Rags of Time: III – xpityx – Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]

xpityx:

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Captain Flint/Thomas Hamilton, Anne Bonny & “Calico” Jack Rackham & Charles Vane
Characters: Captain Flint (Black Sails), Thomas Hamilton, Charles Vane, Anne Bonny, “Calico” Jack Rackham
Additional Tags: POV Multiple
Series: Part 3 of The Rags of Time
Summary:

They had come upon the village at the end of the ninth day. After some debate Hamilton had been sent with Anne and a purse full of gold to secure their dwellings. As such they had two tiny timber cottages and a small plot of overgrown jungle to call their own. Jack was certain that there was more wildlife in the goddamn house than there was outside of it: there’d been a fucking rattlesnake in the bedroom.

Judy and John talking about PTSD please?

complaininginthedark:

I… love it. So in keeping with the theme (Mental Health Awareness Week), I want to say that my dad suffers from PTSD after his time in the Marines and Royal Air Force. It’s affected every aspect of his life and is Not something to be taken lightly. I’ve tried to draw on my experience as a family member to write this.

Judy was shaking when he found her in the cargo hold. Her skin was beaded with sweat and there was something far away in her eyes that scared him.

John recognised the look. He had seen it countless times on fellow soldiers out at the front lines of battle. He had seen them look off into the distance, their expressions blank but their chests heaving, and there had been little he could do to help.

But Judy was his daughter. He had to do something.

He strode into the room, made his footfalls heavy and hummed as he got closer so she knew he was there. The soldiers with PTSD he’d known had bolted when they didn’t know someone was there. Some had reacted violently, others had crumbled and been inconsolable. The idea of his Judy reacting like that made his chest tighten with dear.

“Dad?” She asked quietly, her voice wet with unshed tears.

“I’m here baby,” he said softly and sat down against the crates with her. “I’m right here.”

Her face crumpled as she began to sob. John’s heart broke at the sight, memories of trying to hold her hand where it was free of the ice filling his mind. Her voice had been so young in those terrifying hours, the voice of a frightened child with nowhere to turn. Leaving her to get the magnesium had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. And it had been so close… any longer and she’d have died. If Will hadn’t come back when he had-

Judy curled against his side and dragged his arm over her shoulders. She buried her face against his chest and dug her fingers into the fabric of his jumper. After long minutes, her sobs turning to hiccoughs and then to shuddery breaths, she loosened her grip.

“I… I got cold. The duvet was too tight and I got cold and-” she broke off with a choked sound.

John rubbed her arm, kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay. You went through something huge, something not many people could deal with half as well as you;” he brushed a curl away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, saw the thankfully clear brown of her eyes and let relief wash over him. “You’re so brave, Judy. I know it feels hard – like you’re still trapped and you won’t ever forget it. But that’s okay. You’re okay. Just do me one favour.”

She nodded, eyes questioning. “What?”

John smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Talk to me. Whenever you feel trapped or scared or… or whatever it is you felt tonight, talk to me. Okay, honey?”

“Okay dad,” Judy whispered. Her eyes welled with tears again, but her lips curved up into a delicate smile.

“That’s my girl.”

Rags of Time: II – xpityx – Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]

xpityx:

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Anne Bonny & “Calico” Jack Rackham & Charles Vane, Captain Flint/Thomas Hamilton
Characters: Thomas Hamilton, Captain Flint (Black Sails), Charles Vane, “Calico” Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, Max (Black Sails)
Series: Part 2 of The Rags of Time
Summary:

Jack almost mistook the man who stepped out of the shadows for a stranger, but only because he was dead and had been for seven months. Charles Vane had lost a great deal of muscle mass in that time, and his head had been shaved unevenly, but Jack would know his friend at the ends of the earth.

Rags of Time: II – xpityx – Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]

xpityx:

Idelle looked up as a purse full of coins was dumped unceremoniously on the dresser where she sat, unweaving her sleep braid.

“What’s that for?” She asked, not bothering to put any politeness into the words.

“It’s money for a gravestone. I can show you where we buried her.”

Idelle turned to look at Anne Bonny. She was wearing her hat again, pulled low so she could only see the slight downturn of her lips.

“Why?”

Anne shrugged.

“You were right. She didn’t deserve what I done to her. Don’t know about him. I reckon most men could do with a knife in the gut now and then. But she didn’t deserve it. Nothing I can do for her now, but I can do this, see she gets something proper to remember her to her friends. To you.”

