#inspired by the thomas crown affair

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

The James Potter Affair

Written for Day 6 of Jily Week 2024, run by the very lovely @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee, and inspired by the theme Inspired By... - an excuse to write the AU of my dreams, which in my case turns out to be a new multi-chapter story.

Insurance Investigator Lily Evans is assigned to recover priceless artefacts stolen in a daring heist from the British Museum. Her chief suspect? Billionaire philanthropist James Potter...

It’s a high stakes game of cat and mouse that only one of them can win - and Lily's determined that it's going to be her.

I am super excited about this one! It's inspired by the film The Thomas Crown Affair, starring Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo, which is one of my absolute favourites.

Rated M - because it's gonna get smutty at some point!

See below the cut for a T-rated snippet, or read the full chapter on AO3

Lily Evans slipped into the museum gallery and loitered close to the door. She focused on making herself as unobtrusive as possible, wrapped in her trench coat and sipping a takeaway coffee, as she took in the scene in front of her. It was complete and utter chaos. 

Crime scene techs in masks and white suits swarmed around an unadorned concrete bust, which stood on a plain black plinth at the centre of the room. Devoid of all but the simplest of humanoid features, it was brightly lit by a halo of spotlights. Four benches were positioned around it, and between the benches and the plinth was a circular carpet of shattered glass, glittering like jewels as each fragment caught the light from above.

Across the room, a second group of techs surrounded a dark coloured briefcase that was buckled along the top, as though it had been struck with something heavy. Elsewhere, the floor was littered with yellow evidence markers, and everywhere she looked there were smudges of fingerprint powder. Lily suppressed a laugh when she saw that; according to her research, the British Museum expected to welcome six million visitors every single year. So good luck with that, lads, she thought.

Off to one side, Lily spotted the two men she was looking for. Their cheap, slightly shabby suits and jaded expressions practically screamed ‘police detective’. The taller, younger man had sandy brown hair that matched his jacket and a thin, rather pointless, moustache. The elder was much stockier, with close cropped dark grey hair, a face only his mother could love, and, bizarrely, an eye patch. Based on the thorough briefing she’d been given, Lily immediately identified them as Detective Inspector Remus Lupin and Detective Superintendent Alastor Moody. Targets acquired, Lily quietly sidled close enough to overhear their conversation.

Continue reading on AO3!

[jmtorres]

making a list of stuff to watch as inspiration/background for Dimension 20: Never Stop Blowing Up

Jack Manhattan - Die Hard franchise

Greg Stock - James Bond franchise; or would Austin Powers be more on point?

Vic Ethanol - Fast & Furious franchise

Kingspin - MCU, Daredevil & Hawkeye episodes apparently

G13 - not sure if there's a specific hacker reference but I'm putting stuff like Swordfish, Wargames, Sneakers in here. additional suggestions: Hackers, Mr. Robot

Jennifer Drips - again, not sure if a specific reference or an archetype. Salt? Kill Bill? Thomas Crown Affair? Entrapment? additional suggestions: Charlie's Angels (drips-Fawcett connection), Atomic Blonde (Atomic Brunette poster)

i welcome other suggestions, especially if the cast have mentioned specific inspirations on social media etc

[tomtenadia]

Rowaelin Month - day 7

Hi all, a bit late with this but inspiration did not until an hour ago.

It's a very short fic with a lot of fluff. Hopefully you will love it For some reason is very mostly in Rowan's POV.

@rowaelinscourt

THE LUCKY ONE

The room was chaos. Dresses and shoes lay scattered on the bed and floor as if a tornado has swept through the room. That natural disaster was called Aelin and Rowan stared at his wife planted in front of her dresser with a disgruntled expression.

“Fireheart, not to put you any pressure on you, but our taxi will be here in half an hour.”

Rowan was an architect and his firm had won the contract to rebuild the Opera house that had been destroyed ten months prior by a fire. 

That night the place was finally reopening and of course they had been invited. The venue would officially open to the public the following night, that evening was a high end affair with the high end of the society and famous people. 

He was not a big fan of black tie events. He was an introvert. His company had won the contract and then asked some of the best architects to design a new venue. His project had won by a landslide, he got a promotion and became project manager. It had been a dream but he would have been happy to stay in the background and watch people enjoy his vision.

But unfortunately he was meant to go on stage make a speech and cut the ribbon with the mayor.

Aelin, always the extrovert, had been delighted at the idea and of bragging with her friends of how famous her husband was.

But her next grunt made him realise that even Aelin at that point would have gladly stayed at home in sweatpants with their kids and a movie and a lot of ice cream.

Aelin was three months pregnant with their third child and had reached the stage where clothes had stopped fitting.

“ Can I just show up with one of your hockey jersey and sweatpants?”

Rowan walked closer to his wife and puller her to his chest. She was just in his underwear and his hand gently covered the small bump that has just started showing “Fireheart, you are stunning.”

“I am fat.”

A gentle kiss on the spot behind her neck “Get dressed and tonight I will show you how hot I think you are.”

Aelin turned, facing him “you are biased.”

“No, I love you.”

Five minutes later he had manged to help her in a stunning black dress that showed all the curves he loved so very much. He had not lied. She was stunning. Stretch marks and all. 

They were finishing getting ready when the door of their bedroom opened and their two children appeared and Rowan smiled. Maya, their seven years old daughter, was wearing her princess dress with tiara and all. But the best view was Thomas, their five year old son all dressed up with his sister’s princess clothes too. He had a pink fluffy dress with a puffy skirt, a few fake pearl necklaces, clip on earrings and a red hair wig that Maya had used for Halloween. While his sister was wearing a tiara he had a big crown that was too big for him.

“Dada, we are ready too!” Screamed Maya.

“Mama, dada, look! We pwetty!” Thomas added while showing his attire proudly. 

