#bs idelle

[corvuserpens]

A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} - Ch. 7 (Part 1)

Fandom: Black Sails Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings: None Characters: Billy Bones, Hal Gates, James Flint, Jean DuBois, Mr. Logan, Mr. Muldoon, Dooley, Max, Idelle, Charlotte, protagonist OC, supporting OCs Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal), Max/OC (friends) Jean duBois/OC (bffs) Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, kinda alternative prequel to canon, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence Series: Part One of Six of A Girl, An Ocean Chapters: 7/13 Summary: The biological clock stops for no one and Constance has to figure out how to deal with her "time of the month" in an island full of degenerates. The solution turns out to be quite simple - and embarrassing.

Author's note: You kids ready to learn some history about periods and period products??? This and one other chapter will be divided into three parts because otherwise, they would also be huge. I'm sorry, I don't know how to write small. Go big or go home, right?

Chapter vii. Part i.

A week after landfall, the signs that my bleeding was coming began to flare up.

Normally, there was some kind of tell that would help me anticipate it - a sharp discomfort on my lower belly, tender breasts or back pain. In England, it meant spending a week shut in my bedroom, banned from social events due to my "indisposition." My maids would bring me fresh chaffoirs every two to three hours and make me herbal tea to help with the cramps. They kept me entertained by reading to me, playing cards or encouraging me to do embroidery.

I had hated it. I was a restless person by nature and spent as much time as I could outside, whether to take long walks, horseback riding or to pick flowers. Locking me up between walls was the worst conceivable punishment for someone like me.

But now I was in Nassau, my flowering was a day away or so and I had no way to manage it properly. My crew were all men, so they would be of no help. I didn't have the guts to go to Gates and he likely couldn't do anything for me, either way. I couldn't ask any random woman without dying of embarrassment. The subject was so taboo, even ladies would rather spare themselves the topic, unless it was to teach their own daughters, granddaughters or nieces.

I had no one who could aid me on that island.

With each anxious minute that passed, panic gripped me by the throat. What an abhorrent state to find myself in: desperately needing assistance only another woman could provide, yet too mortified to actually ask for it.

And then... I had an idea. It was desperate and no less humiliating, but what occurred to me was that I needed see someone who truly knew no shame, ironically enough. Someone who earned a living doing things no one had the guts to admit they enjoyed, and therefore probably wouldn't even bat an eyelash at my questions.

With squared shoulders and my heart in my mouth, I entered the brothel.

At first, I deeply regretted my choice. Right after crossing the threshold, I knew I was in a house of sin: the parlour was a actually a wide, colorful courtyard painted in light blue, with a ceiling opened to the sky that filled it with natural light, but even more cramped than the tavern. At the hour of my arrival, little before sundown, it was barely lit by candles on every table, on sconces, on the bar and behind it. Potted bougainvillea bushes bursting with pink flowers climbed up the walls. Cages containing song birds hung over the tables, while large parrots of every size and color imaginable perched on poles and the bougainvilleas. Their cackles and calls added to the noise filling the room.

Most noticeable of all, though... were the half nude, or entirely nude, women. Everywhere I looked they strutted around the tables as if fully clothed or sat on patron's laps, kissing them, touching them, their breasts and legs exposed for all to see. I thought my face would combust or that my knees would buckle at such a sight.

This was a bad idea. Such a bad idea.

I tried my best to keep a straight face and avoid looking people in the eye as I slowly made my way through them, toward the bar. Thank God no one from the Walrus was around at the time, but paranoia still led me to believe everyone was looking at me, judging me. Disoriented, I leaned on the counter and hung my head.

Should I call for someone? Should I wait and see if anyone would come to me? I didn't know what to do. The bar tender came up and asked me if I wanted a drink. I swallowed a lump in my throat and nodded, even though I didn't drink. Then he asked me what I would like to have and my mind went blank for a second. Panicked, I scrambled for what I usually heard my crew mates order at the tavern and blurted out I wanted an ale. He gave me a funny look, like I was daft, but placed a tin cup in front of me and filled it with ale without a comment.

I sipped timidly from it and glanced around me. From the other end of the bar sat a man with the most strangely stylized facial hair and a scarf tied around his neck, fingers decorated with a variety of rings. Next to him was a smaller person, who wore a long, worn out frock and a wide brim hat that concealed their features. They conversed quietly, and when the smaller person tilted their head up, I saw the shimmer of red hair falling down their shoulders and a clear face of porcelain white skin.