Idelle nodded, not quite trusting her voice, and Anne turned and left the room as silently as she’d arrived.

She waited until the door was shut and she was sure she was alone, then she allowed herself to cry for her friend, for Charlotte.

A Thousand Times ‘No’

otg2012:

Crossposted to AO3 | My 4th Flinthamilton fic | 1785 words

Thanks so much to @flintsredhair for her great beta and advice; and to @thomas-hamilton for the feedback and encouragement.

~~~~~~~~

Morning birds chirping, breeze through the window, soft linen against his skin, strong warm muscles under his body, heart beating steadily under his ear. The stillness. The peace. James is never going to get used to this. Every morning feels like this isn’t real. Maybe when winter comes, things will be different, but for now it still feels surreal.

He certainly doesn’t miss the rocking of the ship, the uncomfortable bunk, the fights to stay alive, the uncertainty of their future… the loneliness. The only thing he misses is Miranda but that is never going to change and he’s long accepted that.

He always knows the moment Thomas wakes up. The change in his breathing, big hands running slowly up and down his back, finding his shoulders, his ass, his neck, his hair. Blue eyes finding his if he looks up. Then his voice, hoarse from sleep. Unmistakable. Beautiful.

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

That’s not the first thing he expected to hear that morning, that’s for sure. But then again, Thomas has the innate ability to surprise him more often than not, so it’s not like he’s shocked or anything… it’s more that his brain still needs to wake up completely.

“Why would you even ask me that?” James frowns, looking up at Thomas. Does he really think he could forget that?

“Well, it’s been ten years. Maybe to you, it feels like it happened in another lifetime… I don’t know.”

Keep reading

Ginger Finds a Home

jamesflintmcgrawhamilton:

James and Thomas are cats. That’s…. basically it.

I love you, Thomas miaows.

“Calm down, little cat – I’ll be with you in a minute.”

You are a goddess among women.

“Yes dear, I know.”

I have never been happier in my life.

“You’ve already been fed, sweetheart. Don’t think you can trick me.”

Miranda is the most wonderful owner a cat could wish for, and Thomas is determined that she knows it. It’s the least he can do — after she has been instrumental in securing for him true happiness.

Happiness, who is at this moment, still hiding beneath the sofa.

Are you alright under there?

His answer is swift, if unbelievable.

Fine.

Forgive me, Thomas miaows back, but you might be a little more convincing if you would emerge from under the sofa.

Maybe later. When she’s gone.

Thomas sighs, unable to keep from flicking his tail in irritation. Finally, he has a partner, a beautiful ginger companion to share his cardboard boxes and the lovely heated cat bed Miranda bought him last Christmas, and yet time that they should be spending doing things of that sort is currently being squandered, and all thanks to a misunderstanding!

Miranda is a very nice woman —

SHE PUT ME IN THE BATH! I’M WET!

Well, Thomas miaows. I’d be more than happy to help you dry off, if you’d just come out?

In the name of everything soft and warm, he doesn’t even know this gorgeous cat’s name yet! Currently, all he can see of him is a pair of bright green eyes, blinking slowly.

She was only trying to help, Thomas huffs. Honestly, she should have just left it to Thomas. When he thinks about the sunny afternoon he could have spent happily grooming his new love — but that’s beside the point. She won’t do it again, he assures.

A pause. Then: Do you promise?

On everything I hold most dear, Thomas purrs.

“Oh — good boy, James — I’m so proud of you!”

James. A beautiful name, for a beautiful cat.

I’m Thomas, miaows Thomas.

Yes, replies James. I know who you are.

And I know who you are, now. But I already knew what you are.

James bristles slightly. And what is that?

Lovely, Thomas purrs. You’re lovely.

James’ whiskers twitch adorably, and he edges forward until their noses bump together — Thomas can’t help purring.

So are you, James miaows softly.

otg2012:

Happy Thomas Resurrection Day!

I’m a little late but I hope it’s still okay to post this today. This is just my third flinthamilton fic because I’m not a writer and I’m not very good at writing this pairing so it terrifies me, but well, in honor of his resurrection I wanted to give it a try.

They are sitting in the living room after lunch. Each of them has a book in their hands and they are supposed to be reading but for a moment, Thomas looks at James and can see that even if the book is open, his mind is somewhere else. It’s the anniversary of Miranda’s death and Thomas is afraid that maybe he’s thinking about it.

“What’s on your mind?” Thomas asks.

“I’m not sure you want to know.” James says, looking at the pages again.

“Why shouldn’t I want to know?” Thomas raises his eyebrows, closes the book and rests it on his lap. “Your mind is full of brilliant things most of time.”

