do u ever think about how james must feel about silver’s betrayal, knowing that a failed revolution only strengthens england? only makes the myth of england’s inevitability that much stronger? only makes it that much harder for the next person to defy it?
silver didn’t just side with civilisation. he made james complicit in it – he ‘distorted’ james ‘to fit into their narrative’. he told the world that flint came to believe that england was right about them, and about him
(GOOD GRAVY THIS IS MY FAVOURITE THING. Gosh thank you I think I needed this prompt more than anything else today. GOSH.)
Bedlam had been hard cold floors with blankets and, sometimes, straw. Some cells had cots which were little more than piles of moth-eaten cloth. On the ship to the Americas it had been damp wood, sharing space with the rats and the sick or dying passengers being transported to their ‘new lives’. Once in Savannah the bedding had improved somewhat, though only because it was a few inches off the floor and just a little wider than his body. Thomas had gotten used to waking with aching muscles and bruised skin.
James told him of the cot in his captain’s cabin, how it had swayed with the motion of the ship. He told Thomas of the scratchy blankets and the floor of the Maroon Island’s cages. Neither of them had been given the luxury of a good nights sleep, though the darker part of Thomas’ mind told him at least James had been able to sleep alone, unwatched, unharmed, sometimes even next to someone he loved in that time.
All those thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind when he sits on the edge of the bed they’re sharing for the night. It is simple, a mattress on a rickety wooden frame in the spare room of a spinster’s house, but it is akin to the bed of a king in Thomas’ eyes.
He sat and felt the give of the mattress under his backside and hands where he leaned back. Tears sprang to his eyes, stinging and uncontrollable as he falls back onto the bed and sobs.
James was there in moments, quiet and gentle so impossibly gentle with him as he pressed his face into the blankets and pillows.
Pillows.
The warmth of the recently lit hearth began to fill the room and Thomas felt for a moment that he was well again. James disappeared for a moment and returned with a tray of bread, cheese, hot tea in a pot and a small jug of milk. There is no sugar, Thomas can no longer stand the stuff.
“Comfy?” He asked, voice gruffer and cracked at the edge but no less kind and loving.
Thomas nodded from his cocoon of blankets and pillows. The infinite gentleness was like the embrace of God, he thought. Jesus Christ Himself had come to tuck him into bed. He didn’t realise he had spoken aloud until James smiles, a broken thing, and climbed onto the bed next to him.
A hand stroked through the tuft of hair still visible. “Can I come in?”
Thomas carefully pried the cocoon open and welcomed his love in, wrapped himself around James and the blankets around them both.
“We’re like caterpillars,” he said softly into the warm air between them. “We’ll go to sleep and when we wake up we’ll be butterflies; resplendent and more beautiful than we were.”
James snorted a laugh and tucked his head under Thomas’ chin. “Alright,” he whispered, the tea and bread forgotten, “like caterpillars.”
They fell asleep as the sun went down, Thomas’ last thought was that he had finally found the meaning of his existence – to be there, surrounded by the softness of love on the cusp of sleep.
when rogers unexpectedly mentions thomas to james and you think ‘that’s it, that’s the one time gay icon captain flint cuts a bicth’s tongue out’ but then he just looks sad and like someone he shouldn’t be in that moment
Someone is sad????? I want to help oh gosh I hope she feels better. Here, take my attempt at these two and maybe it can add some fluff and sweetness into things. Also, I am going to have to look for more with these two that is an interesting dynamic to consider.
Weddings are, in most cases, joyful affairs. They are also long and make your feet hurt from dancing and standing and walking from the buffet table to your seat and back to the buffet table.
As the happy couple dance, their foreheads pressed together (and Madi is sure they’re both crying; Thomas cries at every wedding no matter who’s it is, and James just cries when Thomas cries) she nibbles on a cracker and sways to the soft music she’s never heard before. The service was beautiful and the reception was just as beautiful if more so because of the laughter and joy it brought.
“They’re going to be doing that all night, aren’t they?” A gruff voice says from the chair next to her.
She hums in agreement and turns, seeing a long haired man with sharp features sitting in a chair completely the wrong way. He looks far too comfortable in that position for her to say anything so she looks back at the happy couple (currently rubbing their noses together – and how is it possible to be that in love?).