That's when I realized it was a woman. Not one of the prostitutes, however; a woman like me - tomboyish, reserved, concealing a wild heart behind the flash of blue eyes, which promised violence to whomever dared piss her off.

"What have we here?"

I felt a hand on my shoulder, looked to the side and stopped breathing for a second.

By my side, the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon smiled with full, pink lips. Her skin was a lovely shade of light brown, smooth and immaculate like mine had never been. Her hair, done up in an intricate style, fell over one shoulder in thick violet brown curls. Her figure, voluptuous beneath a tight corset and a black shawl, was one to die for. I could have stare at her generous curves all day, if I'm to be honest.

But the most striking feature of hers were her eyes: they were almond shaped and a stunning hazel color, almost golden in the candle light, framed by thick lashes and bold black kohl.

"It's been a while since we've had a new comer. How refreshing to see such a delicate, innocent face." Her voice was like velvet and had the same French accent as Jean. She trailed her knuckles lightly down my cheek and I had to remember to breathe again. "What brings you to Max's doorway, I wonder?"

"I..." I cleared my throat and shook my head. Focus, you're here for one thing and one thing only. "I came... to see... what all the fuss was about?"

The woman chuckled sweetly as she tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "So you've never had a taste of the carnal pleasures and you're curious about its mysteries, hmm? Tell me: have you ever laid with a woman before?"

"No..." I admitted meekly.

"Have you ever laid with a man before?" She arched a perfectly drawn eyebrow at me.

"N-no," I choked, wishing there was a hole I could crawl into. It didn't seem to bother her, though. She took my hand into hers and caressed it, her smile never faltering.

"The untouched fruit is often the most appetizing, ma chère. And the forbidden one..." She leaned in close to whisper in my ear. "– is always the most delicious."

Again, I swallowed hard. I hated how dry my mouth felt, like I'd eaten dirt. And it wasn't because I didn't find her attractive, I did. It was just that... I wasn't attracted to her. Alright, maybe a little bit, but certainly not enough for me to want us to remove our clothes and -- oh, dear God.

"But you seem so flustered," she told me with a tilt of her gorgeous head. "Perhaps you would like some privacy while we get to know each other better, yes?"

"Uh-huh..." I nodded, took a shaky breath. "Aye, that's right. I'm very... very shy."

"I can see that," she giggled, giving my hand a squeeze before she started pulling me toward the stairs. "Come with me. There is nothing to be afraid of, or ashamed of. Let Max guide your through the garden of delights."

Without much of a choice, I followed her up to the second floor and let her bring me into a dark room, also lit by candles. A moderate sized bed, the wood of the frame chipped, like most of the furniture in that establishment, occupied one half of it. The sheets were clean, so that was something. On the corner there was a vanity, upon which make-up articles, hair brushes, ointments and perfumes laid in neat, organized rows. There was also a circular table and a few chairs, as well as a full-body mirror on the corner.

Max tugged me by the hand, gentle, and had me sit on the soft mattress. She wasted no time climbing onto my lap. I swear I almost died right there and then.

She chuckled when she saw my eyes, wide with shock and horror. “What's your name? What crew?” She purred while her fingers raked through my hair.

“Uh... Constance. Of the Walrus.” I leaned back, away from her reach, and planted my hands on the bed, as far away from her body as possible.

“The Walrus?” She sounded impressed. “The Walrus has a female member? There really is a first time for everything.”

I cleared my throat and stammered: “Listen, I have a confession to make.”

“How intriguing,” she hummed, clearly not at all discouraged by my show of discomfort. She did take her hands out of my hair and instead tugged at my new shell necklace, toying with it as she watched me. “But before we proceed, perhaps it would be best if I told you what you should be prepared to pay for.”

“Right, about that...” I shut my eyes tight and took a deep breath to ready myself for the plunge. Just blurt it out and get it over with. “I'm actually not here to be... serviced. Per say.”

Now she truly was confused. A small divot formed between her eyebrows as she tilted her head sideways. “Oh? Then why are you here?”

“Could you...” I gestured for her to move out from her position on top of me. “If it would not offend, I would rather you... sit by my side.”

Max shrugged, got off and sat cross-legged at my left, half-reclining on one hand. Her hazel gaze watched me intently as I straightened up and fiddled with the fabric of my sleeve.

“First of all, I apologize for leading you on, and I still fully intend to pay for your time. But what I really need is... I need to know where I can get chaffoirs.”

Her eyebrows hiked up so high, they almost touched her hair line. For a few seconds all she did was stare at me. And then she blinked a couple of times and laughed.

