🌸 Put a flower in my muse’s hair | TF’s Joji to Thomas H

As a general rule, Thomas had made it clear that he did not like having anyone get near his hair. Having been forced to shave it so often, forced to maintain the appearance of servitude and submission, he had taken to the freedom of expression known best to pirates by growing it out.

He might have thought it obnoxious a decade ago, pulling it back every day, but now it was all but an act of catharsis to run fingers through his hair and know that nobody could take this from him now. To tie it back and know that it was his choice to appear in such a manner held tremendous – if perhaps vain and foolish – meaning to him.

Not even James had been permitted to touch his hair without express permission thus far, and though Thomas felt the same coil of distaste he always did at first, noting who it was, and what was being done, soothed his alarm before he could even begin to wonder why it didn’t bother him.

“Where in Heaven’s name did you manage to find this?” He wondered, fingers lifting up to brush against the delicate petals of the orange tropical flower now fixed behind his ear. It had been days since they left shore – how had the man even managed to preserve it for so long?

Fascinated, he could not help but smile, “You truly are quite the wonder, aren’t you?”

@tidefated

🤙 Bump into my muse | William to Thomas H- poor man is always in a goddamn HURRY

{ Nonverbal Starters }

“Excuse you,” The haughty tone was not at all retracted after Thomas had taken note of the man who so rudely crashed into him – an officer of His Majesty’s Navy ought to be a great deal more aware of his surroundings, and in fact the man’s uniform only served to make matters more acerbic. “Has war been declared whilst the lords have enjoyed their afternoon tea?”

@tidefated

💥@thomas in the miranda lives too au

{ Nonverbal Starters }

This was it, of course. The moment he had known was inevitable, as inescapable as any other fact of life. As sure as death itself, this loss had been perceived from the very moment of its birth, for no joy could mask sorrows that tracked so deep as this for long, without turning to bitter ash upon one’s tongue.

It was all he could do, to contain within himself every ounce of his rage, to restrain behind his teeth the venom that pooled upon his tongue like the forgotten taste of sweet and perfumed wines. He would remember this moment for years to come – with the same cacophony of frustrations echoing inside of himself as he recalled so many more, but for the singular difference of pride.

Too long had he been haunted by the times in which he had been helpless against those who wronged him. Terrorized by the sensation of being dragged to his knees screaming by the force of all that which stood against him – figurative and real alike. And in this moment, when the power rested solely in his hands – he refused to sound as he did then.

He would not be the animal hauled howling into its confinement, but rather the man who would – with every ounce of dignity remaining to him – wash his hands of it. The chains that bound him to the past had been lifted – and he would be damned if he let his wife and his lover tangle him back up, until at last he was strangled by the suffocating weight of what they claimed had been done in his name.

Drawing his hand away from the wall it braced itself upon, he faced her one last time. Allowed for her to see his resolve – the stubbornness she claimed to have fallen in love with, and the ferocity that lay behind it. When he spoke, it was not in fury but rather, in the natural finality of what he knew must be said between them.

He had loved her, once. In his own way, he had found the very stars to guide himself in her smile. Her laughter had been incentive enough, at times, to carry on when it felt as though it might be wise, just this once, to not pick up the fight. She had soothed his storms for years, as surely as she had fuelled them. He would do what he could to preserve that between them – it was the last of the promises he owed her. For better or worse indeed – just as death, surely, had parted them.

The death of the life they had once shared together. Of the man he had once been, and the woman who had loved that man. Whomsoever stood before him now – this Miss Barlow – was no more his wife than James Flint was his lover.

“Goodbye, Miranda.”

🤝 – holding their hand [ one flustered (1) lieutenant @ thomas, oh NO, HAND holding, how INAPPROPRIATE ]

{ Nonverbal Starters }

The sensation of James’ hand in his own is something of a surprise – it is not often that his lieutenant takes such daring initiatives, and though he hums his approval and gives a gentle squeeze, he finds himself at war. On one hand he wants to reward this in a grand fashion – on the other, he wants James to see this as normal – as perfectly acceptable to the point it was not worthy of note beyond the comfort that it brought between them.

