#schrödingers flint

[skltart]

And he's lost faith he'd ever see again The soulmate he once thought of me then

[finngualart]

to celebrate the 10th birthday of the show that rewired my brain and almost 7 years of me having to live with schrödinger's Flint, i decided to redraw a piece from 2017. this is a self-indulgent au where Madi convinces Silver not to shoot Flint/send Flint to Savannah and in stead they all run their little inn together okay? what's that? you're asking if Flint would be able to adjust to such a life? (would any of them?) of course he would, don't be silly, he could kick troublesome drunks out into the street, glare ominously at customers from behind the bar, pick fights, and threaten people who owe money :))) many happy returns to this fucking masterpiece

[etoilesombre]

(referring to this poll)

Ok I'm here to make a strong case that Silver is definitely lying to Madi (and maybe himself!) in the finale, but that doesn't necessarily mean Flint is dead.

So here is what Silver actually says:

He resisted... at first. But then I told him what else I had heard about this place. I was told prominent families amongst London society made use of it. I was told the governor in Carolina made use of it. So I sent a man to find out if they'd used it to hide away one particular prisoner. He returned with news. Thomas Hamilton was there. He disbelieved me. He continued to resist. And corralling him took great effort. But the closer we got to Savannah, his resistance began to diminish. I couldn't say why. I wasn't expecting it. Perhaps he'd finally reached the limits of his physical ability to fight. Or perhaps as the promise of seeing Thomas got closer... he grew more comfortable letting go of this man he created in response to his loss. The man whose mind I had come to know so well... whose mind I'd in some ways incorporated into my own. It was a strange experience to see something from it... so unexpected. I choose to believe it... because it wasn't the man I had come to know at all... but one who existed beforehand... waking from a long... and terrible nightmare. Reorienting to the daylight... and the world as it existed before he first closed his eyes... letting the memory of the nightmare fade away.

Now that's a fucking lie right off the bat. "He resisted" oh, buddy, no... he didn't... and I think this is fairly textual. He just killed JOJI. He coulda took that gun from you in a heartbeat. If he had resisted, one of you would be dead. (Related: if Silver killed Flint, its because Flint made a choice to allow it, I will die on that hill.)

And then all the stuff about "Reorienting to daylight," and referring to his experiences as a pirate as "a long and terrible nightmare" this is SILVER'S understanding of the world, not Flint's. This is the conflict between them. Whatever happened if they went to Savannah, whatever Silver saw, it was NOT THAT. That was the POINT of the dragons speech. Those things are incompatible, and I cannot imagine that Thomas being alive would change Flint's mind about any of it. But SILVER thinks it would, because for him, Madi being alive would. For him it's personal, and he could never accept that for Flint it wasn't entirely personal as well.

I just don't think that Silver constructing this narrative about what happened which allows him to assuage some part of his guilt necessarily has any bearing on whether Flint got on a boat to Savannah. Either way, I think Flint made a decision that, without Silver by his side in this, he would accept defeat. And either way, it WAS a defeat. And Silver lied to Madi about it, and she knew.

Schrödinger's Flint Forever, perfect fucking tragedy regardless.

[jaynovz]

In discussions about the finale of Black Sails, one of the things I often see is folks hard-focusing on Flint's fate, in an either-or binary fashion, usually presented as "Which do you believe-- that Silver killed him? or sent him to the plantation?"

Now, for posterity's sake, gonna mention a few things-- first off, that's simply not thinking broadly enough. There are farrrr more than two options here and I've come up with my share of the reallyyyyy bad ones for sure. Whatever your mind chooses, none of those are happy endings anyway, there are bittersweet, bad, and worse endings all the way down. (They are paused, they are in a time loop, and also all endings and no endings are happening simultaneously)

But also, the more cogent point is that, it doesn't actually matter what happened *to Flint* The story is... not actually about him at that point. We have transitioned from Flint as protag to Silver as protag, setting up for (the fanfiction that Black Sails has ended up making of, ugh, king shit) Treasure Island.

And so, I just, don't find it to be of particular interest exploring what we think Flint is actually doing or if he's alive for real. What is EXTREMELY interesting to explore though is how Silver's speech at the end to Madi is sort of giving Thomas back to Flint as a pacifier/comfort object, but how... Silver is giving Flint that thing in his own mind as his own type of pacifier/comfort object.