Aelin burst into tears and knelt in front of both of them “you are both stunning, I am sure auntie Lys will give you a wonderful party for tonight.

“No,” said Thomas “We go with mama and dada.”

Rowan sat down near his son “Tom, you and Maya will have to stay with auntie Lys and uncle Aedion tonight. It’s grown up boring party,” explained Rowan who, all of a sudden would have preferred to attend the party his kids had in mind.

“But we dressed up,” protested Maya.

“I know my love,” added Aelin grabbing their kids hands then she looked at Rowan “what about you and Tom plan a party for tomorrow? Dad and I will dress up with you both.”

All of a sudden the kid’s smile grew “can I keep crown?” Asked Thomas timidly.

Rowan hugged his son “anything.”

The two screamed in joy and ran out of the door.

Rowan helped Aelin to stand up and she melted against his chest “Their party sounds much better.”

“I know, Fireheart. Tomorrow.”

“Can I be your queen for a day?”

His mouth met hers “you have been my queen every day since I met you.”

*

The following day the Whitethorn-Galathynius’ household was transformed in a fantasy wonderland. Aelin had transformed in queen and had sat all day on the armchair that Rowan had converted in a throne. He had dressed up as knight and both kids had put up a fashion show. Maya’s room had exploded and all her clothes had been everywhere while she had her brother paraded in front of their parents. It had been the perfect day. Rowan had even let Aelin and Thomas paint his nails while Thomas tried to braid his hair. 

Yes, the event the previous night had been the celebration of a career.

But this, with his family around him, was the only goal he really cared about. 

He stood and grabbed Thomas in his arms, "come on, let’s go and make mama and sis tea and biscuits."

And with his son still dressed like a fairy in his arms he waltzed to the kitchen thinking that he was the luckiest man in Terrasen. 

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn  @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127 @mariaofdoranelle @yashiw @renxzs  @aelin-gods-killer

[grapenehifics]

Any or all of: 10, 25, 43, 51, 78, 79

(for this ask game)

10. Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?

Bare minimum two, so I can switch off and take a break on one if I'm not feeling it, but I try to limit myself to (actively) writing no more than four at a time. Like, if I want to add in a new one, I need to at least move one to 'editing'.

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

Editing! This isn't an original thought, but I like having written. I'm no longer staring at a blank page, I'm simply rearranging things I've already written to make them fit better or work better or deciding I don't even need them. More fun, less pressure.

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

I don't think I've mentioned this one yet? I've been trying to talk myself into tackling Obikin Thomas Crown Affair for *years*. Not because I don't want to write it (I really, really do), just that I don't think I'm ready to do it justice yet. But I *want* it.

(I am going to do it. Even if it's not perfect, I'm going to do it. I'm just full up right now. See #10 above.)

51. Does what you like to write differ from what you like to read?

Ooh, tough question! Yes and no. I write what I like to read, but I also read a lot of stuff that others do so, so much better than I would. I have very few hard 'no's' in my reading, and I can appreciate a lot of stuff that would simply be too far out of my wheelhouse to write. (Off the top of my head, this includes but is not limited to, PWP, heavy angst, historical fiction...)

78. What motivates you during the writing process?

Being done, lol. (See #25.) Moving from first draft to second draft, more specifically. Once I have a beginning, a middle, and an end - even if I don't particularly *like* any of them - that's when the real fun begins.

I find the actual act of creation - moving from 'ooh, that's a cool idea' to 'words on a page' - frustrating and difficult 90% of the time, is what I'm trying to say, and try to move past it as quickly as possible.

79. Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

I think the only writing advice worth a damn is 'read'.

In terms of inspiration, though, a random selection of some things that have meant something to me:

Lemony Snicket's NaNoWriMo pep talk

Bob Dylan's Nobel Lecture

I can't find it again to link to it, which is an important lesson in backing up your shit all on its own, I suppose (maybe 'back up your work' also counts as writing advice?), but I once read an interview with Steven Spielberg where he talked about the truck chase scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, and that he always tries to establish very clearly what is happening, and where it is happening. Don't use up your audience's brainpower making them wonder, even subconsciously, where people are or where they're going or what direction they're coming from. Keep it simple. Establish what is happening, when, and where. Then, that frees your audience up to pay attention to the why this is happening, and why those characters are making those decisions, and that's where the real story happens.

(What I'm learning from typing all this out is, I need to start taking advice from people other than white men. Yeesh, that's embarrassing.)

Thank you, @palfriendpatine66, this was fun!

[noloveforned]

no love for ned airs on wlur tonight from 8pm to midnight and we're sneaking a few last 90's halifax bands into our theme. you can also catch up with last week's show over on mixcloud, the setlist is below!

