😶 | TV’s Joji to Thomas

The pressure of another person leaning against him is not so unfamiliar as it used to be. In a world that was obsessed with making islands of men, touch was deemed an intimate affair as opposed to the natural order of social creatures. In the plantation, such ridiculous customs were not observed and the importance of physical contact to comfort weary spirits was often enacted.

Now, safely aboard the Ranger, Thomas found that pirates were wise as slaves, and saw no need to ignore the importance of interactions such as these – and the thought brought a smile to his lips as he turned to Joji and let his appreciation be seen. There was no need for words at the moment, and that in and of itself was a comfort too.

👏 – Ruffle my muse’s hair (this is how you say hello to someone right? xD probably asked if it was real too. Oh dear. Thomas Hamilton pls and ty <3 )

{ Touch Starved Meme }

“What did you do this time?” Thomas didn’t even have to look over to know who it was – there were only two people on this plantation who would lay a hand on him like this, and that hand was far too masculine for it to be Yolande. Amusement warmed his features all the same as he cast a glance to the man beside him, wondering if the action had indeed been mischief oriented or not.

😖 – Bury their face in my muse’s chest [ for thomas! probably bc he’s embarrassed! rip! ]

{ Touch Starved Meme }

“Ah,” He had embarrassed his dear lieutenant once again it seemed. Smiling fondly, Thomas raised his hands to the man’s shoulders and began working them in a familiar massage. He waited patiently for James to gather himself, soothing away the alarm with his fingers until at last, those fascinating mix-colored eyes gazed up at him once more.

“Welcome back,” He did not grant any time for the return of nerves as he curled his fingers beneath a familiar chin and brought James up for a tender kiss. It was simply too easy to torment the poor man – sometimes Thomas simply couldn’t help himself. He really ought to hold back on his mischief a little bit, lest he give his dear lieutenant a complex.

“Please don’t.” Flint looks–destroyed. Whatever part of him might have been able to form some kind of coherent argument against Thomas’ leaving, it is utterly destroyed by the devastating emotion rushing through him. “Don’t do this.” [ for thomas, alt route II: rescued, because I Love Pain ]

It had all been a whirlwind from start to finish – in the past few days, Thomas could honestly say he felt more alive and human than he had in the past eight years combined. It was terrifying, how all of it had crescendoed into a blazing inferno – as if fire alone could wash away the damaging erosion of time and bring forth from the ashes an untouched whole.

When he had first seen James again, Thomas had lost track of everything he had lost long enough to reach toward the impossible and hold on to it. Touching him, feeling him in his arms had solidified the reality of the man’s presence in ways his visage could not. He was changed – hardened and wild in ways Thomas did not recognize – and as he had watched James and his companion stir the plantation into action, he had felt something in him slip.

It had been so inspiring, so breathtaking to watch those two at work that at first – in the midst of simply having James back, of having something solid and firm to remind himself that he really had existed beyond all this once, that the bitterness had slept in his breast unnoticed. Yet the clearer it became that action would be taken – that James now possessed the ability to set hearts on fire, to weave placid acceptance into a righteous shield with which to hammer the path to freedom, it woke and it bloomed deadly inside of him.

Where had this passion been, when Thomas’ father had sent him to Bedlam? Where was the man who could stir up a riot when Thomas had most needed one to rally? Now – when he had finally reached acceptance of his fate – James swept back into his life with all the force of a hurricane, and with his words tore away the last vistages of an understandable reality.

Thomas had run with the others – there was no desire to linger, no loyalty to speak of to the place that had transformed him into whomever he was now – but there’d been no choice in the flight, either. It was run or perish, and frustrated and impotent as he felt inside, Thomas could at least acknowledge that death was not the window through which he wished to escape just yet.

Choice had not been his for so long, that lamenting the lack of it in the wake of what was meant to be freedom seemed foolish and petty. He had hated the anger inside of himself as surely as he had hated feeling as though he were obligated to be overjoyed at all this, like some swooning maiden rescued from the clutches of a horrible dragon despite years of peace with the beast standing guard over her tower!

Then – to his astonishment – choice was offered to him in the form of Jack Rackham and his most unexpected proposal. Thomas understood the man to be Vane’s quartermaster, and blissfully unaware of the complicated history between himself and the self stylized ‘Captain Flint’ the man had offered him a place aboard the Ranger when everyone had seemed to take it for granted that he would be joining the Walrus. One Captain Flint included.

Since then, Thomas had churned the idea over inside of himself, determining if he wanted this for himself or out of some damning internal need to lash out. In the end, he realized it mattered little – for so long as this anger existed inside of him and the question remained of who he even was anymore, standing in James’ shadow would only poison the good in their memories and leave them holding on to ashes in the wake of this blaze.

It was with this conviction that he reached out and gently laid a hand upon a stubbled jaw that had once been so intimately familiar, his lips could recall its secrets in silent moments of sinful reflection. His thumb traced beneath a devastated gaze that tore him asunder, but he did not grant himself the mercy to look away. He had to accept the damage here, as surely as he must face his own.

“I have to, James,” He could not bring himself to use any other name or title, not in a moment so dire as this. “Too much – there is too much I must come to terms with, to go with you right now. I have an opportunity to find myself again,” His gaze was imploring as he quietly withdrew his hand, “I will not forget that I have you to thank for that – but I cannot promise that in finding myself I will return to you. I will not leave you with that false hope.”