That's the REALLY chewy bit. What actually happens to Flint is not the purpose of that scene for me, of Silver's recounting of events to Madi. It's more about... projection. It's about how Silver is dealing with whatever happened to Flint/whatever he did.

And I just feel like it's missing the point to focus so hard on if Flint is alive or not.

He is the ghost of the story regardless, that's what's important. He's going to haunt the narrative for the rest of everyone's lives. No one has been untouched or unscarred by coming into contact with Captain Flint; he has a forever legacy. I'm not the first to call him this, but he's Schrödinger's Flint and he's staying that way.

But this?

"No. I did not kill Captain Flint. I unmade him. The man you know could never let go of his war. For if he were to exclude it from himself, he would not be able to understand himself. So I had to return him to an earlier state of being. One in which he could function without the war. Without the violence. Without us. Captain Flint was born out of great tragedy. I found a way to reach into the past... and undo it. There is a place near Savannah... where men unjustly imprisoned in England are sent in secret. An internment far more humane, but no less secure. Men who enter these gates never leave them. To the rest of the world, they simply cease to be. He resisted... at first. But then I told him what else I had heard about this place. I was told prominent families amongst London society made use of it. I was told the governor in Carolina made use of it. So I sent a man to find out if they'd used it to hide away one particular prisoner. He returned with news. Thomas Hamilton was there. He disbelieved me. He continued to resist. And corralling him took great effort. But the closer we got to Savannah, his resistance began to diminish. I couldn't say why. I wasn't expecting it. Perhaps he'd finally reached the limits of his physical ability to fight. Or perhaps as the promise of seeing Thomas got closer... he grew more comfortable letting go of this man he created in response to his loss. The man whose mind I had come to know so well... whose mind I'd in some ways incorporated into my own. It was a strange experience to see something from it... so unexpected. I choose to believe it... because it wasn't the man I had come to know at all... but one who existed beforehand... waking from a long... and terrible nightmare. Reorienting to the daylight... and the world as it existed before he first closed his eyes... letting the memory of the nightmare fade away. You may think what you want of me. I will draw comfort in the knowledge that you're alive to think it. But I'm not the villain you fear I am. I'm not him."

This is the speech of a man who is self-soothing, who is spinning himself a tale, who is projecting, who is coping.

and THAT is just, way chewier, innit?

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Sanrymic Tēhal, also known as "Flint" or "Tecpatl", manages to dance the line between being notorious and unknown. In much the same way that they are a philanthropic physician as well as a glintchaser, or as much as they are an eternal traveler and someone whose existence is wholly tied and rooted to one location, Nacatliyotan. They are the embodiment of liminal spaces, somehow existing on both ends of a binary while being constructed of the space between. They are not a walking contradiction, but nor are they a tautology. Perhaps angels exist in a framework that is simply beyond our comprehension. They are the knowledge that all answers are both true and false. They are Schrödinger's cat, alive and dead, without the paradox

Template here

[variousqueerthings]

okay, thinking about characters like Tommy Shelby, Dean Winchester, Jax Teller... the way they represent some pinnacle of unhealthy performative masculinity that I can’t help but analyse from a queer perspective as someone also questioning what their masculinity means to them and how them being canonically queer would just be such a power-move within those kinds of themes

basically get on Black Sails level and make your traumatised performatively-masculine lead queer you Cowards

[bibliocratic]

tim and jon

part of a series of archive polycule oneshots (minor cws and mentions in the tags - ask if you would like anything added. these cws are explained in more detail in the ANs on A03)

“Would you hurry up?” Jon hisses at him, his eyes scattering skittishly to dart and interrogate every night-echoed noise. His expression is bow-strung and embroiled in a hundred outcomes where they get caught, and he furiously shakes his head when Tim indicates through rough and basic mime the next stage of this impeccably-organised plan. There is a flurry of disagreement about who gets to take the starring role in the next part, performed entirely through gestures and whispers before Jon, snapping a ‘fine, fine’, takes the leg-up Tim’s offering. There’s a medley of ‘shit’ and ‘woahwoahwoah’ as both of them adjust to balance and Jon clings to the wall for a moment, psyching himself up prior to shimmying his lanky body worm-like through the open letterbox-shaped window.

There is a clattering, a worrying thump. Tim winces, and cautiously calls out “Boss?” as loud as he dares.

