheekbones. He’s been nothing but vexing and confusing, yes, but James Flint is unlike anyone he’s ever known. 

Silver will think of him, and his violent, artist’s hands, long after he leaves this rotten Warship behind.

send me a number!

[scriptflorist]

Zhu'ad, Nonstandard Hero and Confounded Part-God

I figured I’d toss my current favorite into the inbox for consideration. The setting is pretty heavily high fantasy so I’m not sure if that may be a problem. Thank you for opening your inbox, and for all the effort you put into helping others so much!

Name: Zhu'adulawt Nop’ etmet

Nickname: Zhu'ad, Jahad

Alternate identity: Consort to the Reborn God, The Rage of Joy

Birthday: Equivalent would be March 31st.

Zodiac: Aries Sun, Aries Moon

Birthplace: Enian’s Peak, a city similar in climate to Sao Paulo, Brazil. The people are rather different however, as the majority of the populace are a mixture of devils, demons, and mortals.

Dwelling place: On the road.

How do they live: She travels with several companions, including a man she considers to be her brother, and her husband. She regularly keeps last watch over the camp, wakes the others just before dawn, and works through her morning exercises. Once they’ve hit the road she keeps an eye out for trouble while entertaining conversation though she’s not the most inclined to participate until they stop for the midday heat. Over the break she’ll work through her forms and help any of the others with tasks while talking. After starting off again she repeats her behavior of morning travels before relaxing for the evening. She’s much more chatty over the evening responsibilities and last meal though she always carves out time to do maintenance checks over her weapons, armor, and bags.

Appearance: When in the field she wears mostly full plate that covers her entirely, and it can take her sometime to be comfortable enough to wear what she considers standard clothes. She has little patience for anything she considers baggy, skirts and dresses as a rule are right out,  too much fabric, loose or otherwise, bogs down her movement.

She tries to keep some of her home’s fabric wraps on hand as she much prefers them to what the rest of the continent considers a “shirt.” The wrap winds around her neck, shoulders, ribs, and breasts, leaving her midriff bear as well as her arms. She prefers her wraps to be light in color if she cannot get a pure white as well as her pants as she likes the contrast with her darker skin. She wears old calf-high boots that are a worn brown.

Her hair is rather long and kept pulled back in a high, single dutch braid. It is red, though leans towards a dark amber rather than a pure red. Her stubbed horns are a bright amber at the tip and darken rapidly to a near maroon at the base.

Zhu'ad is sandy-brown with warm red undertones to her skin. Her eyes are heavily angled, the inner corner obviously lower then the outer. Her pupils are a starburst shape and her inner iris is yellow while the outer transitions to bright amber. Her nose is broad from bridge to nostrils and is rather strong, also, slightly crooked. She has wide lips though her bottom is heavier than her top. Her chin, and chin cleft, are rather prominent as she has a diamond face, but the fact that she keeps it jut forward may have something to do with it.

She is muscular and confidently carries countless scars. To an untrained eye she’s obviously some kind of fighter, but to a trained one she may as well scream that she’s a weapons-master. The callouses on her hands reveals that she primarily uses a large blade and that she’s ambidextrous with it rather than favoring one arm.

She is not particular to jewelry as its a hindrance to her in her line of work, however, once she is married she wears the black color around her neck with pride.

What’s in their bag/pockets: A bedroll, flint, hemp rope, a few crumpled sheaves of loose parchment, quill, ink pot, sealing wax, water whetstone, oil whetstone, pipe, tobacco, and journal.

Species: She is ¾ths human, ¼th demon (succubus specifically).

Features of the species: While her mother (½) and grandmother (full) carry many of the physical traits of their people Zhu'ad does not. The only suggestions that she’s not fully human are her starburst pupils and stubby horns.

Some of the abilities that carried over are her excellent sight in the dark and her ability to “smell” magic.

Name of parents: Ni'ini Nop’ etmet (Mother) and Umuhd Pasal (Father)

Name of siblings: Only child.

