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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years

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rose

A/N: I wrote this back in july. here it is again, the first and only fic so far that I've written like this with an original main character

summary: when Rosalie finally saw him, she couldn’t look away…

warnings: Eddie Munson x original character, historical au (in my head I pictured the Georgian era), servant!Eddie, surely extremely historically inaccurate, forbidden romance, secret relationship, near death experience, kissing, alcohol consumption, corruption kink, innocence kink, dirty talk, praise, mutual masturbation, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, fingering (vaginal and anal), light double penetration, loss of virginity, semi puplic sex, exhibitionism, breed kink, degradation, squirting

word count: 6065

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Darkness. Then, like a punch to her stomach, she felt everything. Oxygen rushing into her lungs and expanding them, the grass beneath her fingers, and a pair of lips pressed against her own.

Gasping for air, Rosalie felt a rough hand gently tap her cheek.

“My lady? Oh, please open your eyes!”

Blinking them open, she squinted, blinded by the harsh summer sun, but it was somewhat obscured, somewhat darkened by a man kneeling down over her. Dark hair, long and wild, coming apart from the loose ponytail it was fastened in at the nape of his neck. Eyes big, round and panicked. Seeing that her consciousness was now restored, it made him look as if the air had gotten knocked clear out of him, falling back into the grass.

“Oh, jesus christ! Don’t scare a man like that!” he cursed, breathing heavy.

“What…” she tried to sit up, fighting through the dizziness. As she lifted herself partly off the grass, she noticed just how bare her back was. Reaching a hand around, she felt the laces of both her dress and corset cut open. Eyes widening, now fully awake, she jerked back from the man now trying to slow her sudden movements. “Don’t touch me!”

Taken aback, he scoffed, “touch you? My lady, a thank you would be nice right about now.”

“Thank you?” you couldn’t believe this man's arrogance, “for what? Violating me or whatever you were trying to do? This dress is from Paris!”

Staring at her, bewildered, “my grace, do you really not know recall what occurred?”

“You obviously tried to take off my wears without my permission!”

“Because I found you, passed out and you weren’t breathing!” he threw his hands up, “your fucking stays were too tight! So yes, I did cut them loose. You’re fucking welcome!”

“I… I had fainted?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “it is one of the hottest days of July and you walk out here dressed in that. What were you even thinking?”

“I just… needed some air,” she looked around, recalling what had made her move outside.

“Why? Don’t your castle get air?”

“It’s not a castle, it’s a palace,” Rosalie corrected him with a sigh, reaching a hand up to fix her slightly loosened updo, “and yes, it does get air.”

“Then why did you come all the way out here to get it?”

Sure, it was a ways away from the building, but this meadow was still her home, even if she couldn’t see the house.

Crossing her arms, feeling one of the sleeves fall down further her arm, exposing her shoulder, “why are you so nosy?”

“I just saved your life, I think I have a right to be nosy.”

Looking down at her ivory skirt, she grabbed onto her loosened top and held it in place, “If you must know, my papa just told me something that, well, I knew it would come eventually, but just not now...”

“What was it?”

Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the rugged man, “It is time for me to get married.”

“Isn't that what you want?” he furrowed his brows and cocked his head, making another curl slip out of the flimsy sting struggling to hold it all together.

“I mean, it’s all I’ve ever known, it’s what I’ve been bred for.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pushed.

“I guess, now that it’s here, I’m just a bit nervous? I don’t wanna leave this place. Dewbury palace is all I’ve ever known… I know I was raised to be ready for this, but I can’t help but feel like I’m walking into the dark…” running a hand over her face, she sighed, “god, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because I asked,” he breathed out, fiddling with a long piece of grass, weaving it between his long fingers.

Looking around the peaceful meadow, at the small flowers and ancient trees that decorated it, both of them were suddenly startled by a far-off booming voice.

“Munson! Where the hell did you go, boy?” the man across from Rosalie widened his eyes and scurried to his feet.

“I must go,” he stretched out a hand to help her up.

As he pulled her up, grasping onto her waist for support, she felt just the tip of his fingers graze her bare back. She had never in her life seen him before. Maybe she’d seen him before, but she had never seen him. Not until now.

“Do you work here?” she asked before he could slip away.

“I do,” he blinked, then slowly added, “my lady.”

Looking back over his shoulder, he winced, “I apologise, I really do have to go. McDougall will have my head if I don’t,” then bowed quickly, but a bit clumsily, “goodbye, my lady,” and escaped through the trees, leaving Rosalie standing there, alone, partially exposed and somewhat stunned over what had just transpired.

Entering the old bare barn that was now used for storage purposes, Rosalie looked over the large boxes and barrels to try and spot the individual she was looking for. When she asked for directions, this was the place she was pointed to.

Rounding the corner, balancing a wooden crate, the man of the hour sat it down with a huff.

“Hi,” she gave a soft smile, her neat dark hair illuminated in the backlit doorway. “Mister Munson, is it?”

“Your grace,” he almost jumped, never in a million years expecting to see her standing here. Giving a small bow, he asked, “what can I do for you?”