He gets a seething cats-hiss of “Keep it down!” so he presumes Jon’s not too badly damaged.

A minute or so later, Jon is opening the lock from the inside to let Tim into the building. His jumper is rumpled, his hair and face caked with dust like a talc bottle’s gone off in his face.

“Bit grubby there,” Tim grins. Jon gives him a look that promises untold violence and an unmarked grave if he doesn’t behave himself. Tim mimes zipping his lips shut before passing Jon the spare torch.

Despite Jon’s protestations, this outing was his idea. The security tapes and records are in here somewhere, the owner was cagey enough that it’s practically a given, and if they can use them to prove a case of a possible active entity, well, a little sneaking around can’t hurt. Jon had avoided calling it exactly what it was (‘It’s just some looking around’ / ‘It’s trespassing, boss’ / ‘It’s harmless, we’ll be in and out, we’re not really stealing anything valuable’ / ‘It’s breaking and entering and trespassing on private property’) so much so that Tim had laughed, declared it a case of Schrödinger’s illegal and told Jon he’d buy them both some gloves for their night-time ‘looking around’.

Moving further into the property, the flashlights they’ve brought arc with echoes of illumination a split second slow, like the dragging light of a Bonfire sparkler, eventually casting over to a metallic-walled office tucked off to the side. This place looks like a pre-fab, out on an industrial estate somewhere, and from contents inside, has spent the last few years being a motorcycle showroom. Gleaming structures are displayed proudly and buffed to shining in lines, the large open-plan room interspersed with load-bearing pillars. Off near the end, there’s the accessories part of the space, with metal shelving and stands and racks where helmets and gloves and leathers are clustered.

The office is locked.  Jon wordlessly pushes the torch over to Tim, who holds both it and his own pointed at the lock, and pulls out a black rectangular carry case. Kneeling down, he unzips it with a quiet tug, revealing its contents as an honest-to-god lockpicking kit.

“Are you serious?” Tim expels in a high breath, his mouth curved high in delight.

“Childhood hobby,” is the only thing Jon will say, and any further questions are refuted with a ‘I am trying to concentrate’ or a stone-wall silence. Tim files all a hundred and one of his follow-up questions for a later time. He’s half tempted to snap a photo for Sasha, but then remembers with a guilty jolt that that would probably be a bad idea if anyone catches them.

The office is no better than their archives, and Jon is visibly disappointed at the lack of an easy job. Stowing away his kit back into his pockets, they settle into a routine after a few muttered back-and-forth suggestions. Tim takes the paper-drowned desk, the stuffed layers of the in-tray and the desk drawers, while Jon braves the rattling filing cabinets taller than he is.

For the most part, they work in silence, which means it’s a surprise when, after a few moments rifling, Jon says in a painfully faux-casual way:

“So. You and um. You and Martin.”

“Hmm?” Tim replies. His eyes flick over several receipts, a few carbon-copies of CBT papers and full licenses.  He tries to separate some, only to find that they’ve started to stick together, and he sighs with irritation.

Jon remains quiet. Tim turns to look at him, and he’s still got his hands in the stomach of the highest and dustiest filing cabinet, obviously no longer looking with the entirety of his attention but still trying to keep up the charade.

“Was there a point you wanted to make, or…?”

Jon pulls his hands out and swings his face around, and Tim can’t read his expression.

“At the… At the Institute party. You seemed… close.”

No closer than usual, Tim had thought. Martin’s efforts hadn’t been enough to completely vanish his anxieties over the socialisation. He’d stuck close to the other three all night, tugging at his new jacket at intervals, running his fingers over the fabric to settle himself. He’d avoided the alcohol entirely, and had picked at the snack foods. Tim had been as free with his affections with Sasha as usual, casual touches to her hip, the small of her back, calling her ‘babe’ and ‘love’. Sasha had pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek and dragged him over by the hand to their merry band when he’d arrived later than the rest of them. Tim and Martin hadn’t touched because Martin had confessed earlier that he’d prefer if they didn’t, not in this setting, not where other people could see or comment or judge, and so Tim respected that and kept his distance. Apart from once, when they were sat off to the side on plastic-backed chairs pulled out of some store cupboard somewhere, unnoticed by anyone else. Sasha had been drawn into conversation with Rosie about something political, and Jon had been extricating himself from talking to Elias after being summoned over to meet a few of their investors, and Martin had nudged Tim’s hand with the back of his own and murmured ‘Thanks. For, um, convincing me to come’ and then he’d glanced around before leaning in and kissing him demurely before moving back, his cheeks clawed with pink.  Tim had felt a bit like a firecracker going off.