Others next of kin: Ma'rali Nop’ etmet (Grandmother)

Not-in-blood-but-in-bond-family: Aris of Stonebridge

Family history: Zhu'ad grew up well cared for, loved, and not understood in the least. Their people are rather matriarchal, so while Zhu'ad cares for her father he really had little to do with her rearing and she sees him fondly, though distantly.

Both her mother and grandmother tried very hard to understand Zhu'ad but she may as well have been a raccoon among cats. Similar enough, in a way, but clearly not belonging. Charming, even-tempered, and manipulative, the family trade is trade, both in goods and political favors. Zhu'ad, from an early age, showed little to negative aptitude in most of the qualities necessary to participate in the family business. Instead she showed great aptitude in several physical skills and when allowed to practice these improved in her other studies.

Desperate to support Zhu'ad her family found her the best mentors in several martial arts while making it clear they expected her to listen to her other tutors as well. As Zhu'ad grew up it became clear that most conversation between her and her family were a simple script of polite but shallow questions and answers. They loved her, but not one of them could understand her drives, interests, or desires.

This led to Zhu'ad growing into a well educated, but ill-tempered and depressed young woman. She had no career outside of serving as her Grandmother’s sword-arm, she had no friends as she found she disliked the majority of the populace around her, and little to drive her. Life was difficult and becoming unbearable until her Grandmother ordered her to join an ally, Aris of Stonebridge, on his quest.

Favourite colour: Emerald green, though it changes to the pale blue of her husband’s eyes, not that she ever says that aloud.

Favourite animal: Striped Hyena, White-backed Vulture, and Honey Badger

Favourite book: Exile’s Honor by Mercedes Lackey, Astro City: Confession by Busiek, Anderson, & Ross

Favourite film/show/series: Gran Torino, Babylon 5, Hard Candy, Rush Hour

Favourite genre: Action, Comedy

Favourite food: Candied Yam, Spiced Pork Tenderloin

Favourite place to be: Out somewhere in the unmapped wilderness, whether plains or hills or the side of some mountain, preferably at night with the stars glittering above, a small fire crackling a little ways away, and her husband laying next to her as they make up constellations.

Personality: To any outside observer Zhu'ad appears brash, prideful, and has a mean streak. She bears no shame about being demon-born and in many ways wields her heritage like a weapon against those who would try to shame her for it. She shows no hesitancy in going after people’s literal and metaphorical weaknesses, and holds those with physical prowess in a more obvious esteem.

Behind the crafted facade Zhu'ad is intensely private of her true feelings and relationships. She does not make connections to others easily or lightly, but when she does it’s to a fault. Her loyalty and affection run deep, deeper than even she truly understands. Due to her abrasive nature she has rarely had a chance to have her true feelings returned, but once among Aris and his traveling companions she finds her feeling mirrored.

She has a wicked sense of humor, willing to laugh at others misfortunes though she is rather prickly about her own in the short term. Since joining the group she has become much more self-aware of her own flaws and hang ups, as well as developed a willingness to laugh at herself.

She tends to leap-and-think simultaneously, leading to her realizing something was a bad idea only as she is doing it. She is rather resilient to most things, however she finds herself quailing when it comes to personal emotionally intimate and charged situations which she finds herself more oft in once with the group. It unnerves her, even after a few years, how willing the people around her are to be truthful and earnest about their feelings.

Her first language, for all her knowledge of them, is violence. She finds touch, painful or not, to be the most honest way of communicating, and so will find herself at odds with people in ways she doesn’t entirely understand. To outsiders she can be abrupt and startling, her choices seemingly bizarre and impulsive, but when asked she can almost always produce a chain of logic, that while odd, holds together under scrutiny.

Misc:

She knows 6 primary languages and many of their dialects. She never thought it odd she could pick up languages so easily though her tutors and family were stunned. She still makes a habit of learning dialects and languages after she joins Aris on his quest as it’s come in handy more than anyone thought it would. 