Actually laughed, with grace but from the bottom of her heart. My face burned something fierce, prompting me to press my mouth tight and look away. Might as well let her get it out of her system. God, she must think I'm such a fool.

“That... Oh, mon Dieu, c'est tout?” She chortled some more, even doubled over from how hard she laughed. I was almost tempted to get up and leave, were I not so desperately out of options.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Now will you help me or not? I'm in a tight spot of bother, here!”

“Forgive me, forgive me.” Max sat up straight, took a couple of deep breaths through her nose and finally calmed. She contemplated me with another of those mysterious smiles. “Out of all the disgusting, forbidden things I expected to hear, that was at the very bottom of the list. But then again... I suppose I shouldn't be that surprised. You are new here, are you not?”

“What gave it away?” I grumbled.

In response, she reached out to pat my knee before getting up to go to the vanity. She opened the drawer and from it produced three cloth bags, filled up to look like miniature pillows.

She returned to me on the bed and offered them. “These should hold you out for a day. Go to the seamstress, down the street, next to the shoemaker. She makes and sells these. Don't be shy about it. In Nassau, shame is not something common to see. She won't ask questions and you need not explain anything.”

My chest deflated in relief as I accepted the chaffoirs. They smelled strongly of dry grass and moss, but also something floral... jasmine, maybe? I looked up at Max and finally managed a smile.

“Thank you. Truly. How much do you want for these?”

She waved me off. “Perish the thought. They are a gift. Consider the laugh you gave me payment enough.”

“But won't you get into trouble with the Madam or your boss? I don't want you to be punished for my inexperience and ignorance.”

Max gave me a strangely affectionate look, then brushed a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. Her fingers traced the contour of my cheek bone, followed my jaw line and cupped my chin.

This time, I didn't pull back. There weren't any sexual connotations in that touch. Honestly, I couldn't describe what it was, only that it was... sincere.

“You are very kind, Constance.” She told me. Her smile faltered. “Kindness is dangerous in this world. It can get you killed. I would advise you to restrain it as much as possible, as I would hate to see yet another kind person be devoured by the depravity that runs rampant in this island.”

I smirked and shrugged. “Depravity runs rampant everywhere. This place just doesn't bother hiding it. I know what I got myself into.”

Following Flint's suggestion, I had heard some of the crew's stories. Many of them spoke of unimaginable horrors, that they themselves had committed and that had been committed to them. Besides, I was not so ignorant that I didn't know people would be hanged, shot or decapitated for their crimes, some of them not so serious that they justified a death penalty - like men loving men and women loving women.

I was certain that my own taste lied in the former exclusively, but others involving themselves in relations with their own gender was completely inconsequential to me. I was aware there were at least two men in my own crew who were engaged into matelotage – partners for financial gain, so that if one of them died, his wage and possessions would pass to the other. However, I had been told there was more to it. Personally, I had seen nothing that would indicate it, except for maybe a few loaded looks and small smiles they exchanged with one another. One thing I knew for certain, though: if they loved each other, would die for each other, and made each other happy, then who was I to tell them they were wrong for it? Who was I to deny them their love?

Max released my chin and closed her shawl around herself with a smirk that mirrored my own. “We shall see. Are you sure there is nothing more I can do for you, ma chère?”

“I'm sure,” I said whilst getting up. I was almost a head taller than her, yet her posture, regal and confident, made me feel much smaller. “Don't get me wrong, you are very beautiful and alluring, but... I prefer my partners taller than me and broader of shoulders.”

Billy came to my mind unprompted - his heavy brow and gentle blue eyes watching me, his full lips pulled into a secret smile... His strong arms around me, keeping me close to his chest as we hung from the Walrus' mast.... The smell of him, intoxicating, almost arousing. I grimaced and pushed him out of my brain.

A knowing glint shone in Max's eyes. “From the look on your face, you have someone specific in mind.”

With another blush, I turned my head to the side and neglected to reply. I had a feeling there was no lie I could tell her she would believe. Someone in her line of work probably knew all the tricks and would spot them a mile away.

“I've wasted enough of your time, I believe. I should get going.” I reached around my back and grabbed a handful of silver coins that I extended to her.

Max puffed. “I told you, that won't be necessary.”

“I insist. I won't be missing these. Please take it as a token of my gratitude.”

She hesitated a while longer, then stretched her hand to pick three coins out of the mound in my palm. “Three chaffoirs, three pieces. And let it be the end of it. Deal?”

I smiled and put the remaining coins back in my pocket. “Deal. Have a good night, Max. And thank you, once more.”