“You’re a bit late for any juicy office gossip,” Tim replies slowly, uncertain of where this conversation is going. “I mean, it’s not a new development.”

Perhaps Jon had seen him and Martin, although it wasn’t a crime, what they did, wasn’t inappropriate for work. He’d assumed Sasha would have told him, on the nights when Jon stayed at hers. Martin doesn’t tell anyone about them, but Martin doesn’t tell anyone about a lot of things, and they’ve spoken about his insecurities and fears both unfounded and painfully historical. Tim doesn’t mind Martin’s reticence, doesn’t mind the slow-building thing between them. Martin pretends not to smile at his jokes and beats him at Mario Kart every time and oversalts his chips and undercooks his eggs and finishes Tim’s onion bhajis when he’s ordered too much and scolds him for forgetting about the bins again and has started to kiss him for the first time like this isn’t something he’s going to lose. Martin hasn’t said he loves him, and that’s alright. Tim’s pretty sure he’s been gone for Martin for months now.

“Does he know?”

Jon’s follow-up is flint-strike, whiplash-corded. He’s set his jaw and his mouth in a tight line that looks like a wound in the unsettled torchlight.

“What do you mean?” Tim asks nonplussed, and if anything, Jon winches his body tighter and says, almost impatiently.

“Does Martin know about Sasha?”

“What about her?”

“About you and Sasha?”

“I mean… yes?”

“And does Sasha know about you and Martin?”

“Have you talked to her about this?”

“Well, no. I wanted to ask you first.”

Comprehension rocks him tidal with a sudden drenching wave.

“Christ, Jon!” Tim hisses out, and Jon gestures him to be quieter and it’s only with real effort that he manages: “Of course she knows. They both know about each other – I’m not a complete bastard!”

“I didn’t say that!” Jon counters defensive. A coil of embarrassment has begun to wind its way through his tone.

“Is that what you think? That I’ve, what, started seeing Martin on the side and just… what, haven’t told Sasha about it? That you’ve uncovered some sort of sordid little office scandal? The fuck, Jon!”

“Keep your voice down!”

“You’re the one who wanted to have this conversation right now,” Tim snaps back.

“I – ” Jon huffs, irritated with himself. The torchlight makes his expression stretch, take on more weight. “That wasn’t what I meant, and I didn’t intend it to come across that way.”

“What way did you intend it to come across then?”

“It – it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it sounded a lot like you were a second away from accusing me of cheating on either one or both of them, so no, actually, I do want you to give me an explanation. Like, right now…. Is this some jealousy thing, with Sasha?”

“What? No! No, Sasha can, Sasha can date who she likes. It doesn’t bother me that you two are together as well.”

“So, what, Jon? What’s the problem?”

“I…” Jon makes an aggrieved noise. “I’m not explaining myself well.”

“You can say that again.”

Jon breathes hard. He fiddles with his fingers and Tim waits, making Jon be the one to speak first. Because for all Jon’s protesting that he didn’t mean it like that, Tim’s hurt,  slighted by the idea that Jon might think that of him, might read callousness or deception into his actions so easily.

“I don’t think that of you,” Jon says eventually. “I know – you wouldn’t hurt Sasha and you wouldn’t hurt Martin. I didn’t think you were cheating. I just… I didn’t know that you and Martin… I thought that you and Sasha, not that you were exclusive, but that … and then I saw you with Martin and I wanted to make sure, because I don’t… so, I get that Sasha, she likes you and she likes me and that’s – I get that. But I don’t understand how you – what, you were with Sasha, and then you just… what, started dating Martin? How does that work? How are you with one person, and then you meet another and then you want to be with them as well?”

Tim does not have time to teach Jon Polyamory 101, considering they’re in the middle of something that, pretty euphemisms aside, is definitely a crime. If Jon was better at communicating, this was something he might have been able to broach with Sasha, or with Tim at literally any time other than right now.

