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sassyfrassboss · 3 years

Note

about Meghan's outfits -- I believe you can totally see it in her clothing when she noped out of the BRF, and you can actually trace her style through her PR narratives. Welcome to my TedTalk.

So before Harry came around in 2016, Meghan's style was sexy California chic. Assets on full display (e.g. lowcut tops or bare shoulders or very short shorts or skin-tight pencil skirts) and she loved a good label. She also loved to send messages with her clothes, either by wearing pieces with cutesy names or had overt messages on them (overt a la spooning bananas).

From 2016 through about October 2017, her PR was all about "fun relatable girlfriend to fun relatable prince!" So her outfits were mostly pretty casual and laid-back. She wasn't as dressing as sexy as she used to, so it was a more "cleaner" and appropriate look, like beachy California + Toronto chic with yoga mats. Everything fit well, everything was neat and clean, hair was sleek and styled. There were a few missteps, like the sloppy Invictus Games opening ceremony outfit and the Husband shirt with ripped jeans, but overall mostly successful. Her primary target was Harry -- she was hustling AF to get the ring.

November 2017 - April 2018, her PR was all about "hitting the ground running." Her outfits were a little more business-y and professional, but still relatable, and there was no trace of sexuality (no short hems, no lowcut necks) and no more "messages" through her clothing. Her clothes fit properly, generally were tailored, and her hair/makeup were neat. She had a few slip-ups, but they were few enough her PR turned it into "she's new to England!" cutesy stories (such as those too-long pants in the mud, the oversized coat, the poo hat, the exposed collar at WA, and the bare arms at the Stephen memorial). Overall it was a very prim and proper kind of look, but not many labels or couture. During this phase her target was the BRF so they wouldn't stand in the way of the wedding and would give her everything she asked for.

May 2018 - October 2018, her PR was all about "American Duchess!" and so her outfits were predominantly royal couture cosplay. It's in this phase her style mostly resembled Kate's with structured dresses, which were going to be her uniform a la Kate's structured coatdresses. Her affinity for labels and sexuality came back, probably because she didn't have to hide them anymore. Pretty much everything she wore after the wedding was couture and there was a lot more skin on display (the Hamilton minidress, shoulders at Trooping, see-through dress in Australia, exposed bra at the friend's wedding, too-high slit in the doily dress for the Spencer wedding). When she dressed in royal cosplay, her clothes generally fit well and she looked the part of Duchess. When she wasn't on "royal" duty, she was more like herself and the sloppiness started to creep back. Her target in this phase was the UK public so they'd love her more than Kate.

Meghan's style and outfits started going downhill in October 2018. What happened? 1) Sealed up child support and lifelong affiliation to the BRF via pregnancy. 2) Rumors about merching and freebies via Jess started coming out, which brought a lot of unwanted attention to the Mulroneys, and probably to Meghan as well, and she and Jess ended that fashion consultancy agreement. She probably felt she didn't have to keep cosplaying or pretending as much.

October 2018 - May 2019, her PR was all about "best girl to pregnant ever!" She still had the royal cosplay but only in terms of the actual clothes. Fit was almost always wrong, no real tailoring, a lot of easy mistakes were made. The royal cosplay also had strong notes of Kardashian cosplay, probably to make her more relatable to young American women who knew the Kardashians better than Kate. There were also several strong notes of Diana cosplay, which were probably meant to make her more relatable to the Diana fans. What's notable about this phase is that in this phase, Meghan was still well-behaved in public - there was some behind the scenes drama that occasionally got out but that was always written off by the majority of the UK public. Meghan's target in this PR/sartorial phase was the BRF. She looked and acted the part of Royal Duchess because she wanted a ton of stuff for the baby we now know as Archie.

In May 2019, it all went to shit. Meghan very clearly didn't get anything she asked for on the baby's behalf (no titles, no security, no Windsor Castle) so her revenge was the chaotic handling of Archie's birth. And from that moment, her outfits became less "royal" (neat, structured, fitted, properly styled, British-esque) and more her "true" preferred style (a little messy, looser-fitting, American, influencer-esque). Her last royal cosplay was Archie's christening and after that, it was all her own style. Except for the March megxit revenge tour, when Meghan once again started royal cosplaying, almost as if to show the BRF what they were missing when she left but by then the damage to her sartorial reputation had already been done that everyone mostly made fun of her outfits and no one bought the royal illusion she was trying to sell. Which was actually OK because the target of this PR blitz was the American public.

And what's interesting is that she's repeating her sartorial choices and PR cycles all over again. She was relatable, laid-back, and casual April 2020 - September 2020 (shift dresses, wide-brimmed hats, relaxed-fit pants, button-down shirts and baseball caps via paparazzi pictures) just like when she was Harry's girlfriend. As she was trying to woo Harry then, she's trying to woo the American public as a down-to-earth celeb. September 2020 - June 2021, her clothes were more "hitting the ground running" (like her engagement cycle) targeting the American public to make us believe that she's a mover and a shaker in humanitarian causes. Now, September 2021 - December 2021, we're back to the diplomatic cosplay outfits to make the American public believe she's a leader for her political ambitions (except instead of royal cosplay, it's First Lady cosplay). Which means that once she exhausts her network in politics, she'll undergo yet another style transformation to match her new PR blitz and if we're still going by her royal timeline, the next version of Meghan will be more casual and laid-back and it's probably going to coincide with the jubilee so she can contrast with Kate (probably a narrative of free Meghan vs the trapped Kate).

(sorry this is so long)

OH. MY. GOD!!!

THIS IS INCREDIBLE!

Seriously if I could buy you a bottle of wine I would! This is absolutely fantastic!

To all of my followers & friends, this is a must read!

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

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Sinners and Saints (Sihtric x reader)

Summary: One day you stumble upon your childhood friend, Osferth, whom you have not seen in years. Yet the more time you spend with him, the more you find yourself drawn to his companion, Sihtric….and the butterflies his dark eyes give you.

This is my contribution to @emilyhufflepufftlk 100 followers challenge! Congratulations again! I’m so happy for you!

My prompt was - "Love doesn't discriminate, between the sinners and the saints." - Lin-Manuel Miranda, Hamilton (in bold within the story)

Words: 5500

Warnings: A couple of swear words, fluff, my poor attempts at humor, Osferth being a good bro.

Tag List: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @flowers-in-your-hayr

This gorgeous moodboard was made by @flowers-in-your-hayr. All credit goes to her!

"...so there she was, aye, and next thing I know, she flips 'er dress up and I see the most perfect set of…."

"I'm going to be sick." Osferth mumbled to himself, trying to block out Finan's retelling of his prior night. To the laughter of his companions, he started to push away from the outdoor table at the alehouse. He was no virgin anymore, Finan and Uhtred had seen to that, but he still felt squeamish when listening to their stories of recent conquests. His mother's voice whispered in the back of his mind, things she had told him before her passing, about respect and love. Plus, he could not help but think that this idea of conquests, of women's worth derived from what pleasure a man could take from their bodies, was what brought bastards into this world….like him.

"Alright, Finan, we get it. You saw the arse of a goat and couldn't help yourself." Uhtred teased, slinging an arm around Osferth so he could not escape them- most likely to find a church and pray for their souls.

"Oi, lord! Ya know that was one time!" Finan feigned mock-outrage, making Uhtred and Sihtric laugh.

Osferth put a hand over his eyes as if that would somehow block the image from his mind. Something he desperately did not want there.

"How much longer are we here, lord?" Sihtric asked, changing the subject, while twirling a dagger between his hands fluidly.

Although Osferth would never admit it aloud, and God forgive him, it was hard not to be jealous of how easily his companions handled their weapons like they had been born with weapons in hand. They continued to tell him it was practice. Recently though, he decided it was a gift that he clearly did not have.

"Until I feel satisfied with the training of Lord Godwin's fyrd and his defenses." Uhtred stated indifferently, as if it was something he had to repeat to himself often.

"Ya think King Alfred knew how much of a horse's arse Lord Godwin is?"

Uhtred glanced up, a tiny smirk on his lips. "Probably."

"But he knew you were the man for the job." Osferth commented. Not necessarily to defend his father but to hopefully bolster Uhtred's confidence. "The men respect you, even if their lord fails to acknowledge his own respect."

"The baby monk is right." Finan said. "What else needs to be done for the town?"

Uhtred and Finan began discussing ideas and strategies, Sihtric adding an occasional comment but mostly just listening.

Osferth found his attention wandering, since this was an area outside of his expertise. His gaze drifted to the town and its residents who moved about to complete their duties under the midday sun. Their group had only been in this large town for two days and already Osferth was keen to return to Coccham.

From amidst the crowd, a familiar face caught his attention. The world tilted off its axis as his entire body went rigid, all his focus zeroed in on her. His heart hammered in his chest and the air whooshed from his lungs painfully.

"Y/n?" He muttered to himself, disbelief and shock clearly painted in his tone and on his face.

"Baby monk, ya alright?"

Finan's words did even register, so consumed by the ghost before him. Rapidly, he slid off the bench, almost losing his footing when he went to stand, but pressed on, hurrying towards her.

"Y/n!" He called, an almost desperate tone in his yell.

When she did not turn around, he shouted louder. "Y/N!"

That time she paused, then slowly turned to find him standing still amongst those walking around him, a solid rock in a stream of people. He held his breath as he intently watched her expression, suddenly worried seeing him would not be as meaningful as he hoped. He could see her utter his name silently, eyes wide. Then in the next moment, she dropped the basket on her hip and ran towards him. He opened his arms just in time for her to collide with him, and with her embrace, a painful wave of nostalgia and guilt crashed over him with the strength of a tempest.

"It's really you." She finally whispered, peering at him in awe.

"Hi." He smiled, his own shock clouding his mind from forming coherent sentences.

Then to his surprise, she reared back and punched him in the arm.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He whined, rubbing the offended limb.

Throwing her hands in the air, they landed on her hips as her voice rose in anger. "For disappearing in the middle of the night without telling me!"

"I did tell you."

"That you were THINKING about leaving, not that you WERE leaving!" She reared back and punched him in the arm again, ignoring his pained cry as she continued to berate him. "I spent an entire day running around the monastery trying to find you only for Father Harold to finally pull me aside and tell me you left for Wincheaster."

And there was the heaping of guilt he knew he deserved. "I'm sorry….I just….I just knew if I didn't leave that night, then I never would."

Her face softened at his quiet admission, understanding passing in her eyes. "I know. I wasn't truly surprised…. Just wish you'd have told me before."

"I'm sorry."

She sighed, all anger and frustration disappearing, much to his relief. She was a force to be reckoned with when truly in her fury. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Ah, traveled here with the Lord Uhtred to assist Lord Godwin in his defenses….or something."

"Uhtred? That Uhtred?"

He smiled at her, catching the reverence in her tone. "That very one."

"How did you find him? How did you join him? Wait! Are you a warrior now? We have a lot to talk about and you better get started." There went the hands on her hips again, making his smile widen at the image. Even as a young girl, when her hands were on her hips, you knew she meant business.

"Would you like to meet him first?"

A shy look passed over her face that he was unused to seeing. "I'm…. I'm not presentable to meet a lord."

He scanned her, noting the dried mud on the hem of her dress and shoes, the small smear of what looked like flour on her left temple. What he noticed most was how the years had made her even more beautiful. She had always been a pretty girl but now, she truly looked like a beautiful woman. A fact he was unsure of how to feel about.

He chuckled lightly after a moment. "Well, you certainly smell better than Lord Uhtred so I think it's fine."

That caused her to tip her head back and laugh loudly, the desired effect of his comment. She gathered up her basket and walked next to Osferth, back to the table where his companions were. It was impossible to ignore their curious stares as they approached.

"Lord Uhtred, may I introduce y/n. Y/n, this is Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg." Osferth said, standing next to her at the end of the table.

Uhtred nodded graciously, clearly wondering why this woman mattered and why Osferth was introducing her.

"Oh, it's an honor to meet you!" Y/n gushed, a bright smile on her face. "Uncle Leofric told us so much about you, but I never thought I'd ever meet you in person."

"Leofric?" That caught his lord's attention, his gaze narrowing and eyeing her with renewed interest. "How did you know that turd?"

"When he came to visit Osferth, he'd tell us stories."

"Ah….all exaggerated, of course." Uhtred said with a cocky smirk.

"Wait. I think we're missin' the most important thing here." Finan leaned forward, dark eyes bouncing between Osferth and her, as he pointed a finger at them, hand still wrapped around his cup. "Ya said 'Uncle Leofric'....are ya related to Osferth?"

Osferth answered quickly. "No, her family owned the farm next to the monastery, so we grew up together." Then he furrowed his brows as a thought hit him. He had been so amazed to see his childhood best friend (only friend really) that he had not realized that she should be back at the farm and not in this town. "Wait, y/n, why are you here and not at the farm?"

Her face crumpled for a brief second before she was able to mask it into a neutral expression. She shrugged casually, but he could read the subtle tension in the action. "We lost the farm, so mother and I came here to look for work."

"Ah." There were so many things he wanted to ask but could tell now was not the right time. If she lived here, he would have plenty of time to hear the full story later. Instead he decided to change the subject. "So, you know Lord Uhtred, the others are Finan and Sihtric…. And Sihtric is also a bastard." He added as an afterthought.

That made her face light up as she turned to look at the Dane. "Hey, another bastard! We really need to start a club. We can all rant about how awful our fathers are."

"You're a bastard?" Uhtred asked, shock evident in his voice.

"Yes, my lord. My mother was a servant for a lord. Got pregnant. The lord's wife did not like that so sent my pregnant mother back to her family. Certainly, it was our Lord's Will because how else would I have been able to grow up with Osferth?" She asked, patting him on the cheek affectionately. He blushed and swatted her hand away, much to the other's amusement.

"I reckon you have quite a few amusin' stories of growin' up with Osferth, eh?" Finan smirked.

"I might….but I don't share secrets for free." She matched his smirk with her own crooked smile.

He slapped his hand on the table. "I'll owe ya a drink! I need to 'ear this."

"No….oh no, no, no." Osferth said but knew it was a lost cause before he even tried to deter them. The rest were already deciding when and where to meet that night. "Lord help me."

"It's not that bad." She teased, bumping his arm with hers. "The worst one is when we went streaking naked through the monastery."

Osferth felt his face heat up like the flames of hell itself as everyone laughed. "It was your idea."

"Yeah, yeah, so you like to remind me." She smiled fondly. "Now, if I don't get back home, my mother is going to think I've run off with some man or I've been kidnapped. Either way, she will raise the fyrd herself to find me. I will see you all tonight."

The others said their goodbyes but before she could step too far away, Osferth gently touched her arm, halting her movement.

"Y/n….I'm….I'm glad our paths have crossed once again."

She pulled him into a tight embrace. "I am too, Osferth. I've missed you." With that, she turned and walked away with her basket still on her hip; but not without glancing over her shoulder at the group before disappearing around some buildings.

Once out of sight, Osferth sighed and turned back to his companions, only to see them all still staring intently in the direction she disappeared.