no love for ned on wlur – july 28th, 2023 from 8-10pm

artist // track // album // label les gluetones // reincarnated // trim crusts if desired compilation // cinnamon toast the molds // 1987 // the molds ep // (self-released) the sprouts // i want to be an idiot // eat your greens cassette // tenth court limbo district // encased // encased 7" // chunklet industries the 39 clocks // a look into you // pain it dark // no fun tuff bluff // poppies // poppies 7" // snappy little numbers cb radio gorgeous // the devil // 7" ep // thrilling living advertisement // cryin' wild // this is advertisement cassette // help yourself abi ooze // "nice" guy // julie's apartment (demos) cassette // (self-released) split system // alone again // volume two // goner rick white // doctor doctor // twenty golden hits of the sixties // (self-released) woods // be kind my love // reflections, volume one (bumble bee crown king) // woodsist alien eyelid // easy times // bronze star // tall texan connie converse // talkin' like you (two tall mountains) // how sad, how lovely // squirrel thing shannen moser // two eyes // the sun still seems to move // lame-o primitive motion // portrait i // portrait of an atmosphere // a guide to saints thomas strønen, ayumi tanaka and marthe lea // eyre // bayou // ecm alabaster deplume // child playing in the forbidden ruins // salty road dogs victory anthem ep // international anthem malcolm jiyane tree-o featuring grandmaster cap // we're not buying it (dennis bovell dub) // red hot and ra- the remixes compilation // red hot organization napoleon da legend and giallo point // soldier of truth // coup d'etat // fxck rxp phiik featuring lungs//lonesword // don quixote // another planet four // novelty el michels affair and black thought // i would never // glorious game // big crown vince howard // can't get enough // heart-soul and inspiration // tidal waves the undisputed truth // you got the love i need // the undisputed truth // gordy suep // in good health // shop ep // memorials of distinction present electric // imogene coca // present electric cassette // paisley shirt the palisades // knight in gale // a month too soon 12" // easter autocamper // never end // you look fabulous! cassingle // discontinuous innovation the oilies // touch me! change colors // (bandcamp mp3) // (unreleased) the occasional flickers // capitalism begins at home // capitalism begins at home 7" // cloudberry

[stocky2016]

Inspired by the iconic song from the film 'The Thomas Crown Affair'

"The Windmills of Your Mind".

"The Meandering of Our Minds"

Place a micro-chip into the slot create a reminiscence

with the capacity hoped for, or so it seems.

Like an avalanche re-shaping a mountain's omnipresence...

Like the music of the fairground, with generated light beams...

Like FatherTime where the minutes tick past a tried and trusted face.

Our planet earth spins in ever more complex orbits...

Like the circuits of a robot's mind in a technological race.

Like a passageway that leads nowhere...

or perhaps another pothole that never sees light of day...

Like an escalator that reverses, a haunting nightmare

where a tossed stone I creates circles in a mirror still lake

Like Father Time where the minutes tick past his tried and trusted face

Our planet earth spins in ever complicated orbits

like the circuits of a robotic mind in a technological race.

Like the weight and sound of loose change in your ever deeper pocket...

Ideas which confuse your tired concentration...

Insults on social media from trolls who can't really hack it

Passionate feelings expressed seriously but without exaggeration...

Artistic statements galleries where they just don't belong.

Individuals you've lost contact with...

but who in other contexts might sing a more romantic song.

Seasonal change as reflected in autumn's tarnished leaves

Like pi as an unmeasured area within a cylinder,

With a circumstance that just tries to square the circle...

and makes the observer question, calculate and wonder.

Like the images in the poets mind that still jockey for position

in a metaphorical queue of disorder...

Anxious to claim their moment of unique expression.

G.P.S. 28th July 2024

Graphics courtesy of Google Images

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKV9bK-CBXo

[turtlestampede]

A visionary filmmaker who tackled social and political issues with grace, humor, and humanity. He directed some of my favorite movies, such as In the Heat of the Night, Fiddler on the Roof, Moonstruck, and The Hurricane. He was nominated for seven Oscars and received the prestigious Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award in 1999. He also founded the Canadian Film Centre, which nurtures the next generation of storytellers. He was a true legend and an inspiration to many. Rest in peace, Norman Jewison. You will be missed. #NormanJewison #RIP #ThankYouForTheMovies

[journeymanslegacy]

Inspiration of the Day #62

“I saw him wreck a $100,000.00 boat because he liked the splash.”– Catherine Banning (The Thomas Crown Affair) I thought that The Thomas Crown Affair was going to be just another romantic movie with the 1990’s sprinkled throughout the entire film. I was quite wrong, and happily so. Turns out, it was actually a very unique heist movie, and who doesn’t like a good heist movie? Especially with a…

[merrilark]

I’ve been trying to send an ask but the app kept crashing for some reason so I hope it’s not too late 😔

I have two questions!

What are your Top 5 60s movies?

Should I rewatch Bad Samaritan right now?

Never too late!

Ohh, that's hard. I think most of my favorite vintage films are from the '40s and '50s, actually; most of my favorites from the '60s are Steve McQueen films lol! So they may not be everyone's cup of tea.

1. Nevada Smith (1966) — Putting aside the fact that 36 year old McQueen was WAY physically miscast to play the 16 year old son of a white man and Kiowa woman... I do have a soft spot for this film despite some of its blatant attempt to cash in on a few then-hot stars. The plot centers around Max going on a revenge quest across the US for the murder of his parents and plays out a little like a coming of age film. McQueen, despite not looking the part, miraculously plays a very convincing 16 year old in terms of speech and mannerism, and that alone makes this one of his better films imo. The plot and pacing are pretty solid, too, and overall it's just a nice western so long as you can suspend your disbelief and pretend that, yes, this almost 40 year old IS a troubled child lmao

2. The Great Escape (1962) — Initially watched for McQueen, but stayed for the great ensemble cast and heartbreak. This one is pretty famous but in case you're not familiar, it's a World War II film centered around a group of primarily British soldiers being held in a German POW camp and their plans to escape. It's very loosely inspired by several escape attempts in many POW camps at the time, but especially the mass escape of 76 airmen that occurred at Stalag Luft III, a camp that had previously boasted being escape proof. In terms of vintage war films, this one is iconic. Suspenseful, heartbreaking, and still entertaining on the rewatch, I definitely recommend this one if historical fiction is your thing.

3. Baby the Rain Must Fall (1965)— I swear I'm trying to think of other films starring a different actor, but he's one of my favorites so. :x Anyway! This one, IIRC, was originally a stage play that was then adapted into a film. It's a tragic drama set in Texas about a mother and child who travel to another town to meet the father who has just been paroled from prison. It follows his screw ups and struggle to become a better man, and how it affects his family. Frankly, this one isn't as technically good in many aspects, but it grew on me as a character study and social commentary that I think was unusual for the '60s. It chooses to shine a light on the long-lasting affects of trauma and the ugly side of your quaint, God-fearing small town who did nothing to protect a blatantly abused child out of "politeness" and yet snubbed their noses at the struggles of the deeply troubled man that abuse produced. The acting is pretty good too, and knowing some of McQueen's own childhood, his imo very accurate portrayal of Henry is a gutpunch of emotion.

