On this fine morning thinking about another fav headcannon: drunk Izzy = horny Izzy.

Though not all alcohol makes him so. Rum? Nah, he's fine. Beer? Same. But give him wine or brandy and oooh boy. Stede's getting dragged away somewhere dark and private where Izzy rides him till they're both spent and satisfied.

There was a beaming smile on his face at Izzy's compliment and it stayed even when kissing his lover. His hands continuing to comb through Izzy's hair, down the back of his neck and the repeating. He knew it was Izzy's favorite place to be touched, to be caressed and scratched, and so Stede did it whenever possible. The moan Izzy lets out, that Stede swallows down, makes him shiver with delight and only adds to the arousal. He opens his mouth against his just then while dragging his nails down his scalp, craving another moan from his lover, but instead Stede is the one to moan this time when Izzy suddenly slides his hands up his thighs and gropes his backside. His hips buck forward, his arousal evident when it grazes against Izzy, making him let out another soft little moan.

And then another when he says that name. His own named with Stede's last night following. It makes him kiss Izzy harder, his heart fluttering and dancing, and when he breaks the kiss and speaks, he sounds almost breathless. "Israel Bonnet." He repeats, loving the sound of that. They had yet to finalize such details, but regardless, they would take each other's name. Israel Bonnet sounded beautiful, but Stede loved the feeling and honor of having Izzy's last name, too. But... he wants to hear it again and so he lowers himself onto Izzy's lap while kissing him once more. "Say it again," he pleads, opening his mouth against his, tongue not-so-patiently asking for permission for entry. He then grinds against him with a needy little whine. "Please say it again."

Continued from here. @izzyeffinhands

"Black and red? Really?" Stede questions just before falling into thought about it. Black and red... "Mm, I suppose that wouldn't be so bad. I look good in those colors. Well, I think I look good in any color, but those in particular. A certain fit comes to mind.." Those words fall from his lips at the exact same time Izzy mentions the cursed suit, making the man smile wide. "Great minds think alike." He knew how much Izzy loved him in the red suit, and gods, just thinking back on that day has Stede feeling hot. He has to shake those memories from his mind, focusing on the current conversation. "But they get to see you every day." He replies, basically returning the compliment of him being stunning because to Stede, he was. Gods, was he truly stunning. "I'm all yours, Israel. No one else will ever have me. Certainly not in that suit. Perhaps I'm due to wear it again, hm?" A fine idea, he thought.

But t's then that he realized something. Izzy's earlier comment about being evil and wearing black. So he turns to face him, practically twirling on his feet. "But Izzy, you're not evil. Unless..." A grin. "You'd like to be evil with me?" Oh, now that sounded quite exciting! "It could be fun! We could," a brief pause. "We could raid little towns and other ships! Steal their goods and threaten their people! Make them fear us!" He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins just at the thought. "Does that not sound thrilling, Israel?"

"That's fair. Even with the covering, wouldn't stop the rain from blowing in through the sides." He could add covering there, too, but it would have to be screened in which would possibly take away from the beautiful atmosphere on the outside. And obscure the view a little bit. It was perfect as was and it was still likely people could hear the music booming from within. He was curious and that meant coming back here another night to test it. That would be his excuse, anyway, because he'd really be coming back to see the handsome bartender again. Something told James Izzy wouldn't mind that in the least.

He smiles when Izzy talks about the paintings on the inside and how some of them were done by other artists. James admired how supportive of a man Izzy was, how kind and generous he was, especially since there was always a lack of support towards small and local business or artists. Fucking shame, really. James, too, tried to support them wherever he went, thus why he came to this tavern. And he was glad he did. "You're a good guy, Izzy. I can see why this placed is as loved as it is. Fucked up as this world is now, it's clear this is a safe space for a lot of people." And he meant that... including for himself. Goddamn, he was already dreading leaving this city when the time came, but at least he had a place to come back to.

"Yeah?" James's eyes light up when Izzy mentions enjoying the ocean, as well, and it's almost immediately after that James extends an invite. "I could take you out on my boat sometime. Sail the seas for a few hours, fuckin' beautiful out there." Only then does he realize how forward that was. "Fuck. Uh, sorry. Probably should've started with something small like coffee or lunch." He laughs, embarrassed himself, especially for how excited he was when inviting Izzy on such an adventure. On such a date. It's been a real long fucking time since James has done this. "If you're, uh, interested, that is..." He clears his throat, then takes a drink like it's going to wash away the embarrassment from the first invite.