"No….y/n is off-limits to you fornicators." He stated firmly, well as firmly as he could be.

"She's very pretty…." Uhtred declared, a playful grin on his face.

"Lord, no. All of you, keep your hands off of her."

"Or what?" Finan chuckled, eyes alight with mischief. "You'll fight us, baby monk?"

"I will if I must."

"Alright. Her dignity won't be tarnished." Uhtred lifted his cup in Osferth's direction. "Your reputation might be tonight depending on what stories she shares."

Osferth groaned, sitting back down next to his lord. "I'm going to need a lot of ale."

"That can certainly be arranged!" Finan laughed, jovial once more.

As discussion started back up again, they all missed the silent, longing glance Sihtric snuck one last time in the direction she walked away….

*****

Over the next several weeks Lord Uhtred helped increase the defenses of the town and instructed the guards and fyrd how to better defend against the Danes.

During those weeks, you found yourself frequently spending time with Osferth and his companions. First it started off with meeting them in the evenings for ale, laughter and good company. Within days, it became almost expected for one of them to purposefully seek you out. Most of the time it was Osferth and Sihtric coming to join you in whatever your tasks for the day because they were bored or unwanted in meetings. It was not difficult to tell that although they were certainly welcomed members of Uhtred's group, not everyone else saw them in such a positive light.

So the three of you often passed the hours away together, waiting until evening to rejoin Uhtred and Finan at the alehouse. Their presence became such a regular occurrence that your mother practically adopted them, they even had their assigned seats at your small kitchen table for meals. Somehow, they seamlessly slipped into your daily life in a way that seemed like they were meant to be there this whole time.

Even at the alehouse in the evenings, you usually found yourself nestled between Osferth and Sihtric on the bench. A place you certainly found yourself enjoying more and more….especially next to the Dane.

Over the weeks, there was something growing between you and the Dane. It gradually revealed itself with each passing day, growing like the roots of an oak tree. It was through the borderline flirtatious comments that you teased each other with. It was in the subtle touches that caused butterflies in your stomach to dance, from your fingers barely gracing each other when passing something, to the way you leaned your head on his shoulder when your eyelids threatened to close, to the way your thighs would touch under the table and away from view of the others. It was in the lingering looks when your gazes locked and you swore you never wanted to look away. It was in the consistency of being next to one another whenever you could, either sitting at a table or just walking down the street, almost like your bodies were magnetized to one another's.

Plus the more you talked to Sihtric, the more you desired to know about him. For he was like no other man you had ever met.

Almost a fortnight after you reunited with Osferth, there was one particular evening after staying out far too late with the four men and drinking a bit too much, Sihtric graciously offered to walk you back home. You knew propriety demanded Osferth should be the one to escort you but he was already passed out, head on the table and snores emitting from his mouth. Giggling at your childhood friend, you accepted Sihtric's offer and the two of you easily fell into step.

On the walk you learned more about his past, about going up in Dunholm and his cruel father. You had heard bits and pieces while with Osferth and the others. Maybe it was under the cover of darkness, maybe it was the extra ale flowing through both of your blood, but he confessed secrets to you he had never told another besides his mother. When you reached your home, before he could slip away, you clutched his arm and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. After, you bid him goodnight and slipped inside your humble home.

After that night, he always walked you home, sometimes alone and sometimes one of the others would join. But when it was just you two, when you were alone, you would bid him a goodnight with a kiss on the cheek or he would kiss your hand, locking eyes with you in a way that made a fire stir in your belly and your core clench.

There was definitely something between the two of you, but neither seemed able to verbalize it or take the next step.

*****

"So, what is going on between you and Cedric?"

You turned your head to look at Osferth, who laid on the grass next to you, soaking in the heat of the early afternoon sun. "What?"

"You know….that blacksmith. The one you were talking to the other day."

"Oh." The memory hit you. You had stopped by to drop off your mother's damaged cooking pot for Cedric to attempt in fixing, although you personally thought it was a helpless cause. The dent in it was significant, but he offered to see what he could do. As you dropped it off at his workshop, the two of you began discussing an approaching saint's day and the celebration that would occur with it.

Several minutes later, you heard your name called and looked over to see Osferth and Sihtric walking towards you. You bid Cedric a farewell, promising to stop by the next day to come pick up the pot. After receiving his promise to try his best at fixing it, you headed off towards the stables with your fellow bastards. At the time, you had not thought the encounter significant but with it happening two days ago and Osferth now bringing it up, you wondered how long he had been ruminating on it.

Finally, you simply said, "he's a good man, and has been kind to my mother and I since we arrived here."

"Is he….pursuing you?" Osferth turned his head to scrutinize you, his lips pursed slightly as if concerned about your answer.

You openly laughed at the notion. "No, that's silly. He is just a kind man."

If anything, you had to fend off flirtatious advancements from some of the young men that worked under Cedric. Those same young men quickly learned to keep their eyes on their work and mouths shut. When one openly called out to you, and before you could offer a sharp retort, Cedric threw a hammer at him from across the shop. He bellowed that he did not allow heathens to work for him and if they chose to act godless then they needed to find a new place of work. Their blatant interest diminished after that and Cedric made a point to be the only one that conversed with you if you came to the shop. Although he was easily ten years your senior, you found him a likeable man with a quick wit and sarcastic comments that occasionally left you in stitches.

The idea of him pursuing you was an amusing idea. He was still a bachelor, never having married, claiming that his work and apprentices kept him far too busy for much else.

Your answer appeared to satisfy Osferth. A thoughtful look crossed his face and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but immediately slowly closed it and turned his head back to stare at the blue sky.

A stillness settled after your answer, only interrupted by the frequent bird song and the wind through the tall grass. You closed your eyes, enjoying the sun's warmth and just lying around relaxing on the hill outside of the town, away from the hustle and bustle and chores that demanded your attention.

"He was watching you like a man who wants a woman." Sihtric stated after a couple minutes of peaceful silence.

Startled by his sour tone, you shifted up to look over at the Dane. He sat on the other side of Osferth, one leg propped up and an arm casually slung over it, but his gaze was focused straight ahead, staring off into the distance. Now that you thought about it, over the past two days Sihtric had become more reserved and sullen than you had ever seen. Even his companions commented on it a few times to which he would shrug his shoulders or make an excuse and walk away. You had thought he just missed Coccham, the group having been away for so long, or something happened that made him introspective. It had also not escaped your notice how the prior closeness between you two had halted. Now you wondered if there was something more to his demeanor.

"Well, that is most unfortunate for him since I am not interested in him."

"Does your mother not want you to marry?" Osferth asked, his voice deceptively neutral.

Sighing, you leaned back on your hands. Eventually you knew Osferth would bring up the topic, he was your friend after all and you were certainly of marriageable age. Actually far too old to not be married by some people's standards, but you ignored them. "She does but she has told me that she will not force it upon me. She said I should make my own choice….that if I am able, I should choose love."

You knew your mother offered you that choice in hopes your life would turn out differently than her own.

"But if Cedric is a good, kind man….could you not love him….or someone like him?" Osferth pressed.

"Perhaps. There are plenty of men I have seen who the church would call a 'good' man but are cruel in their own home, and there are many men who are calloused but it's obvious they love their wife and children. My love doesn't discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. I would rather choose a man whom I know loves and cares for me than a man I know is 'good' but carries no love in his heart." You paused, the candid confession rolling off your tongue before you realized it. Sighing, you ran a hand over your hair before quietly saying. "I just….I just want someone that loves me….sinner or saint."

Not a word was spoken as all three contemplated your statement, the silence hanging heavy like a brewing storm. Tilting your face to the sky, unable to meet the gazes of your companions, you chastised yourself for the candor with which you spoke. Osferth had asked a simple question initially and you chose to make it complicated. They did not need to know how you longed for love, how the hope for it in your potential future was what kept you going. It was foolish and you supposed after this, they would only see you as a silly girl with outlandish dreams of a storybook romance.

Finally, Osferth broke the silence. "Well, I shall be praying fervently for this man….hopefully he knows what he is getting into before he marries you."

You laughed, appreciating his lighthearted comment. Reaching a hand out to smack Osferth's arm, you teased. "Keep that up and you won't be invited to my wedding."

"Your mother will let me in."

"Yeah, you're probably right." You glanced over in the direction of the town, regretting that your time away had to end. "I need to head back, those chores won't finish themselves."

The three of you headed back to the town, quiet contemplation cloaking your group. Yet you feared that whatever spark lay between you and the Dane had been extinguished forever by your unexpected honesty. For still he refused to look your way, keeping his gaze focused forward. If your heart fissured within your chest, you swallowed down the pain. It was better for the spark to die out now then burn brightly only to be smothered later.

Or at least that was what you told yourself.

*****

"What you said….about the sinners and the saints…."

You whirled around, heart leaping into your throat with a silent scream on your tongue. In the small herb garden behind your house, you had thought you were alone. After the awkward conversation on the hill earlier that day, you sought solace in your chores. Thankfully Osferth and Sihtric headed back to meet with their companions on their own accord, leaving you to trudge through your muddled thoughts with all the grace of a newborn foal.

Now you found the very person who your thoughts centered on, standing just a few paces from you….and your heart began to race for a very different reason.

When his voice trailed off, those dark eyes that set fire licking through your veins dropped to the ground, you quietly stood up from where you had knelt, wiping the dirt from your hands, although you moved no closer.

"Sihtric?" You tried to prompt him.

"Is it true?" His piercing gaze lifted to meet yours, stealing the very breath from your lungs. "Your love doesn't discriminate?"

"Yes." You breathed out.

He nodded silently before taking a step closer to you. "And what about….what about Danes?"

Your chest pulled tight at his words, yet a coy smile grew on your lips. The flutter in your belly made your gaze drop for a moment as you tried to stifle the excitement making butterflies dance. Although this was no declaration, it was the closest the two of you had talked about what lay between you. Taking a steadying breath, you prayed this moment would not pass by without confessing the truth that you had harbored in your heart for weeks now.

"Not even towards Danes." You shook your head, the smile still on your lips. "And…. There is one I'm becoming quite fond of lately."

"Yeah?" He took two steps closer, somehow moving cautiously but eating the ground with each determined step.

"But….do you think this Dane could be….fond of me?" You softly murmured, feeling as if your heart lay in the palms of your hands for all to see.

That last step separating you two disappeared almost before you finished asking your question. His hands ever so gently reached over to take yours, entwining your fingers together. The two of you stood so close, your chests almost touched with each breath you took. Your breathing seemed to cease under the intensity of his gaze and a shiver raced up your spine. Yet you had no desire to withdraw from him.

"He would be a fool not to." He whispered, the barest hint of a tremble in his voice. "I'd bet you are constantly on this Dane's mind. That he cannot go a day without seeing your face and hearing your laugh. You are the first thought that he wakes to and the reason he falls asleep with a smile. That you have become the north star that it seems the gods have been guiding him towards for his whole life."

As he spoke, everything faded to oblivion around you. The past and future vanished. Dane versus Saxon disappeared. The world narrowed down to this….this moment….this moment that you had dreamt of but never thought would come true.

The two of you continued to stand there, lost in one another's eyes with fingers intertwined. Your heart raced within your chest but a cooling breeze swept away the fears that plagued your mind. For staring at him, you knew he spoke no falsehoods. That he owned your heart just as much as you owned his. That very heart you could feel hammering away in his own chest. His eyes fervently held yours, a silent conversation, a confession, spoken only in looks but you both understood the language. His gaze dipped down to your lips, tracing them before slowly rising once again to your eyes. A curl of pleasure blossomed in your core as you witnessed the fire now in his eyes.

"If this Dane wanted to kiss me…. I wouldn't mind."

A deliciously, sinful smirk teased his mouth. "As my lady commands."

His head tilted, leaning towards yours. Unconsciously your eyelids fluttered closed. Then the briefest of touches made your knees weak and your mouth part open in a sigh. After a moment's hesitation, he continued to shower your jawline with kisses. Needing to touch him, your hands landed on his chest, feeling the tunic that covered his firm chest. Your hands moved upward to grasp the back of his neck, his pulse jumping for a second as your nails scraped his skin. His hands landed on the curve of your waist, bringing you even closer to him, erasing the unwanted space between your bodies.

As his lips began their ascent upward along the otherwise of your jaw, you moved. For the burning sparks in your body screamed if he did not kiss you, you would spontaneously combust. Shifting your face, you stole a kiss on his lips before he could place it on your skin. It was more of a gentle pressing of your mouths, but even then, you heard a sharp inhale from him. Before you could question him, his mouth returned to yours with soft, probing kisses that urged you to respond. Not that you would ever deny him. What started off as a gentle flame quickly became a roaring fire. Breathing became unnecessary, for how could air bring you life when your body craved Sihtric, when your lungs demanded to breathe him in instead. He led you in a drugging kiss that had you melting against him. Your lips drank from one another as if that alone could sustain you forevermore.

"THANK YA, GOD!!"

The passionate kiss abruptly ended as Sihtric and your gazes darted towards the side of your house. Only to be met with the sight of his three companions standing at the entrance in various states of smugness.

"Oh, for the love of Odin…." Sihtric mumbled.

You buried your face in Sihtric's chest, face heated in embarrassment but unable to stop the giggles that poured forth. So caught up in finally confessing your feelings and kissing the man who haunted your dreams, you forgot that anyone could walk by and see you. His arms tightened around you, keeping you within his protective, loving embrace….and you knew there was nowhere else you would rather be.

"Took the two of ya long enough." Finan continued, leaning against the side of your humble home with a shit-eating grin.

"Amen." Osferth had a small, teasing smile on his face. "Thought I would have to lock them in a room together before one of them finally confessed."

Apparently, you and Sihtric were not as subtle as you previously thought. Now it made sense why Osferth was questioning you about Cedric and your thoughts on love and marriage earlier. Your heart flooded with gratitude towards your childhood friend, for without him you doubted neither Sihtric or you would have spoken up. Peering over, you caught Osferth's eye and mouthed a quick 'thank you'. He nodded, a simple joy radiating from his face.

"Lord?" Sihtric called over with a blank expression. "Permission to continue?"

Uhtred chuckled. "I guess you've waited long enough. Go ahead."

Without waiting a moment longer, Sihtric tipped your face back up towards his and claimed your lips once more. You vaguely thought you heard laughter coming from the others but it all blurred away, like a faint sound while underwater. All you could see, all you could feel, all you could hear was Sihtric.

Just how you wanted it.

Suddenly you yanked your head back, your breathing labored and lips swollen. "My mother is helping at a nearby farm today. She won't be back until it's dark."

He hummed against your skin trailing small kisses along your jawline and down your neck as if unable to keep his hands and mouth off you now that the dam had been released.

"I'm not as pure as Osferth thinks me to be."

That statement made his actions stop. Carefully he raised his head to meet your gaze. "After dark?" He confirmed, voice rough in a way that sent a bolt of heat through you.

"Yes, she planned on having supper with them….so my home is currently empty….and I did just clean my blankets the other day…."

