Flint: "And the Lord said unto Rebecca, two nations are in thy womb. Two peoples within you who shall be divided. One shall be stronger than the other. And the older shall serve the younger." Twins... as close as two things can get to being the same one, and what's the first thing they do to each other? Fight over who gets to be the first one to see the light of day. And here I sit at the head of an army of men, each of whom, present company included, has probably at some point considered killing the man he now fights alongside, each of whom, present company included, has certainly considered killing me.

This is going to be long and kind of rambly because I didn't feel like editing it. Also: here be spoilers.

There's something terrible and interesting about the way Miranda is doomed to be a ghost in her own story, the fandom, and Treasure Island (because she's not canonical, despite the connection between BS and TI). She is both haunted by and haunts the narrative; she is largely absent from meta-discussions (I have not seen a SINGLE post about her outside of Tumblr); and has minimal presence in fanvids/fanart/fanfic (Madi suffers from a similar affliction but for different reasons).

It's both frustrating and also so fascinating that both textually and fandom-wise Miranda is most present when she isn't. When people write metas about Flint and grief post s2, and how SilverFlinty it is that John helps him through his depression and suicidal tendencies, or even just bemoan the loss of his hair-- that's all because of her. Her love and loss drive the plot in a very real way that, if you know what to look for, is undeniable but invisible to outsiders. The outline of her (like Thomas) is there.

Miranda changes Flint's path at least four times directly that we know of (seducing him, telling him about Lord Alfred Hamilton's ship's location, the Boston Pardons situation, and persuading him to go to Charles Town). Whether that's acknowledged by fans or not, it's true. After my first rewatch, when I actually knew the full story, I got that Flint cared for her from the beginning. But in case I hadn't, it became explicit and unavoidable after her death. In s3e3, Flint tells Miranda's ghost/hallucination/spirit: "When I lost Thomas, I raged. I was distraught. I wept. But with you, I’m ruined over you." Just because their love was quieter doesn't mean it was less important.

I would personally lean toward describing Flint as Bi if you pressed me to assign him a modern sexuality (rather than thinking of homosexuality/queerness as an act like it often was historically), but I've never been 100% certain of that. (Just like BS' ending. Does John Silver [redact] Flint or [redact] him to [redacted]???). Like a lot of the show, it's open to interpretation.

However, I do think it is disingenuous to point to the one explicit and full sex scene we get between Flint and Miranda and say, "He's clearly gay! Look how bad their sex is." I think the 1705 flashbacks show enough physical chemistry that that isn't a solid argument. Also, I (and others too) read that one bad-sex scene as a reflection of their mutual grief over Thomas. Plus, even if Flint was only sexually/romantically interested in men, he still loves Miranda and is in some kind of involved and mutually fulfilling (at least in the past) (queer platonic) partnership with her. He, Thomas, and Miranda are a trio. BS is full of queer trios: Jack/Anne/Max; Woodes/Eleanor (past / and &) Max; Silver/Madi (/ ? or &?) Flint.

This has been said before, and I'm sure better worded too, but it's also tragic how she never gets to be right and enjoy it. Flint very rarely enjoys being right (and you can debate to what extent he's right about many things; I think the War was entirely justified), but we're clearly meant to root for him. I'd say he morphs into more of an overtly positive figure mid-s3 onwards. Despite the show's tragedy, Flint gets to enjoy a few key and decisive victories. Miranda never does.

The reality is that there are lesbians who have had (and will have!) meaningful, mutually-gratifying, and deeply sexual relationships with men. There are gay men who’ve enjoyed having sex with women, who are gay as the day is long and nevertheless feel sexually attracted to a woman or two and are nevertheless gay men, full stop. There are gay cis men who are happily married to trans women. There are femme dom tops and butch bottoms and there are mascs who like femme boys. There are non-binary people and trans men who actively identify as lesbians. There are ace and aro people who enjoy thinking about and engaging with sex — sometimes in fiction and sometimes in real life. Queerness, in fiction and in reality, defies neat categorization. That is the beautiful, power, and (perceived) unorthodoxy of queerness.

Now, I’ll say this — do I think the straight men behind Black Sails were actively thinking deeply and insightfully about the paradoxes and fuckery of queer identity when they wrote Black Sails? No! By their own admission, Steinberg and Levine have owned up to the fact that some of the writing of the show was really hinged on their own blind spots as people who are not (to my knowledge) members of the queer community. If I want to be generous, I think that the beautiful mess of Black Sails is that, in not feeling like experts enough to designate specific identity labels to any of their characters, the writers stumbled their way into more authentic representation of lived queer experience, which is to say that the notion that James Flint was actively thinking of himself as a gay man was anachronistic. As many lesbian archivists and theories have noted, the notion of a queer identity — as in, queerness is who you are, not what you do — was patently unthinkable for most cultures in the past. In other words, the idea that Anne Bonny operates in the eighteenth century as a lesbian and thus would not willingly engage in relationships with men is not only untrue of the series, but untrue of most recorded lesbian experiences in the real world. The notion that a lesbian would operate her entire life without engaging sexually or romantically with men is a very new privilege that some of us are very lucky to enjoy, but it is not true for the vast majority of human history — hell, it’s not even true of our present world.

It’s heart-wrenching. It dares to ask the questions “what if your civilized society isn’t all that civilized? Who does it leave behind? Whose blood is it built on? What lengths will people go to and what will they sacrifice for even the tiniest bit of agency and freedom in a world that is actively trying to kill them? Are they justified? Can you even make that judgment call?”

It’s a story about storytelling. It has narratives within narratives and foils and tragic flaws and parallels and overarching themes that begin in the very first moments in episode one and last all the way to the end. It’s a Greek tragedy put to the screen. It’s still so hopeful somehow, even when so many things fall apart. It’s the epitome of “the love may not have been enough but it’s important that it was there.” The writing is wonderful (mostly, I have a few hangups but that’s not important here), the cinematography and score is almost reverent. People who worked on this show still gush 10 years later about how it was their masterpiece.

I think we all know at this point, it starts out as 2014 Starz trying to compete with GoT. There are valid criticisms to be had about this show, certainly, as is true of anything. 

Charles Vanes monologue to Flint when there in Miranda’s House.

Yes I know it’s the ‘is it gay to live in a house’ speech but as I’ve gotten older it’s come to mean a lot to me I guess.

Because it’s asking the question, what would we do, we the people who live in the safety and comfort of our homes, our communities, the safety provided to us by the state, do to keep that comfort? To keep ourselves in the familiar comfort of civilisation and what that comfort requires from us. For us to look past and ignore. A question I think is more important now than it was a decade ago.

“Give us your submission, and we will give you the comfort you need.”

I think it’s a monologue most comparable to Max’s speech to Anne at the beginning of season three when she speaks of what home means to her and in an way Madi’s voices speech to Rogers in season four. They know what was required to build that home, a question that I think is very important for those of us living in the West to ask ourselves, particularly with our counties histories of colonialism.

Idk but when I’m thinking about the big theme of civilisation in the show this is the speech, alongside Max’s that comes to mind. Because all these character have been hurt and rejected by civilisation in one way or another but I think out of all the characters, even Flint, Vane and Max get civilisation best of all in a way. Vane because he wholeheartedly rejects it and Max because she most of all understands what was required to build that room in the first place.