“Oh, it’s not what you can do for me, you’ve done plenty. It just occurred to me that I never really thanked you for the other day,” she saw him relax and lean against one of the big boxes, “so, thank you mister Munson. I truly am in your debt.”

Smirking, he crossed his arms, “you are very welcome, although if I hadn’t saved you, and if my attempts hadn’t worked, I probably would have been hanged right about now.”

“Well, I’m very glad that you’re not. I prefer you this way,” she fiddled with her lacy gloves, “alive and breathing.”

Not saying anything, he simply stood there staring at her, making her shift under his penetrating gaze, “So, do you work out here?” she looked around, noting the many cobwebs.

“Some days, yeah,” he nodded, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, “but others, I’m actually up at the house, if they need an extra body for something. Out of all the freaks down here, I’m apparently the one that cleans up the nicest.”

“Really? I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you before.”

“I’m aware,” he chuckled and glanced to the side, “but I’ve seen you.”

“Well, from now on, I’ll see you,” she promised, taking a step closer to him, “I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget your face,” felt the corners of her lips twitch, “not after what you did for me.”

“My estate has countless chambers so I would love to someday fill them all with kids,” the dashing Lord Harrington relayed, taking another sip of his tea.

“So, you’re fond of children, are you?” she shifted in the stiff upholstered chair opposite his.

“Fond of them?” he laughed, “no. I absolutely despise them, that has nothing to do with me wanting them.”

“Oh…” she bit her tongue and glanced over at her mother. “Excuse me, I think I need a little bit of fresh air.”

“Do you want me to escort you?” the gentleman rose to his feet just as fast as she did.

“No,” she replied maybe a bit too quickly, “no, thank you. I don’t want your tea to get cold.”

Slowly sitting back down again, Rosalie peeped over at her mama as she perked up, “I’ll keep him company, don’t take too long my dear.”

“I won’t,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed the large doors open.

Walking down the many hallways, through the maze to get outside, she, being too busy looking anywhere but in front of her, rushed around a corner and accidentally bumped into a firm figure.

“Uh,” she steadied herself by grabbing onto the person's sharp shoulders, “pardon me.”

“Please don’t apologise,” a familiar voice winced in her ear, “I should be the one apologising to you!”

Pulling back to gaze upon the visage of mister Munson, he was slightly more put together this time. Nothing extravagant, but clean and tidy.

“It’s you,” Rosalie smiled.

“It is me,” he seemed relieved to see she wasn’t trying to bite his head off, “whom are you running from?”

“I wasn’t running! I was merely walking briskly.”

“So, who is it?” he then dropped his smile, “it’s not my lord, is it?”

“No, he’s in his study, don’t worry.”

“Oh, good,” he grabbed a hold of her arm, “but there are still eyes everywhere, come.” Pulling her into the nearest room, which happened to be one of the many libraries, this particular one was the green one. “So, if it’s not your father, then who is it?”

“…Lord Harrington.”

“Right, I saw him arrive this morning. He’s a bit of a rake if you ask me.”

Tearing her arm free, she defended, “he is a gentleman and a scholar and would be a great match for me.”

“Then why were you running?”

Sighing, she turned around and walked towards one of the grand bookcases, trying to avoid the dooming topic at hand.

Running her fingers over the numerous spines, she asked quietly, “can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Almost coming out as an innocent whisper, she asked, back still turned to him, “have you ever kissed someone?”

“Hmm,” he hummed through a remembering smirk, “I’ve kissed someone.”

“Yeah?” she turned around, nervously clasping her hands behind her back.

“Mhm,” he nodded slowly.

“What was it like?”

His eyebrows shot up, “excuse me?”

“What was it like when you kissed her?” she repeated her question, biting her lower lip.

“Why do you wanna know?” he squinted his eyes, walking a few steps closer to her, “I mean, you’ve probably gotten real cosy with a bunch of fancy fellows, so you know.”

“Oh,” she blushed, averting her gaze, “um…”

“Have you never- have you never kissed someone?” he stammered, “but you’re a duchess!”

“I was asking what it was like when you kissed someone, that’s all!” she raised her voice, fighting the urge to just run and hide from the embarrassment.

“…because you haven’t done it?”

“Well…” Rosalie rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, “I don’t know if it counts…”

“Oh, well what was the situation?” he asked with a reassuring smile.

Looking up at the ceiling, she told very slowly, “I had fainted and couldn’t breathe…”

“Oh, you mean when I-…” Munson put two and two together. The look he then gave her was one of both compassion, but also pity, “oh, my lady…”

“No, you know what, it doesn’t matter,” she rushed out, feeling like she was being burned alive, “forget I said anything,” she hastily tried to reach the heavy door.

“Wait,” he caught her arm, screeching her body to a halt, and before she knew it, she felt his lips against hers. Completely stunned, her eyes never shut, so when he pulled back, she swore she saw a glimmer in his chocolatey ones as he blinked them open and breathed out, “that, is what it's supposed to be like,” he brushed his thumb over her soft sleeve, sending a shiver down her spine. Then, light a bolt of lightning, he realised what he had just done, whom he had just done that to, “oh… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-,” he took a step back, “that was-… I am so sorry.”