He swooped in to give you a feverish, greedy kiss that left no doubt where his mind had gone. When he finally pulled back, you were surprised your legs could still hold you upright. Your whole body felt like puddy in his arms and he had only kissed you, albeit you doubted you would ever forget the way his mouth worshiped yours.

"You are certain? You want this?" He softly asked, staring into your eyes once more. "You want me?"

It was the last question, the vulnerable undertone, the hint of insecurity in it that sealed your decision. Letting your actions be your answer, you grabbed his hand and started pulling him in the direction of the door to your home. It did not take more than a second for him to come beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

With his taste on your lips, the future did not matter right now. It did not matter that he was Dane and you were not. All you knew was Sihtric was neither a saint nor a sinner, but simply a man deserving of love. The river of your love was pointing you directly towards him, and you silently vowed to never let it run dry.

#ems100 #mzwrites #The Last Kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fandom #the last kingdom imagine #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson #Sihtric #sihtric imagine #Uhtred #Uhtred of Bebbanburg #osferth #finan #finan the agile

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bugsy-maria · 3 years

Text

Run away (Philip x Reader) Ch. 8

(Y/N)'s POV

-6-YEARS-LATER-NEW-YEAR-TIME-

1794

I leave my room on the second floor.

I'm wearing a lightweight dress with a shawl. in case you're wondering what happened since the last chapter Philip and I didn't do anything. he fell face-first into the mud. we write to each other since Mr. Jefferson took me back to Virginia. he told me to call him Mr. Jefferson. Sally and he got into an argument about what to do with me. I am now a long term guest that helps out the cleaning or other chores.

Right now its December 30th 1794. the Hamiltons and others are expected to come by for dinner and to start the new year off right. it seems as though Jefferson has a heart.

just kidding! Hamilton is considering resigning and Jefferson wants to help out with that. just imagine... Thomas Jefferson with a soft spot for the Hamiltons. funny. Mr. Jefferson just wants an excuse to screw Hamilton over.

I go to the kitchen where Sally is and help with the dishes before I steal a biscuit and scurry off to my room to wait until Philip gets here. I reread the letter he sent me 5 months ago saying that he is coming over for dinner in December. he told me about his adventures in boarding school and how his father is doing. I always respond the second I'm done reading the ink on his letters.

-TIME-SKIPO-

it's not until dusk that the sound of a horse and buggy on a dirt road catches my attention (Did anyone else know that they are called a coach, am I the only American that refers to them as buggies??? I think so). I swiftly leave my bed to look out the window next to it. I see the buggy come to a stop.

I race out of my room and down the narrow as hell staircase not caring if someone was going up it or not. I get to the entrance where Jefferson is standing there with Burwell Colbert who was walking outside to greet the guests.

"Is it the Hamiltons, sir?" I asked looking at him while my hands fidgeted in the back.

"Yes. when they get here show the children to the empty guest rooms." he didn't look at me only at the door. when it opened again the short man from 6 years ago came in with a woman and 5 children one of which I recognised. I held in my excitement as we have kept our contact secret.

"Hamilton."

"Jeffershit."

"Alexander!" the woman covered the ears of the child on her hip. the other children ooh'd at him as though he was in trouble.

"(Y/N) may you show the kiddos their rooms." Jefferson assigned me while squinting down at hamilton and hamilton giving the death glare up at Jefferson. I mentioned for the children to follow once the woman let the little boy down.

we all made out way up the narrow staircase with me in the front. the first room from the staircase on the left was the first guest room.

"This will be your room, but there are only 4 beds." I opened the door that led into a plain medium-sized room with 4 beds, two on each side with a window and dresser in the middle.

"I call my own room." Philip claimed as he pushed his siblings into the room.

"What? that's no fair." a girl who looked to be around the same age as than me said.

"Yes it is. I'm older therefore I get my own room." Philip stuck his nose up in the air all cocky. the girl huffed before she turned her attention to me.

"I'm angelica by the way." her smile reached her eyes as she bowed. "And this is Alexander." she pats a little boy's head next to her he looked to be 11. he bowed down, took my hand with his and kissed my knuckles. I tensed and laughed awkwardly. when he let go of my hand. "This is James" the little boy hid behind Angelica waved awkwardly. "And this is john." a two-year-old looking boy waked excitedly with a huge smile on his face.

"Well I'm (Y/N)," I gave a small wave, "Its nice to meet you." a small smile played on my lips. I turned my attention to Philip. "now let me show you your room." I spun on my heal and made my way to the end of the hall where his room sits across from mine.

I opened the door and let him in. "My room is right across from you so if you have a question on where something just asks me." he entered his room while I talked.

"I'll be sure to visit your room don't you worry." he turned to me and smiles.

"For a question, I hope."

"We'll see."

"Well no matter what for I'm just glad that I can see you again."

#hamilton #alexander hamilton #hamilton musical #hamiltrash #philip hamilton #philip hamilton x reader #philip x reader #xreader #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #hamilton fanfic #hamilton fanfiction

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mobagehelllocal · 4 years

Text

“the tale as old as time”

The dorm leaders’ reaction to Beauty and the Beast.

-- from @shayclov391

A/N: It was mentioned on this blog a few... weeks ago? How Ai (i, heh geddit) lived under a rock because I haven’t seen Hamilton, Coco and Nightmare Before Christmas. So @shayclov391 (who had originally requested for Hamilton and Coco) asked me for Beauty and the Beast instead. Luckily, I HAVE WATCHED BEAUTY AND THE BEAST! It’s my sister’s favourite Disney Princess movie so... I watched it. A lot.

So how I did this... I sort of picked the parts of the movie where a certain character would react the ‘most’--if that makes sense. So this isn’t arranged how I normally arrange it. ALSO! This interchanges between the animated and live action version. Why? You’ll see!

Please enjoy!

You were lucky that you somehow managed to have your phone from your world with you. You couldn’t communicate with the people from your world, nor did you have your world’s internet connection--but at least you had all the stuff already downloaded on your phone... Including a bunch of movies from your world. After hearing you out, Crowley took you to Idia who managed to transfer most of the data on your phone into a new one made in Twisted Wonderland.

Thanks to that, you often watched and, or rewatched some movies from your home world.

You also decided that watching a couple of movies from your world, with your boy wouldn’t hurt... right?

You had easily convinced Leona to relax with you and watch a movie from your home. He was never the type to say no to lazing around after all--and when you had proposed this for a date, he agreed pretty easily.

You had hooked your phone up to the television in Leona’s bedroom. When you turned around to look at your boyfriend, Leona had pushed all the pillows up against the headboard and leant against it. He blinked slowly at you, and raised his arms. You giggled lightly, before you slipped onto the bed, and rested your head against his chest. He wrapped one arm around your waist as the opening dialogue of the movie began.

You peered up at Leona as the narrator told the story of the selfish prince. He glanced down at you as it talked about how the prince turned into a beast.

“Were you trying to say something by choosing this movie?” he said dryly.

“Actually, no. I just really like this movie. Grew up with it.” you said, chin on his chest.

“Huh.” he rubbed aimless circles on your back with his thumb as his gaze shifted back to the screen. You pressed your cheek against his chest, and turned your gaze to the movie too.

As the opening transitioned to the song ‘Belle,’ you felt Leona’s tail twitch around your hips.

“Bonjour~”

“This is... the language that Hunt uses.” You could feel Leona growl, and you--amused--moved your hand to pat his toned stomach (you mentally cursed him too--I mean, how could he have such a nice body, but laze around most of the time?).

“There, there.” you soothed, amused. Leona grunted in response.

“So they think she’s weird because she reads?” He asked, and you nodded your head. “Well that’s stupid.” he grumbled under his breath and you giggled lightly.

However, when a certain hunter was introduced, you quickly turned your head to gauge Leona’s expression.

“She’s the one! The lucky girl I’m going to marry.”

His expression turned from curious to serious. His brows furrowed slightly as he seemed to give a little more attention to the movie.

“She’s the most beautiful girl in town. That makes her the best--and don’t I deserve the best?”

Leona scowled.

“I don’t like him.”

“Uhuh.” you said, your lips quirked up in an amused smile. Leona’s ears twitched backwards, and his tail was thumping in the way it normally did when he was irritated.

When Belle made a disgusted expression at Gaston appearing at her door, Leona looked pleased--you could tell by the way his brows smoothened--and his ears perked up. His eyes narrowed again however--with the way Gaston kept moving to cage Belle.

“I’m very sorry Gaston... but... but... I just don’t deserve you.”

“She’s smart.” Leona smirked as Gaston was thrown out of the house and into mud.

“That’s why she’s my favourite.” you mumbled.

“Me, the wife of that boorish, brainless...

Madame Gaston, can't you just see it?

Madame Gaston, his little wife, ugh!”

Leona snickered at the song, and you laughed too. You always enjoyed ‘Belle Reprise’--especially with the way Belle exaggerated her eye roll and sarcasm.

You turned back to Leona.

“How is it so far?”

“I like Belle.” Leona nodded, “she’s not the same type of strong that Afterglow Savanna has--but her wit is one type of strength.” but then he added--

“Gaston... I’ll kill if he isn’t dead by the end of the movie.”

“Leona!” you laughed.

You and Azul decided to snuggle up and watch a movie. Azul offered to put on one of the movies from Twisted Wonderland, but you told him Idia finally finished with your phone.

“We could watch something from my world.” There was a spark of interest on Azul’s expression, and he easily agreed.

Azul had seemed to be enjoying the movie so far. Originally, he was interested because it was a movie from your world--however he began to enjoy it in gusto when the musical number at the beginning happened.

“Are there more songs?” He asked you, his tone eager.

“Yup.”

Azul looked back at the screen, with a glitter of fascination in his eyes. He expressed a little of his disgust at Gaston’s actions, but went silent again as the movie went on.

“Gosh it disturbs me to see you Gaston...

looking so down in the dumps!”

You turned to look at Azul, who had a difficult expression on his face as Le Fou started to sing. He whipped his head to look at you.

“That irritating human... has a song about him?”

“That’s not the worse part.”

“Holy carp is he going to sing?”

“As a specimen, yes I’m intimidating!~”

Azul immediately recoiled into the couch as Gaston began to start singing.

“He’s singing.” Azul exhaled, and looked at you with the cutest confused expression--ever. “Why am I watching this abomination, sing?”

“Well... his vocals are pretty good...” You said, with an amused smile.

“No way. His voice isn’t that good. It’s disgusting.” Azul looked insulted, “I can’t believe I think there’s someone whose singing is more irritating than Rielle’s.”

“Who?” you asked, amused. The name seemed familiar but you couldn’t put a finger to it. Azul waved his hands dismissively as he focused on the film again.

“I’m exceptionally good at expectorating!~”

“He is sickening.” Azul had a disgusted look on his face. “No wonder the girl refuses to marry him.”

When the song finally finished, Azul paused the movie, and you looked at him with an arched bow.

“Tell me he dies. Please.”

“... I refuse to say anything.” you snorted into your palm--way more amused. It was absolutely refreshing to see someone’s first time watching Beauty and the Beast. Who would’ve thought you’d experience it?

“He’s a bully.” Azul’s lips curled downward. “I also feel pretty bad for Le Fou.”

“You do? You like him?”

“Well, not really. But I also don’t hate him. I think he should meet better people.” Azul sniffed haughtily, and you giggled. You figured Azul might actually enjoy the live action because it tried to give depth to Le Fou. (Tried being the keyword. Whether or not it was successful, normally depended on the person watching it.)

“Tell me at least if he’s going to sing again.”

“He won’t. I think the next song is actually pretty fun.”

“Oh thank the Sea Witch.” Azul exhaled, as he slumped back to your side, before he suddenly had a thoughtful expression and turned to you.

“Is it just me, or does Professor Vargas resemble him?”

You immediately choked on your spit and starting coughing. You could your eyes well up as you begin to laugh.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Azul yelped.

‘Don’t... tell him... I shouldn’t... say anything.’ you squealed to yourself as you hunched over.

It had been pretty easy to ask Kalim to spend the evening just watching a movie from your world.

And as expected of Kalim, he quickly got super invested in the story of Belle. He would frown when Gaston would appear on screen, but he especially seemed to enjoy Maurice’s personality. He looked uneasy at the sight of the Beast but other than that... He would happily dance in his seat during the musical numbers--he was so precious when he did that, that you found yourself watching him instead of the movie.

In fairness, it was very fun to watch the first time reaction of someone who hadn’t seem Beauty and the Beast.

"The Dining Room proudly presents... your dinner!”

You remembered how amazing it was to see ‘Be Our Guest’ when you were a little kid. The concept of moving dining ware had been so fascinating and hilarious at the same time, that you were slack jawed for most of it--and laughing the other half.

When you tuned to look at Kalim, you can’t help but remember the first time you watched Beauty and the Beast too.

Kalim was slack jawed, his eyes were wide and sparkling happily as watched the animated dining ware began to dance around.

“Try the gray stuff it’s delicious~

Don’t believe me? Ask the dishes!”

Kalim laughed boisterously at that.

“The dinner here is never second best!”

“Since Jamil isn’t here, I have to defend his honor. I’m pretty sure Jamil cooks better!” Kalim told you, with a wide grin. You laughed at that, you’re sure Jamil would definitely love hearing that.

When Lumiere would begin messing around with Cogsworth, Kalim turned to you with a shine in his eyes.

“I think Lumiere is my favourite character.”

“I can see why.” you said, with a grin, as your boyfriend turned back to the television and kept watching the musical.

“If you’re stressed,

it’s fine dining we suggest!”

“Lumiere is definitely right! A sure way to cheer up someone is to have a banquet!” Kalim cheered, his smile wide. As he turned back to the television, he began a running commentary on what he thought--about each of the named dining ware.

“Wait... they used salt for snow? Hahah! That’s so unique!”

“You know... Cogsworth is actually pretty funny!”

“Mrs. Potts is cute! You look gorgeous Mrs. Potts!”

“So is Chip! I would be friends with Chip. I would protect Chip with my life.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread on your face as you see the way that Kalim was just enjoying himself.

You were glad you suggested this movie first.

“I wonder if Jamil could get dishes to move around like that during the next banquet.” Kalim wondered out loud with glowing eyes.

You immediately winced, and apologized mentally to the Vice Dorm Leader.

You had told him to take a break, and that he could leave Kalim to you... but you could just imagine Jamil’s reaction when Kalim would ask him to make the dining ware dance around with him.

‘Okay... so maybe I shouldn’t have done Beauty and the Beast?’ you thought.

‘Whoops...?’

"So this movie has two versions. One is animated, and the other is live action. Since you wanted a film with some fashion--I thought looking at the live action one would be better.” You explained when you had plugged your phone into the television in Vil’s room. “It’s a fantasy story, so the clothes reflect some historical fashion--but they’re not exactly accurate.”

“Naturally.” Vil nodded, his legs crossed, and a glass of freshly squeezed juice in hand. “Let’s see it.”

Majority of the film was Vil just watching, and criticizing some of the fashion choices used.

“The Prince is hideous. Why is he wearing that type of make up?”

“Is that painting how he normally looks? He actually looks fine. He ruined it with the use of make up.”