Flint liked the outside patio. If the weather was nice, outside was his preferred place to sit. Usually less crowded, but with the music being inside, and the handsome bartender that had captured his attention and interest for the entirety of the night, he stayed in. "The bands ever perform out here? Or does it reach here well enough?" He figured it depended on the bands, themselves, and the weather of course, but either way, next time he came here, he'd definitely be sitting outside. It doesn't take him long to choose a table, pulling out Izzy's chair before he moves to sit on the one across from him, setting his bottled water (that he totally purchased before coming out here) on the table and taking in a breath of the fresh, night air.

He listens to Izzy's answer, grinning when he mentions the motorcycle. Flint found that pretty fucking hot, actually, though he didn't say that out loud. He kept that to himself for the time being, but the photography and theater, however, he did comment on. "Is that some of your photography hanging on the wall inside?" He asks as he reaches for his water to take a drink. "I know some are painted canvas, but the framed pictures looked real. Those yours?" If so, Flint was wildly impressed and in awe of how beautiful they were, but if not, well, he was still sure Izzy was damn good at photography. He just had a feeling, really. "Are you part of any of the performances?" He hoped he wasn't asking too many questions, but he was genuinely interested in Izzy, especially with their shared interests and hobbies. So when Izzy asks him the same question in return, he smiles.

"Does a hobby count if it's also your career?" He asks with a chuckle, setting his water back down. "Traveling," he clarifies. "I'm a Marine Archeologist, so I do a lot of it. Lived my whole life by the sea, now on the sea." He smiles. "My father was a ship engineer so that's another hobby of mine. Ships. Side interest you could call it, I guess." He pauses as he thinks of anything else. "Youtube. But I count that more of an addiction than hobby." He laughs, shaking his head. The amount of times he's fallen down a rabbit hole just watching youtube videos. "Reading. Also photography, but that comes with the job, too." Something else they shared in common. "Sorry, went on a ramble there."

It took a minute for James to register that Izzy had asked him a question, having heard the shock in his words and noticing it all over his face. Stede, meanwhile, was still loudly cheering and jumping, his arm still hooked with Izzy's. Those would were always fucking touching. "Uh, nothing." James shakes his head, waving it off like it was nothing when it was very much something. Fuck. What the FUCK. The lead singer for this fucking band was the fucking asshole that ran into him!? The bastard that had the nerve to flirt with him after spilling his drink all over his clothes? The voice that James felt so instantly attracted to, singing the lyrics he resonated with, belonged to that fucking fuck? Even worse that he actually seemed nice. He was waving at the fans right in front of the stage, reaching his hand out to touch them and laughing at the intensified screaming when he did so. James was even sure he saw him winking at one group of females and what the fuck, why did that piss him off?

But then he walked backwards to join his band again while scream singing into the mic, putting his goddamn heart and soul into every word and James could see this was a man of passion. A man that sang from experience, that sang from the heart. He was different from the cocky bastard he met hours earlier and that made James wonder, was this the real man or the asshole from earlier?

Eventually Stede notices the way James is staring at the lead singer, like he's entranced and he nudges Izzy's side and nods in his direction before leaning in to whisper. "I think he likes him. His jaw is nearly on the floor," he giggles, but Stede didn't blame him, really. Charles Vane was hot. Sexy. Charming. Had an incredible voice. Even Izzy agreed, but for Stede no one would ever come close to Izzy's voice. The voice he fell in love with, the voice that changed his life. That saved his life. Those thoughts prompt Izzy to press a sweet little kiss to Izzy's cheek, smiling wide as he nuzzles it immediately after before returning his attention to the stage, singing along with the crowd and his boyfriend he was arm in arm with.

The first song comes to an end and leads into the next and already the first lyrics hit James hard. The more I feel, the more I die. Fuck. It makes his stomach churn, it makes his heart shatter. It was like this man was singing about him, to him even. Like he knew all about him and the things he'd been through or how he felt. Admittedly, it was starting to make him feel a little uncomfortable. Because the lyrics were starting to hit so hard and this was only the second song. And through these songs, he somehow felt connected to that man... it was obvious he went through some shit in his life, too...

"That's him." James suddenly bursts out, feeling awkward that he wasn't really dancing along. Or singing, but he didn't know the lyrics. "That's the bastard that ran into me today." He tells Izzy, voice a little louder now and this time, it's Stede's jaw that drops.

"NO WAY!!! THAT WAS HIM!?!? YOU MET CHARLES VANE!?!?"

