#me yelling @ silver: UR IN LOVE BINCH

[slverjohn]

19 and s2 flinthamilton :)

EDIT: it’s been pointed out to me that this was meant to be flintham but i misread the ask and it ended up as silverflint??? i’m so sorry?? this is why i shouldn’t do things while i’m sick it’s like my brain only half works

oh my god this was a hard one…i changed the dialogue slightly but the sentiment is the same sdkljghasdkgj

inspired by that one description of flint’s cabin in some early script that mentioned a half painted landscape 

19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

It’s dark and dusty in the hold, and beyond that absolutely stifling. Silver’s sweating through his shirt after spending two minutes in the cramped room. Why he’s been asked to look through the stores on the Warship is something of a mystery: Flint had asked for him within minutes of returning with the Ashe girl, and instead of asking him to corral the men or take a headcount, like Silver had expected, he’d sent him below deck without a moment’s hesitation. 

Silver suspects that Flint wants his prying eyes and inquisitive mind away from the Barlow woman for as long as possible. He can’t blame the Captain, really: he’d do the same, if he were trying to maintain some mystery. 

He can’t say he particularly minds, despite the physical discomfort; better here than in the galley with Randall.  Even further, Silver would rather not spend too much time with Flint at the moment. Despite the many years of practice he’s had of self-serving double crossing, standing in Flint’s presence so soon after he’d betrayed him had made Silver uneasy. Something almost like guilt had begun to settle in his belly.

Perish the thought. 

Billy comes down just as he’s finishing his task, only one crate left to sort through. 

“What’s in that, then?” Billy asks, peering over the siding.

“A few jars of paint, I think,” Silver says, double checking the checklist hanging on the wall. 

“You should bring that to the Captain’s cabin. Call it a peace offering. Can’t have you glaring at Flint all the time, after all.”

Silver stares at Billy as if he’s grown two extra heads. “I’m sorry, you want me to put the paint where?”

“Look, Flint’s a bastard. I’m sure whatever he said to make you so cross with him was fucked up. But if the rest of the crew realizes how angry you are with him, it’s going to make our lives a lot more difficult.”

Silver doesn’t think the crew cares quite that much what he thinks of Flint, but he’s still stuck on the paint. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand what paint has to do with any of this.”

“Flint’s a painter. Back on the Walrus, if you’d bothered to pay attention, you’d have seen all those half-finished canvases scattered around.”

Silver had seen the canvases, but for whatever reason he’d never quite made the connection between the artwork itself and Flint as an artist.

Billy moves on, asking about Logan, about how Muldoon is taking his friend’s sudden departure, but Silver’s participation in the conversation is half-assed, at best. 

He remembers seeing the paintings, he remembers thinking they were slightly out of place in a pirate captain’s cabin, but he cannot for the life of him remember what was on the canvases. Were they landscapes or portraits? Romantic or realist? Good or bad?

He has no idea, and he’s burning with curiosity. 

It is this curiosity more than anything else that leads him to Flint’s cabin after dinner, the paints in one hand and the other hovering just over the closed door. 

“You could just knock, you know,” an amused voice comes from behind him, and he whirls around to see Mrs. Barlow watching him with a smirk. 

“I was going to,” he insists, though he feels himself color slightly at her raised brow.

“Well, no need to knock now,” she replies, and with that she simply walks in, holding the door open behind her. “Come along, Mr. Silver.”

Silver’s surprised that she knows who he is, but he’s distracted almost immediately as Flint stands abruptly at the sight of him, the heavy desk chair scraping loudly along the wood.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Flint demands, and (though he doesn’t break eye contact with Flint) he could swear he hears Barlow let out a put-upon sigh. 

Silver thrusts the box of paint out in front of him as if it could shield him from Flint’s irritation. “I brought you these.”

And Flint - Flint actually looks surprised at that, like the last thing he’d ever expected from Silver was a gift. Silver doesn’t want Flint to think he likes him or anything, though, so he’s quick to elaborate.

“I found them in the hold, and Billy mentioned that you like to paint. I figured they’d be better off here in your possession than gathering dust in hold.”