“Oh, the girl is quite pretty. Is this the same actress from the other movie we watched together?”

“So they made her be the only one dressed in that shade of blue? That’s nice little attention to detail.”

“Red is such a basic color for the bad guy but... go off I guess.”

“Gaston is hideous.”

“Those three girls are hideous too. Why are they dressed like that--nothing is flattered properly.”

“Oh those roses are beautiful. I’ll give them that.”

“The Beast is hideous.”

“Gaston is hideous.”

You sweat dropped as Vil kept making these type of side comments about the film, while gently swirling his cup of juice like it was a glass of wine.

As the plot thickened, Vil did get slowly caught up in the story.

“You’re making everything look so beautiful, we should have a dance tonight.”

You could see the interest in Vil’s eyes grow as the plot moves into one of your favourite scenes--the dance. When the animated objects began to put make up on him, Vil’s eyes twitched.

“Why are they doing that? He clearly has fur? Make up won’t help him.”

“Oh my god, Vil.”

“I’m only telling the truth.” Vil huffed, before he concentrated again.

When the gold floated from the ceiling, and moved to decorate Belle’s dress, Vil made an appreciative noise.

“The detailing is quite nice.... the tiers of the skirt are very pretty too.”

“I think I saw an interview, and they talked about how they wanted the dress to dance beautifully.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that.” Vil’s lips curled up.

When the ballroom comes into view, Vil hummed.

“Now that is a ballroom.” He looked at you thoughtfully. “Do you have balls back at home?”

“Nope. I’d love to go to one though.” Vil tilted his head, eyeing you up and down. “I think I can bring you to one.”

“Really?” the excitement on your face made your lover laugh.

“Of course sweet potato. Everyone should experience a grand ball once.”

“Tale as old as time...

true as it can be...”

Once Belle was twisted--her skirt flowed, turned, and seemed to bloom again around her with every single step. Vil’s breath hitched, and you turned to him--to see his eyes were wide.

“Now that is beautiful.” he exhaled. “the way the skirt moves around her... Alright I want one.” You giggled in surprise and he looked at you seriously.

“Sweet potato, I’m going to make you a dress that will beat anything you dreamed off.” you blushed furiously in response.

“I’ll... look forward to it.”

"Let’s watch this movie together!” you had told him with a bright smile.

Never able to resist you, Malleus immediately agreed.

“I thought this was one of your favourite movies?” Malleus chuckled as you softly snored away on his shoulder.

“Mal... I love this movie...” you slurred out in your sleep, and he smiled softly.

“I’m sure you do.” he told your adorable sleeping face. Carefully, he moved your head to a pillow on the bed, and he stood to turn the television off.

“It was an interesting film.” Malleus mused, but just as he reached forward to unplug your phone--

“I let her go.”

His head snapped up and he saw that the Beast had decided to let Belle go back home to her father.

As Belle got on a horse to rush back to the village the Beast began to sing as he gazed at the cursed rose.

“I was the one who had it all...

I was the master of my fate...

I never needed anybody in my life...”

Malleus tilted his head, to him these lyrics...

He could understand the Beast very well.

“I close my eyes but she's still there...

I let her steal into my melancholy heart...”

His eyes flickered briefly to your sleeping form.

‘Another thing we share.’ Malleus acknowledged, ‘We both have someone who stole our hearts out of nowhere...’

“Now I know she'll never leave me...

Even as she runs away...

She will still torment me...

Calm me, hurt me...

Move me, come what may...”

He righted himself and moved to your side. He tucked your hair behind your ear--and you nuzzled unconsciously into Malleus’s familiar touch. His smile grew melancholic in response to that.

“Now I know she'll never leave me...

Even as she fades from view...

She will still inspire me...

Be a part of everything I do...”

“One day... you will leave me.” Malleus murmured softly. “As all mortals do...”

“In the first place... I should’ve steeled my heart against you... but I am powerless to your light...”

“Wasting in my lonely tower...

Waiting by an open door...

I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in...”

"Yet... when you leave me... I’ll spend the rest of eternity waiting for you again.”

“And as the long, long nights begin...

I'll think of all that might have been...”

‘Mortal... so painfully mortal.’

he mused.

‘Do you know what you dangle in front of me? The true impossibility of what we share together...’

“Waiting here for evermore...”

He doesn’t move for a long time, as he quietly watched you sleep, peaceful--unknowing of Malleus’s conflicting thoughts.

Idia originally hadn’t been very interested in the film you were trying to show him. He kept getting distracted in the beginning, before he got hooked because the castle looked pretty cool to him.

By the time Belle had gone back to the village to save her father, Idia had clutched a pillow tight to his chest as he watched in anticipation--about what was going to happen next.

“Show them the mirror! The mirror!”

“Show me the Beast!”

“Yes!” Idia fist pumped into the air, “she’s giving them proof--”

“The Beast has her under a spell!”

“Wait, no!” Idia gasped, his hold on his pillow tightened. “Noooo! Lord damn it! Gaston shut up!”

On your end you clutched a pillow to hide the lower half of your face--because you were desperately trying not to laugh. At some point you had straight up stopped watching the movie--and instead decided to watch Idia’s reactions instead.

You never thought you’d meet anyone who had never watched Beauty and the Beast, and now you were seeing Idia’s very honest reactions to it.

You almost want to make him watch the original Star Wars trilogy too...

“He’s not a monster Gaston! You are!”

“Yes! Tell him! TELL HIM!”

You inhaled sharply as you tried not to laugh. Idia was really into this. He leant forward as the ‘Mob Song’ started.

“Kill the Beast!

Kill the Beast!”

“Oh my Lord, yes!” Idia exhaled in relief as he saw the castle occupants push to keep the castle doors closed.

“I know what to do.”

“OML... What is Lumiere gonna do...” Idia chattered to himself. When he saw that they had decided to pretend to be inanimate Idia cheered.

“[Name]! This is so cool! They’re so cool! That’s so amazing--!” when Idia whirled to you, he paused because you had clutched your pillow to hide half of your face.

“Why... what are you doing?”

“I am definitely engrossed in the film.” you lie through your teeth, as you struggled to hold back a laugh. Idia eyed you suspiciously, until his attention was caught by Mrs. Potts shouting.

“Grandmother? Attack!”

“You get them Mrs. Potts!”

When Madame Garderobe proceeded to attack that one villager.

“Oh hell yes! Gg! You dead!” Idia cheered happily.

Without Idia knowing, you were just... smiling while staring at how enthusiastic he was being while watching the movie. You began to think of other movies that you think Idia would enjoy.

‘Note to self, see if I can get Idia to watch some more of the movies from back at home... maybe he’ll like Wreck it Ralph? Big Hero 6?’

‘Either way...’ your eyes flickered to your boyfriend as he gave the appropriate reactions at the right time for Beauty and the Beast. ‘I like seeing him relaxed enough to be emotive around me~’

“Fight back.” Riddle clenched his teeth and his hands as he stared at the depressed Beast. “You have to fight back.”

‘He’s surprisingly into this.’ you mused.

“Did you honestly think she’d want someone like you, when she had someone like me?”

“Die Gaston.” Riddle hissed underneath his breath.

“It’s over Beast! Belle is mine!”

“No she isn’t!” Riddle gritted his teeth, his knuckles white. When he sees that Beast finally fought back, and was winning--his shoulders slackened briefly. “No... don’t turn back on the enemy... Please...”

“Belle... you came back.”

“Is it over? Is it really over...?” Riddle frantically muttered underneath his breath, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread on your face at how adorable he was.

That is until Gaston stabbed Beast in the back. Riddle’s face turned crimson in an instant.

“Coward!” he yelled at the television screen. When Gaston fell backwards to his death, Riddle angrily muttered underneath his breath how his death was too nice.

As the scene focused on the injured Beast however, Riddle’s mutter fell away as he concentrated on the scene.

“Of course I came back... I couldn’t let them... Oh... this is all my fault... if only I’d gotten here sooner.”

You peered at Riddle as he stared, concentrated on the film, his eyes wide--wet and you were sure he was ready to start crying.

“Maybe... Maybe it’s better... it’s better this way...”

“Don’t talk like that. You’ll be alright. Everything’s going to be alright... You’ll see.”

“At least... I got to see you one last time.”

Beast let out one last breathe--

Riddle started to sniffle.

“I’m not crying.” he choked out. “I’m not crying.”

“You’re not crying.” you pretended to agree, but your lover was shaking as he saw the last petal of the rose fall to the table.

“Please don’t leave me...”

“I love you.” Belle whispered, softly, sadly--

Riddle was for sure crying now.

To think he had originally scoffed, and said he wasn’t interested in a children’s movie...

You had convinced him after telling him how it was considered a classic and was your favourite film--regardless of age.

When lights started shooting from the sky and surrounding Beast, Riddle looked up in awe with red eyes.

“Wait, did she make it? Did they make it?” he croaked out, he looked at you--and you gestured for him to watch.

The Beast--Prince Adam--now transformed back, turned around to show his human face.

“Belle, it’s me.”

Riddle watched with a bated breath as Belle drew closer and looked the man in his eyes. When a glitter of recognition passes through Belle’s eyes, Riddle exhaled in relief.

“It is you!”

“Ah, they did it.” Riddle smiled, relieved as the the other characters changed back into humans and the castle returned to its former glory. When he turned his head towards you, you shot him a grin.

“...”

“Okay... it’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” you teased lightly, and his cheeks flushed red again--except this time with embarrassment.

“Okay fine--it was really good.”

“Yay!” you hopped up onto your feet and shot him a grin. “I have a bunch more, wanna watch?”

“...Sure.” Riddle said grudgingly, but when you beamed up at him--what he originally thought was a childish waste of time...

became a precious moment you could share together.

#aiwrites #aiscenarios #twisted wonderland #twst #twst scenarios #twst riddle #twst leona #twst azul #twst kalim #twst vil #twst idia #twst malleus

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drivingsideways · 3 years

Note

for the ship headcanons - flint and madi?

Hi anon! Since you didn't give me a specific word for this ask, I'm just going to unleash a bit of an AU I've had in my head for a while, but never got around to making a proper fic out of. This is still not a proper fic- but forgive me my self indulgence here!

This is an AU where Thomas isn't sent to Bedlam; instead James is dismissed from the Navy and Alfred Hamilton+ Hennessey sort of hold James' life as collateral in exchange for Thomas giving up his plans. James wants the three of them to leave England and go away together, but Thomas refuses (for Reasons aka as Miranda says, you’re such a fool). This is crushing for James, who then boards the next ship to Nassau to get away from the heartbreak, but ends up shipwrecked--

So begins our tale:

He’d always known the sea would take him, one day. That was the way of it, for men like him, born on its shores, raised to its rhythms. There wasn’t a memory of his that wasn’t associated with the sea- except those brief, shining days with Thomas and Miranda; when the ground beneath his feet had felt solid, stable. When the sea and its salt smell, its swell and song, had felt distant.

But the sea doesn't take him.

He wakes up, coughing salt and squints into a dark face, painted with marks. In the bright light, something glints- the end of a musket.

He’s taken to a camp full of runaway slaves. He’s put in a cage. On the second day, a woman comes to him- she bears food and some water. He’s ravenous and eats it all, gulps down the water. Three minutes later, he’s throwing it all up onto the mud. She leaves, comes back with more water. But this time, she holds the mug, makes sure he sips from it. When it is done, she says, I will bring you some food now. When she comes back, there’s a young girl with her, perhaps around ten years of age, bright eyed, hair in tight braids. She looks at him suspiciously. He can’t help but smile. What’s your name, he asks- his voice cracked-but she hides her face in her mother’s skirt. The woman breaks the half loaf of bread she’s brought into small pieces. Eat slowly, she commands, and then leaves.

A day passes, and a night. Nobody comes for him. Through the bars of the wooden cage he can see figures moving. He can hear voices calling to each other: men, women, children. Sometimes, the language they speak is not English. Sometimes it is. He sleeps.

The next day the woman comes again, and the child. I am Nayomi, she says. What is your name? James, he replies, and then, not quite knowing that was going to say it- Flint. James Flint. This is Madi, she says, indicating the child. She is my daughter. He smiles at her again- he cannot help it-but she looks away.

You understand, says Nayomi, you cannot leave here. We cannot let you leave. In the usual manner of things here, you would already be dead. But I am not of a mind that enjoys killing. There is too much of it in the world these days. That’s when he notices the healing wound across her hand. She sees him looking at it but offers no explanation. I am new here, she says, but I have been- given some power. And I do not wish to alienate those here who have built their life from nothing, from the ruins that white men-like you- have made of their lives. But neither am I willing to take a life without reason. If you wish to live, you will do every task that is set for you. If you attempt to escape, you will be killed. Is that acceptable to you?

He looks at her in surprise: it did not seem like there was an actual choice before him.

But then she adds, in that same quiet voice- Slavery is not an easy burden, not for one who has always been free.

He cannot pretend to understand the workings of a fate that threw him up on this particular shore, delivering him from one kind of slavery to another. And yet.

The sea has spared him, and perhaps there is a reason for it. What it is, beyond a capricious working of forces he has no control over, he cannot tell.

Suddenly, as though he were beside him again, he can hear Thomas’ voice, reading; can, if he closes his eyes now, picture the way the dawn had laid its fingers in his golden hair- “I hear you say – `How unlucky that this should happen to me'. But not at all. Perhaps say instead how lucky I am that I am not broken by what has happened, and I am not afraid of what is about to happen.”

When he opens his eyes again, Nayomi is looking at him with a curious expression.

“I will work” he says, “I promise not to try and leave this place.”

She looks at him a moment longer, and then nods, a sharp tilt of her chin.

And so, it begins: a life anew. The work is hard; there is no fixed job he is assigned to- everywhere there are things to be done. There are houses to be made, roofs to be patched, wells to be dug, fields to be furrowed. He is beaten- the sharp sting of a lash- once, twice. The second time, it is done in front of Madi, Nayomi’s daughter. He sees her flinch, but she does not speak to him.

After that, he is not lashed. He is left to himself- removed from the cage, allowed to sleep in a bare hut that has nothing but the thatched walls around it, and a threadbare mattress. They all eat together. He is not starved, but neither does anybody ever offer him an extra helping. If he is ever spoken to, it is only instructions. If he ever speaks, it is to signify assent or to indicate the completion of a task.

It’s almost a month- by his best estimates- since he arrived when a boat arrives. A man dressed in a white shirt, dark breeches, brown waistcoat, hair tied in a simple ribbon brings supplies with him. Things that they cannot grow here or find a substitute for. Oil. Medicine. Guns. He stares at James, and then disappears into the Nayomi Scott’s residence.

He is curious enough to attempt conversation. He asks the man who has been toiling with him for the last three days to build a shelter for the goats. “Who is he?” The man stares at him, and for a moment James thinks he will not get a reply, but then the man says, grudgingly, almost: Mr.Scott. “And where does he come from?” But the man only says, “Mind your own work”.

He does.