4. What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) — Starring Bette Davis and Joan Crawford who fortunately, somehow, managed to get through shooting this film without murdering each other, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane is a fantastic horror-thriller. I honestly think it is probably best going into this one blind if you've never heard anything about it. I did, and I think it was much, much creepier and suspenseful for it.

5. Psycho (1960) — This one is so famous that I don't think I need to talk about it haha! I just adore Norman Bates. I know he's killed people but I love him, okay.

Runner ups would be The Nanny (1965), another great little horror-thriller starring Bette Davis, and The Magnificent Seven (1960), a western starring a fantastic ensemble cast including Yul Brynner and, unsurprising, Steve McQueen.

Also wanna recommend the soundtracks for Bullitt (1968) and The Thomas Crown Affair (also 1968); the films are a bit boring but oh man! That music!

And yes. Yes, you should watch Bad Samaritan again. Every hour is Bad Samaritan hour.

[burg1ary]

this  is  an  independent  and  selective  portrayal  of  a  GENTLEMAN  THIEF,    named    THOMAS  KELLY.   written  by  earth.                                 inspired  by  :   the  thomas  crown  affair,   white  collar,  to  catch  a  thief,   ocean’s  eleven,   etc.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

The James Potter Affair - CHAPTER TWO

Written for Day 6 of Jily Week 2024, run by the very lovely @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee, using the theme Inspired By... - an excuse to write the AU of my dreams, which in my case turns out to be a new multi-chapter story based on the film The Thomas Crown Affair, starring Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo.

Insurance Investigator Lily Evans is assigned to recover priceless artefacts stolen in a daring heist from the British Museum. Her chief suspect? Billionaire philanthropist James Potter... It’s a high stakes game of cat and mouse that only one of them can win - and Lily's determined that it's going to be her.

In this chapter, Lily's hot on the trail of the gold, and determined to get the measure of James Potter.

Rated M - because it's gonna get smutty at some point! Probably chapter 3

Read on AO3 Latest Chapter // From the Beginning

See below the cut for a Gen-rated snippet.

Lily did not return to Scotland Yard on Wednesday. After the interview with James Potter, she had more important things to do than sit around listening to Remus taking witness statements, and top of that list was to work out what made Potter tick. After all, retrieving the gold meant building a profile of how he thought, how he behaved, and what his next move was likely to be. It was surprisingly simple to accomplish that particular mission, and by the time she strolled back into the incident room late on Thursday morning, she was even more convinced of his guilt.  

She arrived to find Remus seated at his desk, surrounded by piles of paperwork and looking as though he’d barely slept. Unfortunately, he didn’t share the confidence of her conviction. 

“Feelings count for nothing, Lily!” he lectured her. “Your theory is so thin, it doesn’t even count as circumstantial!”

“I’m telling you, Remus,” she insisted. “It’s definitely him.”

“Based on what?” he scoffed.

Lily placed her palms on his desk and leant forward. Her eyes bored into his. “Do you know what he did yesterday?”

“I’m not sure I want to, do I?” he asked, warily. Then his shoulders slumped with resignation. “Though I expect you’re going to tell me anyway.”

Read on AO3 Latest Chapter // From the Beginning

[plotsandplansarchive]

High Stakes

Slow Jamz

Red Light Special

Feeling Good-Michael Buble

House of the Rising Sun

I Put a Spell on You;

James Bond-ish; 40's New York/Old Hollywood/mafia/ Totally spies suavest spy dance scene/ Secret agent barbie in paris/Thomas Crown Affair scene; Now You See Me vibes; kinda connected with old story: Revenge-inspired, Glory of Love ish; kinda mixed with Brooklyn NYC/Hood life/Slow Jamz/Notorious BIG aesthetic

*Jewel Thief (?) *Secret Agent/Double Agent/Spy

*Mafia

*Chinese gamblers

*Drug dealers

*Casino dealers

*Strippers/Showgirls

*Street magicians

*Con-artists

*Millionaires

*Troubled starlet

*Cops

*Nightclub bouncer

Set in an Atlantic City Hotel & Casino.

Vera - casino dealer/drug dealer/card counter

Gilda - showgirl/stripper -

Declan - street magician -

Paulie - Mafia boss & regular at hotel casino -

Fong - Chinese gambler and rival of Paulie -

Nico - secret/double agent hired by Amistad to look for the jewel thief -

Amistad - Millionaire owner of hotel/casino -

Heather - troubled starlet who frequents the hotel casino -

Ian - local police officer, Vera's ex boyfriend -

Sigrid - Russian heiress who moves in the hotel -

Dupree - bouncer -----

"Biloxi Hotel & Casino Lionel Amistad owns the Biloxi Hotels & Casino, a premier landmark in Atlantic City where all the rich and trying hards go to gamble. Lately, a string of cases of missing jewelry from the hotel's patrons have forced Amistad to hire a private investigator, Nico. Unbeknownst to Amistad, Nico is actually a double agent, working for the FBI to uncover a fraud case on Amistad and his company. Vera Wesley, a part time drug dealer from the ghetto side of Atlantic City works as a poker dealer at the Biloxi. Her best friend, Gilda Stratford is a showgirl at the hotel's club, right across from the casino. She is known to lure rich men for money. Paulie Degallo is a big time mafia boss and a regular at Biloxi. His frequent rival is fellow regular gambler Chinese businessman Fong Wu. Heather Orleans, a troubled starlet and gambling addict, frequents the Biloxi while taking a break from stardom to hook up with the employees there. Ian Harmon, a local police officer at the downtown city jail, is the ex boyfriend of Vera and is often persuaded by her to ease her criminal charges. Declan St James is a street magician who aspires to become the next David Blaine and is close friends with Vera and Gilda. His cousin is Vera's main supplier and has rejected his cousin's offer to do business."