In the end, he decided they could work their way to that – for now, James was so new to everything, that he deserved to have his initiatives rewarded. Miranda would doubtless have something to say about spoiling when he told her about it later, but for now his focus was all on James as he shifted his grip and brought their joined hands up, so that he might press a kiss to the back of the man’s hand to show his appreciation.

❝ you have no shame, do you? ❞ [ @ t. ham, life as a lord verse, please save my carrot son ]

{ 100 Random Starters }

“Absolutely not,” The response was at once dismissive and amused – as if the mere thought of shame was a laughable concept to him. “I have enough to balance in my life without wasting my time on self-flagellation for the satisfaction of people whose opinions I don’t even care about.”

Taking no pity on the man whatsoever, Thomas pressed on with a question of his own, “Tell me James – how has shame benefited you? Has it elevated your status, to bow your head and behave as though your upbringing has made you lesser than those you can intellectually talk circles around? Or has it simply made it easier for them to overlook you – because you behave precisely the way that they want you to?”

Adoration

intolerablexsacrifice:

~

_{No-one had ever showered James in compliments the way Thomas did. He was not unfamiliar with praise, exactly–it was often given by his superiors–but to be praised like this, just for Being, just for the small things that Thomas found so lovable in him, was… entirely something else. Who could blame him, really, for having to hide his face in Thomas’ chest while he processed it?}

_{He might have offered a token, flustered grumble upon raising his head again had Thomas not drawn him in so swiftly. James melted immediately against him, whole body pressing forward like it was starving for this. He was still burning- the blush had spread down his throat and fanned out- but Thomas was forgiven, if James’ eagerness to be closer was anything to go by.}

_{“You did that on purpose, you shit,” he muttered, bumping Thomas’ nose affectionately with his own, eyes closed. Both of James’ hands had splayed themselves over the other’s chest, just… resting there, just feeling him, like confirmation that this was real. Then, opening his eyes to glare at Thomas with nothing short of the utmost fondness (and watching carefully for his reaction), James added: “Fortunately, I adore you, so you’re forgiven.”}

It was a true blessing for them all that Thomas was not a particularly artistic man, for were he of the capacity to immortalize how adorable James looked in that moment he surely would have taken the time to do so. As it was, he simply kept his hand against the warmth of his lover’s skin and smiled, his thumb tracing a jaw that had known the lips of both himself and his wife.

His thoughts were waxing toward the poetic when the man spoke, jarring him from it in a delightfully crass manner that startled a laugh from Thomas before he could think to contain it. Running his hands soothingly along James’ sides to assure him that the laughter came from a place of fondness rather than mockery – ever aware that the line they walked was one that was still fettered by the chains society had wrapped around his lieutenant’s neck like a noose – Thomas hummed approval as he found himself being teased. There was an endearing mischief in James that Thomas dearly hoped to see more of.

He did not hide the fondness in his own smile as he replied, “I am blessed indeed to have your adoration,” Forgiveness was rarely something Thomas ever sought, but the adoration of a loved one – that could carry a man very far indeed. “I do hope that I never lose it.” Genuine sentiment masked behind teasing words as he laid a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek.

Mornings Like Midnight

@intolerablexsacrifice continued from [x]

Sunlight dripped through a crack in the heavy curtains, aligning itself across the lieutenant’s freckled skin in such a manner as to be utterly irresistible. The fact that Thomas would have much preferred a lay in was forgotten in favor of enjoying a far more pleasant morning before getting down to business matters. He had a meeting in a few hours – and he truly had meant to let James sleep until noon, at which point he and Miranda could have woken him up together – but the temptation had simply been too much for him.

Now, he had a laughing, blushing lieutenant in his bed who was only slightly begrudging his wake up call, and Thomas found himself genuinely wondering if he could put off his entire day just to spoil James. It was only the knowledge of his lover’s predictable horror at the realization of what was missed and the threat of Miranda’s disapproval that kept him from carrying on beyond a cheeky kiss to the corner of James’ lips before sitting up and laying his hand on the warm skin between his lover’s shoulders.

