Tag: black sails

rosietwiggs:

Almost nothing fucks me up more than that moment when Flint sits down and introduces himself to Abigail Ashe. 

How he sloughs off the despair and anger and rage that have become an inherent part of his identity, letting them melt away. How the action of removing his weapons and setting them aside is a physical counterpart to removing and setting aside the person that circumstances have dictated he become. How he must do that in order to release even a whisper of who he once was.  

You can physically see him allowing himself to wake up from a long slumber, ten years of suppressing everything that was kind and gentle in him, because there is no place for it in Nassau, in his war, in his vengeance. 

Nothing fucks me up more than the softness in his eyes and the way his voice breaks,

when he reclaims his identity

and says with a relieved sigh: 

“My name is James.”

luminarai:

inkyland:

treasure island but everytime the notorious and supposedly dead captain flint is mentioned, there’s a cut to james flint mcgraw and his husband thomas hamilton living a happy gay life together and doing cute things.

“he was the bloodthirstiest buccaneer that sailed” 

– cut to flint finding his husband passed out on the sofa with a book and then carefully tucking him in w a blanket and a lil kiss to the temple –

 “blackbeard was a child to flint” 

– cut to flint repeatedly and incredibly gently removing a kitten as it crawls onto the kitchen counter to steal the fish he’s cooking  – 

“the spaniards were so prodigiously afraid of him that, i tell you, sir, i was sometimes proud that he was an englishman”

– cut to flint under a peach tree with his head in his husband’s lap, hand feeding him grapes in exchange for kisses –

rosietwiggs:

on my drive in to work this morning i just got stuck on how much flint actually LOVES to sail?

like. okay. yes, he is all about the righteous gay rage and darkness, and fighting to bring down england and restore nassau blah blah, but… there’s this JOY you see on his face whenever he’s focused on sailing? calling orders across the ship, hanging off of the ropes and looking out at the horizon, trusting his ship because he knows she’ll do right by him?

like, knowing the exact moment to raise those fucking t’gallants, and how to survive a ship killing storm, when to lay anchor, standing at the ship’s bow with the spray soaking his clothes, or at the wheel because he’s the one who can really get the walrus to sing when he needs her to

and you kind of see all his other burdens melt away in those moments, because at his core, james flint genuinely loves to sail, and he loved to sail before he loved… anything else really 

he has always belonged to the sea, and the sea has belonged to him, and as long as he has a ship, as long as there’s sturdy wood beneath his feet, rocking with the motion of the waves, he’s free

Thomas: I thought for Pride this year, you, me, Max, Anne, and Eleanor could each wear a solid shirt in a different colour of the rainbow so that when we’re all walking together we look like the stripes from the pride flag.
James: If you want.
Thomas: Yeah?
James: Yeah.
Thomas: You’re sure?
James: Sure, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I b—
Thomas: …
James: …
James: Jesus christ, you want me to be the fucking orange stripe, don’t you?
Thomas: I, um…[runs away]
James: THOMAS HAMILTON YOU COME BACK HERE