[carter-sg-1]

Thomas Crown… erm… Amal Kotay Affair? ;)

[thegoldenyearz]

Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway in The Thomas Crown Affair directed by Norman Jewison, 1968. Photo by Bill Ray.

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

i have a mad thomas x reader request where reader is forced to marry thomas (idk how just-) and is disgusted about it but eventually ends up liking him.(? idk how to explain myself:’)

No one look at me,,,,,,,,,,also this is heavily inspired by the Scarlet Letter and was supposed to be a tad darker but I copped out (also someone asked for a pregnant reader recently so this + that = this fic)

A Lie They Would Believe (Mad Thomas x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: dark themes, 1600 standards, values, and laws, affairs/cheating, ex-relationship with the pastor is mentioned, Thomas is Thomas, mentions of drinking, webs of lies, public humiliation, AFAB and Fem reader, pregnant reader, pre-marital pregnancy solved a la shotgun marriage, twisted win-win situation turns into love?, slow burn(?),

Word Count: 3.7k

You could accept your punishment with a turned cheek, you told yourself over and over again.

You could stare out at the audience of towns people, even as the sun beat on your face. You could stare out into the angry faces of the elders, into the pitying faces of your friends. Into the ashamed faces of your parents. But, you could not look at Cyrus Miller.

You'd missed your blood two months ago. You'd begged, prayed, everyday that it would come. But, the only thing that came was the morning sickness. You'd tried to hide it, tried to think of what to do. But, when you placed your hand over your stomach, you couldn't bring yourself to find the hag in the forest. And, when your mother held your spotless, white sheets in your face, you'd crumbled. You confessed in the privacy of your room as if you were confessing in church. You told her everything.

Well, almost.

"Tell us his name!" Cyrus said, a voice that you couldn't force to fall into the background. "Tell us the name of your accomplice and you shall suffer no more." He said, and you wanted to believe him. You let your eyes close for a moment, but your lips did not move. Your mouth did not open. "Tell us the father's name, so that your baby will not be born a bastard!" He said, and his hand reached out to grab your arm. His grip was strong and tight, unlike the caresses you'd become so accustomed to with him. While his words begged you to say the name, his name, the action spoke differently. You peeled open your eyes and looked up at him, at his raven hair and kind face. His dark, soft eyes. Tears pricked the corners of your own eyes, hard and glassy as you looked up at him. But, you were silent. Even as some of the townspeople yelled for you to confess.

But, how could you tell them that it was your persecutor who was the father of your child? That your pastor, the leader of this town, had sinned so egregiously? He had a wife, a daughter. You'd known both of those things when you'd fallen for him, but it was harder to ignore in the harsh sunlight. When both of them stood in front of you.

You knew you'd have to face punishment. Sex before marriage was a crime after all, completely forbidden. To think they didn't know you were an adulterer also. You didn't know what it'd be, but you knew you'd have no option but to accept it when it came. You'd already made your peace with it, made your peace with whatever God could condemn you to. Perhaps, you'd have to live alone, wear a scarlet letter on your breast. Perhaps, they'd cast you out completely, and you'd be shunned. Perhaps, they'd hang you. You touched your stomach at that thought. Perhaps, there were certain punishments you couldn't bear.

Your lips only fell open when a voice yelled,

"It was I." And a gasp fell from your mouth. Your head turned, snapped towards the voice. Towards the sea of faces that was the crowd. But, you knew that voice. "It's my child." He said, and your eyes fell on a face you knew all too well. And, at that moment, you knew exactly what type of punishment God had set out for you.

Mad Thomas.

***

The day had gone by in a blur.

Over and over in your head, one question repeated itself. Why? It was almost loud enough to drown out the constant whispers, the stories being spun by every person who seemed to have a tongue.

Union couldn't seem to stop talking about it. Of when it started, how long it'd been going on, when the pair of you had even had time to sneak off. You'd even heard a young Constance Berman whisper about how she'd always known something was going on between the two of you, only to be shushed by her older sister as you passed. As you'd been let free of the top of the church steps.

You'd been left outside, left out in the sun. Inside the church went your father, the pastor, and Thomas. You had no idea what Thomas was going to say, what lies he was going to spin.

You couldn't bring yourself to leave, to speak. You felt as though a blanket of white noise had covered your ears, covered your mind. You were surprised, to say the least. You'd thought a wave of devastation had washed over you the first moment you'd realized you were with child, but this? It made it seem like ripples in a pond. The only thing you could do was stare at the church door and wait for them to come out. But, you felt a warm arm wrap around your waist and you turned to see the face of your mother.

"Come," She said, and you looked back at the door blankly. You didn't want to leave. You wanted to be there when they came out. But, you couldn't find the words to say or the strength to keep your feet firm. So, you let her guide you away from the crowd, and towards your house.

It was only later that you were told you and Thomas were to be married by the end of the month.

***

You and Thomas were never allowed a moment alone. You didn't know whether to be relieved or not, but Thomas, a man who you quickly found was far more confusing than you thought, was playing a charade. He brought you flowers, carried your water pail for you, and even took you on chaperoned walks. You, however, were stony and stiff, barely able to contain your disgust for him. It was on your first walk that you whispered,

"Why? Why are you doing this?" And, for a moment, the incorrigible man seemed to pretend not to hear you. He glanced over his shoulder, as if the wind was at his ear instead, and you saw him cast a sly glance to the man behind them. It was one of your father's friends, walking only about two yards behind you. Finally, when he decided he was far away enough, he responded,

"Would you rather I had let them cast you out? Let you and your child starve in the woods?" Thomas said back, the most sober you'd ever heard him. It seemed that apart of your father's deal with him was that he cut back on the drink. He didn't even stumble as he walked.