The work leaves him exhausted to the bone, falling into deep, dreamless sleep each night. What a fool he had been: a lifetime’s lessons undone so quickly, because a man had looked into his eyes and treated him as an equal. Not any man, of course—Thomas. Thomas with his razor mind and generous heart; with his eloquence and passion, everything about him bright and golden- his hungry heart had made Thomas a king, he thinks, a saint- only to find that saints didn’t dwell on this plane, after all. So, no, he doesn’t mind the work that empties his mind, because if it didn’t, if he had time to think about it, to measure the depths of his loss, he might walk into the sea again and demand that she take him.

It may be around three months after that- he cannot be sure of the seasons here- there seems to be only two temperatures- warm and hot - that he finds Madi underneath the boughs of a tree. She appears to be reading aloud from a thick brown book held in her lap- but she’s having trouble with some of the words. She doesn’t seem to mind that he’s chopping firewood a few feet away, as she tries to work her way through the sentences. He isn’t sure how much she understands of what she is reading. When he walks over to her, she looks up, startled. What are you reading, he asks. Turns out, it is a translation of Don Quixote.

"May I listen?

She looks at him a little perplexed, but nods. It’s not a good translation, he thinks, a sharp pain in his chest, Miranda’s voice echoing in his mind. He corrects Madi, when she stumbles over a word, explains another-a part of him doing this automatically, while another is in a candle lit room in London, watching Miranda’s lips and trying to concentrate on the words, rather than the shape of her mouth around them. It’s a shock when he hears a voice ask sharply, "What are you doing?"

It is Timothy, one of the overseers. His face is a thundercloud. But it is Madi who answers, quickly, “Mr.Flint is helping me read”. It’s almost a shock to hear the name. Nobody here addresses him by it, and certainly not with a “mister” ahead of it. He swallows down the sudden warmth that seems to be rising in his throat, lest it find expression in words that might get him killed. He’s probably in for a beating, at the least.

There is no beating.

Instead, Nayomi calls him into her house. The first thing he notices are the stacks of books along one wall. She nods towards them and says, "My husband believes they are essential for Madi. These are books of your world, yes? You know them."

"Some", he replies. "I never had a formal education."

"You speak like a lord."

He meets her eyes.

"I had to learn it."

She nods slowly, as though she’s come to a decision.

"Will you teach her then?"

"I may not be the best", he replies.

"You are what I have", she says, "and that must be enough for now. Madi needs an education, not just what I can teach her, here on this island, but the world out there that she needs to understand. A world of ideas, the world of- men like you."

He wants to protest- that is not my world- but there is also the truth of it. It had been his world, to some degree. Certainly, more his world, than the world of a daughter of slaves.

"I will try my best", he says, and he means it. He knows what it is like to have a world opened to you through letters on a page, and he wants it for that bright-eyed child.

"This does not mean you are exempt from your other tasks", she says, sharply.

He nods; he understands.

And so Madi and he embark on a haphazard journey- the books themselves are varied, not suited for someone as young as her. But Madi absorbs it all like a sponge and asks for more. There’s fiction, and philosophy; a Bible- he wishes he could keep her away from that one, but she enjoys the stories. Since he has other tasks as well, their reading is mostly done while he works on whatever task is set for him that day. She reads to him and ask questions, which he attempts to answer. The men and women toiling with him, they don’t comment on it; he’s not sure what they think about their Queen’s decision. If he had to hazard a guess, he thinks they aren’t approving. But there are children- and some of those are drawn to these “lessons”, such as they are. Most don’t have the patience for it; they’ll stay for ten minutes or half hour and then decide that they have better things to occupy their time with. There’s only one other child who seems to share Madi’s keen interest, a boy named Kofi. Though James cannot decide whether the attraction is the books themselves or Madi- Kofi has attached himself to her like a limpet; they do everything together, it seems. Kofi has scars on his back, old ones, deep welts that go from shoulder to hip, criss crossing them. He cannot be more than ten years old, James thinks, and feels his gut tighten with rage. And so he attempts to draw Kofi in, asking him questions about the book they are reading, but Kofi’s replies to him are- indifferent, at the least. James understands that in Kofi’s eyes, he might never be more than a white man; a creature to be kept at a distance; he is only tolerated because Madi – likes him.

Mr. Scott usually comes by at least once in two months. James has not yet spoken with him- or rather, Mr.Scott hasn’t spoken with James. But then, he doesn’t arrive one month, as expected. Each day the scouts at the beach return and shake their head silently. James watches as the Nayomi’s shoulders tighten. She works so hard, he thinks, to make something of this place. To turn a rough terrain into something fruitful, a home for her people. From a distance, he has watched as she gains their confidence, as her quiet firmness gains their respect. He has watched as it has slowly, slowly, grown into something else: allegiance to a Queen. And it is all so fragile, he understands, and she must be terrified. But she does not show it, cannot show it.

She waits.

Mr.Scott arrives. Madi runs to him, clutches him fiercely. James watches as he lifts her in his arms and holds her close.

He is surprised when he is summoned the next morning to the Queen’s residence. Mr.Scott is there as well, Madi sitting on his lap, with a book clutched to her chest. She’s been reading to him, perhaps.

"My wife tells me you’ve been teaching Madi."

He nods.

"Thank you", says Mr.Scott, and that is- unexpected, and he’s unsure of what the response should be.

"I could not have a brighter pupil", he says, "Sometimes, I think she is the one teaching me."

It’s the truth.

"Is there something you need, some material, particular books?"

"There’s very little mathematics, or any of the sciences. I would wish for her to be able to grasp those topics as well."

Mr.Scott sighs.

" It is difficult, he says, most of what I procure is dependent on the- merchants- whom I deal with. And they do not often care to haul books, or paper."

Something about the way he says “merchants”-

“Pirates”, James says, surprise startling him into ill-considered speech- “You’re dealing with pirates, which means- Nassau?”

A look between husband and wife, a tilt of her head.

And that’s how he learns about Richard Guthrie and the enterprise he’s started on New Providence Island.

They get raggedy bands of runaway slaves from all over the West Indies- 2 or 3 who survive from a group that may have had ten at the start. Sometimes, a lone straggler. Every new arrival is a fresh tale of horrors, a witness to civilization’s underbelly- starved and beaten and raped- every time one such lands at their shores, the camp goes quiet. The people speak in hushed tones. But he can feel the anger, simmering. He can feel the looks he gets. Those who have begun- in their own way to accept him into their fold- a mug of wine passed, the pressing of a ripe mango into his hand- even they avoid his eyes.

He cannot blame them for it. England had shown herself to him, broken and gnarled and grey- and yet she survived, thrived- held men like Thomas in her thrall, showing them only those visions that were gilded in light, progress, while men like him, men and women like these maroons, were cast into the dark as fuel for that light. And for these people, staggering and washed up onto the shore of an island, condemned to live a life of secrecy and fear, in exchange for security and warmth- who could he be but an interloper? It was true that Nayomi had, for some reason, reposed trust in him- for what was it but trust, that she let her daughter be guided by a man whose face must daily remind her of her oppressors- but it did not follow that her people need do the same. They respected her wishes, and so visited no violence on him, but anything more was something he had not yet earned.

It's almost a year later when another shipwreck washes men ashore. This time, a pirate crew. And some slaves they were transporting. James watches as the crew are put into the same cage as he was. Sees their rage, smells their terror. Some of them are young, too young. Timothy watches him watching them, as do Madi and Nayomi. He says nothing.

They are put to work. They try to escape and are gunned down, caught in the pits that have been dug- that he has helped dig. Eventually only one is left: a blue-eyed boy, too soft faced to have been in this business for too long. The pirates, when they saw another man- another white man, had tried to approach him. And when he turned them away, thrown him looks of baffled contempt.

"What is your name?" he asks the boy in the cage. “Ben Gunn”, comes the reply, his voice hardly broken into manhood, full of fear. Christ.

“If you try to escape, you’ll die” he warns.

“They’ll kill me anyway.”

"No, they won’t", he replies, and he doesn’t mean it to come out sounding like a promise, but it does.

He requests an audience with the Queen.

"I’ll guarantee that he will not try to escape, he says, but spare his life, like you did mine."

"You cannot guarantee it", she says.

"I do", he replies," I do."

"And if he does?"

He straightens his spine, “You have the right to do with me as you please.”

"James Flint", she says, and it’s a surprise, the way she addresses him. " I did not take you for such a fool."

But she lets Ben out of the cage.

Ben takes some wrangling, but fear and exhaustion have bent the minds of men far stronger than he, and Ben is only a boy. Ben ran away from an orphanage at twelve, from the cruelties of those the world called kind, called saviors, and eventually found himself on a boat. He tells James all of it. He keeps so close to James, those first days, that Madi asks him, eyes glinting, “Do you think I could get a pet too?” She subsides when he glares at her- but he can see the smile she’s hiding behind her hand in the dimple that appears on her cheek. But Ben’s smiles- when he is able to smile- thaws those around him faster than James would have expected. It feels like it was just yesterday when he was a cowering wretch in a cave, thinks James, when he spies Kofi and Ben fooling around in the stream that they were supposed to fetch water from- two hours ago- but it’s been months.

Time passes, and James finds that minutes now shape themselves into hours, and then days, and then weeks and months and years.

Madi hits a growth spurt and a turbulent adolescence at the same time—her eyes become less bright, and her words sharper, and she takes to disappearing for hours. She fights with her mother, with James, with anyone who would seek to give her advice.

He can understand it—of course, he can—but there are limits to his understanding, he realizes, the day she comes back with her ribs bruised so bad, she can barely walk, leaning into Kofi, who's looking terrified. The story of her absences comes out, a group of the younger ones have been learning to fight—mostly bare fisted, but they've now managed to fashion themselves sticks and spears. Without supervision or proper training, this kind of injury was inevitable, surprising only in that it had happened several months in.

"Why?" Nayomi snaps, as they stand before her, heads bent.

All except Madi, who meets her gaze directly, defiantly.

"Because we will defend our home", she says, "When the time comes."

"Will you?" Nayomi asks, coldly, "You think you can win a war you've never fought?"

Madi flushes.

"You can’t treat us like children! We have a right to—"

"Understand your place," says Nayomi, her voice rapier-sharp, "If you wish to be treated as an adult, act like one."

"But—"

Nayomi's eyes flash.

"A week in solitary confinement for each of you to reflect on your actions," she says, still cool. "And two for you, my daughter."

Madi gasps.

"A leader takes responsibility for her actions and her people," Nayomi says, "Madi Scott."

When Madi says nothing, she raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, my queen", her daughter replies, and bends her head, as her mother brushes past her.

James waits two days to approach Nayomi, after he's reasonably sure that the white heat of her anger (and terror) have passed.

"There's no harm in it if they have someone to train them", he tells her. "Young blood runs hot, you know this."

Nayomi snorts, an inelegant sound, but she's frowning in the way he knows means she will give his proposal some consideration.

"I'll think about it," she says, and he leaves it at that.

It's ten days into Madi's punishment (which he's attempted to make more bearable by sneaking her books via Ben, who's been assigned the task of delivering food) when Nayomi calls him into the hut.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to do here?" she asks, "What my husband and I have given our lives to?"

"Yes", he says, softly.

"I don't think you do," she says, equally softly. " Or you would not have come to me as easily as you did, spoken so easily of putting weapons in the hands of our children."

"If we don't, they'll take it up anyway", he says. "Isn't it better to prepare them for—"

"That's not the kind of preparation my daughter or the other young people need", Nayomi says, with finality. "Do not bring this up to me again."

"You don't know your daughter—"

He stops, aware, instantly, of having overstepped.

"Forgive me", he says.

She turns away.

"If I see a weapon in my daughter's hand", she says, "Let it be a book, Mr.Flint."

Mr. Scott seeks him out often, on his trips to the island. Even if just to exchange a few words about the state of business in Nassau. A name begins to crop up, more frequently- Eleanor Guthrie. James notices that it makes Madi turn away. On one trip, as Madi and he unpack the latest set of books- Madi exclaiming and grabbing- when Mr.Scott says, “Mr.Flint, I have something for you. I’m sorry it’s not in very good shape, but I thought you might like it.”

It’s a copy of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. James isn’t sure what his face shows at the moment, but whatever it is, it makes Madi reach for his arm. He can feel the warmth of her palm on his wrist. It helps. “I- thank you-“ he says. “It’s- it’s a favourite. Thank you.” Mr. Scott smiles at him, and then looks toward Nayomi. James pretends he is interested in whatever next thing Madi has discovered, so that he won’t have to keep looking at them. Later that night, in his hut- which he now shares with Ben- two mattresses, a small shelf for clothes- he lies in bed with the book laid across his chest. Rubs his hands over the worn cover. He hasn’t opened it yet. He’d left the one Thomas had given him- my truest love-only that had been a lie, hadn’t it? For the first time since that dark night when he had sobbed in his room, his world in tatters, his heart shattered, he lets himself cry, hand over mouth, to keep it quiet, though Ben would probably sleep through an earthquake.

In the morning, Madi is unusually quiet, only answering questions he asks of her, not venturing her own observations first. He waits. Finally, it comes.

“Did you have a family?” she asks, “In England?”.

He releases his breath. It’s not so difficult after all.

“My father died when I was twelve,” he says, “my mother a year later. I had five siblings, I was the eldest. My two youngest were taken in by an aunt, and my three other brothers taken by a priest and his family. They ran a home for boys. I had a choice between going with them or picking up a trade.” He flashes a smile at her- “I stowed away on a ship”.

Her eyes grow wide. “A pirate ship?”,

“No, a British war ship. When they discovered me, the captain- he decided to put me to work until they could make port again. But by the time we sighted land again- well, I suppose he thought I had some potential.”

“Was he the one who taught you to read?”

“Yes.”

“He must have been a good man”

James thinks of Admiral Hennessy, of loathsome and profane, of evenings spent in a cabin, bent over books, of being called son-everything feels too close to the surface again-

“He was a man”, he says, “who he saw me as I could be.”

And felt only contempt for what I was.

But that, he does not say.

"You were in the Navy", the Queen says, after she has called him in.

He nods, he cannot deny it- he doesn’t wish to deny it. She sighs.

"My husband suspected something of the sort."

She gives him a sharp look.

"Why were you running away from them?"

"I wasn’t running away", he says, quietly. "I was discharged from it."

“For a crime?” she asks, and here is the moment of truth.

“For loving a man, when England told me I could not” he replies, because he does not wish to lie to this woman.

There’s a moment of silence, and then she reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, leaves it there. He feels a prickle of tears behind his eyelids.

“Then the gods have brought you to the right place” she says, gently.

“Your people are my people” he answers, and it feels right, pledging that allegiance to her.

“I thought you were always trying to keep Madi away from that book” she says, with a smile.

He finds he can grin back at her, his heart unfathomably lightened, “It has some good lines.”

Mr.Scott falls ill and that means three months again without supplies. At least this time they know what caused the delay. On the other hand, it didn’t solve their very real problem: that they were entirely reliant on his boat arriving on schedule. So the next time, Mr.Scott visits, he requests an audience with them and lays out his proposal.