“Wait, you…” she caught his billowy shirt, clumsily attempting to coax him back “do you mind… I, um, it just surprised me.”

Flashing the tiniest of smirks, and leaned back in, grabbing both sides of her face. This time ready, she let her eyes flutter shut and followed his lead. It was soft, drawn out, but gentle.

It only felt like a second had passed, but in reality, it had been a lot longer. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers and breathed out deeply, “call me Eddie, please.”

“Eddie…” she tasted the name on her lips, smiling at the way it felt.

Giving her one last peck on the cheek, he moved to the door, only stopping to give a quick wink over his shoulder at her still dazed form, “see you later, Rose.”

Stirring in the linen sheets, Rosalie heard a knocking at her door, but it didn’t sound like it was coming from the usual intricately carved front door to her room, but rather from the small camouflaged one in the corner near her large canopy bed. Who could be knocking on the servant's door this late after sundown?

When no one entered, just knocked softly once more, she pulled back the covers and tiptoed over to investigate.

Creaking it open, she saw none other than Eddie himself, standing there on the steps of the dark servant's staircase with a soft smile on his lips and a hazy, yet blissful look in his eyes.

“Mister Munson, what are you doing here?” she gasped, clutching her chest lightly, suddenly very aware of the thin chemise she had on.

“Rose,” he slowly pushed his way inside. Almost stumbling over the threshold, he closed the door behind him, “I thought I told you to call me Eddie.”

“Eddie,” she corrected herself, then repeated the unanswered question, “what are you doing here this late at night?”

Catching some of the white material of her nightgown with his fingers, “I wanted to see you…”

Glancing over at the tall grandfather clock on the opposite side of the room, she filled in with furrowed brows, “at 11 o'clock at night?”

“Yeah,” he smirked, grabbing her small hand with his own.

“Whyever would you want to see me this late?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you this late at night?” he leaned in to give her a kiss.

Inhaling sharply at the recognition of the taste on his tongue, Rosalie held onto his cheek and pulled back to search his dark eyes, “are you sloshed?”

“As a matter of fact, yes I am,” he said proudly.

“Did you attend some ball I wasn’t aware of?” she jested, shaking her head lightly at his state.

“Nah,” he waved her off, disconnecting his fingers from hers to go inspect her soft bed, “Jeb down in the stables just wanted a few of us to test out the whisky he’s been trying to brew,” sitting down on the mattress, he pretty much immediately flopped down, moving his arms as if he was trying to make a snow angel in the fabrics, “bloody hell, how do you ever get anything done when your bed feels like this?”

Cocking her head, she giggled, “you enjoying it, are you?”

“Fucking love it! Why doesn’t my bed feel like this?”

“I don’t know, what does your bed feel like?”

Taking a moment to think, he nodded, looking up at the canopy above, “hay. Lots and lots of hay.”

“Really? What are you, a horse?” Rosalie leaned against one of the tall bedposts. “You certainly have the mane of one.”

Sitting up, he crawled closer to her, “why, do you wanna ride me?”

“What? I don’t think that would be as effective a form of transportation.”

“Who said anything about transportation?” he now sat at the foot of her bed.

Looking down at his smirk, she still didn’t get what he was hinting at, just continued to stand there, not knowing how to reply.

Bringing a hand up to the lower part of his face, he brushed a finger over his lower lip. After a moment of silence, he uttered seductively, “what were you doing when I knocked on the door?”

“Just, lying in bed,” she shrugged, not knowing why he wished to know.

“Did I interrupt anything?” she looked down to watch how his fingers had once again found purchase in the bottom of her chemise.

“Only my failed attempt at falling asleep…” her brows furrowed.

Slowly moving his hands up her legs, past her knees, “you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure. Why is this so intriguing to you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he slowly stood up, “it’s late at night, you’re all alone and from what I’ve heard, you recently just kissed a very handsome bloke.” Being just inches away from her face, he breathed out as if it was obvious, “all of the elements are there.”

“There for what?”

Squinting his eyes at her, Eddie wasn’t sure if she was just playing coy or if she truly didn’t know. “…for you to touch yourself.”

“What do you mean touch myself?”

Leaning back a bit, his mouth hung agape. “Do you honestly not know what I’m talking about?”

“Do you think I’d ask you if I knew?”

“Oh, wow…” he exhaled, taking a step back, looking speechless.

“What,” Rosaline got nervous, “is it something bad?”

“No, no, it’s nothing bad, I just-… really didn’t know what a proper lady like yourself knows of such things. Maybe it’s not quite the same up here in your world.”

“Well…Are you going to tell me what it is or not?”

Letting out a drawn-out sigh, he looked her deep in the eye and told her hesitantly, “…it’s when you touch yourself to feel good.”

“…feel good?”

“It’s like when you lie with someone, but on your own,” seeing her brows only furrow further, he kept going, “you don’t have to be making love to feel good.”