I nodded courteously and went to the door, though I spared her one last smile before leaving.

As I was going down the stairs, feeling considerably more relaxed, someone shouted my name. My heart dropped to my feet when I recognized the voice as Muldoon's. He occupied at a table in the parlour with Logan and Dooley, each of them accompanied by a working girl.

Shit, they had spotted me. What was I going to tell them? I could make a run for the exit, but that would only be delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later, I would be forced into closed quarters with them and I would have to explain why I had been at the brothel. There was no escape.

In the end, I decided it was best to get it over with as soon as possible, so I quickly hid my chaffoirs in the inner pocket of my new frock and made my way toward them.

"Fellas," I greeted with a slight tremble in my voice.

"You're the last person I expected to see here," said Logan. The blonde sitting on his lap peered me up and down, as if evaluating me, and my insides shriveled.

I never did like to have other women look at me. Not even neutrally, without a specific expression on their faces. It always made me feel... inadequate. Like I didn't belong. I had to remind myself I was no longer a lady, but a pirate; therefore, I was no longer bound by the strict standards of beauty imposed on me by civilized society.

Forcing my head up and my back to straighten, I returned her stare in defiance. "I presume this is Charlotte?"

"She is." Logan grinned, completely oblivious to our silent combat as she narrowed her eyes and I balled my hands into fists. "Charlotte, this is our newest recruit, Constance Tilly."

"A pleasure," she said amicably enough, though I caught a note of tension in her words. "You've never taken up a woman before. How is she as a sailor?"

"She's learning." Logan furrowed his brow at her, finally noticing that something was off. "Not so bad."

"And they didn't take me on," I added. A smirk twisted my mouth with malice that I didn't bother to conceal. "I forced myself on them."

The men chortled, since it was true, but Charlotte wrinkled her nose at me and brushed back Logan's hair like she was laying her claim on him. If only she knew how much I wasn't interested in him (nor he in me). For his part, Logan leaned into her neck and placed a love bite there, which at least got her to smile and tear her gaze away from mine.

"Anyway," Muldoon quipped up. "What're you doing here? Don't tell me you finally decided to stop being a fucking prude?"

Jesus Christ, I couldn't tell them the truth. They would either be disgusted or laugh at me, and I wasn't sure which of those was worst. Without a better plan, I shrugged my shoulders and ignored how my cheeks flared up.

"I admit, I got a little curious."

"Ohh, there we go!" Dooley cackled. "Please, tell us all about it! Who did you do it with?"

"Um..." I glanced up to Max's door, still shut. "With Max."

Muldoon and Dooley hummed in approval. My guess was they had each been up there with her.

"Couldn't have picked someone better for your first time," Dooley nodded.

"Aye, she's the best. Got magical fingers and an even more magical mouth. Uh, no offense, Idelle, darling--"

He squirmed under the glare the courtesan hanging on his arm was shooting him. She was a woman of silky black hair and generous attributes, which she accentuated with a tight corset.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but I jumped at the opportunity to say: "I would be so offended, if I were you."

"I kind of am, actually," Idelle agreed. "Perhaps I should leave and fetch Max instead, since she is so great."

"No, I mean, obviously all you lovely girls are talented and beautiful," Muldoon sputtered. "It's just that Max is... She's..."

"Shut your fucking trap, man." Logan sighed. "You're embarrassing yourself and us."

Muldoon showed him the finger, but said nothing further.

"So tell us, Constance." Dooley again, with an eager spark in his eye. "How was it? Your first time with a woman?"

I searched the ceiling for inspiration, arms crossed tight over my chest.

"It was... an experience," I lied. "A lady doesn't reveal the most private parts of her life. I will say, however, that women are definitely not my cup of tea. Now I know. I will stick to men, from now on."

"Have you actually even laid with a man, before?" Logan asked with obvious doubt.

"I know she would like to lay with Billy," Muldoon jabbed.

My heart kicked sharply in my chest. "Shut the fuck up, Muldoon."

"Remember the way she was looking at him, after he saved her?" He brought a hand to his forehead with a dramatic flare and pitched his voice as high as he could. "Oh, Billy! My hero! You saved my life... Take me here. I'm ready."

Dooley and Logan doubled over, laughing so loud that the other patrons and working girls looked at them from their tables. On the other hand, I contorted my face into a barely concealed snarl and smacked my hand over Muldoon's bald head.

"Ow, bitch! Alright, I'll stop!"

"Hold on a minute." Charlotte raised a hand in a 'stop' motion and pinched her brow. "Billy? As in, Billy Bones?"