It was cruel, the depth of those honest words, and he felt sick with himself for them. He had to step back, to keep himself from crumbling, from taking hold of James and apologizing, throwing himself back into this without giving himself a goddamn chance, if it meant easing the hurt in that man’s face.

“I am so sorry,” His voice wavered, and he knew there was no denying that this was affecting him too. “It’s been eight years,” He managed in a final act of placation – for himself or James, he could not say. “What’s a little more time, in the face of that?”

In his usual silent way, Joji stepped up beside Thomas where the man sat, and tapped the small book in his hand against his shoulder. It was a book of poetry- English, of course, or some other western place, he wasn’t actually sure. The imagery seemed insufficient to him, but he understood that those born to this language liked it well enough- and Thomas liked to read. Joji tapped again.

Thomas was lost in thought often enough that he had become accustomed to the crew drawing him back into reality physically. He no longer jumped at the grips on his shoulder, or even felt offense at the occasional whacks upside the back of his head followed by commands – more often than not those strikes and orders kept him alive in the long run, and he could hardly expect these men to be patient with him when he was barely tolerant of his own behaviour as it was!

So at first, the tap did not receive immediate response beyond a glance up, an expectation of command shifting to a note of confusion when he saw who it was. The second tap drew his attention to the source, and he realized rather swiftly what was going on.

Charmed, Thomas accepted the book and examined it. The cover was in fine condition, as were the pages. Inspecting the spine, his lips curved in pleasure as he recognized the author. When was the last time he’d held Chaucer in his hands?

Looking up, he offered a warm smile. “This is in surprisingly good condition all things considered. Were you looking for an appraisal or – ?” He did not presume the man wished the book read to him – Thomas had seen him with books just enough times to know he was far more literate than he was verbal, so he could only assume the man was checking the worth of keeping this one. It did not yet occur to him it might be a gift.

“Today, I’m a little less worried about perception than I used to be.” [ for thomas, life as a lord verse! ]

{ Black Sails Starters }

“Oh, I somehow doubt that, lieutenant,” It was rare for Thomas to subscribe to formality for any reason other than to draw a point – and this was perhaps a perfect example of a moment in which he weaponized formality for his own purposes. He understood that James was teetering on the edge of something profound, and eager as he was to draw him in, there would be no victory until the man himself chose his method of defeat.

It had been thrilling, of course, to hear of the brawl enacted in Miranda’s name – an act of defiance in the highest order, of that Thomas had no doubt. But it was one thing to defend a woman so outrageously, and quite another to acknowledge internally whether or not her husband had also been cause for such violence – not to mention why.

It took incredible restraint in that moment not to reach out and push, to shove James into this life and let him experience a taste of true passion for once in his high collared existence, but Thomas would not be the man’s excuse should fear grip him or shame cripple his fighting spirit. If he made this choice it had to be for himself and for something far greater than mere lust, or it would be all too easy to abandon in favor of a simpler existence.

“Nevertheless,” He could not leave the poor man twisting in the wind too long, for fear of losing what they did have. Whether James pressed all the way or not, what they held now was deeply valued in its own right. “I do thank you, on Miranda’s behalf – as I’m rather certain she’s set to scold you within an inch of your life.”

Here, he could not help but smile – as much as he pitied the man the dressing down he was sure to receive, Thomas would not deny for a second how much he adored it when Miranda let her cool demeanor fall away in favor of the most vicious verbal lashings he’d ever seen. It was truly captivating to behold, and it would be a lie to pretend he wasn’t at least a little excited by the drama of it all.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” [ for thomas! ;v; ]

{ Sinday Memes }

It was novel, to be asked something so intimate. He understood the hesitation – it had been years, and even in their prime James had never truly been one for the more daring of physical initiatives. He blossomed under the attentions, in ways that had enraptured Thomas to the point it felt as if every waking hour was consumed with thoughts of the naval officer that had eased so unexpectedly into the depths of his heart.

It had been so much more than physical then – it was a desire of a different sort that had stirred them together to begin with. The desire for a mind to challenge, for scintillating conversation and above all else, for entertainment had been the draw at first. The more they circled one another’s orbits, the more those desires had drawn forth hidden depths until finally the line between enthusiasm and passion had been crossed.

Thomas had never forgotten those sweet moments, no more than he had lost the memory of the heat that could build between himself and the man before him. There were days now when he sought to stoke it – days when he did all he could to rile James up solely so that he could feel warm again. Whole, in the completion James could bring to him – and there were days when it cost him something to be touched at all. He ran hot and cold so often now it was a wonder James put up with him at all. A wonder that he had learned to ask – to see where he was when Thomas still forgot so often when his own torments were distracting him.

Realizing he had been silent too long, Thomas reached up and gently brushed his fingers against the man’s jaw. Stubble met him – rough and scratchy beneath his fingertips – and he raised his brows a bit as if to wonder if James had only asked this time because he knew how Thomas felt about beard rub. His lips twitched, the thought alone chasing away the last of his melancholy as he assured quietly, “You don’t have to ask today – though if this is here tomorrow,” He tapped a stubbled cheek, “I will dodge you on sheer protest.”

“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!”

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?”