could you write a fic where maybe hands is silver's father? and that's why he follows him? i just don't get why hands is so devoted to silver maybe that's why
i do think thereās a fic where this happens but i donāt know itās name! but iāll give it a whirl, girlĀ
ā
āWhat do you want from him?āĀ
Hands doesnāt turn to face Flint. Nor does he cease sharpening his blade. This, of course, only irritates Flint further. He doesnāt much fancy the sight of IsraelĀ āBasilicaā Hands standing at his quarterdeck glowering down at his crew like some sort of ill-intentioned spectre.
Flint steps forward until heās standing next to the man, hands clasped behind his back as though he is merely overseeing the goings-on of the ship, and not attempting to interrogate his quartermasterās newest ally.
āForgive me if Iām overstepping, but - ā
āYou donāt give a shit if you overstep,ā Hands interrupts gruffly, and -
Well, fair enough.
āIām finding it difficult to understand why youāve chosen to follow Silver, in this moment,ā Flint gets straight to the point, and Hands lets out a snort.
āI donāt want to fuck him, if thatās what yer worried about. Iāll leave that to you, Captain.ā
Flint curls his hands into tighter fists, fighting the urge to throttle Hands and have it over and done with.Ā āI donāt think youād enjoy it if we started discussing captains and what they do - or in your case doĀ not - desire from their quartermasters.ā
Hands finally stops swiping his whetstone along his dagger, stiffening considerably.Ā āFuck you.ā
āI donāt give a shit what you think of me. What I do care about is how you are so fucking devoted to Silver. Youāre not a smart man, but youāre by no means a stupid one either. So why? It canāt just be because you share a distaste for Charles Vane.ā
It is at this moment that Silver walks onto the main deck, as though summoned by the mere mention of his name. He looks haggard, bereft without Madi. It makes Flintās heart ache, to see the pain writ in every line of his body. Silver frowns when he sees Flint and Hands standing together, but evidently he has more pressing matters to attend to and so he moves to speak with DeGroot.
āHe looks like his mum, thatās why,ā Hands says after a time, his gaze still locked on Silverās eyes.
Flint whips around to face Hands fully, incredulous.Ā āWhat?ā
āDidnāt notice at first, with the beard and all. EverythingĀ ācept the eyes. Those are mine.ā
Flint stares at Hands, mouth agape.Ā āYou cannot possibly mean what I think youāre implying.ā
āBit hard to miss yer own eyes staring back at you.ā
He shakes his head, in disbelief.Ā āI donāt - his mother?ā
āA whore in Nassau. Pretty little thing, Portuguese - maybe from a colony, who gives a fuck. Spent all my time with her, when I werenāt sailing or when Teach wasā¦ā Hands trails off for a moment, a bitter twist to his already sour mouth.Ā āGot to know her face pretty well, if you catch my meaning.ā
āAnd somehow you missed the fact that she might have carried a child -Ā your child - to term?ā
āDisappeared, didnāt she? Went off to Tortuga out of the blue. Havenāt seen her in nigh on thirty years.ā
Flint still isnāt convinced.Ā āShe didnāt necessarily leave because she was having a child, for fuckās sake. Nassau isnāt always pleasant to its whores.ā
āYou think I just jumped to this? I tested the waters. Dropped a few bits of Portuguese I learned from her. Silver knew it, he did. Pretended like he didnāt but he did. Called him a son of a whore, just to watch him flinch. Knows an awful lot about Tortuga, as well, for someone who says heās never been.ā
āThat doesnāt -ā
āHeās mine, damnit. Iād bet my life on it.ā Hands slams his dagger into the rail, and Flint is suddenly reminded that the man is unhinged at best, and perhaps he shouldnāt try so hard to undermine this strange attachment to Silver. If Hands thinks Silverās his son, heās far less likely to turn against him.Ā
Still, if Hands were to bring this up with Silver, it could upset him greatly. The last thing he needs after losing Madi is to deal with this sort of delusion, no matter how likely it might be.Ā
āWill you tell him?ā
Hands shakes his head.Ā āFucking his mum donāt make me his father. Heād know that better than anyone.ā
In the end, Flint leaves the conversation with a splitting headache, a wariness toward Hands heād not felt previously, and even more questions about who Silver is and where he comes from. Heās fairly sure only the first two will fade.
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fandom: black sails
characters: charles vane, edward teach, albinus
rating: t
warnings: slavery/abuse
āDo you have a name, boy?ā the tall man asks. He stands in the shade of trees not yet felled, watching the boy work. His coat looks heavy and worn in this tropical heat, but his eyes are as alert as any the boy has seen.
The boy squints. The tall man smiles, eyes crinkling in the sun and just as warm.
āLet me rephrase my question,ā he says. āWhat do the others call you, when they need you?ā
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence
Category: Gen
Fandom: Black Sails
Characters: Abigail Ashe, mention of Peter Ashe, mention of James Flint, mention of Eleanor Guthrie, mention of Miranda Barlow, mention of Charles Vane
So, maybe I cheated a little, because I used older notes to fill in the gaps between scenes, but total -- new words and reused words -- amount to 1796 today.Ā
That means I deserve an actual treat, meaning Iāll try to do something about that fic. Ā \_(%)_/
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Billy Bones/Captain Flint, John Silver/ Captain Flint
Characters: James Flint, Billy Bones, John Silver, Charles Vane (mentioned), Jack Rackham (mentioned)
Additional Tags: Basically my attempt at writing a love triangle, takes place after season 2 and going into season 3, what if both Billy and Silver had the hots for their captain? inspiration, Some Plot, lots of blint smut
Prelude
-------------------
He didnāt save them when it counted, but in his mind he saved them over and over again, countless times, in countless different ways.
Flint awoke in the middle of the night, as he had almost every night since the raid on Charlestown. Sometimes he got lucky and whatever nightmarish visions were running through his head dissipated with the opening of his eyes. Other times he wasnāt so lucky and the visions remained, burned into his skull and searing away at what little remained of his ability to care.
They were dreams of Miranda but also of Thomas, both now taken from him. He wept at first when the most savage parts of his dreams remained with him; wept quietly into his arms until his chest hurt and his throat was too tight. But he had spent the better part of ten years coming to grips with Thomas's deathāhe could not do it all over again for Miranda. He was too exhausted, and now, too numb.
Needless to say he lost some sleep on their return journey to Nassau but he kept himself as in check around the men as ever. He became even more rigid, more calculated around them. He put all his energy behind one thing and one thing aloneāhow to deliver revenge.
It helped. He could still deliver a speech that would drive the menās desire in his direction, get them to continue taking risks for him without too many questions. And he presented himself as a pillar of strength to them as well as to the margins of civilization they attacked in the coming weeks.
It was only when he was alone in his cabin (though Silver was there, bed ridden but mostly asleep or sedated) that he could truly relax. Everything ached. His shoulders ached from his age, his arms ached from whatever manual labor heād done for the ship or from manning the helm. His head ached. His heartā¦
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