“I didn’t have a choice.” [ for thomas. 8′) ]

{ Profound & Emotional | Always Accepting }

“At which point?” These arguments were fast growing tedious. Just as the feigned attempts at a return to normalcy felt as though they were choking him, the fact James kept slipping back into this dialogue of fault and blame only further illustrated why neither one of them was in a position to pretend the world hadn’t changed.

His fingers shook against the soft fabric of a cravat he had failed for the seventh time to tie on his own, proving that satisfactory fashion was not a skill one maintained after a decade with no cause for it. He had enough small and painful reminders of the truth without horrible clashes like the storm that was about to break now.

“I am not disagreeing with you James,” He had never once faulted the man for leaving – in that there had been no choice to which there would have been a favorable outcome. Nor did he intend to begin faulting him now. The trouble was differentiating what the man was bloody well excusing, and more often than not it tended to be everything that came after that event.

Slamming the useless silk onto the table, he gave up on the effort entirely and gripped the back of one of the chairs to keep himself from picking at anything else. To keep himself from fidgeting, or pacing, or any other physical activity that might further his own agitation as he forced himself to focus on James, and whatever war he was presently facing.

Taking a breath, he charged forth into the veritable battlefield that was laying waste to the mind before him, armed only with intellect and devotion against ghosts whose names he didn’t even fucking know. “What I am saying is that – for years now, you have made many choices. You cannot say that you didn’t because we both know that is false. As for what motivated you to make those choices — be they what they are, they drove you. You can own them now, and move forward from it, or you can continue to insist there was no other way in which case, I do not know how to help you. I am no more equipped to fight your demons for you than you are to fighting mine, damn it all!”

“Let’s talk about what you want.” [ for theodore! ]

{ Profound & Emotional | Always Accepting }

It had been a most unfortunate shift in the relationship between himself and Aaron. The realization of the man’s intentions had – to say the very least – come out of nowhere. It was impossible to deny the implications when he had awakened, his head still stinging from the blow it had been forced to absorb, bound and gagged in what appeared to be a ship’s storage.

It was not the first time his uniform in combination with his youth had brought about the conclusion that he was a man of gentry – a fortune clothed in purchased authority as opposed to a man who had started at twelve and worked his way into position through honest labours. It was, however, the first time anyone had gotten quite so far in their attempts to profit from it.

Aaron had not thought his actions through entirely, it seemed. He had been discovered and now, brought into a private discussion with the man who was not only responsible for releasing him from the bonds he’d been trussed up by, but for the sanctity of this entire crew, he found himself in a most unique position for adventure he’d never quite considered before. The Navy was not the only way to live life by the sea, after all – and it was not as though he could ask pirates to leave him in a safe harbour without risking themselves, either.

He turned it over in his mind, the whole of this situation, quietly rubbing feeling back into the numbness of his fingers as he chased debates until he found the answer most suitable. As always, it was the truth – he had never been a man for lies – but perhaps it was a bit too much of the truth for a question that perhaps had been seeking a simpler answer.

“To live a life that leaves behind no regrets is all I have ever wanted — and for that, I have always found myself relatively prepared for the strange twistings of fate life can sometimes bestow upon people.” Easing his gaze up, he took this time to observe Captain Flint thoughtfully. He had heard of him, naturally – a pirate so infamous as he was hardly going to go unheard of in Port Royal, where he was one part hero and one part monster, depending on who was spreading his legend at the time.

It was interesting to note, that in all the stories that spoke of his eyes ( some saying they glinted silver when he killed a man, others going so far as to say they turned as red as his beard ) not a one saw fit to mention they held differing hues. As always, it was the truth that was more captivating than the stories and their embellishments, which furthered Theodore’s appreciation for honesty.

“In this moment what I want is to know how I can be of service on this ship. There is no room on board for idle hands, this I know quite well. I am afraid your man was mistaken in thinking I would be very profitable – my position was not purchased, and the only money to speak of in my family is what I send home to my sisters, and what they manage through sewing clothes for rich women who are quite unlikely to pay for a man they’ve never met. Sympathy can be purchased, that much is true, though as I would rather die than have my sisters trade themselves for me – that leaves my worth in what I am capable of as a sailor, as opposed to what I can be sold for.”

