#captain-flint

[royal-abbotts]

Send this to the 12 nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get 5 back you must be pretty awesome. 💘

THANK YOUUUUU same to you!!

[bisexualpirateheart]

Based off this post & @captain-flint‘s tags about Flint & books. Although it ended up being from Flint’s pov and not Silver’s. Hope that’s okay! <3                           

                                           His Love of Books

                                                  *  *  *

"What is this?" Flint frowns at the book sitting on his desk. It wasn't there before. He would have remembered.

“It’s a book.”

“I can see that.” Flint says. “What’s it doing on my desk?”

Silver shifts slightly. "Just something I saw when we were ashore." He edges a little more towards the door like he’d rather be anywhere but right here.

Flint's frown deepens. "When we were ashore...you mean you brought this aboard the ship?" Why on earth would Silver do such a thing?

"Yes."

"Why?"

Silver blinks. He looks at the books on the shelves in the cabin where they're currently standing and then back at Flint like he shouldn't have to explain this. "You...and books?"

"What about me and books?"

"Well, you like them."

He does. Like. That word is an understatement as to what Flint feels for literature, but it’s been a good while since he’s had cause or excuse to truly dwell on the subject. And it doesn't exactly explain why Silver brought him one. Does it?

"Anyway." Silver gestures. "Enjoy."

He's gone before Flint can say anything more.

Flint doesn't know what to make of it. He examines the book. It's a well-preserved edition of Somnium that he's read before but has fond memories of nonetheless. 

He keeps it on the desk, his fingers straying over the cover from time to time as he works. 

When he finally retires for the night he hesitates and then takes the book with him. Dimming the lantern, he stretched out on the window seat with a low burning candle and a small glass of brandy. He reads quickly, unaware that a smile keeps gathering faintly at the corners of his mouth as he reads, lost in the simple pleasure of words carrying him far away.

 The next time it's two small volumes of poetry. He spots them sticking out of Silver's pocket as they're walking back to the dock.

"Find something of interest?"

Silver glances down and his hand goes to his pocket as though reassuring himself they're still there.

"Yes."

Flint waits but Silver doesn't say anything more. 

"Like poetry, do you?" He doesn't know why he's prodding other than he's curious, especially at Silver's reluctance to immediately divulge the contents of his pocket.

"Actually," Silver hesitates, then takes them out, "they're for you."

"Me?" Flint can't keep the surprise from his voice. He’d thought the gift of the book last time was a fluke, a one-time foolish gesture on Silver’s part, done most likely to gain favor with him. He hadn’t expected it to happen a second time.

"You do like poetry, don't you?" Silver pushes, like his answer matters.

"Yes." Flint admits, unsure why it feels like he's given something away here.

Silver nods in satisfaction. He's holding them out and finally Flint takes them from him.

"Thank you."

Silver offers him a smile, the rare small sort, like the one he gave Flint after his plan aboard the warship started bearing fruit and Flint hadn't been able to hide his admiration. He finds that smile truly distracting and it stays with him the rest of the day, even though he doesn’t want to admit it.

That evening is particularly fine and Flint finds himself up on the quarter deck, watching the sun set slowly over the town on the shore. As he rests his hands on the railing, his coat presses against his side and he remembers the books.

Taking one out he studies it, eyes skimming over a line here and there. He stops at one page and frowns.

"Not to your liking?" Silver ventures from behind him.

Flint turns his head to see Silver standing on the top step, observing him.

"It's not that," Flint says brusquely. "Just this poem."

Silver steps up on the deck and comes over to stand beside him. 

"What if it?"

"It's hard to explain." Flint struggles to say what it is about the poem that strikes him without reading it, "it's difficult without reading it."

"So read it then," Silver murmurs.

Flint glances at him sharply, but Silver's gaze rests upon the waves, the golds and grays and scarlets of the sunset alighting upon the deep blue. His face is held softly to one side and the bruises still lingering from his attempts to win over the crew are fading in different shades of shadows. Flint finds himself briefly distracted by the idea of touching Silver, very gently by the neck and examining them for himself.  

He hesitates and then he returns to the page where he was before, clears his throat and reads aloud in the fading twilight.