“If I have to be awake this early, everyone ought to,” He quipped lightly enough, “Although,” His hand slid lazily along, fingers tracing familiar patterns now amid the constellations on James’ skin, “I cannot say I would be too opposed to finding you right where I left you, if you would like to continue your repose.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” @thomas

{ Vaguely Concerning }

The soft, disappointed click of his tongue was at first his only answer as he concluded his sentence. The silence was broken only by the scratch of his quill after that, before at last he docked it and looked over at his wife fondly. In their years as friends and as a married couple, she had come to know him intimately well – predicting his movements as surely as he manipulated the actions of others with his words and experiments.

She held a certain immunity to his games, though there were times when he felt it necessary to test her – not so much because he felt anything had changed, but because keeping her at her very best was invaluable. James was still in his training phases – enough so that she had heard Thomas deliver the same quiet note of disapproval more in the past few months than had been necessary in years. Between them, it was more of an internal joke than it was a signal – but the connotations it carried were heavy enough to bear the pause he needed.

“My dear, if I informed you of everything, I fear you may lose the pleasure of experiencing anything resembling surprise in this life of ours.” Amusement pulled at the corners of his lips as he rose to his feet and went to meet her, smiling even as he reached out for her hands – placating as he was stern in his assertion, “It does me no good to be entirely predictable to anyone, least of all you.”

Stitching Of Our Hearts

@intolerablexsacrifice continued from [x]

He had been keeping up to date for months now – and he had thought perhaps he was ready. Seeing James again had stolen the air from his lungs in so many ways it had scared him. There was no denying that his heart still beat for the man and yet, he hadn’t wanted to show it – wasn’t ready to show it or accept what it might mean when he did. Instead he had simply tried to entertain conversation, catching up with the man face to face rather than through third parties.

It had been pleasant, honestly. Nerves had settled over time and things had felt right up until he had to go. James had reached out so quickly – the grip so tight and immediate that it had taken great will to stand still and civil when his own instincts were flaring with alarm at the action. He was glad he had managed it though – the hurt on James features told him clearly enough that anything harsher might have broken something between them, and that was the scariest part of all of this.

His chest is tight – a decision looms before him, one that he knows only he can make. It is that reassurance alone that steadies him enough to consider the benefits and consequences before he steps forward instead of away. The motion solidifies his choice, and he closes the distance, pulling James into a warm embrace – the same embrace he had avoided offering when he first arrived, for fear of what it might cost. Now, he knew that denying them this wouldn’t help – they both needed the solidity of knowing the other was there in more than stories from the mouths of others.

“I’ll be back,” He promised, needing James to know that he wasn’t saying something more permanent in this choice of farewell. Stepping back, he gripped the man’s shoulders the way he used to – even if they were broader, stiffer than he remembered, the gesture stayed familiar. “Thank you, James.” He didn’t know if the man really understood why he needed this – but the fact that he never forced anything meant the world to Thomas, and he deserved to know that, by some measure.

👏 – Ruffle my muse’s hair [ fOR THOMAS because guess who just remembered his Thing About His Hair and likes suffering ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

The reaction was involuntary and immediate as Thomas jerked away from the touch and stood sharply – he was already several steps away before his mind caught up to where he was and who he was with. He forced himself to stop moving, though the tension in his shoulders did not leave and the flight response still nagged at him.

He supposed it was because he hadn’t truly lost track of his surroundings. It was more that it didn’t matter that it had been James – he didn’t want anyone touching his hair without his permission. Not even his lover – if not especially him, for of all people, he ought to be the more aware of Thomas’ feelings in this regard.

Closing his eyes, Thomas took a steadying breath before acknowledging that James had never been good at reading people. It had, admittedly, been one of his more endearing qualities in the past. That it had not changed might have been heartwarming, if it wasn’t so frustrating in this particular regard.

Setting his book in front of him, pressing it firmly against his stomach as a grounding source – as a shield of sorts – he slowly turned and remarked stiffly, “I would prefer it if you would check with me before taking liberties with my person, going forward.”

It sounded cold in his own ears, and he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between wanting James to treat him normally – and knowing that in some things, he simply wasn’t what he used to be any longer. All he knew at the moment was he didn’t want this in particular, and that he hated not knowing precisely how to illustrate the difference.