“So, what, you just…” she let out an airy chuckle, running her hands up and down her arms.

“No, Rose, um,” he caught her arms, giggling shortly, “it’s more like here,” he guided her hands first over the heave of her breast, “but especially down here,” he breathed out, bringing her hand down to the lower part of her stomach, just before her legs. “You find that thing that makes you feel like you’re on fire to think about and then you keep going until it builds and grows into what may be the best thing you can feel…”

“And that’s something that people do? It feels good?”

“Yeah, it’s one of the most natural things to do and especially if you don’t have a companion physically there to make you feel that way.”

Biting her lip, she brushed her fingers over his.

“…will you teach me?”

“Will I… what?”

“Teach me? Or… I’m sorry, is that improper to request? It is, isn’t it? I apologise, that was immensely scandalous of me to-”

Effectively silencing her panic, he kissed her, holding on to either side of her face.

Pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment, “I would love nothing more than to teach you.”

“Well… what do I do?” she asked him as he took a step back, admiring her from a distance.

“Here,” he pointed, “sit back on the bed,” and she did as he asked, scooting back against the numerous pillows resting against the headboard, while he kept his distance, sitting down at the bottom of the mattress, leaning up against one of the bedposts.

“What now?” she rocked her foot nervously.

Cocking his head to the side, he breathed out slowly, then flashed her the warmest of smiles, “lean back, relax… bring up your knees a bit,” she bent them slowly, keeping her eyes locked on him, “yeah, just like that, see, barely begun and you’re already a natural.”

Looking deeply into her wide eyes, what he said next came out in a low, slow tone, “did you know that I’ve always fancied you?” not letting her answer, he continued, “because I have. Ever since my da dropped me off here to be my uncle's problem and I never saw him again. Seeing you for the first time, in that moment, I forgot everything bad, everything cruel in this world. It was like looking at an angel, you are an angel. And even though you weren’t mine, you couldn’t even see me, I still adored you,” his small smile was strong and true. “I used to make up these stories in my head, where I’d meet a creature in the forest, and it would grant me a wish. And every time, I wanted to spend my wish on you. It was always you. I wanted you to see me as I see you. I wanted to wake up and be a proper dandy so that I could just stride into this huge house and ask your father for your hand without me being executed on site. I feel like that wish came true. I’m still just me, but, you see me. I see it, you look at me exactly the way that I look at you. Adoration, trust, hunger…” he almost growled that last word, sending chills down her spine. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The things that I wanna do with you… to you… I've had a lot of time, I don’t know if I’d be able to get through it all even if I had you for the rest of my life. If I could, then I would, even if my lord would kill me, I’d still try, because you, you’re not just someone you can forget. You can’t forget an angel…”

“Eddie…” she breathed out, almost feeling dizzy after all of that.

“Rose, tell me… do your nipples feel as hard as they look right now? Because it looks like they could cut through glass with the way they're poking out and staring at me…”

Glancing down, she gasped lightly at the sight. He was indeed correct. Blushing, she lifted up one of the hands, the one that had unconsciously been digging into her soft thigh, up to give her right breast a soft squeeze.

“So?”

“They- they-… yes,” her voice shook as the touch sent delicious tingles throughout her body.

“There is another thing I want you to check for me,” his fingers tightened around the duvet beneath him. “Take your other hand for me and bring it down between your legs…”

Slowly hiking up her long skirt, she sprawled her fingers out over her inner thigh and looked up to check with him, “here?”

“A little higher, Rose,” she moved it slowly, squirming lightly under her own light touch, “higher,” he exhaled, looking entranced by her state already. When she finally touched the spot he was guiding her towards, she let out a tiny whine, “there…” he bent forward swiftly, almost as if it was pure instinct, and tugged up her dress more, gathering it at her waist. Trailing his fingers down from her hips to her legs, he spread the apart more, ensuring his front row seat was supreme.

Leaning back again, he cursed underneath his breath, “fuck Rose… your honeypot looks fucking perfect. That’s it, perfect, touch yourself just like that, don’t be afraid to explore, feel around, get to know your own body…”

“Use your fingers, spread yourself apart for me darling. Show me just how wet you are,” and when she flashed him more of the glistening pink flesh, he actually moaned, “Jesus Christ. I just wanna bury myself in you and never come up for a breath of air again.”

“Touch your little pearl, right there, more pressure than that, trust me,” she heard a heavy belt hit the floor, making her blink her half-closed lids up to focus on him again. Her jaw went slack as she saw how his hand went from lazily palming himself through his breeches to loosening the restraints and showing his hand down to pull out his heavy cock. All of the breath left her body at once and she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“Are you drooling?” he chuckled softly.

“What?” she ripped her vision away from his tight fist’s movements. Drooling… wasn’t she supposed to get this wet? He didn’t call it drool before, is that just another term for it?

“You are drooling,” he reached out to wipe the corner of her mouth.

“Oh.”

“Please trust me when I say, that is the best compliment you could give me,” he said in a gravelly voice, quickening his movements.