O heart, the equal poise of love's both parts, Big alike with wounds and darts, Live in these conquering leaves; live all the same, And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame; Live here, great heart, and love and die and kill, And bleed and wound, and yield and conquer still. Let this immortal life, where'er it comes, Walk in a crowd of loves and martyrdoms; Let mystic deaths wait on 't, and wise souls be The love-slain witnesses of this life of thee. O sweet incendiary! show here thy art, Upon this carcass of a hard cold heart,

He stops there abruptly. The poem goes on, but he cannot. The words are too bright, too hard inside his mind, upon his tongue. He wishes he were on the island. There is nowhere to go on this ship that he can get away from the slow burning inside himself.

“Is that the end?” Silver asks after a moment.

“No,” Flint admits. “The rest is…” He glances back at the page, lingering on the last few lines.

Silver draws even closer. “May I?”

And Flint passes the book between them on the railing, watching Silver’s hands as they touch the pages carefully.

By all of him we have in thee, Leave nothing of my self in me: Let me so read thy life that I Unto all life of mine may die.

Silver’s voice is clear and quiet in the stillness of the oncoming night. Flint imagines hearing him read more words, the two of them sitting in his cabin together, watching Silver’s mouth form the words, and that line of thought leads to imagining his mouth in other pursuits.

The words die away and Silver is silent.

Flint reaches for the book, ignoring the brief touch of Silver’s fingertips on his. “You can borrow it from my cabin if you want to read more.” He says and turns to go.

When he pauses on the main deck and looks back against his better judgement, Silver’s still standing up there, gazing out to sea. For a moment Flint considers going back and telling him to come down to the cabin with him now, inviting that brief moment of imagining into reality, making it possible between them.

It’s only a momentary imagining. That is not how things are between them. Silver’s only trying to curry favor with him, and Flint’s weakness for literature is such that he will let him do so, even if he will not give Silver the favor that he seeks.

                                                        *  *  *

The time after that it’s Shakespeare and Flint doesn’t acknowledge it at first. He’s back to not knowing what to make of Silver’s gestures. Much Ado About Nothing. Is Silver trying to tell him something or is he simply making light of their troubles?

“I would have thought you’d bring me one of the tragedies.” Flint mutters under his breath.

Silver glances sidewise at him. “I think you deserve a little levity in your life, captain.”

Flint raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Would you have preferred a tragedy?” Silver asks curiously.

“I’ve had enough of tragedy to fill my own book, thank you.” Flint turns to look out at the sea once more. He can feel Silver’s eyes on him and he knows the words are there upon his tongue. It would be easy to tell him about the past and for the first time Flint finds himself wanting to.

                                                       *  *  * 

The time after that, Flint actually spots the book first. They’re in the house of a wealthy lord on the island. Flint can’t help perusing his bookcases and spotting Sidereus Nuncius there. His fingers itch to take it. How can he know for certain that Silver will select this book out of all of them sitting there on the shelf? It’s tempting fate to leave it there, and yet Flint does. Curious as to whether his own instincts regarding Silver and Silver coming to know him in return will hold true.

They’re back on the ship and it’s late. Flint’s in his cabin when there’s a knock at the door and Silver slides into the room before he can answer.

“What is it?” Flint says.

Silver reaches into his pocket and draws out the exact book Flint had eyed earlier. “You were in that room before me.”

“So what of it?” Flint says.

“I find it hard to believe a man as observant, and as fond of literature as yourself, would have missed this on the shelf then.” Silver’s fingers tap the cover restlessly.

“Your point being?”

“That you did in fact spy its presence there, and yet for whatever personal reason of your own, left it there, to see if I would bring it to you.”

Damn him.

Flint considers. “And?” he says, drawing this out as best as he can because he doesn’t have a better answer for Silver, should he ask a more specific question. All the same he can’t decide if he’s pleased or concerned that Silver knows him this well.

Silver merely smiles. “I just wanted to know that I was right.”

He moves closer to Flint and holds the book out. Flint takes it, still expecting something more. Instead Silver turns and goes back to the door without another word, leaving Flint alone with his thoughts.

                                                       *  *  *

It becomes a habit of Flint’s, waiting to see what Silver will bring him. A small ritual just between them. Sometimes they talk about the books Silver brings him, sometimes they don’t.

But Silver always comes back with something for him and there are expectations now, existing within Flint’s heart, in spite of his attempts to keep any such thing from existing. He can’t halt this from beginning, whatever it is, it’s already begun.

                                                        *  *  *

In the maroon camp, Flint’s leaning back against the bars of the cage, his head sunk low on his shoulders.