"The very same," Muldoon said while rubbing the back of his head.

Idelle snorted softly. "Don't waste your time. Out of all the men in Nassau, he's the only one who rarely comes here. And when he does, he never partakes. He's not interested in sex, like, at all.” Again, she rolled her eyes. “Such a bore."

"And a shame," added the woman tending to Dooley. "He's so handsome. Only God could put a man with a face and a body like that on this earth and then punish us by making him too honorable to visit us."

"Hey, at least you have us!" Dooley protested. "We're perfectly agreeable. Right, Constance?"

I made an indescribable noise somewhere between a choke and a snort. Even so, I nodded. "You could do worse than this lot, I'll give you that."

"I suppose that's true," Idelle sighed as she rubbed a hand into Muldoon's collar. "There are much worse options."

Muldoon glanced at me and mouthed a "thank you". I patted his shoulder and straightened my frock. Idelle's comment had dropped into my chest like a stone, but I refused to let them see my disappointment.

"Alright, I'm out of here,” I said. “I got what I came for, so now I'm gonna crash. Have fun, boys. Ladies."

"Have some sweet dreams about Billy!" Muldoon teased as I made my way to the door. "Or rather, some sensual ones."

I stopped.

Turned around.

Marched up to him, leaned down so I could look him right in the eyes and said: "May you lose all your money the next time you gamble."

And I walked out the door, with Muldoon cursing me to my grave while the others laughed.

At the inn, whilst I made my way up the stairs, I couldn't shake what Idelle and her colleague had said about Billy. Don't waste your time. He's the only one who rarely comes here. Too honorable to visit us.

Why did that bother me so much? I should be glad of it. At least he didn't spend all his free time jumping from bed to bed, like the others did. Maybe he was just old fashioned and believed sex was something only married or engaged couples did. Maybe he was saving himself for the right person. Either way, it was none of my business. Billy was entitled to his preferences, like everyone else.

… Then why was I still thinking about it?

As I entered my room and stripped my clothes, I couldn't help to feel a sting in my heart at the thought that maybe I didn't stand a chance. God, but why would I want to have a chance with him? He was my boatswain and my friend, sort of. It was clear he had some sort of affection for me, though... it was likely no different than the kind he harbored for every one of his mates.

I let out a sigh. Muldoon was right, ever since Billy had saved my life, I was acting like a love struck teenager. I hadn't felt this way for a man since I was seventeen years old. We barely knew each other and I certainly hadn't given him any motive to find me attractive. I was the least feminine woman in the entire town, except for maybe the red headed one sitting at the bar, in the brothel, the one talking to the extravagant gentleman.

I placed Max's chaffoirs on the dresser by the bed and pulled on a pair of undies to sustain them. I was sure that I would be bleeding come morning, and the last thing I needed was to soil the inn's sheets.

Ah, fuck it. Who gave a shit? I had never needed a man's affection to feel whole. I was living my dream, getting to travel, work on a ship, dress however I wanted and going wherever I pleased, when I pleased. I lacked for nothing. What did I care if Billy, or Charlotte, or anyone for that matter, thought I was beautiful?

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts. I pulled down my sleeping shift and slipped on my frock before opening a crack. Jean grinned at me from the other side.

"Hello. I saw you coming upstairs and thought about asking if you wanted to join us downstairs for a round of cards. We're short one."

I glanced down at my sleeping attire and thought about refusing, but really, all I had to do was put some trousers on and I would be good, right?

He also noted my clothes. "Ah, I see. You're going to bed. My apologies. Another time, perhaps."

"Actually, you know what?" I looked up at him and smirked. "I'm not that tired. One second."

I closed the door, grabbed a fresh pair of pants and pulled them on. There, perfectly decent. An evening spent with my friends drinking, playing cards and swapping stories was exactly what I needed, after the day I'd had.

Jean was resting back against the wall beside my door when I emerged from the room. "Let's go. I could use a distraction."

"Anything you want to tell me about?" He inquired as we walked together down the stairs and into the common room, where Bjorn and Thierry were already waiting around a square table near the center.

"No. Not tonight. It's not that important, either way."

And it wasn't. One day I would tell him all about my ridiculous day and my feelings for Billy, but for tonight, I just wanted to play cards. My problems could wait until the morrow. For the time being, I was only going to enjoy my friends' company and have some fun. And that was enough to cheer me up.

[rapselsstuff]

You sure I can’t suck your cock while you do that?

[illuminated-in-darkness]

Wondrous Love (Max/Eleanor) Black Sails Musical Parallels | I. II. III. V. VI.

