#swallowpropriety

[secondhandmckie]

[swallowpropriety] "Hate me, Love me, Miss me."

Hate, Love, Miss

Hate: 

“Thomas…meddles. I love the man, but he pokes and prods in many places you don’t want someone poking and prodding. He’s very good at it, too.”

Love:

“He cares. Genuinely cares. When he asks a question, he genuinely wants to know the answer. It might be one of the reason he pokes and prods so much.”

Miss:

“The hugs. He’s not afraid of affection–I haven’t seen anything like it before. It’s special.”

[returned-to-the-sea]

[swallowpropriety @ James] "My dear," Thomas says over a book, as if they're discussing the weather, "How would you feel about fucking me?" He looks up, mouth curved into a familiar smile, bright-eyed. He /could/ show James mercy by clarifying that he doesn't mean right this moment, but Thomas is, unfortunately, a shit. [ LISTEN HE HASN'T TAKEN THAT DICK YET AND THE MAN LOVES A CHALLENGE ]

James blinks, the inexorable flush climbing prettily up his neck darkening his cheeks. He thinks he might ignore Thomas. Sometimes ignoring Thomas for a minute or two is far safer than leaning into the madness. He always leans though, in the end. Thomas is bright eyed, but James can taste the wicked heat behind his gaze.

He swallows hard, desperate to touch him, his skin prickling, the heat of his blush sinking deeper, rushing through him and rousing his cock with alarming vigour.

Dear God, he thinks, resolutely not moving despite the growing weight in his groin and the warm beginnings of sweat dampening his hairline. He pictures Thomas, stripped of his finery, splayed before him, his round bottom firm and keen, his needy little moans, the bruises James might leave on his hips.

He smiles calmly, and stares back at Thomas, reaching for another volume and carefully not brushing his hand over Thomas’ large, pale one sitting so innocently on the desk.

“An interesting question, my Lord.” He absolutely refuses to be the first one to blink. “Before or after we meet with Lord Ashe, do you think?”

He settles himself back, cursing at the tremor in his hand as he opens his book, a needy ache throbbing in his belly and his back. He wants to shift, to tap out his wild frustration on his knee but more firmly, he wants to appear unbothered.

He turns a page, slowly and deliberately, and waits.

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

The voice finds her just as she's slipping back to the waking world; conscious, but still drowsy and warm with sleep, before the weight of reality can truly set in. "Dear one," it says, fond and lilting and faintly amused, "Take care today, won't you?" There's the faintest brush of warmth against her forehead; as it fades, so too do the last remnants of sleep.

@swallowpropriety

She knows and doesn’t know the voice— she thinks she can remember hearing it, REALLY hearing it, often and with joy in some long-ago time, some long-ago place before the anger had been bone-deep, before it had rattled her skeleton with its heavy thumping beats that put EDM to shame.

But Darcy has known it more in dreams than not, longer and older than just HER— the voice had been a thing of dreams when the ocean had rocked them to sleep, when salt and blood and gold had been the only colors they’d known. The dreams aren’t nightmares, not like the other things, not like the killing and the betrayal, and when she was younger the voice was more present than the absence of it.It came less often as she grew older, and it’s presence… wasn’t a nightmare, not really, but when a teenager or college-bound Darcy woke up from the dreams with the voice, the ache in her chest made her miss the dreams that ended with the taste of blood in her mouth and rage in her veins.

Her pillow is wet this morning. It takes three types of concealers to hide the dark circles around her eyes, and when Jane asks if she’s been smoking again (glassy-eyed and red-lined), Darcy shrugs sheepishly.Better to admit to a vice than to talk about the voices.

[harriedwritings]

[swallowpropriety @ miranda] “ i will not disappoint. why? because i’m not a disappointment. “

    ( @swallowpropriety​ )

Miranda grins slowly at her husband, wriggling her freezing cold footsies under his shirt. “-- Really?” she asks, the very picture of blitheness. “-- Could have fooled me.”

The universe can tell that she’s joking, teasing even, by the fact that she then sits up ( thanks yoga-esque flexibility ) and smooches his cheek.

[untothisstorm]

[swallowpropriety @ Petronella] “Look at me, okay? Everything is fine, just breathe, in and out. In and out.” [ they've established a little tiny farm somewhere alright let me live ]

Panic Attack Starters

Petronella had bolted the door then gone from window to window, watching the stranger prowl the grounds. His horse whinnied and snorted as they were swallowed up by the forest once more. The man had been gone for a few minutes but the air of uneasiness lingered. She couldn’t think positively, the only thing that came to mind was the danger this posed to Thomas. There was very little that could be done to her, she wasn’t a criminal- just a bit strange. Of course she could be sent back to Bedlam but what about Thomas? Something was wrong, she was sure of it. How was he not as worried as her? 

“Nei, nei. Dette er ikke bra.” She trembled and glanced back the window, praying that no one would be there. Her wide eyes were filling with tears and she jerked back towards him, shaking her head. “He could not be just passing through, Thomas. We chose this place for a reason, there is nothing here but us! What does he want from us?”

[metalzerotruck]

[swallowpropriety] ™ to wrap an arm around my muse’s shoulders and pull them in for a hug [ WARM ]

Truck melts into Thomas, meeting his affection with equal feeling. Although he enjoys hugging all his friends, there is something special about hugging someone of his own size. However much love he receives from others, however strong they are, however fierce in embracing him, there is something they cannot always give him. In the circle of Thomas’s arms, Truck has the opportunity to feel for once that he is the one who is protected, made safe by someone else’s strength.

[secondhandmckie]

[swallowpropriety] Gently takes both of Molly's hands and puts them on either side of his face. He'd shaved this morning: it makes him look younger, despite the grey creeping into his hair. "Feel," he insists, smiling. "I haven't been this smooth in years." [ MUSH HIM ]

@swallowpropriety

“I disagree,” Molly replied, and grinned, “I think you have always been this smooth.”

Proud of her play on words, she obliged and brushed his cheeks, adoring, because she did adore Thomas. So few men were so open with affection and gentleness and unafraid of what it might look like in front of others; his indifference to how he is viewed is refreshing.

“Smooth,” She finally agreed, “But you’re missing something.” Standing on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his newly-shaven cheek. “There.”

[untothisstorm]

[swallowpropriety @ petronella] moonlight. trying to stay up until a loved one comes back home.

Rest Prompts

Petronella had kept herself occupied for most of the night by painting a set of dollhouse furniture but now it was getting too late to stay up and she couldn’t continue to waste this candle. She blew it out and with a heavy sigh, she set down her paintbrush and left the table. She retreated upstairs to their little attic bedroom and undressed herself, carefully unlacing her stays as she listened for a noise. Once she was wearing only her shift, she picked up a thick blanket and wrapped it around herself.

It was scratchy against her white skin and despite how uncomfortable it was, it was a treasured item. It kept them warm at night and as she pulled it firmly around as if to swaddle herself. She descended the narrow stairs and entered the sparsely furnished front room, part of the blanket dragging behind her. The couch was another prized item, it wasn’t much but the damask fabric made it quite handsome. Petra laid down on it, letting her head rest on the arm of the couch at an awkward angle so that she could watch the front door.

As the flames of the fireplace flickered over her face, her eyelids drooped then opened and drooped again. Stay up, stay up. It will be nice to greet him when he comes home. He would love that. Wouldn’t he? The comforting scent of the wood fire was lulling her to sleep and but the occasional pounding of her heart kept her in a dismal state. Come home, already! Business can’t take that long, Thomas!