“Oh, how thoughtful, Mr. Silver. James so rarely paints, now, hardly ever has the patience for it. When was the last time you did something other than just a charcoal sketch?” The longer Barlow speaks, the more Flint’s eye twitches. It’s truly a fascinating cause-and-effect relationship.

“I must say, Captain, I never took you for such an artistic soul. I’d love to see your work, sometime,” Silver says, like the shit he is, because he wants to see if he can make that vein on Flint’s forehead start to pulse.

He can.

“Fuck off, Silver,” Flint says, but when Barlow clears her throat pointedly, He sighs, then continues. “Thank you, Mr. Silver. Now, please fuck off.”

Silver laughs, then walks forward to place the paints on the desk. Before he can turn to leave, though, Mrs. Barlow starts to talk again.

“James, why don’t we go for a walk on the upper decks? It’s a lovely night, and it’s been ever so long since I’ve been able to look upon the sea in such a manner,” she offers Flint her arm, and the look her companion gives her seems to be a strange mix of guilty, fond, and exasperated. It’s amazing, how expressive Flint is when he’s around her. 

“Fine. Silver, put that box in the empty space on that bottom shelf, will you?” Flint points to the bookcase in the corner, then loops his arm through hers. Before they leave though, Barlow catches Silver’s eye, looking between him and a leather-bound book on the far table pointedly.  Silver nods his understanding, brow furrowed slightly; why would Barlow purposefully point him toward something Flint clearly does not wish to share?

Still, Silver’s always been a nosy son-of-a-bitch, and so as soon as they’re gone he all but shoves the paints away and picks up what he assumes is Flint’s sketchbook.

It’s clear that he’s only just started using it, probably having found it after taking the Warship. The first three or four pages are detailed seascapes, vibrant and lively even in black charcoal. Flint’s gifted. Out of practice, Silver can tell, but good.

Interspersed between the landscapes are little portraits, some barely more than the bare-bones of a person’s face, and some intricate and life-like. At first, it’s mostly Mrs. Barlow, in various states of repose. There’s one of her naked, and Silver nearly tears the page in his haste to turn it, cheeks aflame. 

Then there’s a neat little sketch of Eleanor Guthrie, a scribbled out Gates, a kind-looking man Silver doesn’t recognize, and then -

Him.

Silver feels his brows raise, taken aback. 

It was clearly drawn after one of his earliest addresses: the Silver on the page has a bloody nose, and his teeth, bared in a mean grin, are stained dark as well. It really does look just like him, Silver thinks, and he notices absently that Flint seems to have put the most effort into getting his hair just right.

Maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised: they’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets these past few weeks, and it makes sense that Flint would simply sketch what he’s been exposed to.

The next page is him, too: this time in profile, frowning slightly. The page after that is a full-body sketch from behind; he wouldn’t be sure it was him, if it weren’t for the hair and that old cropped jacket he’d left behind.

He flips through the next seven pages, until he reaches where Flint’s sketches end. Every sketch, loose or detailed, small or large, on the most recent ten pages, are of Silver: silver laughing; Silver dripping wet after swimming to the Warship; Silver pouting; Silver playing with his hair; Silver smirking; Silver climbing up the rigging…over and over again, Flint has spent his free time not only sketching him, but thinking of him.

Silver doesn’t know what to make of that. He closes the sketchbook, cheeks red and mind reeling, and only barely remembers to put the paints where he’d been asked to before slipping out of the cabin.

He doesn’t understand why Flint has fixated on him in his artistic pursuits, as he’s fairly certain the man can hardly stand him. Maybe, at most, he finds him aesthetically pleasing (something Silver would never have presumed before seeing that sketchbook), but that is a far cry from tolerating or even liking him.

Silver decides, for the time being, to put this aside. He’s got Vincent and Nicholas to deal with, and he can already tell that they’re going to be the cause of most of his troubles along this journey.

But when he spots Flint standing with Barlow and the Ashe girl on the upper deck, illuminated by the full moon, he can’t help but wish the captain had made a self-portrait. Silver can’t say he would have minded taking it; he has no artistic talent of his own, after all, and surely that would be the only way to find a likeness of Flint.