“I, um… it’s a lot…”

“I know Rose, but please keep going just a few moments longer, trust me on this one.”

How could she not trust him implicitly?

He was right. It truly was the best feeling she had ever experienced.

Meet me in the place where you finally thanked me.

Rosalie read the quickly scratched note once more, biting her lip. It had been slipped under her door from the servant’s staircase. It wasn’t the first note Eddie had left her, more like the dozenth. She’d saved them all, put them in a small chest underneath her bed.

Looking up again, she searched the animal-less barn, but found no luck.

Sneaking up on her like a cat, Eddie grabbed her by the waist and yanked her into an obscured corner.

“Eddie! You gave me a fright!” she huffed out as he settled her against a tall half wall.

“Shh, not so loud, there are people around,” he kissed her neck, already running his hands all over a manor of intimate places.

Feeling herself turn into goo already, she let out a small moan. “Eddie, there are people around…”

“Exactly,” he started to gather up her full, green skirt, “so, be quiet.”

Like two magnets being drawn to each other, his fingers found her dripping folds.

“Fuck… you were thinking about this, weren’t you?”

“I-…”

“You were, weren’t you?” he let out a genuine giggle. “Is this,” he slipped a finger into her small hole, ”what you were thinking about? Huh? That’s what’s got you this soaked?”

Not being able to control the sound that escaped her lips, her eyes rolled and her whole upper body slumped forward, moaning into Eddie's light tunic.

“Shh,” he hushed into her hair, placing a few small kisses on her temple as he eased his ring finger in next to his middle one. Rutting his hardness against her side, he groaned, “you know I love the noises you make, but if you don’t keep that beautiful mouth shut, someone will hear, someone who isn’t afraid to walk straight up to my lord and tell him that one of his servants has his fingers so deep inside his daughter’s cunt that she’s seeing god himself.”

“Eddie,” she muttered, lifting one leg up a bit, caressing it up his own, trying to draw him close.

“Yes?” he nudged her head a bit, making it lull back.

“It’s-, oh!” his warnings didn’t work when he was touching her like that. “I-“

Muffling her moans, she felt Eddie’s free hand release its iron-like grip on her covered breast and clasp over her mouth.

“See, now I’m beginning to think that you’d actually like us to get caught. For people to see the power that a nobody like me has over you,” he whispered into her ear, hand still firmly covering her rosy lips, “you would probably do anything I wished, wouldn’t you? Especially when I’ve got you wrapped around my fingers like this,” his fingers were now rocking her fast and hard, focusing their attention on a specific spot, causing her cunt to produce the most intoxicating of squelching echoes, “do you want me to ruin the status you hold in society, huh? Let people see how I’ve tainted their perfect little Rose and turned her into nothing more than a common whore? Because that’s what you are now, aren’t you? You’re just a little whore. My little whore.” Truly shaking under his grasp, she let go and nearly felt like she was gonna pass out. “That’s my girl,” he pulled his fingers out, vigorously rubbing his whole palm over her crying cunt, before briefly dipping back in a few times, making sure he got every last drop.

Finally removing his fingers from her still dripping pussy, as well as the one over her vibrating mouth, she heard him giggle sweetly.

“What?” her emerald skirt rustled back down into place, as he took a tiny step back. His now drenched thigh being very hard to ignore, she blushed, unable to take her eyes off of the stain, but also the stiff tent right beside it, “oh, I’m-“

“Rose,” he caught her chin, “don’t even think about apologising.”

“Do you have a spare pair of breeches with you?”

“No, but I’m plenty filthy as it is. I can easily carry on the rest of the day like this, and no one will be the wiser. Besides, I like it. A lot.”

Flickering her eyes down to his perpetual grin, she pulled him down for a hungry kiss.

Whimpering against his tongue, he pulled away, turning his head to catch his breath, “fuck. If I wasn’t as strong a man, I’d have knocked you up weeks ago. Just look at you, practically begging for my seed…”

Nudging her nose against his cheek, she breathed out, “please Eddie…”

Chuckling, he shook his head lightly, smile only growing wider, “I have to get back. I’ll see you at nightfall?”

“Knock five times,” he begrudgingly ripped himself free and she leaned back against the wall, watching him closely, “I can’t wait to repay you the favour.”

Laughing, he backed up even more, “I’m not fucking you, Rose.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to think of something else.”

“So, I ask you, Lady Rosalie Beatrice Elizabeth Rowe III, my dear Rosalie, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

The shiny ring on lord Harrington’s pinkie was icy cold to the touch, almost felt like it was burning her tender flesh as he held onto her hand possessively.

“I…” her voice shook, “I cannot.”

“But, I’ve already spoken to your father, it’s all planned out!” he blinked hard and tried, “I love you!”

Those idyllic three words had never sounded more strained, more forced, than they did coming from his lips. “Do you truly believe that this is what love feels like? Do you struggle to breathe whenever I am in your presents? Do you lay awake every night yearning for me to be beside you?”