Thomas was not a man bred for manual labor. Though he certainly appreciated muscles in other men – especially when he was able to show that appreciation in a physical sense – Thomas himself had never once held the need to acquire his own. His was a clerical and political lifestyle – he had no designs toward military or nautical pursuits and was truly quite content with his life among the gentry.

His lofty goals for others aside, he benefited from his own privilege and though he recognized that and was willing to seek ways to close the gap, he never saw reason to make overt physical demands on himself. Which was why, upon being sequestered away on the plantation, the changes that his body underwent over time were exceptionally notable and fascinating to him.

Finding ways to occupy his mind is something that Thomas has always needed to do. His is a mind that is constantly at work, and his need to occupy it is often a driving force behind his actions and routines. This was no different on the plantation and, as his body adjusted over time he began to think more clearly past the pain and notice things.

The most notable was when his biceps began hardening and developing to what they will eventually become when he reunites with James McGraw. Having never before worked so hard and so long to cause muscle to form, the hard, aching discovery alarmed him. He reported it as an illness, and was not completely mocked for it – for he was not the first to make the mistake.

From then on Thomas began to focus beyond the blisters and the sweat, from the pain and the aches to the locations of those pains and aches and began exercising what little fundamentals he understood about anatomy to begin focusing the changes and hopefully, aiding their progression so that the pain could, in time, ease away.

He never really lost his fascination with his own physical transformation and the habits he built to make the changes more uniform became ingrained in all that he did. It has resulted in a healthy balance of muscle and a strange sense of body positivity despite how he was forced to acquire it, because he feels he had a say in how it transformed. Any small sense of control over his fate is one Thomas holds on to tightly, and one that defines greatly how he feels about things.

By contrast, his hair – which he never cared about before – was forcibly sheered on regular intervals. As a result of this, upon obtaining his freedom, he grows it long and is generally very adverse to people touching it without his express permission. While by contrast, touching his arms or his stomach, even his legs, is generally quite welcome and positive.

I do not know what the debate on the street is, nor do I particularly care, but in the interest of getting ahead of the debates I wish to make my stances clear. I write Thomas as gay – unequivocally so.

I see his marriage to Miranda as one that was likely of political convenience for their fathers and not likely much choice on either of their parts, leading to the ease in which Miranda’s name is so commonly degraded by others. She likely had a choice – a man not quite as influential as Thomas himself – and due to this their marriage from the start was seen as one that would not be faithful.

However. I also believe he did his duties by her and that, in his own way, Thomas came to love her dearly. While he was never sexually attracted to her, they found ways to make it work and Miranda, being a woman with a healthy control over her body, as well as her own desires and sexuality, was able to maneuver them both into something that was both endearing and comfortable for them to share.

Thomas loved Miranda as deeply as he did James – simply because that love was not sexually motivated does not by any means declare that love meant less to him. To insinuate as such would be an insult to both of them. Considering the times and the pressures they were under to build a legacy through children, the relationship they forged held its own power. Miranda had her freedoms as did Thomas, but there was no lies between them that there were certain things they could not give one another, or any shame in the idea that they could have those needs met by others.

This is a permanent starter call for Thomas Hamilton, of Starz’ Black Sailsexplicitly.

These calls give me a heads up on who is open to interacting with whom (which is handy for those who have exclusives among my crew! ) and gives me an excuse to kick you starters whenever something crosses the mind, or blow up your inbox knowing who would be most wanted.

These calls also serve as a final tag dump – when this call is posted it indicates a character has been fully moved into the blog and is ready for action!

For other starter calls, check the tag HERE.

“I trusted him.” [ for thomas, post-reunion, probably about silver (8 ]

{ HAMILTON STARTERS | Accepting }

This was not the first time James had spoken of the man who brought them back together in such a conflicted manner. Thomas did not pretend to understand the nuances behind it all, or act as though he was not grateful to a pirate whose motivations would never really be known to him. All he could do in these moments was offer his ear and play advocate to a stranger in the hopes it might ease something that continued to bleed in the man before him.

Idly, he raised his hand and stroked it through James’ hair, seeking to soothe as much physically as he could while this storm brewed between them. “Are you sure you were wrong to?” A dangerous inquiry, he was quite sure – he didn’t know the whole of it, and he doubted James would ever tell him. Just as he would never tell James, the whole of what had become of himself in the decade during which they had been so cruelly separated.