I spent a year rewatching Black Sails and tracking all the bits of music that repeated at any point during the show, and my findings are reinforcing that Bear McCreary is a genius and this show should have been called 'parallels that will kill you over and over again'* (tag | chronological)

[granturn]

[image description: a screenshot of Featherstone and Idelle from Black Sails. They are having an argument, and there is a text post by tumblr user sweetsweetbumblebee that says, "im sorry i said "awooga" when u took off ur clothes do u still wanna fuck?"

/end description]

[orpheusilver]

ANNEEEEEE

[emcads]

costume nerd moment but the way i was going INSANE in the stream over miranda's 1940's housecoat combination sackback gown

[lichfucker]

BRAIN DAMAGE IN D MINOR?

lmaoooooo "brain damage in d minor" is a placeholder title and I live in fear every day that it's going to stick. the only other thing I call it in my own notes is "music and lyrics au" so unless something better appears I'm afraid brain damage in d minor will end up the actual title

a million years ago the sunder server watched music and lyrics (2007) for movie night, which is my favorite rom-com of all time, and I. could not stop thinking about how well the conceit works as a silverflint au. because I am the one with brain damage (in d minor)

it's likely the only bs modern au I'll ever write bc in general I find the canon time period far more compelling, but I digress. flint is a washed-up has-been-- he was in a boyband with thomas and peter ashe in the early '00s but it's been twenty years and his career is dead. suddenly he gets a call from gates, his manager, saying, "charles vane just left his band to get out of a contract with guthrie records and he wants to kick off his new solo venture by singing a duet with you, so you need to write a new song. okay bye"

the problem is that flint is a terrible lyricist. sure he could come up with a pretty metaphor, but he can't write things that are Relatable, and pop music is all about being Vague and Relatable. help, of course, comes from the least likely of places: john silver, a guy flint hires to water his plants, just so happens to be an excellent songwriter.

yes, this is extremely contrived. yes, it is following the plot of the movie to a tee (except, y'know, set in 2023 instead of in 2007).

a meet-cute for your perusal:

The buzzer rings, piercing through the rhythmic discordant chime of Flint repeatedly bashing his head onto the keys of the piano. Great. That’ll be Idelle in to water the plants, and he can either stay in the living room composing Brain Damage in D Minor while she does, or he can spare himself the humiliation and retreat into the privacy of his bedroom. Perhaps he’ll run a bath and drown himself in the lavish tub.

A sigh hauls itself out of Flint’s chest with all the effort of the tow truck that time in ’04 when the tour bus got impounded, and it takes similar heft for him to stand up from the piano bench and answer the door.

Flint registers long black hair before anything else, and his skull is so thick with cement that he nearly turns heel and stalks off to his room without so much as a grunt in hello—but he stops.

“You’re not Idelle,” Flint says.

A very astute observation: the person in the doorway has bluer eyes, tanner skin, and a significantly fuller beard.

The man’s gleaming smile falters. “No,” he says. “Sorry, did she not text you? I’m taking over for a few weeks while she’s away. Can I come in, or are all your plants out in the hall?”

Flint blinks. Considering the man looks like he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in his entire life, Flint hadn’t expected his voice to be so… smooth. Nor so English, not in Manhattan. Before Flint lets this stranger into his (admittedly, very thieve-able) apartment, though, he looks through his phone and—oh. Idelle had texted. Three times over the last two weeks. He’d even given her a thumbs-up emoji. Well, all right, then. He steps aside to let the man through.

“Thanks,” the man says, his bright smile back and full of teeth. “I’m John, by the way. John Silver.”

“James McGraw.”

Silver drops his messenger bag on the coffee table beside the chaise, looking around with cataloguing eyes at the veritable garden lined up along the floor-to-ceiling windows, the crystalline chandelier hanging over the dining table, the glossy baby grand on the shag carpet, the unmasked luxury in which Flint lives. “Watering can?” he asks.

“Under the sink,” Flint says, pointing him toward the kitchen. He waits a few beats and then follows, trying to keep a wary eye on Silver while appearing casual rather than paranoid. He leans coolly against the kitchen island just as Silver finishes filling the watering can. “So, Joe—”

“John,” he says, not unkindly. “Most of my friends just call me Silver, but I’d rather you call me John. No offense. Less personal, you know?”

“Using your given name is less personal than your surname?”

He gives Flint a pointed look. “I can be one of eight hundred Johns you’ve ever met, or I can be one of half a dozen Silvers, if even that many. Maybe we’ll be friends someday and you can call me whatever you like, but for now I’ll take John, thanks.”