“Your plan is to…become a pirate?” asks Mr.Scott.

Nayomi looks at him, says, “No.”

“Hear me out” he says.

“No.” she says.

He tries again, the next time and the next. Eventually, he wears her down. Partly because Mr.Scott, unexpectedly, takes his side. “It is a risk” he says, “but one we can reasonably take. It would help us, if we can play it right. Nayomi,” he says, the first time that Flint has heard him address her in this manner, “we must look to the future, and the future is always uncertain.”

Nayomi deputes a few men to his crew- it would be impossible to have an entire crew of the maroons immediately- and in any case, he first needs a ship.

Madi comes to him. “Will I see you again?” she asks.

They're at their favourite spot- a cliff at the southern end of the island. From here, there is nothing but endless blue, above and below. They come here often, sometimes with company, but most often by themselves.

"I'm going to leave this place one day," she'd told him, just the once, about a month after the fighting incident. Her ribs had still been healing, and it had been an effort to climb the hill, but she'd insisted. "My mother cannot keep me locked here forever."

"That's not what she's doing," he'd said, gently. "You're not a prisoner here, Madi."

"Not being allowed to dream," she'd replied, not looking at him, her gaze fixed on the horizon, blazing orange, "What could be a worse imprisonment?"

“Yes,” he replies, now, “I will come back as often as I can. I promise.”

She looks down at her hands, tightly clasped together in her lap, “Mother tells me that this is how it is for a Queen. That I must learn to think not of myself, but of our people.”

“Your mother is a wise woman” he says, “and I promise you, I will come back.”

It will be almost a year before he sees her again.

He meets Eleanor Guthrie in the tavern she runs: a slip of a girl, not more than seventeen, who looks him up and down, and then shrugs and walks away. Mr.Scott gives him a wry smile and follows her.

It’s also at the tavern that he meets Mr.Gates. One thing leads to another, and he finds himself in possession of a ship, paid for partly by the Maroons. The latter part is a secret at first, between him and Mr.Scott. But when he brings the Maroons to be “recruited”, Mr.Gates takes him aside and sits him down. “You”, he says, “are the Captain. And I’m your Quartermaster.” James nods his assent, wondering where this was going. “And as Captain and Quartermaster we are agreed that a ship runs best when you and I are of one mind?”

He waits for James to say, “Yes.”

“Then would you, Mr.Flint, answer me this: why the fuck are you lying to me?”

So he tells Mr.Gates the truth about the Maroon island.

Gates listens, and then says, “This is quite a risk you’re taking, telling me this. I don’t imagine Mr.Scott or your- Queen- will be pleased. I could betray you all.”

“You could think about it” James replies, “but then I’d kill you before you got a word out of your fucking mouth”

Mr. Gates starts laughing.

James stares at him.

“Save that” – he wags his hands at James’ expression- “for the crew. It’s a good one.” he says, clapping James on the back. “We’re going to be fine.”

And so, by some undeserved miracle, James gets the best quartermaster and a friend; he’s not sure what to do with the latter. It’s strange, this feeling, to be back on a ship, to have a crew, a band of brothers, such as they are; it’s strange and it’s welcome. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this.

Captain Flint and his crew: soon enough they become known around the Indies, enough that ships begin to strike their colours almost as soon as they see the sword-and-hourglass. They dared not risk directly heading back to the Maroon Island. Instead, Gates and he- along with Dufresne, a man directly picked by Gates- would sequester a portion of their prize to be sent to the island via Mr.Scott’s channels.

England is too busy with her war- wars- to care much about the Bahamas for most part; so is Spain. In the interim, the pirates thrive unchecked. Eleanor Guthrie takes over her father’s operations. Eleanor Guthrie- an unexpected ally- a woman who shares the vision that is slowly creeping into his brain- though he does not share all of it with her. An independent Nassau, free from the reins and checks of Empire. A place for his people, Madi’s people. A place where men like him may set down roots and watch things grow. Slowly, he finds, the dreams which he and Thomas had shared- which he had thought irreparably broken, along with his allegiance to England- begin to take a different shape entirely.

England will come one day for them, he knows it. They must be prepared.

He speaks of it- to Madi, of all people. Madi, who is growing everyday in every way- each time he sees her, she has grown stronger, wiser, more beautiful. On one visit, he notices that Kofi no longer follows her around like her shadow.

“He says he loves me”, she confesses.

They are at the cliff again, and the wind catches her words and hurls them away, toward the infinite unknown.

“I am to be his Queen as well as his wife. I do not know how I will be both. I do not think love is meant for Queens”.

“Your mother is a queen, and she has love, and a family”, he points out. “My mother” she says, and hesitates, but then goes on- “My mother is ruled by fear, and that is what keeps us on this island. I do not blame her. But it cannot be forever- there is a world out there, that we must be a part of, that I will be a part of. And I think that they will not allow me into that world until I wage war on it and stake my claim. So, I will have to be a Queen, but not like my mother. Do you think I am wrong?” That last part is accompanied by a familiar tilt of chin.

James smiles, at her, his heart full- joy, and love- and yes, fear for what she must go through- but there is only one true answer: “No,” he says, “you’re not wrong. But one must-“ he searches for the words, and Thomas’ voice echoes through the years to him - “one must have a partner.”

I do have one, she says, and touches his wrist, smiling. And then, smiling wider, “It means you have to teach me to wield a sword.”

He does.

#black sails #writing asks #i hope you enjoy this anon

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“The Unimaginable” - Shane Walsh x F!Reader

GIF CREDIT: http://gph.is/2dJNy3i

Summary: Follows the after and before of when you and Shane lost your only son to the cruelness of the new world and how anger turns to forgiveness.

Word Count: 5246

Warning: Death of a child, gore, description of death of a child, blood, angst

Song I Wrote To: “It’s Quiet Uptown” by Hamilton Original Cast

Note: Okay, so this idea came to me after I was thinking of some kind of imagine with Shane. I just so happened to hear this song from Hamilton and I got...sucked in. I have never lost a child, but this is how I see the reaction from both parents. Please don’t read if this is something too difficult. Thank you.

--------

After

When the world ended, you weren't alone.

Running through the fire-lit streets, your family was there beside you. Your husband Shane, and your son, Logan. Instinct had taken over and all you thought about was protecting your boys.

Then, you had found the quarry. You were finally safe, Logan was out of the line of fire, and Shane had gotten both Lori and Carl out of the terror that was the city. The Walkers were sparse and when they did show, they were usually alone, maybe three at the most, and they would be taken care of quickly.

Logan was older than Carl by a couple of years but still, the boys were the best of friends and looked out for each other. Just as their fathers were, they were partners through and through. And just like Lori was to Carl, you were Logan's protector and nothing was going to take your baby away.

At least that is what you told yourself before the Dead began to rise.

Nothing was certain anymore. Not safety, not life, not even having enough to eat. You had to be alert every second of every day. Logan was in your sight, or Shane's, at all times of the day. When you and Shane went for water, Logan was to stay with Lori while Dale and the Dixons watched for Walkers. It was a clear system. One that worked.

Until it didn’t.

Everything around you seemed too...cold. You wondered if what you were feeling was how the Dead now felt. If they could feel anything at all, that is. The world around you was dull, lifeless, and nothing seemed to want the sun to shine again.

Rain clouds rolled in the distance as you crouched in the damp dirt next to the camp. People, your new family, wandered throughout your homestead, carefully watching you as if they were waiting for you to crumble into dust and bones.

The only thing you could hear was a muffle of voices and the occasional branch that rustled in the cold wind. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept, let alone ate and you were starting to wonder if anyone could still see you. Or had you truly become a part of a dying world, too lost to see and understand?

Looking up at the sky, you were thrown back into the memory of the worst day of your life. One that changed your world forever and one that you never thought you would see.

———-

Before

Logan was adjusting to the world as well as could be expected.

He played with the other kids, helped out when he was asked, and never once complained about living in the woods. He had grown closer to Carl in the time since the first Dead began lumbering through the streets. They were as close as two young boys could get while not being brothers.

He played in the water with Shane, laughing as his father dunked him over and over, trying to get all the dirt and mud out of his hair. Sometimes, when you watched the two of them you could try and imagine that you were on some odd vacation. Maybe there wasn’t actually a virus spreading like wildfire and one day you would be safe again.

However, the fantasy never lasted very long.

It was late in the afternoon one day when you couldn’t find your son. You had been with Daryl Dixon, helping him clean the game he had brought back for the group. Daryl was a quiet one, but you preferred that. He didn’t expect you to talk and you were grateful for his silent company when he offered it.

Once you had finished with the deer, you went in search of Logan. The last time you had seen him, he had been with Carol and Andrea down by the water, helping with the laundry. Amy had been showing him how to skip rocks unsuccessfully. You have called his name and he had waved back, grinning broadly.

That was the last time you had seen your boy smile.

Walking through the camp, you checked every tent and in the RV, looking for Logan. “Dale?” You called up to the man on watch.

“What can I do you for, (Y/N)?” Dale asked.

“You seen Logan lately?” You asked and Dale shook his head. From his spot on top of the RV, he put his head on a swivel, searching the area, but he couldn’t spot the dark curls of your son. The same curls his daddy had.

“Sorry, girl, don’t see him,” Dale said and something twitched in your chest. You kept searching for him, but still, he was nowhere to be seen.

“I think he’s with Shane,” Jacqui said as she folded a couple of shirts.

“What?” You asked.

“I saw him following after his daddy when Shane went to go get more water,” she explained, but you were already shaking your head.

“No, he knows he’s not allowed to leave the camp. Not even with one of us,” you said, looking around, starting to panic. Logan knew the rules. There wasn’t much that you had to explain to him in the new world, but one thing always remained the same: stay at the camp. “Logan!” You yelled as you did another turn around the camp.

“Logan!” You yelled again, but his voice never returned. It was only a few more minutes that the sound of Shane’s car reached your ears. You ran to him as he got out. He looked at you confused.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching for you.

“Where’s Logan? Is he with you?” You asked, leaning over to look in the car, but it was empty.

“Baby, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t find him and Jacqui said he went with you to get the water,” you explained in a rush. Shane’s face changed then from confusion to instant worry. His eyes flicked around the campsite and then he began shaking his head.

“He….he…” Shane stuttered.

“What?” You asked, trying to get him to focus.

“He tried to come with me, but I told him no. I told him to go back to you. He was only a few yards from the camp, (Y/N). He was supposed to go right back,” Shane explained. You stepped away from him, your hands shaking.

“He didn’t,” you told him, “I was with Daryl and he was supposed to stay put. I thought he was with Carl or Amy this whole time...oh my god.”

“He was supposed to come right back,” Shane repeated.

“Then where the hell is my son!” You screamed at him. Shane just kept shaking his head as you yelled at him. Just then, you felt arms wrap around you as Lori appeared and tried to get you to calm down.

“Shh, it’s okay, we’re gonna find him,” Lori said in your ear, but you pushed away from her. Carl was standing a few feet away and he looked just as worried as you felt. Shane looked at Lori and she at him and something felt...wrong.

“I can’t...I can’t breathe,” you said, your hands going into your hair. “Logan!” You yelled, but again, only the wind answered. Andrea, who stood by the fire, watched on with worry. She then looked over at Daryl and then nodded her head towards the woods.

Without being asked, Daryl picked up his crossbow and then unceremoniously grabbed his brother by his collar and dragged him towards the woods. Merle cursed at his younger brother, but followed him nonetheless. Whether he admitted it or not, Merle liked Logan and Logan liked him.

You turned back to your husband, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Find him.” He didn’t answer you and instead grabbed his gun and quickly went in the opposite direction the Dixons had gone in, Glenn followed quickly after, holding a baseball bat.

Feeling frozen in your own body, you collapsed by the fire. You knew you needed to get up and do something, but your legs wouldn’t cooperate. You tried to remember the last thing you had said to your son. Was it, “I love you” or did you just simply say his name? It was all a blur in your mind.

You felt the eyes of the rest of the camp on you as you sat there. Carol sat not too far from you with Sophia in her arms and Lori kept Carl close to her as well. Watching the mothers with their children had you snap out of whatever trance you had been in.

Before the Turn you had been a Park Ranger. You knew how to navigate woods and you damn well knew how to kill Walkers and track. Getting to your feet, you went to your tent and grabbed the gun Shane had given you, his backup service weapon. Clicking off the safety, you grabbed a knife and slipped it through your belt.

You ignored the looks from the others as you followed the path the Dixons had gone down. Daryl was the better tracker, but you could track almost as well and it didn’t take long for you to find their trail. Growing up in the woods of Georgia, the brothers knew how to stay hidden so you didn’t expect them to show themselves.

Walking among the trees, you kept your knife at the ready. Everyone had quickly learned that sound attracted the Dead like a moth to a flame. You rarely used the bullets when it was just a couple of Walkers.

Stepping around another corner, a slow-moving corpse appeared through the trees, stumbling towards you. You didn’t hesitate as you rammed your blade into its skull, kicking it away from you. Looking down at the monster, bile rose in your throat.

There was fresh blood on its mouth.

“Could be a deer,” you said softly to yourself, but then you saw something sticking out of its rotting ribs. Kneeling down, you grasped the handle of the knife that jutted from the Walker’s torso. Pulling it out, a silent scream came from your mouth.

It was Logan’s knife.

You and Shane weren’t comfortable with letting Logan handle a firearm just yet. Rick and Shane had always said once the boys turned fifteen and they wanted to learn, then they would teach them in a controlled setting. You had given the knife to Logan shortly after you reached the quarry. It was the one you always carried as a ranger.

He never let it go. He said it was as if you were always there to keep him safe.

Gripping it tightly in your hand, you struggled to your feet. “Logan?” You rasped out, unable to call for him. Every word seemed to die in your throat. Looking past the monster on the ground, you could see a blood trail.

If you weren’t looking for it, it wouldn’t look like anything, but you knew what blood looked like. Especially when it was from a wounded animal. “It’s a deer, it’s a deer, it’s a deer,” you repeated as you pushed on through the trees.

Blood was speckled through the leaves on the ground and smeared on a nearby tree trunk. Placing your hand against the stain, it was still warm and not yet congealed. Your hand fell to your side as you walked on.

Ahead of you, a fallen tree lay between two dying oaks. Blood was splashed across the top of it and as you moved closer, something was behind the trunk and it wasn’t moving.

“A deer,” you said again, your feet moving on autopilot. “It’s...it’s a…” your voice petered out as you reached the trunk and looked down.

There was Logan, your baby boy, covered in blood, and his chest was torn open.

Wailing echoed around you as if Banshees had come to take your soul. It took you a few moments to realize that you were the one screaming. Falling towards your son, blood coated your hands and your clothes. The sound called the Dead near, but you couldn’t care about them as your baby’s vacant eyes stared up at the canopy, his right hand still curled as if he was holding his knife.

“No, no, no, no,” you repeated over and over, trying to reach for him, but you didn’t know where to touch. Low growls echoed around you as two Walkers staggered toward you. You looked at them through the blur of your tears.