He thinks he can almost understand Flint’s urge to put pen to page, if only to preserve the memories of the ones who so define the world around him. There’s some small part of him that would have liked something by which to remember Flint, so that he might never forget that fierce look in his eyes, the sharpness of his brow, the jut of his cheekbones. He’s been nothing but vexing and confusing, yes, but James Flint is unlike anyone he’s ever known. 

Silver will think of him, and his violent, artist’s hands, long after he leaves this rotten Warship behind.

send me a number!

#this is set like #right before they set out for charlestown #silverflint fic #silverflint #my fic #fic prompt #black sails fic #me yelling @ silver: UR IN LOVE BINCH #swansilver

[dxrkblaze]

Give ME ALL FOR THAT MEME BC IM A HO N I LOVE UR WIRITNG U FUCK

this just in: ru is gay and I love her HHDGSHHDDL THAnk u sm homie I cri,,, ❤️❤️

1) of the fic you’ve written, which are you most proud of?Hmm… probably all my colors? Like, there’s a lot I’d like to go back and change, but at the end of the day it was my baby for a good two plus years and there’s a lot of personal stuff sprinkled in there. It kinda shows my emotional progression throughout high school in the story, and while that’s def not why I wrote it, it’s cool to go back and look at it sometimes to see the things I used to say/think about. Plus it’s one of the only massive projects of mine that I’ve actually completed, lol.

Also I have a lot of love for amc just bc it’s so… different, I guess? Like, I’ve never really seen something like it fleshed out into a full-length story, especially not with silver and blaze. And the fact that it rlly touched several ppl and got them rlly into it… that makes me feel kinda accomplished when I’m not being a self-deprecating prick lmao. I rlly rlly wanted it to be my first fic to get to 100 reviews for a reason!

2) favorite tense (past/present/future)Definitely past, I tried present with the unforgiven and it just made it frustrating to write, lmao.

3) favorite POV (first/second/third/etc)I prefer writing in first person, actually. I think it simplifies things for both the writer and reader, and I’ve always found a lot more freedom to be creative when I write in first person.

4) what are some themes you love writing about?Lmao well, obviously romance is priority one for me, so most of my themes stem from that. I rlly love writing about class struggle tho, whether it’s someone low who’s aiming high or a noble who isn’t satisfied with such a high class. Morality also comes up a lot in my writing, I guess; tryna figure out what the right thing to do is, tryna figure out if this character actually did the best thing, all that good stuff!

5) what inspires you to write?Definitely music… sometimes I’ll stray from it and pick up some inspo from movies/stories/etc, but 99% of the time I’ll be listening to a song and suddenly come up w a fic idea from it lmao.

6) thoughts on critiqueI encourage it!! bc I think it’s the only real way to improve. Sometimes it can make me feel bad if I’m in one of those rlly shitty self-deprecation ruts, but still I usually get over it soon even when I’m like that. I know it’s for the better, and I appreciate everyone who’s ever been kind enough, and cared enough abt my writing to give me critique!

7) create a character on the spot…. NOW!UMMMM OKIE,,, what abt a snow leopard named Kyra… she likes to sit around n read n eat noodles… her main hobby other than reading is dancing. she’s v shy but she loves her close friends n BAM I just made her gay. She’s a lesbian, harold.

8) is there a character you love writing for the most? the least? why?Most - probably silver… his personality is always one I’ve gotten a lot of joy out of writing. He’s basically a walking contradiction, lmfao. He’s also pretty easy for me to self-project onto, idk why. Least - I’m gonna say amy for this one, just because it’s been hard for me to focus on more than one aspect of her personality and flesh all of it out. Plus amy is a somewhat overused character lol, I get a lot more fun out of writing blaze/tikal/others when I need a female role, even if it’s something simple