Zhu'ad has a quirk others have noticed, but that she’s blind to herself. Knowing so many languages allows her an extended vocabulary into words that don’t approximate across languages. When there is an idea she’s trying to express she will use the most accurate word she knows for the idea, whether or not it’s from the language she is speaking at the time.

She mostly trained her physical gifts in her youth, but she had a fondness for hassling her tutors and getting them to teach her about history, theories of magic, geography, and languages, though not always in the order they meant to.

She has absolute pitch though has no inclination to music or singing (much to the lament of her family).

She has always had a near perfect sense of balance.

She finds, after joining the group, that she enjoys sketching the various places, people, and things she sees on her journeys. She also starts writing what amounts to cultural crash courses on the various places they go. At first this is just for herself as she finds it hard to keep track but begins making copies to give to important people.

At first Zhu'ad found the idea of worship and religion distasteful. She thought little of the Titans and considered organized religion a joke, and  still does, but she’s found, through her travels, a small kernel of faith in the Elder Gods who ask for nothing, and keep the world turning.

Her story/character-arc sees her change from stereotypical hot-headed, asshole warrior, to a weapons-master unflinchingly willing to die to save her world. Her husband is a reborn Titan that is slowly awakening to his abilities. As time passes and he grows in power, because of their connection she too gains a portion of divinity that sees her become not-quite-a-god, but definitely no longer a mortal.

(PS I hope I did all that right, and I’m really sorry this got so long. Oi.)

______

Hey rmene!

Thank you too for your submission! Now let’s see what we can find.  The section misc relates both to what you wrote in your own misc section and what I couldn’t put into any other category. You didn’t write a lot about her husband and marriage, so that was a bit more guesswork, but I figured you might have some use for a few relationship-themed plants. So I made you a small section for that, hope you will find it useful!

Consort to the Reborn God / The Rage of Joy

celandine – joys to come, future joy

crab-apple blossom – ill-tempered

jasmine (cape) – transport of joy

sorrel (wood) – joy

st. john’s worth – animosity, superstition

whin – anger

Enian’s Peak, a city similar in climate to Sao Paulo, Brazil

The national flower of Brazil is Tecoma chrysostricha.

Given it’s not actually Brazil in your story, some sources also name Cattleya labiata and Wikipedia names Handroathus albus as the national flower.

On the road

traveller’s joy – traveller’s joy, safety, rest

Based on how she lives

canary grass – perseverance

violet (dame) – watchfulness

watcher by the wayside – never despair

flax (dried) – utility

glycine – your friendship is pleasing and agreeable to me

heath – solitude

Based on the fact that there’s quite some red in her description

camilla (red) – unpretending excellence, you’re a flame in my heart

fraxinella – fire

hyacinth (red) – playful joy

iris (flaming) – flame

iris (German) – flame, ardour

mulberry (red) – wisdom

pyrus japonica – (the) faerie’s fire,

red valerian – readiness

salvia (red) – energy

Based on what’s inside her bag/pockets

hemp – fate

Based on family history

acanthus – the fine arts, artifice,  the arts (also fits her ability to pick up languages quickly)

bellflower (chimney) – aspiring

bougainvillaea – passion

cherry – good education, education

cherry (cornelian) – durability, duration

goldenrod – (careful) encouragement, precaution, be cautious

hollyhock (white) – female ambition

imbricata – uprightness, sentiments of honour

mistletoe – I surmount all difficulties/obstacles, I climb to greatness, I will rise above all, parasitic

oak (white) – independence

rue (wild) – morals, manners

sloe – difficulty, austerity

Striped Hyena

Have roots in folk magic, for example in Pakistan and Afghanistan striped hyena hair is used as a charm against sickness or for love magic.