Charles was right. The angrier he got, the hotter he got. The ridiculous amount of rage in those eyes was enough to make his pants tight. If his goal was to send him flying off the handle, he’d succeeded. He’d even let him rant and rave, standing there simply until he uttered the nickname. Tarzan. That got a loud laugh from him, a deep one at that. Now he was so amused at this guy he could forgive the drink. He’d given him a damn good distraction. “ Imaging me in a loincloth? You’re cute, you ginger cunt. “ And that was it. He tapped him on his shoulder, shaking his head and walking away. Jack would find this funny.

***

“ James, try to have fun tonight. I know fun isn’t in your vocabulary, but try. “

Those words erupted from Izzy as they walked into the concert venue. He’d just wanted the damn man to get out of his ship, stop hating the world. He wanted him to move on from Thomas. Izzy knew he’d never get over him, but he wanted his friend to have a life. He wanted him to not be so sad and miserable. He wanted him to meet someone like he’d met the love of his life. That love was tucked into his arm right now as they waited for the music to start.

There was an opening band, a newer band that started everything up. They got the crowd riled and ready, guitar and drums bouncing off the walls. And after a short intermission, Rusty Anchors was going to play. This wasn’t his hometown, but Charles wanted it to be. He liked the area, he liked the people. It was why this was the last stop of their tour. He wasn’t quite sure why the Brits seemed to love their music more than a crowd back home, but that just meant he was churning out extra love for them tonight in his performance. The whistling and cheering in the crowd began as the lights went completely down, the bass guitar beginning to strum, the unsettling electronic sound kicking in.

Then a voice started to sing in the darkness.

“ There are times.. when I’m just a shell. And I do not feel, anything … for anyooooone.. “ The loud whistling of the crowd got louder, and the still in revealed singer continued. “ All I feel is hollowed and bruised.. used up and misused.. forced to be someone I don’t want to be.. “

Charles took a breath as the bass and electronic sound confined, still not revealed. Then he continued, more passion now in his voice. “ Have I failed? .. somehow or some way, will the weights of today.. finally puuullll me down.. to drown.. ? — In the depths of despair, where I am alone.. except for my raaaaaage.. “

Then the lights came up. Blindingly so. The stage lights were flashing as the band was finally revealed, the mysterious singer up front with thicker kohl drawn eyes. He’d taken a deep breath, as the next part was filled with screaming and singing. And as soon as he sang again, the room was filled with booming drums and guitar. He stood at the mic, arms raised above his head. Deep breath. How the crowd reacted here would gauge the entire show. God, he hoped it was good.

“ My RAAAAAAAAAAGE!!! My PAAAAAAAIN!! I HAAAAATE — my darkest days.. “

Bit of Zach McGowan from his latest film “Last Call” (2021) Part 1

Artpril day 02

Black Sails today! Some FlintVane because it’s my jam.

Flint hated how angry he could get and how quickly. It was something he'd been trying to work on, something he feels he's been better about, even if just slightly, but when something went wrong, something that shouldn't go wrong, it easily set him off. And this was certainly one of those times. Not just because he expected more from his crew, not just because he expected better, but because it nearly cost someone their life. The fact that it was Izzy made it ten times fucking worse, but he hoped that hadn't been obvious. Perhaps to Silver, it had been, maybe even Billy, but it shouldn't have happened at all. As strict and cold as a Captain he could be sometimes, he did care about his fucking crew. He didn't show it as often as he should, and it no doubt seemed like the opposite sometimes, but he was trying to be better about that, too.

Sometimes his anger became so much of a problem to him that he would fucking cry. But he always made damn sure no one witnessed it. He refused to let anyone see him cry. Whether from pure anger and frustration or heartbreak and devastation. Both of which he's experienced too fucking much of. And in this moment, he was on the verge of tears. His heart was pounding, his knuckles stinging, his mind racing -- all to the point where he was just feeling overwhelmed. He takes in a deep breath, desperately trying to will away the tears gathering in his eyes, but it's then that he hears a knock on the door followed by it opening without so much as an invite. "Did I say you could--" He goes quite the second he hears Izzy's voice and it even calms the Captain, quieting the storm within his mind and helping the rage within to dissipate. His shoulders fall, visibly relaxing from Izzy's voice and his presence, also evident in the way his eyes soften when he looks at him. He looks... scared, hesitant to approach him, and fuck does that make Flint feel like shit. The last thing he wants is for Izzy to be afraid of him, to be reminded of his former Captain, as crazy as the bastard was. But in this moment, because of Izzy and his presence alone, Flint was relaxing, looking at ease and feeling it, too.

