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Summary
Flint whispers a quiet breath of hasty words against Silver’s mouth, “I fear if this continues, you will be the end of me.” And perhaps all of this, the war, this thing curling and knotting between them, all of it will end in a way neither of them quite anticipated. Silver can’t afford to waste too much thought on the idea. Not right now. Fate can wait its fucking turn.
Or, a self-indulgent excuse for power bottom Flint and an exercise in Silver’s S3 pov. Sorry (not sorry).