Jon’s intensity is misplaced. He’s always been good at that, reflecting the inward out to something he feels he can tackle. Tim privately thinks that Jon’s had these little boxes in his head of what he understands poly to be, and that Martin’s involvement has jostled them out of alignment. That Jon might not be as monogamous as he’s previously considered himself to be and is having to work through all the baggage which comes with personal growth.

Tim’s seen the way Jon looks at Martin when he thinks no-one is looking.

“Jon,” he says, and he does well to strip the irritation from his voice. “Me and Sasha, we talked about it, early on when we first started seeing each other. About the whole exclusive thing. And like adults, we came to the agreement that we were happy for the other person to be in a different relationship if they felt drawn to be so, as long as all parties were informed and consented to the arrangements. And then, this thing with Martin came along… and I told Sasha about it, and she suggested I try seeing if he’d be interested. And luckily, you know, he was, and the three of us have talked about the logistics of it all, and it’s working out. I’m not sure what you’re finding difficult to understand.”

“So… Sasha and Martin are together too?”

“Nah. They’re, um – how did they put it… ‘incompatible in a few key areas’. But they love each other in their own way, and they’re happy, and that’s all there is to it.”

Jon ruminates on this for a bit before he seems to mentally prepare himself for another question.

“And how did you feel, when Sasha started seeing me?”

“Er. Fine. Questioned her taste in men a bit, but…” Jon’s face is a picture at that moment. “I’m joking! I was fine about it. Is… is that was this is about?”

“It’s… not exactly…” Jon looks at the dust on his shoes, rubs at a grubby spot on his face that he’d missed with his sleeve. “When she told you that she wanted to see me, it didn’t… it didn’t make you feel, I don’t know, hurt? That you weren’t enough for her?”

Tim loves Jon dearly but god, he can be an idiot.

“It doesn’t work like - Look. You’re not – it’s not about one person being ‘enough’, yeah? It’s not a finite resource, kay, people can love their friends and pets and family and partners and it’s not… it’s not going to run out or anything daft like that. When Sasha started seeing you, and going to pub quizzes with you, or when she’d be at mine one night and then she’d leave in the morning to go on one of your museum jaunts or whatever…. You being there didn’t reduce how she felt about me, or make our relationship any less meaningful. And when you’re with Sasha, you don’t feel she cares about you less because I’m in the picture, right?”

“No.”

“Exactly. She loves you differently, not less. And the same when me and Martin got together.”

“I… I understand,” Jon says slowly.

“Then, what about this is bothering you exactly?” Tim says, and his voice has quietened now.

“Sasha wouldn’t feel… hurt. If I wanted to, um, hypothetically see someone else. She wouldn’t think that I – I wasn’t happy, or that I wanted more than what we had together, or that she wasn’t… enough for me. And if I did see someone else, they wouldn’t feel like I was, I dunno, messing them around?”

“Jon,” Tim says. “I think this is a conversation you should really be having with our girlfriend, yeah? But… personally, I wouldn’t worry. Wanting to date another person isn’t bad. You just need to be honest and communicate.”

There is a long pause.

“Thanks, Tim.” Jon looks tired, mulling over things, but his face is plastered over with something like relief compared to his earlier tension. “I do – er. I do appreciate you. Talking to me about… about all this.”

“Don’t get soft on me, boss,” Tim says, and he gives Jon a wink. A deliberate gesture that says ‘it’s alright’. “I know I’m a delight to be around.”

Jon relaxes and his expression flint-sparks into a small smirk.

“Whatever Sasha and Martin have been telling you, you’re absolutely not that charming.”

“Please. I’m a catch. Irresistible.”

“I seem to be immune.”

“You sure about that?” Tim teases and Jon rolls his eyes and gives him a put-on look-over.

“You aren’t my type.”

“It’d be different then, if I was, say, a winsome-looking redhead?” Tim says. “If I looked like I’d fallen backwards into a tragically retro clothes shop. Would that, perhaps, be a little bit more your type, boss?”

It’s too dark to see if Jon’s complexion has flared with embarrassment.

“Where are you going with this, Tim?”

“Nowhere!” Tim sing-songs and turns his attention back to the desk. One of the drawers is stuck and he yanks at it before it opens with a complaining screech. “Nowhere at all.”

Jon doesn’t respond. For a few moments, they sink back into their search.

“He’s seemed happier recently,” Jon says after five minutes or so. “You’re good for him.”