"No. Don't." He tells him, only to mentally scold himself for that. Almost like he was pleading for Izzy to stay, so he tried to correct himself. "You don't have to. I'm... fine." It wasn't a complete lie since he was calming down. "I'm sorry." He clears his throat, then, taking in another deep breath before he turns to fully face Izzy, looking relieved to see him standing there. Not just because he hadn't left, but because he was alive. He was okay. "Is there something you need?"

"Fuck!" More papers go flying off of his desk, scattered about on the ground, before he forces himself to a halt, resisting the urge to punch a hole into his desk. That or break his knuckles which would be more likely. Blood oozed from his bottom lip, bruised and stinging, and he attempts to clean it with a swipe of his tongue, applying some pressure in hopes to make it stop. Once upon a time, the taste of blood made the man cringe, despising the metallic taste, but over the years he's grown used to it. Dare he say he almost enjoys the taste of it now, if not for the added adrenaline it gives him, especially in the heat of battle. Though, in this current moment, he's far too pissed off to enjoy it, because it's a fight that shouldn't have fucking happened in the first place.

A fight that nearly got Izzy hurt. If Flint hadn't seen the bastards sneaking up on them from behind, one gun aimed at Izzy, then he would've been on the floor bleeding. And the mere thought devastated Flint. It made him furious. Sent him into a rage that aided him in the fight against the few men that had been hiding somewhere after they raided the ship. He clenches his hands, his knuckles painted in blood also stinging, as he tries to make himself calm down. If there was one thing James Flint was known for, it was his anger. His fury and his rage. It made him both feared and respected, but far more feared. And when it came as a result of someone he cared for being threatened or hurt? There was almost no stopping him.

His men had failed to clear the ship, somehow missing a passage or room that hid the four men, and they had the fucking nerve to aim for Izzy? That only added to his rage. He pushed Izzy out just before the bullet was fired and he returned fire, hitting the man between the eyes. He hadn't meant to make his care for Izzy obvious, to make it public like that, but it was possible it still went unnoticed. By most, anyway. Silver knew. Billy had his suspicions, he was sure. Izzy? Well, he obviously knew of the Captain's feelings for him. Feelings that were not unrequited. They made that known during that night. Through words and actions. A night Flint hadn't stopped thinking about. A night that, admittedly, made Flint angry because it changed things between the two of them. At first, in that moment, he thought for the better but after the interruption that pulled them apart, he wasn't sure anymore.

Because they hadn't talked about it. Hell, Izzy had barely come around him in those weeks that had passed except to talk business. But they shared looks every so often and Flint could tell Izzy was thinking about that night, too, but he was conflicted. Unsure. Terrified. And so, Flint let it be. He didn't pursue. He didn't want to make things worse for the other so he gave him his space, as painful as it was. It almost felt like... rejection, but out of respect, he didn't question it. When Izzy was ready to talk, he'd come to him. Maybe. Hopefully.

Or maybe he'd quit. Leave the crew. Something that scared Flint. He'd been the first person Flint developed real and true feelings for since Thomas, and giving into said feelings seemed to be the wrong thing to do. Even if Izzy did feel the same way in return. And he made it known today, with his actions, that his feelings for Izzy were still there, but perhaps most of the crew merely saw it as a Captain protecting one of his own. The last thing he wanted was to make it more difficult for Izzy, to make him turn away, to make him leave. Especially when he went off on his crew for failing to truly secure the ship.

FUCK.

Everything in his life was fucked it felt like. Yet he kept going. He kept fucking trying for him. Despite how fucked everything was and was continuing to be. Growling, he grabs hold of a glass on his desk and throws it at the wall, watching it shatter upon impact, glass joining the scattered papers on the floor. Good luck to any man that dare enter the Captain's cabin or even merely knock while he was in a rage. @unicornondeck

He didn't know anything about this band. He didn't know the names of their band members or the names of their songs for that matter. He knew their genre only because Stede and Izzy filled him in somewhat and when they first told him about this concert he was going to days ago, they gave him homework: listen to their songs so he knew who the fuck they were. But did he? No. A part of him did regret it only because he'd likely feel even more awkward and out of place standing there in silence while everyone else unfortunately sang their hearts out and cheered. He'd applaud, of course, because even if he didn't go to concerts, he still appreciated music. He appreciated the art.