"Don't pretend you did this out of charity. Why, Thomas?" You asked, and you, for only a moment, reached out to touch his arm. You pulled it back just as quick, hoping that your chaperone hadn't seen. Thomas looked down at the action, before he smirked and shook his head.

"Aren't we a perfect match?" He asked, and you gave him a look of confusion. He continued with, "You think I don't know what people say about me? Don't you see, girl? It doesn't matter if your father is the best woodworker, or the richest in Union anymore. No one would have you, or your bastard child. Except me." He said, and you almost couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He continued, his words a whisper now, "Besides, it's a lie they would believe." You stared at him, flabbergasted by his words. Flabbergasted by how right he was.

Thomas had, well, a reputation. It wasn't out of character for his wedding to be one out of necessity, and perhaps it earned you some pity from the townspeople. How many women had Thomas seduced? And how many of them could truly judge you? Not to mention, his words left one thing clear.

So, it was my dowry, you thought. It wasn't an unheard of reason, and it made sense given the man you were talking to. Your father had been avoiding selling you off, even as you reached far into your womanhood. And, surely, your father would never have considered him under any normal circumstance, but now...You didn't seem to have much of a choice.

Thomas paused, picking up one of the wildflowers and handing it to you. You took it, knowing now that you had to play along. That you had to act as if he truly was the father of your child, and not someone as foreign to you as the land outside of Union.

"Your father was going to start building us a house. I was thinking right here," Thomas said, his voice only slightly louder for the chaperone to hear, but you barely paid attention. You were staring down at the yellow flower in your hands, before you glanced up at the man in front of you.

He was tall, but his hair was lighter. His cheeks were stubbly and his eyes- They were a clear blue. Almost the same shade as the sky above you. You watched as he talked, as he laid out his plan. And, while the idea of being married to anyone that you didn't love sickened you, you tried to tell yourself that it wouldn't be as terrible as you felt it would be.

***

You and Thomas sat out in the sun, where you were making a flower crown and he was rambling about one thing or the other. You'd gotten very good at pretending to be in love, even in the span of only a couple of weeks.

You gave him smiles and laughter, and he gave you gifts or stole a caress. It was enough to stir the people of Union so no one would be the wiser. And, with your father at his station a short way across the field, the pair of you could be somewhat alone. But, still within viewing distance.

"You're not listening." Thomas said, and you smiled to yourself for a moment. You looked at the finished crown, before you looked up and reached over to where he was laying on the blanket. He was half-sitting up, and you placed the flower crown atop his head as you said,

"Yes, I was." You replied simply as you adjusted it, and Thomas stared at you and gave a small scoff. He caught your hand as you went to pull it away, his grip loose. He held it almost gently, and said,

"Then kiss me." And your brows drew together. A quick,

"What?" Fell from your lips, and you watched how Thomas smiled. He laughed, letting your hand go as he said,

"So, you weren't listening-" But you were quick to interrupt him.

"Why would- Why?" The idea- the simple idea was preposterous. Why would you kiss him? In broad daylight no less? The suggestion made you nervous, made a weird feeling start in your stomach. And, you ignored how this feeling wasn't entirely unfamiliar.

"They're going to expect us to kiss on our wedding day, girl. Shouldn't we have some practice?" He said, and you thought perhaps the first time he proposed it had been kinder. You stared at him, thinking over his words. Thomas waited, reaching out to touch your skirt. It was only to pick at it for a moment, before he drew his hand away.

You couldn't tell if that was the only reason Thomas wanted to kiss you, if there wasn't some ulterior motive somewhere. You wouldn't put it past him. But, really, he was right. Not to mention, while the pair of you had been affectionate, had you been affectionate enough?

That's what was so aggravating about Thomas. He was always right. He saw clear through whatever facade anyone put up, and saw the truth. Perhaps, that's why he was such a good liar.

Perhaps, that's why he was staring at you.

"Fine." You said, before you looked over your shoulder. You were in the field, but you were more or less a public spectacle. You could hear Thomas draw closer, feel the warmth of his hand reach for your arm.

"Let them look." He said as he gave a tug on your arm, and you turned back to face him. It was strange to hear him say that, such a stark difference from what you were used to. To have him so close was different than before, but Thomas didn't close the gap. You supposed he was waiting for you to do that. He whispered, "Well?" And, finally, you did. It was a short kiss, a quick stolen one. Still, it made Thomas smile. "So chaste." He let out a small laugh, and it was your turn to scoff. "Are you sure-" And you could guess what he was going to say. You kissed him again, if only to silence him. It was deeper, firmer than your last had been. And you hated to admit that you didn't hate it. Thomas was well-practiced, and the feeling of his thumb grazing your cheek was nearly as warm as the feeling of the sun on your back. It made another feeling start, one that you tried to stamp out that very second. You pulled away again, cutting it short. Thomas, for just a moment, tried to follow you before he pulled back. He had a small smile on his face, one he didn't try to hide as he pushed his hair back.

"You're practiced." You said quietly, the closest thing to a compliment you could give him. You'd heard rumors of him galavanting with the likes of Abbi Berman and some of the others. Perhaps, there was some truth to them. Thomas glanced over, and returned the words,

"Aye, so are you." When he smiled and glanced down at your belly, you knew the jab had been intended. And, unfortunately, he'd managed to make you laugh.

***

You knew it was coming. You had prepared yourself for it. Before the wedding, the pastor would counsel both of you. And, he was going to counsel you first.