“Just most of the time?” James smirks.

“Yes. I wouldn’t say that declaring a war to England and risking your life in my name was exactly brilliant, wouldn’t you agree? It’s flattering… and extremely brave, dear… but I could have lost you because of it. And nothing that might lead to your death could ever be brilliant. I’m sure Miranda agreed with me.”

It’s been almost a year since they reunited and escaped the plantation and as hard as it is, at least now they are able to mention her without feeling like crying anymore. They know that’s not what she would have wanted. Because she would have wanted them to live life to the fullest, instead of living a life of grief and regrets. That is something that neither of them have ever doubted and they owe it to her to be happy.

“She did. Of course, she did. We had countless arguments about it. And she tried to convince me…” James shakes his head as he remembers those times. It still feels like it was yesterday.

“You can be proud of her.” James continues. “She tried her best to convince me. You know how she wanted us to start a new life, so that I could leave Captain Flint behind. As strong-minded and I guess, right, as she was, she wasn’t able to convince me. I said it was me who had to grant them my forgiveness… not the other way around. And I’m sorry, but that’s still how I feel. Just because you’re back, it doesn’t mean they didn’t ruin our lives.”

“James–”

Keep reading

I Bless You: More Life

fand0mfan:

Let all the trumpets sound, the day is here! It is Thomas Hamilton Resurrection Day (and also my birthday). As such, I asked for prompts, and I thank the two anons who sent me the following:

Thomas tells James about the time he almost died as a child

Modern AU, Thomas wakes up from a coma

Here’s my 1200-word response (and if you’d rather read it on AO3, it’s here).

“I nearly died once, you know.” They are in bed together, sticky and sweaty and replete, their bare skin cooling in the aftermath of pleasure. To other people, this would seem perhaps an odd moment for Thomas to choose such a somber topic. But not to James. James is muzzy-headed with the joy his body is still, miraculously, capable of experiencing, the joy of Thomas there to once again be its cause. He is hardly likely to stop the man sharing whatever he wants to share, given that he is alive—alive!—to share anything with James at all.

He wraps his arms more tightly around Thomas’s solid torso and offers up Did you now?, ready to hear all the stories Thomas wants to tell, be they never so unpleasant.

“I did,” Thomas answers, and shuffles to accommodate James’s limpet grasp. He, too, has seemed loathe to be physically separate from James since their reunion, and now he strokes one calloused hand aimlessly along James’s back as he goes on. “Well, truth be told, there were several incidents since we’ve been parted, but I don’t want to speak of those tonight.”

“Speak of anything you like,” James says. He rubs his cheek against the skin beneath it, relishing warmth and firm pectoral muscle. Perhaps he should be chagrined at this reference to Thomas’s difficulties in their years apart, but that can come later. Right now, he floats in blissful fatigue. James is, to put it plainly, well fucked, and pleased about the fact.

Keep reading

A smol fic about James and Thomas being in/sleeping in an actual, comfortable bed for the first time post-finale. And I’m enjoying the heck out of your fics. <3

complaininginthedark:

(GOOD GRAVY THIS IS MY FAVOURITE THING. Gosh thank you I think I needed this prompt more than anything else today. GOSH.)

Bedlam had been hard cold floors with blankets and, sometimes, straw. Some cells had cots which were little more than piles of moth-eaten cloth. On the ship to the Americas it had been damp wood, sharing space with the rats and the sick or dying passengers being transported to their ‘new lives’. Once in Savannah the bedding had improved somewhat, though only because it was a few inches off the floor and just a little wider than his body. Thomas had gotten used to waking with aching muscles and bruised skin.

James told him of the cot in his captain’s cabin, how it had swayed with the motion of the ship. He told Thomas of the scratchy blankets and the floor of the Maroon Island’s cages. Neither of them had been given the luxury of a good nights sleep, though the darker part of Thomas’ mind told him at least James had been able to sleep alone, unwatched, unharmed, sometimes even next to someone he loved in that time.

All those thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind when he sits on the edge of the bed they’re sharing for the night. It is simple, a mattress on a rickety wooden frame in the spare room of a spinster’s house, but it is akin to the bed of a king in Thomas’ eyes.

He sat and felt the give of the mattress under his backside and hands where he leaned back. Tears sprang to his eyes, stinging and uncontrollable as he falls back onto the bed and sobs.

James was there in moments, quiet and gentle so impossibly gentle with him as he pressed his face into the blankets and pillows.