And his two friends swore up and down he'd love this music in particular, too. Izzy, especially, believed he would. Something about the lyrics relating to him and he thinks they related to James as well. Hopefully they would, but even then, he wasn't exactly looking forward being trapped amongst a large crowd. But they wanted him to go. They really wanted him to go and he did enjoy spending time with him. Even with Izzy's new boyfriend Stede Bonnet. As chaotic and idiotic as he was sometime, he was sweet and fun to be around and fuck was he good for Izzy. James isn't sure when, or even if, he's ever seen Izzy so... happy. Or so in love for that matter. No. He's definitely never been so fucking in love and he was happy for him. Incredibly so. Even if it did hurt to see sometimes, but only because it made him think of Thomas and... fuck. No, he couldn't think about him right now. He couldn't.

So he was thankful when Izzy spoke to him, effectively breaking James from those painful thoughts. "Fuck off, Izzy." He huffs, but there's a hint of a smirk. They got at each other like that sometimes and it was all in good fun. Was he going to try and have fun? Well, yeah, but it didn't mean he would. Didn't help that his mood was still sour from what happened hours ago. Fucking asshole. "Maybe someone here will bump into you and spill their drink all over your fuckin' shirt. And blame you for it." Yeah, he was still annoyed about it. He already told them what happened and made sure to specify it was the other bastard's fault. Tarzan looking fuck.

"Well... least he was hot, right?" Stede then asks, smirking.

"When the fuck did I say that?" James shoots him a look. "He looked like fuckin' Tarzan." He reminds him and he could hear Izzy's cackle, earning him the next glare.

"Exactly." Stede smirks.

"I'm not sayin' shit. Quit asking. I'd rather not see the asshole again or I might punch the fuck out of him."

-------------------------------

Darkness. That's what was left after the last opener finally finished. Darkness and chatter. James had recognized a couple of songs from the last couple of openers and sang with them what he could remember, so it was clear he was having a bit of fun. More as the night came on. And Stede's constant nudging of him to dance was both annoying and endearing.

Then a voice booms over the crowd, causing them to cheer loudly and then go somewhat quiet so they could hear who James assumed was the lead singer of Rusty Anchors. His voice sounded familiar... maybe he had heard some of their songs before? That made him relax a little more. Funny how a stranger's voice could do that. He wasn't sure why, but it did and he was actually enjoying the man's voice and... the lyrics. Holy fuck. The lyrics. A shell. Don't feel anything. Hollowed and bruised. Despair. Rage. Jesus, it was like this man was singing about him. About his fucking life that had been filled with all of that. That he still felt to this day.

He looked to Izzy who seemed to be real into the song, and Stede, too. Of course, Stede had only learned about the band from Izzy after they met. They were fucking perfect together. It's what Izzy deserved, really. Real and true love after the bullshit he'd been through. Stede was good for him, perfect for him and... fuck. He could feel the tears well in his eyes, especially with the music in the background. The lyrics. Like he was in a fucking movie and this was his song. He already made a mental note to look up this song because it had only just started and already it resonated with him so deeply.

Suddenly the stage lights come on, blinding James to the point where he shuts his eyes. Then comes the screams and cheers, followed by the screaming voice of the band leader as he continues the song. The crowd goes fucking crazy and fuck, James is thankful for his earplugs. They only help silence the crowd while letting him still hear the band clearly and thankfully preventing a horrible headache. One of his other concerns coming tonight. But so far, he felt fine and he was feeling even better hearing this singer's voice and his lyrics. It was obvious he was singing from the heart, even from experience...

Interested and curious, James finally forces his eyes open despite the blinding light still shining on the crowd. He needs to see who the voice belongs to. A voice somehow familiar and one that fills him with both calm and excitement. A voice that he feels... attracted to - something he would have questioned had Stede not fallen in love with Izzy because of his voice - a voice so fucking beautiful James just needs to fucking know. He stares at the stage, his vision clearing. He eyes immediately lock onto the lead singer, his heart racing, and when he finally sees him...

"You've got to be FUCKING kidding me..."

Charles was right. The angrier he got, the hotter he got. The ridiculous amount of rage in those eyes was enough to make his pants tight. If his goal was to send him flying off the handle, he’d succeeded. He’d even let him rant and rave, standing there simply until he uttered the nickname. Tarzan. That got a loud laugh from him, a deep one at that. Now he was so amused at this guy he could forgive the drink. He’d given him a damn good distraction. “ Imaging me in a loincloth? You’re cute, you ginger cunt. “ And that was it. He tapped him on his shoulder, shaking his head and walking away. Jack would find this funny.

***

“ James, try to have fun tonight. I know fun isn’t in your vocabulary, but try. “

Those words erupted from Izzy as they walked into the concert venue. He’d just wanted the damn man to get out of his ship, stop hating the world. He wanted him to move on from Thomas. Izzy knew he’d never get over him, but he wanted his friend to have a life. He wanted him to not be so sad and miserable. He wanted him to meet someone like he’d met the love of his life. That love was tucked into his arm right now as they waited for the music to start.