Flint just barely suppresses a grin. “Fair enough,” he says. “Where are you from?”

Silver—John hesitates, and then he says, “London. And you?”

“Cornwall.”

“Really? You don’t sound it.”

“I trained myself out of it, a long time ago.” Flint watches John tend to the orchid on the counter, careful not to over-water it; he’s gentle and methodical with it, which isn’t what Flint had expected. He’s not sure what he expected, in truth. “So,” Flint says, “you’re a friend of Idelle’s? Where is she, anyway?”

The question earns him an indignant snort. “Idelle is in the Bahamas getting married, and I,” John says, crossing the living room to the ficus by the window, “got the great honor of not being fucking invited. She tried telling me it’s because they wanted to keep the guest list small, but I know that’s a damned lie. She invited Muldoon, of all fucking people. Logan I understand, because he and Charlotte are attached at the fucking hip, but Muldoon?” John scoffs. “No, it’s because Augie—her husband—never liked me, not that I have any idea why. Truth be told, I think Idelle herself only tolerates me because she’s close with my sister, and she knows not to say a bad word about me to Max if she intends to say any words for the rest of her life.”

He keeps talking as he progresses down the row of plants. “I told Max to bring me as her plus-one just to piss them all off, you know, but she’d already committed to taking her girlfriend, and, honestly, that’s comeuppance enough. I am far more fun at weddings than Anne is. Luckily for you, I’m also a far better plant-sitter, so—Fuck!”

John hisses in pain and turns around to face Flint, sucking on the pad of his thumb. “Fucking cactus,” he mumbles around the thumb in his mouth. The two of them stand there, twenty feet apart, for an odd moment, the air thick with… something. John narrows his startlingly blue eyes, scrutinizing Flint. Flint hasn’t a clue what he might be looking for. His lips work at his thumb all the while.

And then John’s thumb leaves his mouth with an obscene smack, the sound so loud in the dense silence that had befallen them, and he says, “You look really familiar. Are you famous or something?”

[captmuldoon]

A cool thing that Black Sails does is have the characters’ clothing reflect the society they’re occupying or the societal role they’re trying to play. When Eleanor marries Woodes Rogers, she packs away all her clothes that are filled with bolder colours and patterns, jackets and layers, but she can’t bring herself to throw them away. When she dies, Mrs. Hudson lays them out, and you can just see what they said for Eleanor, and what she lost when she became Mrs. Rogers.

And when the characters go to Boston, how Idelle’s clothing becomes more subtle and softer. How the cut and style of Max’s dresses match Mrs. Guthrie’s, but retain the clashing and contrasting colours from Nassau. How Idelle and Max keep their hair pinned up and back. How Jack’s hair is smoother, more polished, more coiffed. How his clothes still manage to be loud and noticable but seem more washed out in the cold, northern winter than when they do in Nassau.

They stand out, but they don’t. They become part of the environment, but not quite.

[lyaios]

You killed my friend. I wanted you to know that.

another screenshot study, from 4x08 this time

[liviladoodles]

An Idelle Procreate sketch, this ended up being finer and less rough, than the previous 2, with the rusty nibs brushes.

[eleutheryaflint]

XXVIII.

[illuminated-in-darkness]

A New Start (background) Black Sails Musical Parallels | XXIII. XXV.

diagetic music note: this background music, like The Parson's Farewell, Tentative Alliances, and Building Nassau, actually exists within the scenes where it appears: playing in the tavern in Nassau.

I spent a year rewatching Black Sails and tracking all the bits of music that repeated at any point during the show, and my findings are reinforcing that Bear McCreary is a genius and this show should have been called 'parallels that will kill you over and over again'* (tag | chronological)

[orpheusilver]

omg what did u think about 3x07 🫣 it’s one of my all time faves

its everything. It's everything.

[riisinaakka-draws]

IDELLE (Lise Slabber) from Black Sails

I liked my earlier painting with Idelle and the Brothel Blackbeard, so I continued this part of it. At some point I started to think about playing cards (other than King, Queen, Knights, Ace etc...) and I wanted it to have something with friendship, love or her rising into power - and found the Two of Hearts (A Good Friend, Satisfaction) which was perfect! :D

Ps. I like adding hidden shadows, so Max is in there too. And aaah, look at that nice curve of the chair matching the D in Idelle, heh! Please, do not repost elsewhere :)

[manabombs]

Idelle's wardrobe part 1

[daisiesflower]

Black Sails Female Costumes: The Prostitutes

Black Sails historical accuracy is spotty at best when it comes to costumes and props, and this is never more true than with the prostitutes. Historical underwear is completely thrown out the window in favor of made up styles to make the women appear more sexual. So let’s delve into it!