9) a passage from a WIPOh u kno I gotta dip into royalty au for this one 👀

–

It was nearly a fortnight before any word was received from King Pyrus. It came in the form of a small parcel addressed to Blaze, which held a note inside for her. The young princess jumped at the feet of the servant who had brought it in, and once it was lowered into her hands, she hurried to her chamber. Once there, she closed the door behind her and jumped on her bed, unable to contain her excitement. With a careful claw and an eager expression, she tore the parcel’s paper away. Before looking at what it contained, she snatched the note from her father, and brought it to her face. It read:

My Little Flame,

I am sorry I could not write to you sooner. I remain busy, but I finally began exploring, and I found something I think you will simply adore. It is a traditional robe (I believe it is called a kimono) from here in the Eastern Isles. It is just as beautiful as the land, and just as special as you are to I, my dear. We must make plans to bring you here one day, it astounds me each time.

Do not fret about the ongoings in the world, how ever much you have heard. Kiniti watches over us at all times, and she will ensure peace among all kinetics. Hopefully, I will depart in the coming few days, and we will see one another soon.

With love,Father Flame

Blaze, of course, merely skimmed over the second half of the note as a formality. She laid the message aside, and her jaw dropped once she held the kimono out. It was a beautiful shade of dark purple, with an equally enchanting design. Trails of dainty cherry blossoms sat on rugged branches, which climbed up either side of the robe. The silk seemed to melt between Blaze’s fingers; it was the softest material she had ever felt. She rubbed one of the sleeves against her cheek, and purred into it. When she turned the robe over, she gasped. A large, pink bow was already tied at the back, as if it had been made just for her. She slipped the kimono over her shoulders, and although the sleeves hung low over her arms, the length was just right. Blaze tied the pieces of ribbon at her waist, just as Pyrus had taught her, and words could never express how delighted she was with the gift. She could not wait to show her father once he returned.

As Blaze was fitting her tail through the bow on her back, Baxton entered the room. Whenever Pyrus was absent, it was usually Baxton who took up the king’s general duties. He signed letters, addressed the people, attended court; it kept him quite busy. The only responsibility he didn’t inherit was any control of he army - the sole post he would be familiar with. Quite the chore it was, but Baxton was always fond of his temporary sovereign role. At least in terms of the power he held, that is. In fact, Blaze assumed that he had been yelling at some servants not too long ago, judging by his flushed face.

The elder cat scratched his head. “Princess, did the king leave a letter?”

Blaze pointed to the note on her bed. Baxton scurried to it, and frowned as he glanced over the elegant handwriting. “Is this it?” he quizzed.

The princess nodded, and held her arms out with a smile. “Look, Baxi! Look at what father sent me!”

Blaze couldn’t quite tell what Baxton’s expression conveyed, but it was something between a smile and a scowl. The note crumpled in a quick motion from Baxton’s fist, and was thrown back onto the bed cover. Blaze didn’t think much of this as Baxton hurried out, and she walked to her mirror to admire the kimono again.

–

10) what are your strengths wrt writing?Hmm… I get a lot of ppl saying that I’m pretty eloquent when it comes to phrasing/word choices? I’m constantly tinkering with how things are said, even up until like 30 seconds before I publish smth lmao. I also like to think I never just string sentences together and leave it at that when I’m narrating, I pay a lot of attention to how different sentences/phrases flow together.

11) what are your weaknesses wrt writing?My main weakness would probably be going overboard on all the little things, like how a sentence sounds or flows and stuff like that. I end up being a perfectionist with it, and sometimes when I’m crafting/changing phrases around, I end up with a sentence that kinda drags on or tries to do too much.

12) what’s your favorite place for writing resources?Tumblr’s pretty good for me, actually. I rarely ever seek out resources, but I do reblog a lot of them that come to me here and they’ve been very useful to me in the past.

13) who are your favorite writers?Ok first off binch u@aurora-boring-alis (FF: aurora-boring-alis) Then my other peeps who also make the quality goodness™™ I can’t get enough of (some fanfic accounts more active than others)@maliwarm (FF: biteworsethanbark) @lordoftheghostking28 (FF: lordoftheghostking28) @weezernaut (FF: space mercutio)@ebachan (wattpad: witto150)

#asks