Silver’s been gone for what feels like an interminable time. If they’re questioning him…Flint closes his eyes. If they don’t bring Silver back, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

There are footsteps close by and his head jerks up to see the guard bringing Silver back.

Silver steps inside the cage and watches the guard walk away before he starts to come over to Flint. With a faint groan he sinks down to sit beside him.

“Are you all right?” Flint asks quietly. There’s enough flickering light that he can only see patches of Silver’s face, not well enough to ascertain whether there are bruises or wounds.

“I’m fine.” Silver says. “I think there’s a possibility the daughter will listen to us.” He’s focused on the bars across from them, his hands pressed restlessly on his knees.

“Good.” Flint says without really hearing him. 

“Oh, before I forget.” Silver reaches inside his shirt and draws out a small book.

Flint stares at it. “What is that?”

“She has a library in her room. It’s quite impressive. I told her of your love for books and she said you might enjoy this, if you had not read it already.” He passes it to Flint who takes it with trembling fingers.

“You were in there, scheming for our lives and you thought to bring me a book?” Flint asks incredulously. He stares down at the worn volume in his hands. It’s a favorite of his. The Blazing World. He can imagine how it would appeal to the maroon queen’s daughter, and he wonders then, if she would be open to discussing it one day.

“I thought it might take your mind off our predicament.” Silver murmurs wearily.

Flint places a hand on his thigh and Silver looks down at it.

“You never fail to surprise me.” Flint says.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Silver inquires lightly.

Flint’s hand travels up his thigh as Silver leans into his touch. He leaves the book in his lap as his other hand comes up to stroke one of Silver’s curls back from his forehead. “A compliment.” 

Silver’s lips part faintly as Flint presses a hand against him and then Silver leans in, seeking the kiss that awaits him.

Flint clasps his face, tracing his lips gently over Silver’s mouth. It has been a long time coming, this kiss and he savors the fact that it exists now, in the darkness of this cage and the warmth of Silver’s mouth.

They’ll make it out of there. They’ll survive this. Flint’s confident of it now. There’s no room for doubt now in his mind.

                                                 *  *  *

A few months later.

“What’s this?” Silver taps the book lying on the desk in the captain’s cabin. Their cabin, really.

“I saw it earlier.” Flint doesn’t open his eyes. He’s stretched out upon their bed, taking a brief respite from the heat of the day. “Thought you might find it useful.”

Silver picks it up and looks at it. “A cookbook?” His lips twitch faintly, but Flint’s still not looking at him.

“Mmm.” Flint murmurs.

Silver gives in and smiles over at him. He draws closer to where Flint’s lying and leans down to brush a teasing kiss over his lips, feeling Flint against his mouth.

“Are you telling me you don’t enjoy the taste of charred toast?”

“I admit I’m growing accustomed to it.” Flint responds. His hand comes up to cup the back of Silver’s neck, keeping Silver’s lips close to his. “But there are other tastes I enjoy more.”

Silver grins, sliding his tongue inside Flint’s mouth as he sits upon the bed, straddling Flint, stretching out comfortably atop his body.

“You don’t say.”

Flint’s hands move to cup his backside, holding Silver there against his torso. “I do.”

They take their time kissing in the lazy afternoon, Flint holding Silver in place, right where he belongs, their bodies pressed together as though they were one flesh as well as one mind.

[ellrond]

fic prompt: flintham + 70: “ This is why I fell in love with you. ” pretty please :)))

accepting

Joshua led the vanguard this time, Billy and Joji at his flanks, Singleton bringing up the rear of the quad. They liked to clear the area on hauls like these, when the crew of their target fought and then fled the decks because it was usually a sign of an easy fight, a sign that the captain wished to resist but the crew would rather surrender and walk away with their lives. It was easy, and the bloodshed was usually superficial. 

As the smoke cleared from the gunpowder, Captain Flint and his shadow strode towards the small flurry of fighting. In one smooth motion his sword was unsheathed and steel sang against steel as it met Singleton’s blade. 