You stood in a dress your mother had made, with your corset done loosely as not to press on your stomach. You'd been staring out the window, at the cloudless day and the happy faces of your town. Why shouldn't they be happy? It was the day for a celebration.

You'd even caught glimpses of Thomas. Your mother was fussing over him, and Issac had swiped his pouch. He looked- Well, you could tell he'd been scrubbed down. Most of his teeth were still black, but in clean clothes and with a clean face...Perhaps, he didn't look terrible. You tilted your head, and, almost as if he could feel you staring, Thomas' head turned. He caught your eyes, and reflected your posture with a tilt of his own head. It made you smile, something you found was less forced the more time you spent with him. Your head turned from him when you heard someone come in.

"Wonderful day for a wedding." Cyrus said as he closed the door to the chapel, and you tried to manage a smile. "Sit." He said, and gestured to one of the pews. You did, and you both kept your distance. The chapel was dim, only lit by the light outside. The pair of you were silent for a moment, before Cyrus said, "The magistrate is here. He seems eager to start. Do you," He paused for a moment. "Do you have any doubts?" And you felt that the question was not quite as empty as anyone else would think.

You'd been staring at your hands, and you finally lifted your gaze to him. To his deep, dark brown eyes. After a moment, you found your voice.

"None at all. Thomas is- He shall be the father to his child, and he shall be my husband. I shall do my duties, and, I- I love him." It was hard to say, at least when Cyrus sat in front of you. "What is there to doubt?" You asked, your question equally as heavy. While none of you would say it plainly, you knew from the way he looked over your face that he understood you perfectly. The pair of you would never confess your secret, and you'd let the hatchet be buried. Forgotten.

"Does he know?" Cyrus asked, and you knew what it sounded like. In case any of the others were listening. Like he was asking if your soon to be husband knew you loved him. The question couldn't be more disguised. Really, his eyes said, Does he know about us?

"Yes. Or, I think he does." You replied, and you watched how Cyrus reached to touch his clean-shaven face. His face was half hidden by his hand, but you could see his eyes were disturbed. A secret was harder to keep the more people knew, but you said, "And he loves me. He'd do anything to keep this union." You told him, and you hoped he got your meaning. When Cyrus glanced at you, you guessed he did. Silently, your eyes said, If he does, Thomas won't tell. And, after a pause, Cyrus let out a sigh.

"Then, there seems little I have to counsel you on."

***

"Have you thought of a name?" Thomas asked you, and you hummed.

You were picking at your sheet, looking towards the window. It had been months, five if not nearly six. Your baby was due in only a few weeks now, and you still hadn't decided. Your husband, a word to describe him that didn't seem so weird now, laid besides you facing up towards the roof.

Thomas, well, he was not what you thought. He had a good, if not sometimes strange, sense of humor, and did not bruise easily from even the harshest words. He could take care of himself, after years of doing so, and, subsequently, you as well. Your mother and the mid-wife still came by to make sure you were in good health, but Thomas had most of it handled. He was a little lazy when it came to work, especially the work your father tried to give him, but he seemed to find that the work that came with having his own house agreed with him. The pair of you had become- Well, familiar. That was the word you would use. You couldn't say, nearly six months later, that it was still just pretending.

Still, Thomas didn't touch you in any way you wouldn't want him to, and you had to lift your head to throw a glance back to him.

"I have some ideas. Perhaps, if it's a girl," You paused, a sly grin coming to your face, "We could name her Abigail." And you watched him scoff and roll his eyes, even lift his head off of his arm for a moment as he said,

"Absolutely not." And you snickered to yourself as you went back to facing away from him. It was just a jest, a reference to an old dalliance of his, but Thomas, if anything, was fun to tease. The only issue was that Thomas was just as sharp when it came to his wit. "Y'know- Fine. Then, if it's a boy, we shall name him Cyrus." And you let out a noise of protest. You tried to roll over, declaring,

"No!" And now it was Thomas' turn to laugh. He placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to ease you back down. You let him, and even reached to hold his arm. To pull him closer. He followed, and you guided his hand above your bulging stomach as the pair of you adjusted. "Fine- Neither of those names. But, we must think of something." You told him, feeling as he stretched his fingers over where your baby grew. He held you, his warmth against your back. His hand rubbing your stomach lightly.

It made a strange sense of warmth fill you, one you couldn't blame from body-heat. And, it wasn't so terrible that you tried to push it, or him, away.

***

"She cries like no other child in Union." Thomas said as he climbed into your bed. You were supposed to be resting, healing, even weeks, nearly two months, after your child's birth. You felt like you'd been confined to your bed for so long that you were starting to become a part of it. Thomas was only here for the break your father gave him half-way through the day. Still, you smiled to yourself from where you laid on your side, and said,

"Perhaps, it is your smell that disturbs her." You said, your voice thick with sleep but a cheeky grin working onto your face. You shouldn't have prompted him, because he took the opportunity to drape himself heavily over your back.

"Oh, should I sleep outside tonight then?" He asked, and you giggled when you felt his stubble tickling your cheek.

It was already long into the day, and you'd become lazy from bed-rest. It felt far too nice to have his warmth wrapped around you, to where you nearly wanted to fall asleep. You had grown too used to it now, and you could barely imagine a night without it.

"I never said that." You responded, and turned your face back towards the softness of your pillow. You felt Thomas' hand raise, his fingertips brush against your cheek. He was being brave, especially when you felt his lips brush against your neck. It made you bite your lip, a twinge of something not so unfamiliar swirling in your belly. You wondered if he would continue. Hell, you wanted him to. But, it was nothing more than that.