angelica – inspiration, magic

circaea – spell

enchanter’s nightshade – spell, witchcraft, sorcery, fascination

fern – magic, sincerity, fascination, confidence, shelter

garlic – get well, ward of evil and illness, courage

holly herb – enchantment

iceland moss – health

witch (hazel) – a spell

Based on her personality

alstroemeria – devotion

ash mountain – with me you are safe, prudence

austurtium – splendour

balsam (red) – touch me not, impatient resolve(s)

bay (wreath) – reward of merit

berberry – sharpness/sourness of temper, sharpness, sourness, petulance

borage – bluntness, rudeness

columbine (purple) – resolved to win

copihue – there is no unalloyed good

coriander – hidden worth/merit, concealed merit

daisy – loyal love, I’ll never tell, purity, beauty, innocence

gillflower (mahon) – promptness

gorse – cheerfulness in adversity, endearing affection

lantana – rigour, sharpness

lavender – devotion, love, distrust, mistrust, acknowledgement

osier – frankness

sorrel (wild) – wit ill-timed

xeranthemum – cheerfulness under adversity

Misc

auricula – painting

cedar of Lebanon – incorruptible

cilanthus – worldliness, self-seeking

coronilla – success to you, success crown your wishes

daphne – glory, immortality

gardenia – refinement

hawkweed – quick-sightedness

honeysuckle (coral) – the colour of my fate

laurel (mountain) – ambition

lint – I feel my obligations

liquorice – I declare against you

marianthus – hope for better days

marigold (cape) – presage

marigold (prophetic) – prediction

mercury – goodness

oak leaves – bravery

penstemon azureus – high-bred

rosebud (stripped of thorns) – I fear no longer I hope

volkameria – may you be happy

willow (French) – bravery and humanity

Husband related

clover (white) – think of me

diosma – your simple elegance charms me

furze – love for all seasons/occasions

gladiolus – you pierce my heart, generosity, I’m sincere, flower of the gladiators

heliotrope – devotion, I love you, devoted attachment, intoxicated with pleasure, I turn to thee, infatuation, faithfulness

milk vetch – your presence softens my pains

persicaria – restoration

primrose (Chinese) – lasting love

rose (bridal) – happy love

spindle tree – your charms are engraven on my heart

- Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Striped_hyena

[fand0mfan]

Walk in the park date (Flint & Madi)

Here’s the next in my ‘James Dates’ series.

This one’s James & Madi, early season 4. Hinting on the breeze about future Silvermadiflint.

Read on AO3 here.

“Come with me,” Madi says from the doorway, and Flint hears it for the order it is. An order she is accustomed to issuing in this place. Her place. An order he is grateful to follow after so long giving the orders himself.

He nods and rises, ankles cracking, hip joints aching. Fuck, he feels like he’s aged ten years since they arrived on Maroon Island. He’s been hollowed out by all that’s transpired here—from the storm through to Silver’s loss and reappearance—he’s begun to feel as though he is merely a shell of a man in the shape of a military strategist. He has less energy for it each day, being Captain Flint. If someone else has the vigour to take control, he is increasingly happy to cede it.

There was a time when he’d drawn strength from Silver at his side. When their bond had seemed paramount and unbreakable, when he’d felt the warmth of Silver’s regard, and thought perhaps they might… But no.

Of course not.

Silver is young and beautiful and Flint is many things but not those. When a person catches the eye of someone like Madi, in whom a person’s own beauty and charisma find their match, there is little reason to make another choice. Flint will do his best to ready the pair of them for the mantle of leadership, and if he survives… he is not entirely sure what then. What is Odysseus with no home to return to but a lost soul, forever adrift? He is determined that he will not be Silver’s problem. Nor Madi’s.

So he rises with every one of his years and aches on his shoulders and follows Madi out the door. He marshalls tactics and plans in his mind as she leads him beyond the settlement, readying for whatever strategy she may want to discuss in privacy. When he sees where she is taking them, however, he balks.