Now, when researching to figure out what these women would have worn, one has to look at two separate sources: what prostitutes of the time would have been wearing and underwear of the time period. 

What prostitutes would have been wearing is a little difficult to discover - people weren’t exactly commissioning full portraits of these women, however the existence of propaganda images means that we do have some idea of what they wore (albeit probably slightly more sexualized than is realistic).

Essentially, they wore what every other woman of the time wore. Some images that emphasize the breasts seem to indicate that perhaps they didn’t wear stays or underwear underneath their dresses for added sex appeal, while other images show them with the defined silhouette in the bodice that could only be created with the use of stays. Clearly, however, Black Sails decided not to go the route of showing these women in regular dresses, with the exception of one of Max’s dresses, which appears to be a regular dress with no underwear under it (see my post on dresses for a more in depth look at what women of the time would have been wearing).

Rather, Black Sails has the prostitutes wearing versions of underwear. Unfortunately it’s not anything close to what underwear of the time actually looked like, or even a somewhat altered version of this underwear. The basics of underwear at the time: a shift/chemise/smock that reached below the knees with long and full sleeves, a pair of stays (a boned “corset”, though without any of the tightlacing of late 19th century stories, that provided support and the desired shape of the bodice, which was conical and reached the hips - stays were always laced in the back though some had lacing on the front for decoration), and stockings. Panniers (the wide, hoops on the hips) are shown in some of these images, though they were not in use until around 15 years after Black Sails is set. Instead women achieved the desired round shape with petticoats. Occasionally free hanging pockets were wrapped around the waist to be accessed using pocket slits in the dresses. 

As we know, this is nothing close to what is worn by the prostitutes in Black Sails. These women are shown wearing a pair of shortened drawers, occasionally a long skirt hitched up on one side, a pair of stays (if their breasts are covered), often colorful stockings, and occasionally a robe or shawl. 

Now let’s go into each of these offenses, the most egregious being the drawers and stays. The drawers that the prostitutes wear are closer to cloth knickers than actual drawers, however the frills on the bottom clearly show that that costume designer was trying to invoke the sense of drawers for a historical feel. Drawers have just not been invented yet and wouldn’t be for nearly 200 years, while pantalets or pantaloons will be invented in just over 100 years. These “drawer shorts” just flat out shouldn’t exist in the world of Black Sails. 

While stays do exist, the shape of the stays worn by the prostitutes is completely wrong. These stays end at the bottom of the ribcage and lace up in the front. Historical stays laced up in the back and ended closer to the hips in order to give a conical shape to the bodice. The shoulders would have been pulled back, with the most fashionable ladies wearing stays that nearly forced their shoulder blades to touch, in order to give a very tall posture with emphasis on the breasts. At one point we do see Max wearing a very accurate pair of stays, however without the silhouette of the shoulders pulled back (which can be explained away in universe as her not being able to afford a more expensive pair of stays, unfortunately this is a problem most of the women in the show wearing stays have). Perhaps this is to make up for her wearing one of the most historically inaccurate items of clothing in the whole show - the stays we first see her wearing (the picture isn’t very clear so I’ll explain - it has boob cups).

As for the other pieces of clothing worn by the prostitutes - the skirts, the robes, the stockings - these are relatively accurate to varying degrees. The stockings are very accurate, and the skirts are relatively accurate. They seem to be the same style of skirts as worn by other women in Nassau, simply hitched up at the waist and given how little we know of what prostitutes wore in history I’m inclined to believe this would have been an accurate thing for them to wear, especially in a warmer climate. As far as the robes go, they vary from being very accurate to very inaccurate, which mostly comes down to fabrics used - Idelle’s robes are very accurate while Max’s is a completely modern invention despite the similar silhouette (though as I say in my post about dresses, I am personally a fan of modern fabrics used on historical silhouettes to create interesting textures and images in period pieces). 

All in all, this outfit of Idelle’s is probably the closest to what a prostitute in the Bahamas during 1715 would have worn. It’s got its issues - the extremely pointed stays/stomacher, modern fabrics and patterns, the length of the bodice (I discuss bodice shapes in my post about dresses) - but that being said in terms of the pieces used it’s probably the most accurate look at what the other women of the brothel would have worn at the time.

Which makes sense, as Idelle is a complete queen.