you look like my next mistake
"Oh, I dunno, maybe while I was trying to talk to you, instead of just saying I didn't have a say in anything you do? Or, you know the magical fucking parchment?"
As Jack continues, Flora's breath catches, her chest tightening as his words slam into her, as sharp and cutting as sea spray in a storm. A mix of fury and disbelief flares across her face, burning hot against the tear tracks on her cheeks. "You—" She stops, her voice catching on the jagged edges of everything she wants to say, everything she feels, everything that should be obvious.
Because what the fuck does he mean, fiGurING OuT WhAt He'S FiGhTiNg FoR?
Her lips part, but for the first time in this whole mess, she doesn't have a quip, doesn't have some razor-sharp retort to fling back at him. Instead, she just stares at him, at the rope he's reaching for, at the ship hovering overhead like a storm cloud, at the sharp, closed-off lines of his face. And then, very, very quietly—too quietly, after all the screaming—she asks, "So..you're just gonna go, then?" Her nails bite into her arms where she’s folded them across her chest again, like she’s trying to physically hold herself together, or maybe protect herself against Jack, who knows.
In her mind, if you loved someone, if you really, really fucking loved them, you wouldn’t need to wrap your head around anything. Unlike Jack, apparently, Flora knows what she's fighting for, and it's why she's fighting so fucking hard even if it's coming out all wrong. It's why she constantly bends herself into any shape he asks of her and is so offended when he's unyielding in return.
As Jack continues, Flora's breath catches, her chest tightening as his words slam into her, as sharp and cutting as sea spray in a storm. A mix of fury and disbelief flares across her face, burning hot against the tear tracks on her cheeks. "You—" She stops, her voice catching on the jagged edges of everything she wants to say, everything she feels, everything that should be obvious.
Because what the fuck does he mean, fiGurING OuT WhAt He'S FiGhTiNg FoR?
Her lips part, but for the first time in this whole mess, she doesn't have a quip, doesn't have some razor-sharp retort to fling back at him. Instead, she just stares at him, at the rope he's reaching for, at the ship hovering overhead like a storm cloud, at the sharp, closed-off lines of his face. And then, very, very quietly—too quietly, after all the screaming—she asks, "So..you're just gonna go, then?" Her nails bite into her arms where she’s folded them across her chest again, like she’s trying to physically hold herself together, or maybe protect herself against Jack, who knows.
In her mind, if you loved someone, if you really, really fucking loved them, you wouldn’t need to wrap your head around anything. Unlike Jack, apparently, Flora knows what she's fighting for, and it's why she's fighting so fucking hard even if it's coming out all wrong. It's why she constantly bends herself into any shape he asks of her and is so offended when he's unyielding in return.