He struggles for a moment to make blank his face. “I taught Silver to fight here, you know,” he tells her, sweeping his arm to encompass the cliffs overlooking the sea.

“He told me,” she replies, inscrutable as ever.

“Would you also like tutelage in swordsmanship?”

Madi laughs, a rich, low sound. “I would not, Captain.”

“Then what would you have from me?”

“Merely some of your time this afternoon,” she says enigmatically.

Flint sighs. He is too weary to play diplomacy when they are not at the negotiating table. “I can give you my time at the camp,” he says, jaw tight. “I do not know what Silver told you of our sessions on these cliffs, but this is not a place I would soon return to.”

Madi breaks her stoic facade with a frown as she peers up into Flint’s face. “He hurt you up here, did he not?”

Flint says nothing, but whatever she sees in his face makes her click her tongue against her teeth. “I could slap that man sometimes,” she says, shaking her head. “I am afraid he is not always able to be good to the people who are good to him.” She places one hand compassionately on Flint’s shoulder. “I hope he apologises to you for that someday.”

The words are an unlooked-for balm to something sore in Flint’s chest. He is glad for this woman who will never stop surprising him, who will always push Silver to be the best of himself.

He nods at her and asks, “Will that be all, then?”

Madi’s hand remains on his shoulder as she answers, “I hope not, for I had not intended to discomfit you today, nor to spend all our time talking about John.”

It is Flint’s turn to frown in confusion. “Then what did you hope to accomplish?”

She smiles at him, a small, new-fledged thing. “I hoped to come to know you better,” she says, surprising him yet again. “I saw you when John was gone and when he returned. He speaks of you with such intensity, and I am only beginning to see what inspires that. I had hoped we might talk freely about topics other than war or John Silver.”

Flint is nonplussed. When did someone last want to talk to him of something other than war or John Silver? He laughs ruefully as he realises he feels quite like he did in the early days with Thomas and Miranda, when he could not understand why two such brilliant, well-bred people should care to hear the opinion of the jumped-up son of a carpenter’s mate.

“Are you laughing at me?” Madi asks, a hint of humour gliding around the corners of her earnest enquiry.

“No,” Flint assures her, pressing his hand atop hers when she begins to remove it from his shoulder. “At myself. At how much you remind me of some people I knew when I was younger.”

She smiles a little, then, and takes his arm like any gentlewoman to be escorted, and they begin to walk along the cliff path. They have only gone a few dozen paces when she asks, “Do you mean Thomas Hamilton?” causing Flint a stuttered step in their stroll.

“What did Silver tell you about him?” he asks cautiously

“That you and he worked closely together on plans for New Providence Island,” Madi says. “That he was a nobleman who had sympathy for society’s outcasts. That he was a important influence on your life and a good friend.” She looks at Flint, assessing. “And he said that if I wanted to know more, I would need to ask it from you directly, for he would not share what you told him in confidence.”

For a moment, Flint is warmed to know Silver kept his trust, that Silver did not take an easy opportunity to use the power Flint had put into his hands to hurt. And then he is struck by the powerful realisation that the truth holds no more power to hurt him, now that his is no longer the most carefully created name in West Indies piracy. He halts and looks Madi full in the face and tells her, “Thomas was my lover. My great love. He and his wife Miranda, both of them.”

She looks back at him, just as directly. “And they are both gone?”

“Yes.”

She is silent for a moment, her eyes moving over his face. Finally, she lifts her hand from his arm and places it very softly on his cheek. “I am sorry you suffered such a loss, but glad you found such a love.”

There is immense tenderness in her voice. Tenderness with no trace of the shock or reproach Flint still, in some part of him, expects. He finds his throat closing and his eyes wet.

“Thank you,” he manages.

“Thank you for sharing your story with me,” she says, then stands silent with him as he masters his emotions, her warm hand on his cheek and her kind eyes on his all the while.

At length, Flint tucks her hand back into the crook of his arm and walks them along the path once more.