The narrative he received would be only the one James was comfortable in sharing, though that did not mean Thomas could not read between the lines, and infer truth left unspoken. He didn’t know Silver from Adam, but he did know one thing – and that alone was enough, to give him the strength to play these games and bleed out the poison that continued to twist inside James’ chest.

“You chased death for so long – can you really say that the man who stopped that chase, and offered instead a life that need not be fought for – was truly not, in some way, a friend?”

The Trick To Breaking Hands

@the-empires continued from [x]

A lopsided smile lit across aging features at this assertion, gnarled hands shifting against the polished wood of the cane upon which his balance so intimately relied when he was not sitting to tea. The ferocity in her reminded him once more of his dear sister, warm against the bitter chill of his chosen exile.

He knew her father disapproved of their talks – that indeed, the Lord Edrington held him in nothing short of disdain – which naturally meant his wilful daughter would do all in her power to converse and walk with him as often as she could. And he supposed, even as his words were spoken, that it might in part be due to the controversial advice he so often found himself offering Philadelphia.

“Sometimes there is merit to calculating precisely how to break it – and holding on to that knowledge until such a time as unleashing it can bear the most satisfying fruits.” Reaching out the steadier of his two hands, Andre picked up his tea and drank in quiet contemplation a time, before lowering the cup and pretending he didn’t notice the way the liquid shivered, or the multiple soft tings as porcelain quaked against itself as the cup settled into its place on the saucer.

“Other times, it is good to simply show you can break it – for that alone, often causes enough question to quiet the condescension so common in those who believe themselves so untouchable.”

Smiles Of Winter

the-empires:

_@oceanfoamed

_{Bram’s eyes danced in the absence of a smile; it had always come easier to him. All of his adult life leading to this moment and the next had been grim – faced. Smiling simply was not his nature.}

_{He set the book down on the mantle of the adjacent fireplace, fingers running across the raised, gilded hard cover as he did and lent Theodore his full attention. Edrington enjoyed the silences they shared greatly. There was something to say about the correlation between the great depth of truth two people have in each other and the quietude they may indulge in together. Mornings would be spent sifting through papers and returning mail sitting side by side and not saying a word for hours. Chess games passed with little more than a grunt of acknowledgment or a murmur of thought. It was in silence that their love solidified.}

_{However, it was in conversation that their love grew.}

_{“Does colour mean so much to you?” Bram asked sincerely, abandoning his post by the bookcase to stand behind Theodore, rough hands rubbing knots from his shoulders lazily. He could already guess the answer; Theodore had much higher artistic IQ than he. His personality was vibrant and dynamic as an Indian summer, whilst Bram could be content living in a monochrome winter.}

Theodore could always tell, the moment when Bram’s mind shifted itself from welcoming silence to challenging the world to prove itself to him. He had never once been a man to question his right to stand where he did – instead, he was the kind to mold opposition to suit his wit or fall before it. It was one of the many reasons Theodore did not often worry about him – he was the kind of man who would be found standing amid the rubble and, as the dust settled, find the words to make a victory of defeat none would question.

It was in the moments before he found those words that Bram was on a level with the rest of the world that moved around him. In those moments when he questioned himself, when he questioned his orders, when he questioned the war – when he questioned – he was rendered human as the wings of his privilege fell away and left behind a man with too many burdens to bear.

Theodore loved him most in those moments, and as hands as roughened by hard labor as his own settled upon his shoulders, he knew his answer as clearly as he did his own heart. Leaning into the touch, he smiled softly as he ascertained, “It was color that drew me to you – do you remember?” A laugh swallowed, lips that twitched in the Caribbean heat as Theodore recovered from his unexpected acquaintance with a tree trunk. “I would say that color means the world to me, for without it things are just too cold and quiet. I prefer a world that laughs to one that sleeps.”