“It’s done.” Captain Flint’s words echoed in the wooden chamber. Singleton’s lip curled but he did not resist, and around them, the men of the Walrus decisively ended their skirmishes. Flint pulled the black sash from his mouth and piercing eyes locked upon the merchant captain. Behind him, his shadow moved slightly closer. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

The Captain’s Shadow. That was the name some of the crew had given him. It began as a nickname way back when they first arrived in Nassau and James had met Mister Gates in a dingy tavern and Gates had taken a liking to him. There, James did the talking and Thomas did the listening and wherever one went, the other followed. Because Flint did the talking, it always looked like Thomas was nothing more than his shadow, going wherever the slighter man went, letting his feet lead the way. Thomas didn’t mind it much; he knew otherwise. Everything they did was a decision between the pair of them and more often than not it was Thomas who would take more of a lead despite how it seemed to the crew and to the rest of the world, for that matter. The Shadow looked as if he carried no sword and no pistol and there was little threatening about they way he presented himself but there were stories of the violence and carnage he could unleash should his captain be under threat. 

One tale told of a crew member who had fallen on the wrong side of Captain Flint and came to owe him nearly five hundred Spanish dollars that he could not ever hope to pay back and so he thought he would sneak into the captain’s cabin and do away with him. The Shadow, it was rumoured, slept on the floor beside his cot like a loyal dog. The crew member instead found them wrapped in an embrace even in sleep atop the bed, the captain against the ship wall, meaning the crew member had to lean over the Shadow to reach Flint. He tried it, steady as could be, but the Shadow rolled over and woke to find the crew member reaching across him to press a blade to the captain’s neck. The Shadow grasped him by the neck without flinching, it was said, and threw him fully across the cabin so he hit the door and fell, his ribs cracked, to the floor. There, the Shadow came to him and pulled a short and sharp blade on him and began a long and slow cut across his throat, the blade so fine that the crew member hardly felt it open the veins in his neck. He let out only the faintest noise once the Shadow had cut him from ear to ear and pressed the knife through his windpipe. Members who had served on the Walrus for years said the Shadow insisted on a trial aboard the ship as he felt remorse for the loss of life but the crew almost unanimously voted him innocent of murder on account of the dead man’s plans, that he told many a person, to solve his debt with a swift stab. The Shadow was fined for bypassing the crew’s justice and choosing to execute the man on the spot, so the story went, and he supposedly apologised for it. But some people told the tale of the captain and the shadow bathing in the blood of the crew member, drinking it, fucking in it, offering him as a sacrifice to the old gods that kept them kings among pirates. 

Thomas stood watching over the decks as the captured crew coward and wept below him, as the poor merchant captain stood tied to the mast across from him. Singleton’s rasping voice carried like an unpleasant stench up to him but he tried to hear every word. Our enemy, your enemy. The words echoed in Thomas’ ears and his mouth twitched slightly. It seemed that every loathsome phrase that left Singleton’s lips were not meant for the merchant captain but for Flint. It was no secret Singleton wanted the captaincy and the more and more poor prizes they got, the closer it seemed he was coming to meeting that end. 

The sea breeze whipped around Thomas and he straightened his back slightly. The captain followed Mr Gates out onto the deck and Thomas met James’ gaze briefly before the other turned to speak quietly to the man tied to the mast. Glancing now and again at the scarred face of Singleton, Thomas felt deeply uneasy. He began the decent of the stairs to come to James’ side when the loud cry of sails! startled them all. 

“Royal Navy,” Flint said, spyglass at his eye and Thomas on one side, Gates on the other. It had taken him a matter of seconds to cross the ship and search out the horizon. His Shadow was at his side in a heartbeat. “Scarborough.”

Gates sounded rattled. “Scarborough ports in Boston.”

On Flint’s other side, Thomas took the spyglass and looked for himself, his stomach dropping at the sight of the distant ship. “Not today she doesn’t.”

By the time they had sailed into Nassau’s bay, Gates had already given Flint a dressing down and, not for the first time, Thomas had aided him in doing so. The lack of trust Flint had in the crew was going to be his downfall, both Thomas and Hal agreed on that but James remained stubborn and difficult. Frankly, the only thing that stopped their discussion from heating up was the knock on the door and Billy’s youthful face coming to tell them they were home. Thomas sat in the window seat and smiled slightly, Hal winking at him as he left the cabin. Then, for what it felt like the first time in days, they were alone. 

“He’s right,” Thomas said, watching the back of James’ head. “You need to trust the crew.”

“I’ll trust them as far as I can throw them.” 

“You need to trust them.”

James was quiet for a moment and Thomas dared, for a split second, to believe that perhaps this time the other might have listened to him. Then the silence was broken. 

“I need to see Richard.”

Thomas couldn’t help but roll his eyes behind James’ back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He won’t help you, you know he won’t. Perhaps Eleanor is a better try.”