There was an opening band, a newer band that started everything up. They got the crowd riled and ready, guitar and drums bouncing off the walls. And after a short intermission, Rusty Anchors was going to play. This wasn’t his hometown, but Charles wanted it to be. He liked the area, he liked the people. It was why this was the last stop of their tour. He wasn’t quite sure why the Brits seemed to love their music more than a crowd back home, but that just meant he was churning out extra love for them tonight in his performance. The whistling and cheering in the crowd began as the lights went completely down, the bass guitar beginning to strum, the unsettling electronic sound kicking in.

Then a voice started to sing in the darkness.

“ There are times.. when I’m just a shell. And I do not feel, anything … for anyooooone.. “ The loud whistling of the crowd got louder, and the still in revealed singer continued. “ All I feel is hollowed and bruised.. used up and misused.. forced to be someone I don’t want to be.. “

Charles took a breath as the bass and electronic sound confined, still not revealed. Then he continued, more passion now in his voice. “ Have I failed? .. somehow or some way, will the weights of today.. finally puuullll me down.. to drown.. ? — In the depths of despair, where I am alone.. except for my raaaaaage.. “

Then the lights came up. Blindingly so. The stage lights were flashing as the band was finally revealed, the mysterious singer up front with thicker kohl drawn eyes. He’d taken a deep breath, as the next part was filled with screaming and singing. And as soon as he sang again, the room was filled with booming drums and guitar. He stood at the mic, arms raised above his head. Deep breath. How the crowd reacted here would gauge the entire show. God, he hoped it was good.

“ My RAAAAAAAAAAGE!!! My PAAAAAAAIN!! I HAAAAATE — my darkest days.. “

Flint noticed the way he looked him up and down, almost like he was checking him out, but given the situation and how pissed off he was, he received it as... judgmental. Insulting. And that only pissed him off more, but honestly, everything was starting to piss him off. A simple breeze could send him into another rage and that wouldn't be good for anyone. But he really didn't like how he was looking at him, like he was amused and about to make fun of him for something. His hair color, perhaps? Or maybe the fact that he had it up in a small ponytail? Or maybe he was about to make fun of his height because he was a little shorter than him. Flint wouldn't be surprised, really. He just seemed like the cocky and arrogant type. Infuriatingly so.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He takes a step closer, one hand clenching into a fist at his side, but fuck, he was trying his damn hardest to hold himself back. The last thing he needed was an assault charge, even though this asshole was practically provoking him, but something told Flint he'd fight back. Maybe it'd get him out of going to the concert tonight... no. Not a good enough reason to get into what would potentially be a brutal fight in the front of his favorite tavern, likely getting banned from ever coming back. He'd save the punches for his punching bag back home. "I'm clumsy!? You fuckin'-..." Wait. What. The. Fuck. Did he just flirt with him? No. No fucking way. Clearly he didn't mean it as a compliment. He was probably comparing him to a wet dog or something. He was meaning to insult him. Flint was sure of it.

"Better on me than in you. Wouldn't want a drunk fuck stumblin' all over town running into other people and causing a goddamn mess." Just because Flint was a man full of rage, didn't mean he didn't care about this town. It was his home and he didn't want dickheads like him causing trouble. That's when Flint began to wonder... his accent was definitely American. Tourist? He scoffs. "Came here to have a goddamn drink and now I have to go home instead and fucking shower." He may not be yelling anymore, but he was still pissed off. And the more he looked at the man, the more familiar he became... he didn't know him. He was sure he didn't. So why...

Oh.

He knew why.

"Thanks for ruining my goddamn day even more." A pause as he turns, readying himself to walk away. "Fucking Tarzan."

Rusty Anchors

Maybe it was ordained in the stars that one Charles Vane would meet James Flint, but at the moment the singer had no idea of the man. In fact all he cared about at this moment was getting a drink at this pub. He liked England. Hell, he fucking loved it. If he had the choice he might not ever leave it, but Charles was a wanderer. He liked seeing different places, meeting different peoples and cultures, learning different languages.. which one might not expect from the leather-clad rockstar. His band was due to play tonight at this particular city, which he also enjoyed immensely. It’s closeness to the sea was a calming thing. His father adoptive father Edward was a sailor, and he had fond memories of being on the sea. Before he’d taken him in, Charles had been nothing but a scared child in a fucked up welfare system. But look at him now.