“You would have liked them. Thomas especially, I think,” he says, wistfully. The thought of them meeting brings him more fondness than pain. “I know he would have liked you. The two of you would have debated circles around anyone else. You’d still be in the library long after everyone else had gone, arguing over morality and philosophy and politics.”

Madi chuckles. “I should like to sit in the library of an English lord who would look past my skin and my sex and find me a worthy debate partner.”

“He would have done that, to be sure,” Flint says. “Thomas could never pass up the chance at a discussion with a well-read, independent-thinking radical.”

“Why, Captain,” Madi smiles. “From you, I do believe that was quite the compliment.” She sketches a small curtsey.

Flint returns her smile and bends at the waist to kiss the back of her hand. “Indeed,” he says. “As it was intended, Princess.”

She grins in a way that wrinkles her nose quite endearingly, and for a fleeting moment, Flint allows himself to feel as though he is merely James: a man escorting a woman on a promenade. He feels light in a way he hasn’t in months.

“Tell me what you and Thomas Hamilton read and debated, then,” she says as they walk on. The exhausted listlessness that has swamped him ebbs before this clever woman’s attentive interest.

“When he met someone new, he often preferred to start with Milton,” Flint says.

“'Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties’,” Madi recites.

“Yes.” Flint thinks of how delighted Thomas would be and can feel one corner of his mouth turn up the way the Hamiltons always said they loved. “Yes, precisely.”

“I suspect he particularly enjoyed debates about Milton that caused that look on your face,” she says, catching him off guard yet again.

“You are more right than you know,” he says. “Though I could not say what about this look on my face is so intriguing.”

“It is the look of a man amused and in love,” she replies, smiling. “If I made a handsome man look like that, I should have a difficult time looking away.”

Flint laughs. “You mock me, Princess, albeit gracefully.”

Madi’s smile takes on a spritely edge that, were he fifteen years younger, he might call flirtatious. "You do yourself less credit than you deserve. It is hardly mockery to tell a man he is handsome when it is so.”

Perversely, something goes easy in Flint’s shoulders to realise that he is blushing at her words, though he turns his face toward the waves that Madi might not see. It has been quite some time since a well-favoured young person has so openly played the coquette with him. “You may save the ‘handsome’ talk for Silver,” he says.

Madi smiles knowingly at him, missing nothing. “He is quite nice to look at, is he not?” She mercifully leaves him no room to fumble further in this suddenly strange situation. “I am not shy to tell him so, nor from telling him I think the same of you.” Flint feels his flush deepen, and, odd but true, it further lightens his spirit.

They continue along the cliffs a few more paces before Madi adds, “He agrees with me, you know. That you are handsome.”

Flint’s heart performs a complicated manoeuvre at this, and it is high time to put this foolishness to rest before he finds himself distracted thinking things might be possible that are not possible. “Princess,” he cuts in before she can pull out any further confounding statements, “Might I suggest we leave off discussing who finds whom handsome and perhaps return to literature or philosophy.”

She looks at him appraisingly, then nods, decisive. “Very well. The matter is closed. For now. Should there come a time to… reassess the situation between yourself, myself, and John, I would like to know you better, as I said.”

She is every inch regal and shows no shame whatsoever in discussing… can she be discussing…? She sounds no different than she does at a treaty negotiation: clear-eyed and direct. Flint bows his head to her, unsure but following her lead in this as in an increasing number of other concerns. “Thomas and Miranda would have adored you,” is what he offers, in the end.

Madi smiles, broad and warm as a noontide sky. “Thank you, Captain. I have only some small idea of what those words mean to you, but I think they are deeply complimentary, indeed.”

“They are, Princess,” Flint assures her, smiling in return.  “Now, Milton?”

She laughs, tucks her arm tighter into his, and answers, “Yes, Milton,” and they walk through the waving grasses on the seaside cliffs and talk and come to know each other better.

The full thing (in series with the other dates) is on AO3 here.