“If they weren’t such good people I’d be making gagging noises,” the man continues and Madi can’t help the laugh that tumbles from her lips.
“You know them well?” She asks, curious about this sharp white man and his ridiculously tight shirt open far too wide to be proper.
He nods and gestures to the grooms with a tilt of his head. There’s a light jingle as beads knock together somewhere in his dark mane. “James and I are related on paper – his father knew my uncle before he died, took me in when we were kids. We hated each other on sight but…. well, thick as thieves now. You?”
She took a moment to take in the words, imaging young James and this man tussling on the expensive hardwood floor of some London townhouse. Somehow it didn’t fit.
“I work with Thomas teaching Politics, though I focus more on post colonial Africa and the impact of abolition on cultural interactions than Left Wing and Right Wing.”
He blinks and nods once, his striking eyes squinting as he takes in the words. “I’m a personal trainer with a criminal record. No wonder we haven’t met.”
It shocks another laugh out of her and the smile it brings to his lips is wolfish but more than a little attractive. “We don’t exactly run in the same circles,” she says with a quirk of her lips.
His smile becomes a grin and he holds out his hand. “I’m Charles; Charles Vane.”
“Madi Scott;” she takes his hand and holds back the gasp as he raises the hand to his mouth and kisses the back delicately. His lips are surprisingly soft, his breath warm.
Her hand is warm when he releases it and their attention drifts back to the dance floor where more people are starting to dance.
“Wanna dance?” Charles asks suddenly, his long legs moving impossibly to extricate him from the chair. She shocks herself by standing and moving out to the dance floor, turning to raise an eyebrow when he doesn’t catch up fast enough.
They spend the next two hours dancing, talking, losing themselves in one another’s company. Madi doesn’t feel all that surprised when he slips his number scrawled hastily onto a stray name tag into her hand at dawn.
She calls him a few days later and asks him on a date. He says yes.
(For some reason all I can think is modern au James is a cheeky shit in the Navy with his adoptive dad Gates having to pick him up all the time so here have this ridiculous thing that was stupidly fun to write)
——
It usually takes more than just a couple of hours for the phone call to come. This is a record breaker.
“Hal Gates,” he answers the phone curtly, sure of the reply he’ll get.
“Hal,” a familiar voice says sheepishly, “I’m in a spot of bother…”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and fishes for his car keys as he moves towards the door. “Which station?”
–
By the time he gets to the police station there’s already someone else waiting. A man of average height, so slightly taller than Hal himself, silver grey hair carefully combed back under a very official looking hat, smartly dressed with creases on his trousers that could cut through glass should the need arise, and a stern frown that makes Hal want to laugh at its absurdity.
“Are you Lieutenant McGraw’s legal guardian?” The man asks, voice a shade softer than his frown.
Hal nods, holds out his hand, feels the strong and sure grip his hand is held in and purses his lips. “Aye, I’m Hal Gates. What’s he done this time?”
The man sighs and quirks his lips in an almost smile. “From what I hear, saved a young woman from a nasty situation and broken a few noses whilst doing so. Though he’ll be in a state for inspection tomorrow.”
A lightbulb illuminates Hal’s mind.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He asks, giving the man a chance to introduce himself. Not that Hal needs an introduction. If he’s right, this is the man who’s given James more than enough second chances and single handedly started his career as an officer.
“Admiral George Hennessey,” he says with a tip of his head, reaches up to remove his hat, “at your service. James tells me you’re a fisherman?”
Hal takes a moment to admire the soft curve of the Admiral’s eyes as he speaks of his son and lets himself look a little more as they talk. “By family and by trade. I taught James the basics before he took off to join your lot – I like to think my teaching’s done him good over the years.”
Admiral Hennessey’s smile broadens and he lets out a soft and disarming laugh. “That it has. It was clear from the start he knee his way about a ship, and not just more modern ones either. I’ve never met a man as young as he with as much knowledge of sailing ships.”
They speak a little more about James and his better qualities, a little light shone on their own lives as they go. When James is brought to them, his bail paid, he has a black eye and a split lip. There’s blood on his collar and a nasty cut on his cheek Hal will no doubt have to force him to clean.
“S-Sir!” James snaps to attention, ignoring Hal’s presence for a moment.