Thomas, to your surprise, had more restraint than you would've assumed. He kissed your cheek, went to stand, and excused himself with,

"Your father will begin to wonder where I am." And you lifted your head to watch him step away, before you settled back down. He was clean, cleaner than he had been when he'd been sleeping in the outhouse. His hair was softer and longer, tied away from his face. And his arms seemed stronger, perhaps from the days of working with your father. He was, if you dared to think so, a kind sight to your eyes now. "Sleep. I'll be back by the time you wake." He told you, and, as he left, you found yourself hoping he was right.

[helenvader]

A ficlet inspired by a scene in episode one of Sons of Liberty. The title was chosen to echo the famous Midnight Ride. The word "ride" happens to have unseemly connotations, which is, in fact, quite fitting for the story. :-)

Thanks to my dear friend @yototothelalafell​ for being such a good editor and for always willing to discuss (not just) fic ideas with me.

I. PRUDENCE

Miss Prudence Wakefield's parents could not have given their eldest daughter a less suitable name. The young lady bearing it possessed numerous admirable qualities; prudence, however, was not one of them, or else she would not be sitting in a gentleman's carriage unchaperoned, let alone allowing him to wrap his arm gently around her shoulders, no matter how handsome, charming or outrageously rich he was, and he was all of those things, and more.

She knew he was the answer to her prayers when she first set eyes on him in her father's shop. Mr. Hancock had recently become their landlord and their best customer; the gorgeous muted lavender coat and breeches he was wearing now were the result of her father's skillful work. The intricate embroidery on the waistcoat was hers, though, and she was immensely proud of it. The buyer did not spare praise - Such uncontested talent! Such incredible eye for detail! Such exquisite choice of colours! - and, as it happened, he also took a fancy to the lovely embroiderer herself. It was an easy contest, for Prudence was a practical girl, and saw no point in playing games. And she was in a market for a lover.

Not that she lacked suitors, far from it. Driven by an amorous disposition, she indulged in some innocent (and some less-than-innocent) fun with some of them, and ventured even further with Will Davis, the baker's son, as handsome a lad as any, but it was a sorely disappointing experience. She ended the affair after a couple of weeks, much to the chagrin of the rejected paramour.

And then fortune smiled at her and sent John Hancock her way.

The young merchant was Boston's most coveted bachelor, and Miss Wakefield was certain that a man like him must be more than sufficiently knowledgeable in the art of love. He was also known - and much beloved - for his generous nature, so she made the logical assumption that this generosity would naturally extend to the matters of the bed. And it was, indeed, the case; he sought her pleasure as much as his own; and unlike the hapless Will, he was able to quench her thirst, and made her long for more. It was a perfect arrangement for both of them.

And that is why she was in his carriage, enjoying his attentions, the air fragrant with the promise of another sweet encounter in a certain bedroom in the mansion on Beacon Hill. Sadly, it was not to happen before he had taken care of some "business" in the North End - not exactly a location a gentleman such as Hancock was wont to take a lady companion, but she had no choice but to endure it, for he had explained he was acting on the Governor's orders. What an impossible man, she thought, to send poor darling John to such an unsavoury place as if he was some common errand boy, and not one of Boston's most prominent citizens. So typical of the representatives of the Crown, turning their noses down at mere colonists!

The carriage came to a halt, and John got a glimpse at what was waiting for him outside.

"Oh my goodness," he sighed, his expression that of a very sad (and very cute) puppy.

He turned to her, and his face transformed from "concerned" to "lovelorn" so quickly that she could not help but smile.

"I shouldn't be too long, Prudence", he said in a voice full of yearning and left, but not before instructing Thomas, the driver, to guard her against the crowd of raucous ruffians milling in the street.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the lingering scent of his perfumed handkerchief. It was, for the moment, the only reminder of a civilised world.

II. JOHN

John sniffed at his handkerchief several times as he pardoned his way through the unyielding mass of malodorous bodies of his fellow citizens.

Once reaching his destination - a tavern by the name of The Green Dragon - he stopped but for a second, straightened his coat so as to brace himself, and went in.

The welcome was not overly friendly; a burly fellow with a blood-shot eye blocked his way and did his best to intimidate him. John was used to Hutchinson, though, and compared to him this grim gentleman (whose name was Kelly, as it had turned out) seemed almost refreshing. He was only trying to protect a friend, after all, and was as thoughtful as to vacate the establishment despite John's feeble protests once Mr Adams made it clear he was willing to talk.

Sam Adams was a youth of remarkably good looks. It almost made up for the fact that he had been unfairly thrust upon John by way of using threats (honestly, the governor had a personality and the manners of a bulldog). John was never reluctant to admire human beauty irrespectful of sex, so he might have looked too deep in those impossibly dark eyes, but aesthetic appreciation was the last thing on his mind. He was here to rectify Hutchinson's problem.

The troublesome Mr Adams seemed amused with his offer, and John was not as naïve as not to notice that he had great fun at his expense, but he wisely chose to ignore it, offering warm looks, and even warmer smiles, and his efforts were rewarded with a promise confirmed by a handshake.

The smoothness of the negotiation made him feel extremely accomplished, and proud of his ingenious plan. Hutchinson was bound to be impressed.

Once he was back in Prudence's company, all of it - Hutchinson, the smelly crowd, The Green Dragon, and even the handsome Mr Adams - had dissipated into nothingness as he claimed her soft lips with an ardour that burned in unison with the elation at his triumph.

III. PRUDENCE

Judging by his radiant face, whatever business her lover had to take care of at the seedy tavern must have been crowned with success. The urgency of his passion took her by surprise, but she did not protest, melting into the kiss with a hunger that matched his own.

He broke off suddenly, simply to look at her, relishing at the sight.

He caressed her cheek with a trembling hand, his blue eyes afire.

"Oh, Prudence," he breathed out.

This was going to be a sweet, sweet night. John was always so eager when he had made a good deal.

Maybe she ought to send Governor Hutchinson a thank-you missive.