Suddenly, the first one dropped, a bolt protruding from its head. It didn't take long for the next one to fall the same way. Out of the trees came the Dixon brothers and when they saw what was before them, Daryl turned to his brother in shock.

“Get Walsh,” Daryl said to Merle who turned and ran, calling for the deputy. Daryl approached you slowly as if trying not to startle a mother bear with her cub. His eyes were on Logan’s body, carefully monitoring it. Some people changed within minutes, others took longer. “(Y/N),” Daryl began, kneeling down to you.

“I found his knife,” you said, staring at nothing in particular. “He tried to kill it, Daryl. He missed the head, Why wouldn’t he go for the head? We all taught him to go for the head, right?”

“We did,” Daryl assured you, trying to take the blade from your hands, but you pulled it against your chest.

“What are you doing? This is Logan’s,” you said, defensively. “This is Logan’s, you can’t have it.”

“Alright,” Daryl said, putting his hands up. “We need to step back, alright? Just a bit, girl.” You looked at him, confused.

“Why?”

“Because Logan is…he’s hurt and we don’t want him to hurt anyone else,” Daryl tried.

“My son would never hurt anyone,” you said, staring back down at his face. “He’s an angel.” Reaching out slowly, you gently pushed his hair back. “My soft, beautiful, angel.” Daryl watched on with concern, but also ready to pull you back at a moment's notice.

“(Y/N)!” Shane’s voice called through the woods as he and Lori ran towards you, Merle just behind them.

“Walsh!” Daryl yelled as he stood. Shane stumbled as he approached, his eyes widening at the sight. Shane looked at Daryl and then back at you and then down at his child. His knees buckled and Daryl caught him before he could hit the ground. “I need ya to listen,” Daryl said, trying to get the deputy’s attention. “We gotta move him away from her.”

“That’s my boy…” Shane said.

“I know,” said Daryl. Shane pushed away from him, walking towards you.

“I found him,” you whispered as Shane knelt next to you. “I knew I could find him.” Shane reached out lay his hand over his boy’s face and then he was sobbing.

“Oh god,” he cried, falling over his child, his only son. “My boy…” Lori was crying too and Merle and Daryl were watching the whole thing, not knowing what to do. “I’m so sorry, Logan,” Shane cried.

“Why wasn’t he with you?” You whispered and Shane looked at you in surprise. “Why didn’t you protect him? Shane? Why didn’t you protect him! Why is he….why was he here and not with you? Why? Why!” Shane tried to grab onto you, but you shoved him back. “No!”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he cried, his tears still flowing off his chin. “I thought… He was supposed to come right back.”

“You killed my baby!” You yelled, pushing him back again and Shane took the hit as he continued to cry.

“We have to move him,” Shane said, but you were shaking your head. You went to argue when movement caught your eye. Freezing, you looking down to see your baby looking back at you but without those warm brown eyes of his.

Instead, they were milky white.

A ghostly hand moved towards you as Logan reached out, but before you could take his hand, Shane had wrapped you in his arms. “No!” You screamed as he hauled you away. “No, no! That’s my baby! Logan! Logan!”

“It’s not him anymore, baby, it’s not him,” Shane said as he gripped you tight. You screamed in his arms, trying to fight back, but no fight was left in your bones. Shane kept pulling you away as you watched Merle lean over your boy.

“No!” You yelled as the older Dixon pulled his knife. Lori followed the two of you, keeping your view of Logan blocked. Shane sobbed in your neck as he lifted you up into his arms and walked you away from your child who was being put to rest for the final time.

————

Nobody spoke to you as you sat on the edge of camp.

Shane sat next to you, unable to move, let alone speak. Everything in his world had just gone out like a light. The way Logan had looked so...broken on the floor of the forest. He felt hatred rise in him, all of it directed at himself. How could he have let this happen? Logan was gone because of him.

Sitting there, you could hear the quiet sobs of your husband, but they did not fully resonate with you.

Why was crying? Had something happened? Was someone hurt?

It took your mind a while to catch up to your body as you too, were sobbing silent tears. You followed the path of your tears as they rolled off your face and onto the material of your pants, leaving small dark spots behind.

You began to wonder if a person could ever run out of tears. Was that possible? You couldn’t be sure. You did know, however, that when a person cried a lot, it was important to stay hydrated. Looking down at your waist, you searched for your canteen, but it wasn’t there.

Dried blood was stuck to the side of your shirt and you gently grasped the ruin fabric in your fingers. It felt like a strange paint, one you weren’t sure you would choose to paint with.

Looking back over at the camp, you could see the others glancing over at you and Shane who sat with his back towards your companions. You didn’t know much longer the two of you sat there before you heard the familiar tread of Daryl and Merle’s boots.

Daryl entered the camp and approached you. In his arms was your son. His face was covered, but you could see the tuft of dark hair sticking out of the blanket Daryl had wrapped him in. The younger Dixon gently walked towards you and Shane and placed Logan before you.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl said gently before turning away to go wash the blood from his hands.

Your son’s blood.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, only staring at the space right above him. Shane, however, moved closer to the body, laying his hands over the wool blanket as if he could feel the life that was no longer there. Shane’s cries turned from silent to hoarse chokes of emotion.

Keeping your eyes on the same spot above Logan, you couldn’t look at him or your husband. You didn’t know if it was anger you felt or guilt, but right then it was too overwhelming to bear. Logan’s knife was still in your hand as your thumb worried at the handle, feeling the smooth wood against your calloused skin.

The sun began to dip over the hills and Shane got up. “I’m going to walk the perimeter. Make sure no more Walkers get through,” he said, though you weren’t sure you actually heard him or whether he knew that he had said anything at all.

Shane walked away, picking up his gun and you stayed put, still keeping your eyes on the horizon. The cold set in rather quickly and shook your bones. Your breath was visible before you, but you couldn’t move and anytime you shut your eyes for more than two seconds, all you could see were the milky white eyes of the creature that had become your son.

It was well into the night when Glenn approached you, a blanket in his hands. He gently placed it around your shoulders, making sure you were wrapped up tight before leaving you alone.

You knew you should eat something, but you couldn’t feel the hunger either. You couldn’t feel anything.

When Shane returned, he sat down across from you on the other side of Logan. “(Y/N),” he called, but you remained frozen. “Please, (Y/N), look at me.”

This time you did and what you saw confused you. You blinked multiple times, but the man in front of you did not look like your husband. This Shane was a shell, something had gone out in those eyes of his. A flame that could never fully burn again.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, hearing the crackling of the fire in the background. “Shane,” you whispered, your throat dry as a bone.

“Logan,” Shane began, sending a rush of ice to your chest, “he needs to be buried, sweetheart.” Finally looking down, you stared at the bundle that was your child. You reached a hand out, but pulled it back at the last second. It didn’t feel right to touch him.

Not like this.

“He’s supposed to be in a cemetery,” you whispered into the night.

“I know, Darlin’,” Shane said.

“He’s not supposed to be buried in some unmarked grave,” you said. “He’s not supposed to be buried at all.” Shane crawled over to where you sat and pulled you into his side. You barely felt the weight of his body as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“This is all my fault,” Shane said into your hair. “I am so sorry.” Dropping your head, you once again couldn’t look him in the face. Why hadn’t he walked Logan back to the camp? Why was he alone? Why had he gone off without telling anyone? Was he looking for you?

“If…” Shane continued, “if I could switch places with him…” he trailed off again and then was silent. You didn’t want to hear anymore. Not after today, today was too much already.

Though, you did agree on one thing. Logan needed to be laid to rest.

———-

Dawn brought light and neither of you had moved, but you knew it was time to get up. You knew you would mourn for the rest of your life, but Logan deserved better than being wrapped in a makeshift shroud before his crying parents.

You found a quiet place far from where the incident had occurred. Close enough to the water, but not too close that someone would accidently ruin the ground.

Shane dug the grave alone. Lori had offered to help, as did Glenn and Morales, but Shane had said no. He had to do this on his own. You sat next to Logan’s body, listening to the breeze, his knife still in your hands as you used it to cut away at a piece of wood to keep your hands busy.

As soon as Shane had finished, you rose to your feet. The others from the camp approached you both, offering a moment of silence as Shane bent down and lifted Logan into his arms. Carefully, he placed your son in the ground, adjusting the blanket to keep his face covered.

Looking down at him like this, you were reminded of when he would play in the blanket forts you and Shane use to build with him. The one time he had gotten trapped under the roof of one and claimed to be a ghost, chasing the both of you around the house.

You could imagine the smile on his face when you had tackled him on the couch, laughing. Shane had followed up with jumping on both of you as he used his best impression of a “scary monster”. Logan had laughed, slipping off the couch and telling Monster-Shane that his daddy was a cop and he fought monsters.

You had watched on with a grin from the couch as your boys wrestled on the ground. Shane as the monster and Logan as the cop. The moment had ended with a massive pillow fight that you had successfully won, and the prize? Hearing Logan’s laugh echo throughout the house.

It had been music to your ears.

Tears flowed again as you turned your face to the heavens, letting the memory wash over you with warmth. Slowly, you picked up a handful of dirt and sprinkled it over the grave.

Soon after, Shane did the same. “Goodbye my sweet boy,” you whispered to him and then one by one, the rest of the camp began filling in the grave to say goodbye to the laughing boy with the dark curly hair and the goofy grin.

You and Shane sat nearby, not speaking and not touching. The Walsh family was now fractured and nobody knew what to do about it. The others had pity and any time they would look at you and your husband, they were reminded that the new world would not stop taking until it had stolen all the light in the world.

As the dirt was smoothed over and the shovels were put down, you stood from your spot next to your husband, passing your new friends in silent. You ignored everyone as you kneeled down on the soft soil, pressing your hands into the ground.

Logan was finally at rest.

———-

After

Coming back into yourself, you shook your head as the memory once again settled in the back of your mind.

Logan had been buried for some time now and whether you chose to acknowledge it or not, you and Shane were still not quite...whole.

There were days when you never left his grave. Grass has slowly grown through the surface and the rain has made it the color of emeralds and while there was no marker, you knew exactly where your boy was.

Lori was kind as always, bringing you water if you needed it or offering to help Daryl with the hunts, but you continued to shake your head. You had always helped Daryl clean his game and you weren’t going to stop now.

Logan wouldn’t have wanted that.

Carl Grimes was the one, however, that constantly checked on you. You could see how much he missed his friend. He had many nightmares that would wake you up in the next tent over and then you would hear Lori’s soft voice coaxing him back to sleep.

Carl would sit with you by the grave and draw or just listen to the birds and the wind. When it was time to eat, he would convince you to finally take some food and wouldn’t leave until you proved to him that you were full enough. You had always liked the kid, but now? He was one of the only things that kept you together most days.

Shane was trying to give you space as he was still mourning in his own way. Shortly after the makeshift funeral, he had drowned himself in responsibility. He took on more watch shifts than before and went on more water runs too. He had become the group’s main protector, next to the Dixon brothers, and it was clear to everyone that he was doing it to keep his mind busy.

As for Daryl, he had just gone on a hunt that would last at least until tomorrow. He was going to see if he could find any larger game and decided to go alone. He did, however, ask if you were going to be okay while he was gone. You had assured your friend that you could handle his absence for a day or so. He had rolled his eyes and offered a small smile and then left with his bow on his back.

Looking out over the quarry, you heard footsteps and you didn’t need to turn around to see who it was.

Shane joined you on the ground, leaning back on his forearms. “Glenn is heading out with some others for a run,” Shane said.

“In the city?” You asked, keeping your eyes forward.

“Yeah, I guess they’re takin’ Merle this time. T-Dog isn’t thrilled,” Shane sighed.

“Are you going with them?” You asked.

“No,” Shane said and then paused. “Did you want me to?” It was silent for a moment before you shook your head.

“No, we need you here,” you whispered. Shane sat up straighter, folding his legs beneath him. You could see him out of the corner of your eye as he looked over at you, trying to see your face.

“I don’t know how many more times I can apologize, (Y/N),” Shane said after a moment, his eyes void of tears now. “I can’t stop thinking about that day and if I had just let him come with me or taken him back myself… I don’t know how to stop wondering about what I should have done.”

“He was stubborn,” you said. “He would have found a way to follow you anyways.” Shane’s mouth fell slightly open at your words, not expecting you to defend his actions.

“It should’ve been me. I should be the one lying in the ground and if I was, then he would be here next to you and you would be smiling.”

“No,” you shook your head, finally looking at him. “I would have Logan, but I wouldn’t have you. Do you honestly think I would be happy about that?”

“He was your baby,” Shane reasoned.

“And you are my...you are my person, Shane. I would never wish you to die, no matter how angry or sad I am. Never.” Shane let out a breath, letting your words sink in. He nodded silently.

“I had thought about joining in on the run,” he admitted, “but I’m staying right here. I’m not going anywhere.” You returned the gesture and looked out at the grave again.

“He’s gone, Shane,” you whispered, your fingers playing with the grass.

“I know.”

“He would have liked it here, don’t you think? It’s so quiet.”

“Yeah, he would have,” said Shane. “Baby, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need you to know that I never…” he once again let the words fizzle out, staring down at his hands.

Slowly, your reached over and placed your hand on top of his, touching him for the first time in a long time. Shane froze beneath your touch and then just as slow, laced your fingers with his.

“Please don’t leave me,” you choked out and looked back at him, a desperation in your eyes. Shane shook his head and then leaned in, kissing you softly. You let it happen, finding peace in the feel of his lips on yours.

“Never, Darlin’,” Shane whispered. “I’m never leavin’ you.”

Curling up in his arms, the two of you sat there in the shadow of Logan’s grave, trying to feel the presence of your boy. Looking down at your boots, you noticed a small stem pushing its way through the emerald-green grass. The beginnings of a wildflower.

Staring at the start of new life, you leaned against your person and you smiled.

Tags:

@thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @felicisimor @amaroho

#shane walsh x reader #shane walsh imagine #shane walsh #daryl dixon #merle dixon #lori grimes #carl grimes #glenn rhee #season 1 #twd imagines #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead #reader insert #angst #sad #walkerwords

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

Text

I Want Us Part 6

Fandom: Chicago PD / SVU

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing/s: Sonny Carisi x Intelligence!Reader

Warning/s: tw rape, murder, assault

Word Count: 1,795

Summary: The Intelligence Unit’s last case with Manhattan SVU had them flying out to New York to track down an abducted boy, and had Dectective Y/L/N and Detective Carisi growing close in the process. Now, a string of rape-murders in Chicago has SVU boarding the next flight out, believing the suspect to be the same man responsible for a set of identical crimes 10 years prior. As the case unfolds, Y/N and Carisi are brought back together, reigniting the spark between them.

You arrived at the previous night’s crime scene a few minutes before Special Victims, slipping on gloves and treating carefully as CSI went over everything they’d found, or didn’t find more accurately, with you. You were knelt down next to where they’d recovered the body, a grim look plastered on your face as you took in every detail of the victim, she almost didn’t look real.

“Detective Y/L/N,” you heard, standing up and turning you attention towards the woman ducking under the crime scene tape and making her way towards you.