“You could be too,” Tim says.

“Well. Ahem.” Jon has definitely gone a different colour at that thought.

And then his face hardens. He clicks off the torch sharply, and he's yanking Tim forwards by the arm, tugged him next to him into the cramped space next to one of the filing cabinets. Tim would have yelped, but Jon gives a sharp 'shhh', and grabs at Tim's torch to press it off as he pulls them both down crouching. For a moment, there's nothing but breathing, Tim trying to ask Jon what's wrong with his limited movement and Jon equally communicating that he needs to shut up immediately.

Then Tim hears the noises outside.

He thought they'd have more time. The doors to the office and the main building aren't locked, and they won't be able to get out now, not without facing whatever is out there that the statement giver warned them about.

"What'll we do, boss?" he whispers to Jon, the words threaded onto one breath.

"Plan B?" Jon suggests. He passes his torch to Tim, and goes for the inside of his bag again, bringing out the items Tim had argued repeatedly for bringing and Jon had repeatedly shot down.

Tim grins despite himself.

"Plan B," he affirms, and helps Jon light the firework.

[ao3feed-silverflint]

Heissenberg and Schrödinger aren't born yet

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Ia7Gi2

by humansandotherpeople

In which the author shows their obsession with both suicide and other forms of annihilation of the self and revolution, both in universes where they fail and in ones where they succeed.

Words: 6613, Chapters: 3/3, Language: English

Fandoms: Black Sails

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi

Characters: Captain Flint (Black Sails), John Silver, Thomas Hamilton, Madi (Black Sails), Alfred Hamilton

Relationships: Captain Flint/John Silver, Captain Flint/Thomas Hamilton, Madi/John Silver, Captain Flint/Thomas Hamilton/Madi/John Silver

Additional Tags: Fix-It, Break It Even Worse Before You Fix It, Note that Fixing Something doesn't necessarily make it pleasant, If what you fix is - say - a violent uprising, Multiverse, Multiverse Theory, canon typical betrayal, canon typical atrocities, Alfred Hamilton typical homophobia

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Ia7Gi2

[squid-inspiration]

Maybe I'm wrong, but one of the reasons why I can't see Flint as bi is this: "My relationship with her is a complex one that it's hard for me to understand at times." If he loves her romantically and sexually, there is nothing "hard to understand" about it. But if he's gay and in love with her husband, but loves her too bc she's a lot of things to him ("first and before all, I was mother"), and she loves him and her husband in the same unconventional way, now THAT'S complex.

I mean, listen, Nonnie.

I know I made that post a while back abt why it’s a-ok to call Flint gay. That’s bc I think it IS a-ok and bc that case can absolutely be made based on the source material, plus the creators/actors seem to agree, and I’m kinda sick of ppl demonizing the fandom for its horrible bi erasure, when I think it’s really not that simple for once. (It’s def a problem in general media/fandom culture, yes. Saying this as a bisexual woman. But BS is deliberately ambiguous on strictly labeling a whole bunch of relationships and I think that’s lovely and messy too, bc it’s not just lazy writing but actually purposeful in this case.)

BUT.

If you’re looking for an opinion that falls clearly on one side (bi or gay), I’m not going to be much help, bc mine doesn’t. Some days I lean towards bi, some days gay. Mostly gay, I think, but I keep flip-flopping. I think a perfectly reasonable case can be made for both. (And I feel the same re: Anne Bonny, come at me.) And I hold both in my head at the same time. Watching two points in space. To me it’s purely a matter of interpretation, not willful erasure of one side or the other.

Regarding my own thoughts, it’s Schrödinger’s Gay/Bi Flint up in here, ok? 

Flint’s relationship w Miranda being “complex” doesn’t preclude him being genuinely attracted to her, there’s a shit ton of stuff mixed up in there that complicates things. Plus in his dreams of her, she also calls herself “wife” - so he on some subconscious level thinks of her as his wife. AND his mother. AND his mistress. She occupies a lot of spaces in his life that would have been filled by different women otherwise, but from what we can tell, he never had much of a lasting female presence in his life before her, so. This is the Gordian knot I’ll forever keep picking at, and I love how beautiful, messy and ambiguous it is!

Tldr; as long as Flint remains as wonderfully complex and queer as he is, I have no trouble whatsoever accepting him as either gay or bi.