#intolerablexsacrifice

LISTEN I DON’T FUCKING KNOW MY GUY

the reason I had to blacklist callouts and psa’s is because shit would get me so mad and I would stay mad. CJ used to get fucking messages from me like three times a week where I was just like “LISTEN WHAT THIS FUCK DID” and it got to the point where I just felt like I only ever reached out to him when I was angry.And it would ruin my day?

Now, like, getting bullshit in my askbox doesn’t upset me ‘cause I’m like “holy shit these are sad teenagers with nothing better to do”, but it used to fuck me up for like…days?

IDK man I have to avoid negativity now, because there’s no real way to calm myself down except to step away for a few days, and, ugh, sometimes that just cuts into really prime writing time because some asshole made a nazi oc or some ignorant 14 year old who doesn’t know any better says something biphobic or one particular roleplayer I haven’t liked for years but everyone I know is mutuals with shows up on my dash asking for money again after they took money from a friend of mine several times and then fucking publicly called him out, inappropriately, when he couldn’t give them money anymore, or like last year when a “This is what the Jews do to non Jewish people” post with fucking blood libel went around on passover with the “if you don’t reblog this, you’re racist” tagline that everyone ate up

Anyways, like, it took me a long time to learn that I have to make my dash a safe place for me, and if that involves blacklisting Callouts and psa’s and certain urls and maybe even unfollowing some otherwise nice people who interact with people who say and do negative things consistently, or who reblog callouts all the time, then that’s what I have to do.

@intolerablexsacrifice

*d OOR GETS K I CK ED* A AAAAAAAaaa oh it's you ❤️

I'M MORE THAN HAPPY TO PROVIDE DISASTER ENGLISHMAN ON YOUR DAS H? ????? 8D i hope you like all my silliness........ S4 giles is a gem _(:3」∠)_

Fucking christ, he’s sore. He grunts, trying to shift his weight but there’s something tight on his chest, squeezing the breath from him as he moves. Some sort of - aggressively wound bandage.

“Fucking hell Flint, what bastard tied this.” He’s wheezing at the effort of speaking. “I can’t bloody breathe.” The rest of the room comes into sharper focus as something warm is snatched from the back of his hand. He peers over at Flint, still a little woozy, thinks he sees a flicker of hurt.  Damn. He’d smack his own head if he could.“You tied the bandage.” He tugs at it a little, loosening the pressure and sits up. “Of course you did.” Hal sighs, annoyed with himself, and missing the hot pressure of Flint’s hand over his own. He watches Flint, those wide green eyes unblinking. Fixed on him. Hal’s used to that stare. Rather likes it. Perhaps indistinguishable to most from his usual repertoire of glares, but Hal can see the desperate need behind it. The refusal to look anywhere else until he’s certain that his quartermaster is safe. 

He wants to smile at Flint, feels a grateful flutter in his belly that this ridiculous man had stayed here, stayed by him. God knows there must be a million messes to sort out. He lifts his own hand, finding it heavy and clumsy. Decides he’s too tired to care and drops it onto Flint’s hand that lies on his knee, thumb twitching now and then. 

    ( @intolerablexsacrifice )

He’d been wondering when his captain would stop talking and just kiss him already. So, the near-immediate gratification is nice.

Silver exhales at the face in his hair, hums at the smooch.

Then, eyes closed, he smiles just a little. “-- Because I ate an orange, Captain.”

The sail comes first, the disembodied concept of pirate. Then the name of Flint, of course: the sailors recognise his sail, and it scares them.

You know who that is out there? That ship flies the banner of Captain Flint.

Then we see his crew, or rather first of all we hear them. (I think this is important because so often in art that which is without words/is incomprehensible carries the greatest meaning, especially in revolutionary art and Black Sails is nothing if not a song for the revolution).

We see the blasts and death and violence, and then we hear their cries. An organised crew who know the power of fear and the unknown, who use their perceived monstrosity/otherness to deliberately intimidate - yells and rhythmic thumps, teeth, warpaint, bare muscled chests etc. It’s a carefully designed sensory assault.

[Incidentally, what I find most interesting about the crew in Episode I. is that almost immediately we are shown that being a pirate is not who you are or even what you do, it is a fiction designed to deliver to you the outcome you seek. A means to an end.]

Back to the captains perspective, and we see Singleton slicing and murdering as hard as he can. To the captain, this man is the embodiment of the idea that he has most feared; this man is a ruthless pirate captain. It is this idea of a pirate that he thinks will be his death, and this idea that we are, for a heartbeat, meant to think of as The Dread Pirate, Captain Flint.

This is where I come to the point of my ramble.

Because the thing is, whenever I watch Black Sails it makes me so happy and stunned to see the threading of themes right from the start of Ep. I. - themes of identity, legacies, the myth of the monster, what ‘monster’ means, to whom, and why.

This one scene alone shows, in a burst of action, the freedom and protection these men represent, how they live in reality and fiction, and demonstrates the power created by the clever manipulation of both.

It is a wonderful, allegorical portrait of Captain Flint.

Speaking of - finally, we meet the actual Flint.

First, we see his action; the thrust and clash of a cutlass.

We then hear his voice. ‘It’s done’.

We see his head, a splash of colour, shrouded except for his eyes.

It’s terribly enigmatic and honestly, the green, his calm voice and his reason appear like a drop of beauty and steel in amongst the smoke and bloodshed.

Then he pulls away the cloth and we see Flint, finally (though of course neither we nor the captain actually know what Flint looks like, so he is still just his actions, shouts, the fear he musters and the men he commands).

So now we have the juxtaposition of a reasonable, articulate man - wouldn’t you agree? - and the chaos of pirates behind him, and yet despite appearing nothing like the frantic, bloodthirsty captain they’ve been fearing, he’s clearly in command, and terrifying. So again, the apparent dichotomy of Civilised Man and Feral Pirate is shattered and muddled, the clear identity of this enigma is lost, blurring fear and reality and clarifying nothing.

Of course I love this because it plays right into Black Sails’ whole thing re. Legends and Monsters and Stories but I also love it because to me, this is a demonstration of the layers upon layers in which James has wrapped himself, in order to protect himself from the world, become Flint, and survive.

His first visible interaction is physical, and it’s violence. (Come close, cross me, touch me and you will die).

His first words are spoken by a literal disembodied voice (I have no body, I have no identity).

He turns and is seen, finally, yet he is still hidden except for his eyes (and the eyes are symbolic of truth and protection all over the world. Perhaps the eyes belong to James but they see you far more clearly than you see him, and they see your cracks before you see his). (Also, and perhaps I am reaching here, but it struck me that green is often associated with safety and ambition and that is Flint. That’s just exactly why Flint exists).

He has so carefully removed himself from the actual person that he is, that even when we see and hear him, we are really seeing the concept, not the man.

He’s a flag, the terror of the high seas, death and blood, a monstrous pirate, the clash of swords, ruthless, powerful, unknown.

Anything to be anyone other than James.

And that’s how we meet Captain James (McGraw) Flint and it breaks my fucking heart.