“Miss Rowe,” the gentleman scoffed, letting go of her hand, “I am talking about love, not some silly fairy-tale.”

Knocking twice on the splintery cottage door, Rosalie drew her heavy cloak closer around her trembling body.

“Rose?” Eddie answered the door, worry immediately painting his features, “what are you doing here? Get in, you’ll freeze to death out there,” he ushered her inside, briefly poking his head out, seeing if she’d come alone, before slamming it shut once more.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she kept her vision glued to the rough floor.

“What if someone saw you? It’s not dark out yet-“

Looking up as she exhaled, she cut him off, “Lord Harrington proposed to me.”

“Oh…” he breathed out, not meeting her eyes. He sounded like he was preparing himself for a goodbye.

“Eddie, look at me.” His glassy, chocolaty eyes finally found hers, “I didn’t-… I couldn’t…”

All of the air left his body. “Are you saying that you declined? But he could have given you everything.”

“Not everything,” she took a step closer.

“Rose, I can’t provide for you as he can! I can barely give you a roof over your head and food in your belly.”

“But you can give me you, all of you, and that’s all I need, that’s all I want.” Grabbing onto his cheek, she declared, “I want you. I love you.”

Breathing out slowly, he closed his eyes and melted into her hold, “what are we going to do?”

“Run away together?” she suggested with a smile, wrapping her arms around him.

Disappearing into her ocean eyes, he complied, “okay. At dusk. By then there won’t be as many prying eyes.”

“Let them see. They can’t stop us, I won’t let them.”

“God, I love you,” he muttered, before they collided, locking their lips in a heated kiss.

Snaking a few fingers up between their bodies, Rosalie undid the clasp on her cloak and let it fall to the floor with a muffled clang. Feeling his hands find her waist at an instant, they slowly started fiddling with the many laces, pealing the several layers off slowly, one by one, never detaching his lips from hers to look down, but simply feeling his way through it.

And with a resounding thud, the last piece of fabric left her body and hit the floor. She had gotten impatient and helped along, rolling down her stockings and throwing the chemise over her head.

Scooping her up, he walked her just a few steps before gingerly setting her down on the bare table nearby. Gasping for air, they parted.

The journey his eyes went on next might have made Rosalie feel self-conscious if it had happened a few months ago, but not now. Now, all she did was lean back on her elbows and tighten the hook her legs had around him, pulling him closer.

Jaw slack, Eddie couldn’t rip his clothing off fast enough, revealing the chilling, yet beautiful ink that was scattered all around the corners of his skin.

Running his palms all over her sprawled-out body on the table in front of him, she laid a hand on top of one of his exploring ones, making his eyes once more find hers.

“Eddie Munson,” her eyes glistened, “I am but your humble servant.”

His body shuttered at her doting words, and breathed out, “as I am yours.”

Bending closer, pressing his pelvis up against hers and he interlocked his fingers with her own, “I’m yours until the moment I draw my last breath. I love you, Rosalie.”

Feeling his cock glide through her more than ready folds, she pulled him down to get another kiss, whimpering, “I love you, I love you, I lov-“

Her declaration was turned into a gasp as he eased his thick length into her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Rose,” he fought the urge to roll his eyes back, “holy fuck.”

Catching her lips with his, he gave her a few mind-numbingly slow thrusts.

Panting, he rested his forehead against hers, “you’re hugging me so tight, fuck. Sucking me in so deep like you never want me to leave your cunt,” he snapped his hips sharply, making her legs tremble around him.

Suddenly withdrawing from her, making her walls clench around nothing. Her whole body still fuzzy, she whined, “no, no, no, no, no.”

Swiftly flipping her around, he yanked her by her soft thighs, filling her again in one fell swoop, knocking the air clean out of her.

“I’ll never fucking leave you, you hear me?” he practically growled through his clenched jaw, gliding a hand up her back, pressing her upper body down flush against the table.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” she slurred, as the filthy reverberations of skin against skin filled the cabin.

“Mine, huh?” his fingers dug into her hips, “everything that is yours is mine?

“Everything,” he slammed into her, sending her body jerking forward into the hard wooden table.

Palming her ass, he spread her apart, gliding a thumb up and down, quickly discovering how far her arousal had spread. “How about this, huh?” he danced the pad of his thumb over the small bud just a few centimetres away from where his cock was stuffing her full, “this mine?”

“Mhm…” she hummed as just the tip slipped in, sending her over the edge.

“Jesus, look at you just creaming all over my cock,” he looked down at her in adoration, mesmerised by the vision.

Feeling her walls clamp down on him, practically stopping his movements from just how tight it was, he slumped forward, groaning into her shoulder as her own orgasm caused him to pump his seed deep inside of her, painting her cervix, “I love you so much.”

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historia-vitae-magistras · 10 months

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If I remember correctly you said that baby Jack had to be held a lot because he was so clumsy. Would Matt have been big enough to do the same when he first meets him. You could get the family tradition of older siblings carrying their younger ones around everywhere. Let Matt get adorable little germlins to carry.