Apologies Mean Regret

intolerablexsacrifice:

~

_{He supposed it made sense, given Theodore’s other unusual traits: there was a certain kind of logic to accompanying a tactile nature with the unabashed civility and kindness Theodore had treated his new crewmates with thus far. The young man wasn’t the only person on the ship inclined to such touching, either, not by a long shot- the difference was that he had touched Flint.}

_{In itself, it wasn’t unpleasant. The startling, Flint felt, was only natural. It was the other thing that bothered him- the strangeness of being touched, the way the sensation lingered like his body wanted to keep it in memory for as long as possible. It had nothing to do with Theodore himself and everything to do with a more general sense of physical deprivation Flint had thus far tried to avoid acknowledging in himself.}

_{Then there was the question of authority, and what the rest of the crew might think of their captain being shifted aside by Theodore, of all fucking people. That felt far less significant than the rest of it- but it was more comfortable to think about.}

_{“That’s certainly one way of putting it.”}

_{Flint was not just watching him now, but observing. There was a suspicious look to the mismatched eyes, piercing and unyielding. Theodore had not drawn outright attention to Flint’s reaction, and that was a mercy- there wasn’t a chance in Hell he hadn’t noticed how badly the captain had startled.}

_{Flint did not yet know what to make of that.}

_{“The men on this ship are accustomed to keeping their guard up at all times, Mr. Groves. Things like that-” He nodded to the man himself, though referring to his actions. “-are far more likely to be interpreted as an attempt at reaching for a man’s sword or pistol than an innocent attempt at moving them aside.” Then, lightly- “A warning in advance might diffuse that possibility.”}

Theodore shifted the rope in his hands and – though his posture made it clear he was still listening in the way he remained angled toward the captain – began the process of reeling it down to aid the man on the other side performing the same action. The shift in his role aboard a ship had been sudden, but a body did not forget the labour simply because it had not been tasked with it in some time.

That he had a role at all here was something he took both seriously and with great gratitude – he knew he owed what work he performed to Flint’s decree, and that was not something he meant to forget any time soon. What interested him the most though, was the fact the man seemed inclined to think he was still fearsome to a man who was presently profiting from his sense of honor and mercy.

Wrapping the rope as Flint concluded his lesson, Theodore considered his answer carefully. There were many things he could say here – some wise, some simply respectful of the situation – but in the end he could only say that which felt the most true to himself. The captain deserved to know what kind of man he now had in his employ, for better or worse, and it wasn’t in Theodore’s nature to shroud himself in secrets and lies, or actions that were more wise than they were honest.

“That is true of men aboard every ship, captain. It is not unique to the Walrus, or even to pirates.” Theodore knew pirates were rarely the monsters papers made them out to be – too many men were pressed into service, too many were exposed to tyrannical captains, too many were robbed of honest wages – for that to possibly be true. It was not uncommon for a man to go on the account and find his way back into legitimate business — if they were monsters, how then, could they return to being men so easily?

Concluding his work, Theodore set the now coiled rope to the deck and turned to face Flint squarely, elbows leaning against the balustrade of the deck as he considered him thoughtfully. “If I were to live in fear that every touch could mean a pistol, I would consign myself as other men do and never touch at all. I’d rather risk the shot, than live my life with that much inconvenience. Besides,” He pointed out, smiling softly, “It doesn’t always end that way — and for those odds, it seems worthwhile to maintain my usual behaviour as opposed to altering myself to suit the comforts of those around me.”

Apologies Mean Regret

@intolerablexsacrifice continued from [x]

Some things came without thinking – Theodore was generally the sort of person to act precisely as instinct dictated to be the quickest route to something he wanted, which could at times lead to interesting collisions such as this one. As a very tactile man, it was not uncommon for him to touch people simply out of habit – and with ships being so loud, it was generally easier to gently adjust someone than to shout at them to step aside.

That said, sometimes the response was poor – and even dangerous. He felt the captain jolt under his touch, though he did not do more than keep a steady eye on him and maintain the directing contact. This served the dual purpose of showing he was not alarmed by the reaction, nor was he going to reveal to anyone that it had been strange by responding to it in any outward fashion.

Releasing the man as though nothing strange had occurred ( and as if he could not see the confusion that contorted the man’s features ) Theodore set to work releasing the rope he’d been directed to manage. It did not occur to him to apologize for the action – and indeed, were it not for the clear discomfort on the features of the man who was, for all intents and purposes, now his commanding officer, he might not have said anything at all.

“I take it you’re used to people waiting?” He offered, his tone more curious than judgemental. Captain Flint was not the first man to startle like a horse under hand, nor was he likely to be the last. What mattered now was determining the cause for it – if it were a matter of authority, he could respect that well enough but knowing himself, would likely forget unless there was something more significant attached.