“None of that, you should have called me instead of leaving me to find out what happened. Your lucky to have a father like Hal here,” the Admiral turns and gives Hal a smile. “I think it might be best you took him home, maybe knock some sense into him. God knows the Navy can’t get through to him now.”
Hal laughs and shakes the man’s hand again, his smile widening as they linger a little longer than is polite.
“C’mon lad,” Hal says when he finally lets go. “You can tell me what happened on the way home… It was good to meet you, Admiral.”
“George,” Hennessey says, “call me George. It was a pleasure to finally meet you as well, Hal. I hope we meet again.”
When they get in Hal’s car James shoots him a pleading look.
“What?”
James grimaces. “You know what.”
Hal laughs and starts the engine. “I’ve had to watch you flirt with that politician ‘friend’ of yours. Let me have my fun.”
“Thomas is-“
“A brilliant man, I know, I know… But you have nothing but good things to say about the Admiral. Maybe we’d get on, having to put up with you so much.”
James snorts and leans back in his seat, a small ice pack pressed to his cheek. “Well he’s never been married and hates seafood, so don’t cook for him.”
“I’ll take that as you giving your blessing?”
“You’re my father, not the other way around! You don’t need my blessing.”
(Hello!!!! Good to be back my friend! A warning, this goes to some bad places. I have…. multiple feelings about Thomas post reunion, moreso than I do James, and it’s inspired by those feelings. I hope you enjoy it though.)
—-
The body is a marvelous thing.
It endures so much – physical abuse and pain, stresses untold, horrors that visit in the dead of night… Sometimes it is as though the body exists only to suffer. But sometimes the body can rest; it can be touched gently, bathed, treated with kindness and understanding.
With Thomas, James’ body does just that. His skin tingles, hair rising in goosebumps as Thomas touches him from head to toe. The scars from numerous battles are kissed, mourned, cleansed by Thomas’ touch. He spends long minutes on each and leaves no inch of skin unadorned with the light of his love. James weeps like a babe as he is loved. He had thought this was lost to him, first when Thomas was stolen from him, then when Miranda was torn from the world.
But now he is in the hands of the only one who means anything to him anymore. Thomas, his eyes bright and touch soft, whispering words of praise and adoration against the freckled and burned skin of his body. Thomas touches his reverently. His collar bones, the peaks of his nipples, the paunch of his belly and the downy hair there, the jut of his hipbones and the stiff rise of his cock. Every inch is rediscovered, lovingly mapped by fingers that bend out of shape.
When he is spent, James turns his attentions to the man who inspired him for ten years through darkness and back into light. He reaches out to trace his fingers over the ridges of scar tissue on Thomas’ shoulder, barely visible above the collar of the shirt still on his torso-
Thomas flinches, shrinks away silently with a grimace that twists his angelic face.
“Thomas,” he says, tasting the name on his tongue and finding it bitter in realisation that there is pain in his love’s face. When he reaches out again, it is to touch unmarred skin on Thomas’ upper arm. “Thomas, what is it?”
James’ breath leaves him when Thomas lifts the shirt over his head.
His back is a myriad of scars crisscrossing from his shoulder blades to the dip at the base of his spine. There are burn marks, old brands, showing between the lash’s cruel signature. His back is curved unnaturally from bending and toiling with little rest. James feels his own body ache in sympathy.
Thomas’ hands, once so elegant and precise, are gnarled and calloused. When James reaches out to hold one Thomas shies away. James sees a flash of scarring on his wrist and feels bile rise in his throat. Scars like that didn’t come from a set of manacles.
“Thomas,” he says again, shifting closer slowly, as one would with a skittish animal, and touches his knee. “Thomas…”
He spends the next hours loving each and every inch of Thomas’ body thrice-over. He kisses each scar, each burn, each indentation and badly-set bone. With each kiss he says how amazed he is that Thomas is here, how brave Thomas is to have endured, how glad he is to have the chance to love him again.
James pours his soul into each touch and word, thanks God for this moment. He kisses the tears from Thomas’ cheeks and lets the salt of them feed his spirit.
Later, when Thomas sleeps, he cries for the pain Thomas endured without him, because of him. He silently asks Miranda to watch over them from Heaven. And in the morning he will show Thomas just how beautiful he is all over again.
Meg's Mumbles 