I did! And I've actually thought about this. The little things that carry from person to person. If Australia is a consequence of the American revolution, he also saw the turn of Matt from younger brother to older brother. What Matt knows about any concept of family, he learned at Alfred's elbow. Peak indulgence for Matt is when it was cold and Matt was small, Alfred would heft him up and carry him places. So picking up Jack? Hell yeah. Jack was very sturdy even for a young child but Matt was in his early teens in the regency era. Wee Jack gave him anxiety. All children are little shits, bouncing off and into mischief and being clumsy but even by that standard Jack is chaotic. Where Matt was a very self contained child who could be put into the corner and given books or blocks or even nothing and he'd occupy himself, Jack is a curious wee thing. He always has questions, he always wants to hear music, he always wants to chat, and play and move. Baby's first labour strike was protesting until the turnspit dog gets friends. He liberated the chicken's Matt's in charge of, let the goats loose and set the parlour on fire because he got bored and tried to figure out how the oil lamps worked. He broke so many priceless antiques that Arthur may or may not have stolen.

In early 19th century Georgian society where childhood is newly important but Jack's still a third rate penal colony at the end of the world, he's kind of miserable and everyone would want to indulge him, stuck half the world away from everything and everyone he's ever known in the miserable libertine environment that is regency England, It's a strange thing, for Matt to be a brother again, much less with one that will be so briefly this wriggly and adorable before shooting up within a century to end up about 20 kilos bulkier than him.

The image of Matt as his anxious but fairly normal 1805 self popping Jack up onto a hip he doesn't have enough of to keep him there and then doing the same thing in 10 years when he's gone back to setting fire and committing war crimes against Americans is so fitting. Like it doesn't matter what anyone thinks, they're stuck together. Also its so goddamn funny to think of Matt like "I just set the White House on fire, I am not in the mood for children." And Jack and Zee don't give a flying fuck, they have a book for him to read and the aren't leaving him be until he fucken reads it. He's grumpy about it, even though he knows he'll prize those memories long after the relationships themselves have been resigned too history.

#the ask box || probis pateo #jack || a land of summer skies #matthew || my country is winter #zee || ahakoa he iti he pounamu #jack zee and matt || battered bonds once so strong #Jack Zee and Matt || battered bonds once so strong

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drconstellation · 8 months

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On Pride and Prejudice and S3 parallels to watch for

(*no Nazi zombies included)

I don't think it's the second "marriage proposal" that is going to matter in S3. That's just the icing on the cake. What's really going to break your heart to pieces will be the parallel to the lake scene encounter at Pemberley Estate. That comes before the quiet, gentle, second suggestion of "lets make a team of the two of us" again.

I keep seeing people write "oh, aziracrow are going to throw themselves together! Oh, its going to be violent! And frenzied! They wont be able to hold back!" Ah, no. I respectfully disagree. I see it possibly playing out very differently.

Recently we had this observation:

Let this old Gen X-er take you back nearly 30 years to 1995, when the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice pictured above came out (and I believe this is the version Lord Gaiman has recommended you watch - for good reason! But I may be biased here...) Colin Firth played Mr Darcy, and I dare anyone to name anyone else in the production off the top of their heads, because Firth's Darcy at the time was considered just *sigh.* The lake scene was so famous in its day it became became a meme before memes were a thing, in a time when we still had VHS video tapes and the internet didn't exist (gasp!)

We must set the scene.

Elizabeth has come the Lake Country with her aunt and uncle on a bit of a holiday, and they have called in on Mr Darcy's home, Pemberley Estate, to have a sticky-beak (as you do, apparently, in those days). He's not home, not expected until the next day, but the housekeeper is happy to show the visitors around the mansion, filled with amazing furniture and paintings and nick-knacks that all good rich Georgian families should have. The aunt and uncle ooh and ahh appreciatively and ask questions, and the housekeeper paints a glowing picture of how kind and generous her master is. Hmmph, thinks Lizzy, that's not the Mr Darcy I thought I knew.

Meanwhile, galloping across the fields on his lovely steed, comes Mr Darcy, a day early. And the visiting party slowly make their way out into the gardens. (cue the building tension...)

Darcy decides he is hot after the long ride, and strips down and goes for a swim in a lake (or pond, or duck!pond - whatever, its wet) to cool off (ha! I'm surprise that puddle didn't evaporate into steam as soon as he hit it) while Lizzy continues to wander and ponder what she is learning about him...

And as Darcy strides blithely across his demesne, practically nekkid from the waist up in his wet see-through shirt - he runs into the object of his desires.

This is their Vavoom! moment. (Well, maybe better Austen scholars than me would disagree, but for the purposes of this post, I declare it is.)

The point is...

The point I'm trying to make is this is going to be the important part of P&P in S3 of GO. Our two love birds have sprung each other unawares, and one of them in particular is in a vulnerable situation. They are vulnerable physically, with their damp, tousled hair (*sigh*) and, as aforementioned, is not appropriately dressed to the expected presentation for polite company at the time (*ahem* wet see-through-linen-shirt-that-doesn't-leave-much-to the-imagination *ahem*) so is also somewhat emotionally vulnerable. And the other is witnessing them in this vulnerable situation. The one they least wanted to see them like that. And neither of them can unsee it.