Pillows.

The warmth of the recently lit hearth began to fill the room and Thomas felt for a moment that he was well again. James disappeared for a moment and returned with a tray of bread, cheese, hot tea in a pot and a small jug of milk. There is no sugar, Thomas can no longer stand the stuff.

“Comfy?” He asked, voice gruffer and cracked at the edge but no less kind and loving.

Thomas nodded from his cocoon of blankets and pillows. The infinite gentleness was like the embrace of God, he thought. Jesus Christ Himself had come to tuck him into bed. He didn’t realise he had spoken aloud until James smiles, a broken thing, and climbed onto the bed next to him.

A hand stroked through the tuft of hair still visible. “Can I come in?”

Thomas carefully pried the cocoon open and welcomed his love in, wrapped himself around James and the blankets around them both.

“We’re like caterpillars,” he said softly into the warm air between them. “We’ll go to sleep and when we wake up we’ll be butterflies; resplendent and more beautiful than we were.”

James snorted a laugh and tucked his head under Thomas’ chin. “Alright,” he whispered, the tea and bread forgotten, “like caterpillars.”

They fell asleep as the sun went down, Thomas’ last thought was that he had finally found the meaning of his existence – to be there, surrounded by the softness of love on the cusp of sleep.

I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve missed you. A friend of mine is having a hard time at the moment. She loves Madi/Vane, do you think you could write some fluff to help me cheer her up?

complaininginthedark:

Someone is sad????? I want to help oh gosh I hope she feels better. Here, take my attempt at these two and maybe it can add some fluff and sweetness into things. Also, I am going to have to look for more with these two that is an interesting dynamic to consider.

Weddings are, in most cases, joyful affairs. They are also long and make your feet hurt from dancing and standing and walking from the buffet table to your seat and back to the buffet table.

As the happy couple dance, their foreheads pressed together (and Madi is sure they’re both crying; Thomas cries at every wedding no matter who’s it is, and James just cries when Thomas cries) she nibbles on a cracker and sways to the soft music she’s never heard before. The service was beautiful and the reception was just as beautiful if more so because of the laughter and joy it brought.

“They’re going to be doing that all night, aren’t they?” A gruff voice says from the chair next to her.

She hums in agreement and turns, seeing a long haired man with sharp features sitting in a chair completely the wrong way. He looks far too comfortable in that position for her to say anything so she looks back at the happy couple (currently rubbing their noses together – and how is it possible to be that in love?).

“If they weren’t such good people I’d be making gagging noises,” the man continues and Madi can’t help the laugh that tumbles from her lips.

“You know them well?” She asks, curious about this sharp white man and his ridiculously tight shirt open far too wide to be proper.

He nods and gestures to the grooms with a tilt of his head. There’s a light jingle as beads knock together somewhere in his dark mane. “James and I are related on paper – his father knew my uncle before he died, took me in when we were kids. We hated each other on sight but…. well, thick as thieves now. You?”

She took a moment to take in the words, imaging young James and this man tussling on the expensive hardwood floor of some London townhouse. Somehow it didn’t fit.

“I work with Thomas teaching Politics, though I focus more on post colonial Africa and the impact of abolition on cultural interactions than Left Wing and Right Wing.”

He blinks and nods once, his striking eyes squinting as he takes in the words. “I’m a personal trainer with a criminal record. No wonder we haven’t met.”

It shocks another laugh out of her and the smile it brings to his lips is wolfish but more than a little attractive. “We don’t exactly run in the same circles,” she says with a quirk of her lips.

His smile becomes a grin and he holds out his hand. “I’m Charles; Charles Vane.”

“Madi Scott;” she takes his hand and holds back the gasp as he raises the hand to his mouth and kisses the back delicately. His lips are surprisingly soft, his breath warm.

Her hand is warm when he releases it and their attention drifts back to the dance floor where more people are starting to dance.

“Wanna dance?” Charles asks suddenly, his long legs moving impossibly to extricate him from the chair. She shocks herself by standing and moving out to the dance floor, turning to raise an eyebrow when he doesn’t catch up fast enough.

They spend the next two hours dancing, talking, losing themselves in one another’s company. Madi doesn’t feel all that surprised when he slips his number scrawled hastily onto a stray name tag into her hand at dawn.

She calls him a few days later and asks him on a date. He says yes.