Yes, look at him. Charles Vane, lead singer of Rusty Anchors. This was his band, a band he’d formed when he was young and now they traveled the world. The UK was a particular destination favorite, as it seemed they had more fans there than even in the US. It might be why Charles had decided to get an apartment there, and this quaint seaside city was the town he chose. He was clad in leather from head to toe. It was hot as fuck but it damn sure looked good on stage. Besides, who didn’t enjoy a sweaty Charles? He’d lined his eyes with kohl, black leather vest atop a short sleeved red shirt. He was dressed for the gods, but right now all he needed was a fucking drink.

The concert tonight had him a bit stressed out. It was a big one, and as cool as he might’ve looked, Charles just wanted everything to go smoothly. There was already chaos backstage and the damn thing hadn’t even started. Hell, he’d walked out of the rehearsal. He needed some space. So he ordered two doubles of whiskey, immediately pounding one down. He was going to take the other and get some air outside, when he turned too fast and slammed into a stranger. His drink spilled, partially on whoever the fuck this was that got in his way — and of course this is Charles’ haughty ass so HE was the one who got offended, staring at the other man as if he’d committed the world’s greatest offense.

“ Watch where you’re going, asshole. “ The words grumbled forth with an eyeroll. And he was so in his own head he didn’t even get the best look at the guy. He’d just turned around, determined to ignore him and get another drink.

See, this was why Americans got bad raps as tourists and visitors.

"FUCK." The curse word flies from the ginger's mouth the second he collides with the other man, liquid spilling all over his shirt and it wasn't just a small amount either. No. Of course it fucking wasn't because he notices the dented cup on the floor almost completely empty and he would have been more forgiving if the guy didn't decide to be a complete fucking asshole and blame him. Was he fucking serious!? He sure as hell sounded like it and that only set Flint off, though it didn't take much to piss him off, but with how this damn day was going? It was the final straw that broke the camel's back. The nail in the coffin. All thanks to a damn stranger that wasn't watching where he was going.

"Me!? Clearly you've had too much to fucking drink." He spits back at him, noticing the other empty cup. It was obvious this shit was alcohol given the smell and fuck, the smell was strong too. Just fucking perfect. This would happen after he already showered for the day, having done so after working all morning on his new friend's ship because he wanted to take his boyfriend on a weekend long romantic getaway. How could he say no to that? Despite swearing off relationships forever for a while, he could still appreciate love elsewhere, especially if it involved one of his good friends. Though, he mostly kept it to himself... he didn't want to give away that he was a romantic at heart and craved it for himself. He just... couldn't. It was too hard, too... terrifying, and he didn't know if he could go through that pain again. The worst he's ever experienced in his life and just thinking about it hurt like fucking hell... though right now? All he felt was anger and annoyance. Extreme annoyance.

Admittedly part of it was due to the fact he was being dragged to some damn concert tonight. A concert he didn't want to go to. Concerts weren't even his thing, but his friends were determined to get him out. To make him have fun and it felt like a fucking chore, really. He almost wanted to text Izzy earlier and tell him he wasn't feeling hot, but he knew they wouldn't buy it. So his annoyance at that poured into his annoyance now, adding to his anger and frustration, especially since now he'd have to go home and shower again. All he wanted to do was go to his favorite tavern and have one drink to relax him before tonight, but now that was fucking ruined. Thanks to this dickhead and wasn't watching where he was going. "Shouldn't walk under the influence if you can't handle your liquor. And you shouldn't blame other people for your fucking mistake." He practically snarls at him, taking a step back to put some space between the two of them, eyes finally taking in the man responsible for his even shittier mood. Well that's just fucking great. He's hot as fuck.

Rusty Anchors

Maybe it was ordained in the stars that one Charles Vane would meet James Flint, but at the moment the singer had no idea of the man. In fact all he cared about at this moment was getting a drink at this pub. He liked England. Hell, he fucking loved it. If he had the choice he might not ever leave it, but Charles was a wanderer. He liked seeing different places, meeting different peoples and cultures, learning different languages.. which one might not expect from the leather-clad rockstar. His band was due to play tonight at this particular city, which he also enjoyed immensely. It’s closeness to the sea was a calming thing. His father adoptive father Edward was a sailor, and he had fond memories of being on the sea. Before he’d taken him in, Charles had been nothing but a scared child in a fucked up welfare system. But look at him now.