“She won’t know anything about this, it’s operations far beyond her control. She’d try to help but she would fail.”

Thomas made a small noise of agreement and stood up. “Alright. Do you think I ought to come with you?” 

“No. Go home, see Miranda. If all goes well we’ll be gone again by noon tomorrow. I’ll come home when I’ve finished with the Guthries. I think it’s time I paid Eleanor a visit too.”

“Tomorrow?” Thomas repeated in surprise. “That’s quick, don’t you think?” 

The chair scraped the floor as the captain stood up and he turned around to face Thomas, a twinkle in his eye. “We’re so close, Thomas. I can feel it, I can see it. We can’t slow now, not when we’ve come this far.”

There was a wildness in his smile, chaos in his eyes, but there was power, too, and goodness. Thomas leaned back against the wooden wall and returned the smile. “This is why I fell in love with you.”

The sudden declaration took James by surprise and he let out a short laugh. “Because I’m ignoring counsel and you and Gates?” 

Chuckling, Thomas shook his head. “No. Because you care for people when you don’t even know their names. You want to help strangers build better lives for themselves. You love people even when they do not deserve it. This is what it’s all for; a better place in the world.”

Captain Flint looked down to shuffle the papers on his desk and felt his eyebrows rise. “I love you too,” he murmured, cheeks flushed. “Right. Let’s get off this ship and on with business-”

He was cut off when Thomas kissed his cheek an it made him blink rapidly for a short moment. Turning his head slightly, he met his partner’s soft gaze and returned the loving smile. “Go to Miranda. I’ll be home before nightfall. I promise.”

[madisilverflint]

“Captain Flint has lost more than you can k n o w”

(x)

for @captain-flint  👑

[azirafels]

‘my sun and stars’ 

happy birthday ivana!! (ﾉ ಥ◡ಥ )ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

[old-long-john]

Fuckkkkkkk, that gifset was the most upsetting thing. Fuck you very much for that one. ❤ Yeah, I think I did the same thing. It was far easier to focus on Silver (though that was upsetting enough), but seeing inside Flint’s head in that scene and watching it with all of the context everyone’s been linking it to is just nauseating. Christ, it’s awful. 

[pinchtheprincess]

My Tumblr Crushes:

charmedrumbelle (6%)

fleurdeneuf (5%)

anonymousnerdgirl (5%)

quinninthenorth (5%)

silromen (4%)

leni-ba (4%)

salty-rumbelle (3%)

fightscrimewhilesleeping (3%)

captain-flint (3%)

Please to remember I follow over 1,100 blogs (1,117 at the moment---wut? I’m trying to cut down), so if you’re on here, you’re the cream of the crop. :-D 

[ellrond]

drabble prompt for flintham: 1 or 13 or 22 or 26 .. please and thank you <3

accepting 

26. “I got you a present.”

“I brought you a present.”

“Thomas, there was really no nee-”

Lord Hamilton lifted his chin proudly and pushed the pretty gift box into the lieutenant's hands. They were alone in Hamilton’s study but remained in all of their finery; Thomas in his wig and hat and coat trimmed with gold, James in his dark blue uniform and hair ribbon. There was a strange formality in this exchange. 

“Nonsense. It’s your birthday and you wouldn’t let us celebrate so at least let me give you this gift.”

James gave him an exasperated look but grudgingly took the box from him and opened it. Inside, he could see a leather-bound book, burgundy and stamped with a flower-like design. He glanced up at Thomas who was smiling, watching his reaction. Careful hands took it from the box and he looked at the spine. 

Meditations, Marcus Aurelius. 

“I thought it was time you had your own copy.” Thomas took the book from him and opened it to one of the blank pages at the front. In the pretty hand of Thomas Hamilton, words were written that made his eyes sting. 

James

My truest love,

Know no shame.

T. H.

A lump had risen in James’ throat that he could not swallow and he was absolutely lost for words. All he could do was kiss him. With the book between them, James hooked a hand around the back of Thomas’ neck and pulled him down for a sweet kiss, the tears on his cheek touching Thomas’ face. He was greeted with a warm hand at the small of his back bringing him closer and when they parted, Thomas pressed his forehead against his. 

“Why the tears?” he murmured. 

James could not yet open his eyes. “Because you make me feel so treasured,” he whispered, voice cracking and catching in his throat. “You make me feel so loved.”

“You are loved.”

James smiled, struggling to stop weeping. “So are you. I love you. I love you so much. Thank you.”