“Captain Benson, welcome back to Chicago,” you greeted, meeting her in the middle and shaking her hand, “sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.”

“Oh, believe me, it never is,” she informed you, eyes drifting from you to the body of Jessica Connors with a mixture of sorrow and determination that made you admire her even more than you already did. You still didn’t know how they did these kinds of cases everyday.

Sonny and Kat came through after their Captain. “Hey Y/N, I hear we’re borrowing you from Intelligence for this case,” Kat said.

“You don’t mind that I asked Voight for you to join us do you?” Benson asked, your eyes unconsciously sliding to Sonny as she did. He hadn’t said anything yet, but a small smile was forming on his lips as he looked at you.

“Of course not, anything I can do to help,” you replied.

“Glad to have you then,” Sonny voiced with a grin, ignoring the pointed look Kat gave the both of you.

“You up to speed on the new victims?” You asked, noticing the way Benson was looking at Jessica’s body, CSI just finishing up at the scene.

“Yeah we are,” she told you, her tone and the familiarity in her eyes suggesting that she actually had worked the first case in New York. She noticed you staring and shook the thoughts from her head.

“We’ll catch him this time,” you said, meeting her gaze.

“Will will,” she nodded, looking around at the scene with a Captain’s eye, “Kat and I will talk to CSI, match up any details, see if we can pick up any leads, you and Carisi talk to any witnesses, the officers first on scene, and the man who found the body,” she ordered, turning to go talk to CSI with Kat when she had your confirmation.

“Hey,” Carisi said with a smile when you were both alone.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, “how was the flight?”

“Not too bad, reading up on this case certainly passed the time,” he said, hesitating before adding in a quieter voice: “I was also... looking forward to seeing you again.”

You felt your cheeks go a little red, remembering yourself as you cleared your throat. “We should, um, get on with our orders,” you managed, flustered by the look in his eyes.

He smirked but agreed, gesturing for you to lead the way to where a man of about 35-40 was stood with two uniforms. He was a bit on the shorter side, dark hair and bright white running gear on, not the most practical for a run in the woods, as made apparently by the mud stains. The long scar across his face was distinctive, but you tried not to stare as you made your approach.

“Mr Tate?” Carisi asked, checking his notes briefly to make sure as the man nodded, the unis leaving you to talk to the him. “Thanks for sticking around.”

“You mind if we ask you a couple of questions?” You asked, pulling out your notebook and a pen.

“Of course detectives, anything to help,” he told you both, running a hand through his hair, “I’ve already told the officers that arrived on scene everything I saw.

“We know, but we just want to make sure all our bases are covered,” Carisi clarified.

“Ask away,” Tate spread out his arms, ready for you to begin. Carisi looked to you, signaling you to begin.

“Do you always run this route?” You asked, looking around at the well worn and clearly marked path; the killer wanted the body to be found.

“Yeah, it’s quite a popular trail,” he confirmed, rubbing at a bit of mud on the sleeve of his jumper.

“You see anyone else?” Carisi asked. It was a pretty wide path, and it didn’t diverge much, the killer would have had to use this trail to move Jessica’s body.

“Just another jogger,” he told you with a shrug, something that probably wasn’t very uncommon, even later in the evening.

“But they didn’t see the body?” You probed further, finding it strange. Jessica wasn’t exactly hidden, she’d practically been on full display of the path, anyone would have seen her from where you were.

“I don’t know... I guess not, they were running past me, so I’d be surprised if they didn’t but...” He answered, you and Carisi sharing an identical look as you put a circle around this other jogger in your notes.

“Remember what he was wearing?” Carisi asked for some clarification as Tate scratched his head, thinking.

“Er, black tracksuit, baseball cap, oh and glasses too, like sun glasses, I thought that was strange given how dark it was,” he recalled, your suspicion growing further with each detail.

“White... black...?” Carisi continued, making sure you didn’t miss any detail about your new suspect.

“White, definitely, had a rucksack on too,” Tate said, face scrunched up in thought.

“You were seen him running here before?” You mused, knowing killers sometimes prefered places that were familiar.

“I don’t think so,” he answered somewhat apologetically, “expensive shoes like those... I’d have noticed. Does that help?”

You and Carisi nodded to each other before you took a card out of your pocket, “it does, thank you, get in touch if you think of anything else.”

He took the card, looking over it before slipping it into his pocket, “will do.” He turned to leave, glancing back at the crime scene one last time, Carisi gesturing for the unis to make sure he got back okay.

“Security cameras?” Carisi suggested, reading your mind as your eyes scanned the surrounding area carefully. There wasn’t any this far into the trail, you weren’t that lucky.

“We should check the entrace and exit, if there are only the two ways onto this route then they had to have gone back to one of the car parks, we’ll check the cameras there,” you told him, pocketing your notes and heading back to Benson and Kat.

“You got something?” She asked as you approached.

“Maybe, we’re going to go see what we can find on the nearest security cameras,” Carisi told her, filling her in on everything the witness had just revealed.

“The park ranger can help, he’s with a couple of officers,” she said, a distant and guardedly hopeful look in her eyes. This was as close as anyone had gotten.

You both went off with the park ranger, being led back up the trail to the car park and the rangers station. It was a quiet morning, not surprising given the amount of cop cars and crime scene tape. You’d certainly find a different route if you saw it.

He led you into the station, his partner already having the tape set up to play. “This your guy?” He asked, hitting play as you and Carisi leaned forward, watching intently.

It was dark, but the time stamp matched up as a dark figure emerged from the direction you’d just walked, his jogging slowing to a walk as he approached an equally dark car. The description matched the one Tate had just given you.

“Can you zoom in on that?” You asked, pointing to the number plate on the car. The ranger nodded, pausing the footage and focusing in on the plate. “Got it,” you nodded, Carisi already calling in for a BOLO on the car, a bentley, a long with as good of a description of the driver as he could in the dim light.

“Thanks guys,” Carisi told them as you exited the station, stepping back into the car park as you made your way towards the stop where the bentley had been parked.

Carisi was about to say something to you when your phone rang, digging it out to see Hailey calling. “Hey, how’s it going with Jessica’s family? We think we’ve caught a lead here,” you relayed to her.

“Yeah we heard the BOLO over the radio, got something that might help you with that too,” she told you, a questioning look from Carisi as you put it on speaker for him to hear.

“Oh yeah? What did the family know?” You asked, your aching for them and what they were going through.

“The parents didn’t know much, but when the little sister let us out she mentioned that Jess had been planning to go on a date the last time she’d seen her, about a week a go now,” Hailey explained, the cogs in your mind whirling.

“About the same time we found Lily Hamilton’s body?” You checked, thinking that maybe the killer had swapped one woman out for another.

“You got it,” Hailey confirmed grimly, “and get this, the sister said that Jess had been super excited, saying she’d found her prince charming.” She emphasised the last words, the images of the fanciful ball gowns all the women had been dressed in fresh in your mind.

You heard Jay calling Hailey from somewhere further away, “okay, thanks, we’ll meet you back at the district,” you said, saying your goodbyes and hanging up.

“Prince charming?” Carisi echoed, clearing piecing it together the same as you.

“Sounds like it fits, let’s check if any of the other girls had dates,” you suggested, taking out your car keys.

“I think I read something about that in a couple of the old New York files,” he agreed, following you to your car as he typed away on his phone, most likely telling Benson the plan.

“Looks like we’ve got some work to do,” you told him with a little bit of hope, “guess you’re going to be stuck we me for a bit.”

Carisi grinned, “I can’t say that I mind.” You smiled as you reached your car, more than glad for the company.

Still, something didn’t sit right with you. Not that you didn’t like easy cases, but this... it was too neat, too quick. 9 women dead in New York without so much as a trace of evidence and this lead just falls in your lap?

You couldn’t quite put your finger on what you were missing, but if it helped stop other women from meeting the same fate, you were going to find out.

#sonny carisi #svu #law and order svu #chicago pd #one chicago #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagine #svu imagine #law and order svu imagine #chicago pd imagine #sonny carisi imagines #svu imagines #law and order svu imagines #chicago pd imagines #i want us

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totallyaccurate-hamilquotes · 5 years

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Hamilton 'characters', but as things said at my school #3

Alexander: Fuck this shit I'm just gonna start selling mud pies by the road for 50¢ each. Also charging an extra $69.69 per worm

John: One thing people fail to notice is that I'm actually a bridge troll who blended into society solely so I can purchase garlic bread at my own free will

Hercules: If I was drafted into WWW3, I would simply not die. RIP to all our fallen soldiers, but I'm different

Lafayette: At least I have Gilmore Girls to numb the pain of existence!

Burr, after getting called a Cotton-Headed Ninnymuggin: You are a murderer and a thief. You have killed a baboon and stolen its face

Washington: You are all insolent dunces and I love each and every one of you

Jefferson: What has the fashion world come to? People will wear a feather boa and a fedora over a spacesuit and call it a 'fit'

Madison, very softly, looking at a paper that only says "2+2=?": ...help

Eliza: I may look soft, but on the inside I'm planning to commit arson

Angelica: If Shakespeare and I have anything in common, it's writing dick jokes and poor plotlines

Peggy: Twinkle, twinkle, little star, why are girls so fucking hot?

Philip: If I hear one more word, a single sound coming from anyone's mouth, I will cry

Seabury, randomly pointing at people: YOU GET TO GO TO HEAVEN, YOU GET TO GO TO HEAVEN, YOU—oh, no, you're going straight to hell, you nasty bastard. YOU GET TO GO TO HEAVEN...

King George III: The only action I get is when I go in for my annual prostate exam

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multifandomwriter · 3 years

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Swooning (John Laurens x (y/n) Washington)

Being a Washington seems like it would be fun, I suppose. A life living in luxury, party's galore, and of course, the money for make-up. I mean, it may seem pretty extravagant to have your father as the president. But, in reality, it's not. You have to tend to different things like picking out dresses, helping mother bake, trying to learn at least one thing in this place known as the schoolhouse. You also have to learn how to be prim-and-proper. Even on the days where you just want to act like a pig and roll around in the dirt and mud like the boys did when they were younger before they were mature.

I believe my favorite part about it is the literature. You see, my dream is to become an author. An author of what? Well, I don't know quite yet. But, just sitting under an apple tree, enjoying the green grass that tickled my feet, snacking on the fruit and watching the sun arise with the beautiful colors of orange and pink gives me peace in the early mornings so I could have a little calmness throughout the day. Like today.

"(y/n)? Are you almost ready?" my Mother, Martha Washington, asked me from her bedroom. She must've been getting ready for the party we were going to, as was I. It was a celebration called the Winter's Ball.

"Yes mother," I responded, purposefully making it sound as if I was irritated, which I was. She'd asked me the same question not even two minutes ago.

"Watch your tone, missy," said Mother in a playful tone. I laughed, and heard footsteps heading toward my room. It was my Father.

"Well, don't you look pretty?" he smiled, adjusting the lapels on his uniform.

"I guess?" I shrugged, rearranging my own clothing: a beige colored medieval dress, the sleeves long and wide, the outfit finished with a inky black half corset. I also wore a golden necklace littered with diamonds and flats. Red ones at that.

"Oh wow," said my Mother, who'd now joined us. "You'll be getting lots of male attention, I'll tell you that."

"Martha!" exclaimed my Father. "Don't say such foul things!"

"Sometimes honesty can be brutal, darling," Mother waved him off, sauntering over to me. Her hands reached up to my (h/c), silky hair, delicately touching the tight braids I'd twisted together on my own. There was about 4 small ones were intertwined with my hair that wasn't interlaced. "Now, shall we go?"

"We shall. Ladies first, as always," my Father smiled, gesturing to the door way, politely letting them go first.

"Are we going in the carriage?" I asked, slipping on the rings I had in my hand. One was black and the other silver.

"But of course!" said Father excitedly. "Look outside." So, I did, smiling at the blue beauty on the street, a male coach on the high seat attached, the horses both a smooth white, not spec of dirt as far as I could tell from there.

"Well then, let's go! I'd like to get to this Winter's Ball!" I exclaimed.

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The ride to the rather big light yellow house was boring. As much as I love nature, like I've stated previously, it was quite dull compared to a ball. We arrived, the coach hopping down from his perch, tying the horses to a rogue fence that was meant to hold them temporarily until he let us off. Then he'd go to the stables behind the house. How do I know this so well? This wasn't my first rodeo. I've ridden once or twice.

The coach strolled over to our doors, quickly opening them and releasing the metal stairs for us to get down. He first helped Mother, then Father, and finally me. I didn't mind this of course. I was never one to follow to rules, anyway. As I walked down the path, people turned, making me a bit self-conscious. I moved a stray piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. I felt all eyes on me, the men scanning me up and down. Men I didn't know, and I didn't care to either.

Walking in, I heard a voice yell my name. "(y/n)!" It was Eliza Schuyler. More or less one of the richest family names in New York.

"Eliza!" I yelled excitedly back to my best friend. "How are you? I haven't seen you since last Christmas."

"I know. It's been awfully painful," Eliza hugged me. "I've been good. You?" My eyes accidentally roamed the room, landing on someone. And was he handsome.

"I've been... fine. Holy crap, who is that?" I murmured from the side of my mouth to the woman in front of me, not taking my eyes off the man.

"Oh him? That's John Laurens. He's one of the many in Hamilton's friend group, I presume. He talks to them all the time." I slowly nodded, scanning his features. From there, I could see the brown freckles that contrasted with his ivory skin. He must've been a soldier, for he had his uniform on just like my Father had his. His brown curly hair was tied up in a bun, and his laugh felt like the sound of music to my ears.

"You're flushed," acknowledged Angelica Schuyler, Eliza's older sister. "You do know that, right?"

"Am I?" I turned to her abruptly. "Dang it."

"I don't think he minds," said Eliza, who smirked.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because he's coming over right now," said Angelica.

"What?!" I whisper-yelled to both sisters. My eyes glanced to John, who was walking over to right then. "Oh dear God."

"Good luck~" Angelica dragged out, pulling Eliza away. I gulped, seeing the man I felt like I would swoon over any second approach me.

"Hi," he smiled, his pearly whites shinning bright in the light. "I'm John Laurens. You are?"

"Umm," I stumbled over my words. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. "(y-y/n). Yeah, yeah. That's my name."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," said John, winking at me. I felt myself flush even more.

"Aw t-thanks."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," he said. "Wanna dance?" Laurens stuck out a hand.

"Sure," I said, taking his in mine. He pulled me along, eyes looking to his friends who whistled. John laughed, twirling me into his grasp. "Have I told you you look nice tonight?"

"No."

"Well then, you look nice tonight."

"You do, too," I smiled, letting one of his hands fall to my waist.

"So, what's your last name?"

"Getting to second base already?"

"No," he laughed. "You just didn't tell me your last name."

"Washington. (y/n) Washington."

"Ooo, you're the big guys daughter."

"You know what, Laurens?"

"What, Washington?" he fired back. I blushed at the way he said my last name. Oh, tonight would be a fun night, wouldn't it?

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