Yes, look at him. Charles Vane, lead singer of Rusty Anchors. This was his band, a band he’d formed when he was young and now they traveled the world. The UK was a particular destination favorite, as it seemed they had more fans there than even in the US. It might be why Charles had decided to get an apartment there, and this quaint seaside city was the town he chose. He was clad in leather from head to toe. It was hot as fuck but it damn sure looked good on stage. Besides, who didn’t enjoy a sweaty Charles? He’d lined his eyes with kohl, black leather vest atop a short sleeved red shirt. He was dressed for the gods, but right now all he needed was a fucking drink.

The concert tonight had him a bit stressed out. It was a big one, and as cool as he might’ve looked, Charles just wanted everything to go smoothly. There was already chaos backstage and the damn thing hadn’t even started. Hell, he’d walked out of the rehearsal. He needed some space. So he ordered two doubles of whiskey, immediately pounding one down. He was going to take the other and get some air outside, when he turned too fast and slammed into a stranger. His drink spilled, partially on whoever the fuck this was that got in his way — and of course this is Charles’ haughty ass so HE was the one who got offended, staring at the other man as if he’d committed the world’s greatest offense.

“ Watch where you’re going, asshole. “ The words grumbled forth with an eyeroll. And he was so in his own head he didn’t even get the best look at the guy. He’d just turned around, determined to ignore him and get another drink.

See, this was why Americans got bad raps as tourists and visitors.

James can’t help but smirk at the man’s sass, knowing that was Charles’s way of reciprocation. He wouldn’t be Charles if it was any other way, though he did have his sentimental moments. Far more sentimental and far softer than James, even. Though, because of Charles, because he helped him become comfortable with love and helped him let go of his fears, he loved freely now. Unafraid. Without doubt or regret. Even in public. In front of others, be it pirates or civilians. He’d hold his lover’s hand if he wanted to, he’d kiss him without hesitation, and he’d beat the hell out of anyone that spoke an ill word about their love or about Charles. “Curious,” he begins, the smirk still in place. “For what reason would you need to kill me?” A fair question he thinks, one he is genuinely curious about. “I also find it cute that you think you can. I seem to remember you trying in the past. And failing.” A friendly reminder.

‘I am alive because of you.’ For Charles

“ I told you on the stockade. Only person that’s allowed to kill you is me. I earned that right and no one is taking it away from me. “ Of course, this was Charles roundabout way of saying he loved him and wanted him kept around. He had his disgustingly mushy moments, but he also had moments like these where he oozed overconfident cool. But the look on his face said everything. His less than tight lipped expression, the quirks of a smile, the soft eyes. Even when he didn’t say he loved him, it simply was written all over his face.

@avastyetwats

daydreaming about making heart shaped cookies for my husband

Black Sails Rarepair Appreciation Week:

↪ Day 6: All Rarepairs

Flint & Vane 

Feeling at my lowest this week. I think today is the worst so far. It’s always bad in the mornings and I usually come out of it at some point during the day but just… it’s bad right now. Life in general is. I’m feeling at a loss, replaceable, a burden, unsure of where to go in life and like I should have done more. I’m sorry I’ve been posting so much lately, I know it’s likely making people not want to interact with me and I get it. Sometimes it just helps to post my thoughts and feelings somewhere, helps me come out of it a little quicker I guess. I’ll try to write tonight or this weekend, but I’m also feeling unsure about my portrayals but that happens with depression, I’m sorry. And sorry for all of this. <3

I’ve come to resume our compact, the one we swore upon our lives to uphold.

Flint & Vane :  cooperating & rivalry (requested by @renardeninetail). 

“ I made you something special, James. “ This was said with an absolutely devilish look and confident smirk. And then Charles pulled what he was hiding from behind his back. A slab of wood bed fashioned into a sign, rope around the top so it could be hanged on a nail, which read the following:

Captain James Flint, Housewife.

“You… made me something?” If those words didn’t make the Captain a little suspicious, then his grin sure as hell did. James knew that grin. Charles was up to something, up to no fucking good most likely. “I’m afraid to ask what it is…” He mutters, though he clearly had no choice in the matter because his lover is pulling said gift out from behind his back. At first he sees just a plain plank of wood, making the man even more confused, but then he turns it around and… lip twitch.

His eyes narrow, now glaring at his tall boyfriend. If looks could kill. “Fuck you.” He spite, refusing to touch the damn thing. Then he turns away, about to make his exit when an idea pops into mind. “Actually, I know just the place for this..” He takes the ‘gift’ from Charles’s hands and makes his way to the fire place where he gently lays it in, adding to the pile of firewood. “There. Perfect.” He grins, glancing over at him. “Shall we light it up?” @fornassau