bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
When his hand closes around hers, the water doesn’t stop. It gathers and slips instead, beading from her fingertips and trailing down the length of them, cool against the rough warmth of his palm, as though there’s simply too much of the ocean in her to ever be fully contained. It runs over his skin without resistance, unbothered by the boundary between them, and for a moment her gaze follows it, before lifting again to meet his.
There’s something deeper in her eyes for it, something that pulls like a tide under moonlight, before her mouth curves, slow and teasing; a flash of teeth beneath wine-dark lips. "Oh," she says lightly, tilting her head, "so it had nothing to do with your keen insight at all?" The grin that follows is sharper, but it softens just as quickly, her expression shifting, brightening at the edges as the depth in her gaze gives way to something more luminous, more openly amused.
Her thumb drifts, finding a particular scar in his palm and tracing over it with quiet intent, the motion slow, almost absentminded if not for the way her eyes stay locked on his. "Somewhere along the way," she murmurs, her voice dipping just a touch, "I realized you weren’t just taking whatever you could get your hands on and selling it to whoever offered you the most for it." Her gaze doesn’t waver, something knowing settling into it, something that recognises exactly what sits across from her. Jack isn’t softened by it, not made gentler or safer for having principles; if anything, it sharpens him, gives weight and structure to everything he is. The violence, the ambition, the way he moves through the world, it all hangs on that quiet line he doesn’t cross unless he’s decided it’s worth crossing.
It’s what makes him dangerous. It’s also what makes him worth following.
So yes, if she is a malicious bitch, it's only because he's taught her to be that way, even if her principles don't mirror his exactly now that she's been given form.
There’s something deeper in her eyes for it, something that pulls like a tide under moonlight, before her mouth curves, slow and teasing; a flash of teeth beneath wine-dark lips. "Oh," she says lightly, tilting her head, "so it had nothing to do with your keen insight at all?" The grin that follows is sharper, but it softens just as quickly, her expression shifting, brightening at the edges as the depth in her gaze gives way to something more luminous, more openly amused.
Her thumb drifts, finding a particular scar in his palm and tracing over it with quiet intent, the motion slow, almost absentminded if not for the way her eyes stay locked on his. "Somewhere along the way," she murmurs, her voice dipping just a touch, "I realized you weren’t just taking whatever you could get your hands on and selling it to whoever offered you the most for it." Her gaze doesn’t waver, something knowing settling into it, something that recognises exactly what sits across from her. Jack isn’t softened by it, not made gentler or safer for having principles; if anything, it sharpens him, gives weight and structure to everything he is. The violence, the ambition, the way he moves through the world, it all hangs on that quiet line he doesn’t cross unless he’s decided it’s worth crossing.
It’s what makes him dangerous. It’s also what makes him worth following.
So yes, if she is a malicious bitch, it's only because he's taught her to be that way, even if her principles don't mirror his exactly now that she's been given form.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