After the shock, Darcy struggles to pull his dignity back together and make some awkward small talk, before continuing onto the house to rapidly make himself socially presentable again and become the perfect host for the rest of the visit. And, well...things went rather splendidly after that, in short.

See, that's what I mean. The second proposal doesn't matter. Its the after thought. It just tidies up the loose ends. Ices the cake. Makes us feel all warm and gooey, like we're hugging a hot chocolate topped with little marshmallows in our cold hands. Its the equivalent "lake scene" that is going to slowly creep up on you like a fist around your heart, then squeeze when you least expect it, and leave you gasping with its rawness.

Now I'm not going to declare which of Aziracrow was representing Darcy, and which was Elizabeth. Crowley gave the better proposal for being a team of two, but Aziraphale gave the societal put down to Crowley. They kind of split the parallel proposal between themselves.

Hmm, so what kind of "lake scene" could we see in S3? Which of the two would reveal their vulnerable side? Who has the large domain where the other comes a visiting? Who learns something unexpected about the other? Who goes chasing a villain to redeem themselves in the other's eyes? Don't know. Not even even going to guess at this point. But I am going to go and do my homework so I'm ready when the time comes.

We should acknowledge that the first proposal just wasn't going to work, that they had to go their separate ways and grow, just as Lizzy and Darcy did. Smashing them back together like Blackbeard playing with his cake toppers, to cross fandoms, is just...stupid. You can't keep making the same mistakes. It wont work. Not in the long run. And these are immortal beings, (lord, I want to write a whole post on immortality, but not here, right now) the long run is to long to contemplate.

I'm saying wait and see - but be watchful. You might be caught out where you least expect it.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 3 #pride and prejudice #aziraphale #crowley #lake scene parallel #Surely it was a duck pond?#ducks!#second marriage proposal #vulnerability #may as well be naked #Mr Darcy #no one remembers any one else from 1995 #bit of a dark horse

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1533-secrets-from-history · 10 months

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Controversial origin of Halime Sultan

For many years the life of Halime Sultan had been a mystery. Not only her place of birth,but even her period in harem and tenure as Valide was unknown. Many thought the mother of Mahmud was killed along with him, some said she survived, but was banished. Even her Muslim name was unknown and was mentioned as fulane sultan for quite a long time, until it was found that she was called Halime sultan.

Like almost everything about her life her origin was mostly a mystery, However today it is accepted that she was from Caucasia, particularly from Abkhazia. However, that doesn't make everyone clear about her ethnicity. Confusion mainly comes because the term "Abkhazian" might include several people: Native Abkhazians, who settled here in ancient times, there were two major tribes in Abkhazia ubykh-abkhazs(genetically closer to Circassians) and Georgian-abkhazs(almost genetically identical to western Georgians). However, the number of people in each tribe varied from time to time, however generally Georgian-abkhazians were more loosely-settled, mainly because during the rise of civilization during iron age,pre-classical and classical antiquity, when Abkhazia was part of first Kingdom of Colchis and then kingdom of Egrisi(lazica), both were kartvelian kingdoms, created after unification of native Kartvelian tribes that lived there, two kingdom covered teritories from todays Abkhazia to some parts of eastern Anatolia. Therefore, Georgian-abkhazs promoted that time. In 697, the kingdom of Egrisi devided, into the de-facto kingdom of Abkhazia from 697-780's and the official kingdom of Abkhazia from early 780's to 1008 that included not only modern Abkhazia,but whole teritories of modern eastern Georgia and parts of Turkey and Russia . The official language of the pre 780's kingdom was Georgian, was ruled by Georgian-abkhaz Nobel families and was almost entirely settled by Georgians. After the 780s it was even more dominated by Georgians and that was time, when on the territories of the modern days republic of Abkhazia along with Georgian-abkhazs and ubykh-abkhazs western Georgians actively started to settle. From 1008 to 1490's it became part of the united kingdom of Georgia. After the 1490s it was invaded by Mongolians and divided into western and eastern parts. That is a period when Circassians slowly started to enter Abkhazian territories. Now back to the topic, up until late sixteenth century Abkhazia was Georgian dominated land, in 1570's same time as ottomans, many Circassian tribes started infiltrating Abkhazia and unlike peaceful natives, started to invade homes of weakened Georgians and as a result during the climax of invasion in 1580-90's mass slave trade burst out and thousands of Georgian-abkhaz and mingrelian girls found themselves in ottoman slave market.

Halime sultan was born around 1568-70, therefore in 1580-90's she could have been anywhere from 10-12 to 20-22 years old, considering Mehmed III received his sanjak in 1583, Halime was likely gifted to him that or next year, at very least she was already favourite in 1586, so she was bought quite before that time. So perhaps she was freshly brought little Georgian in the Ottoman slave market? Everything in this theory fits, her age, statistics, fact that slave markets were flooded by Georgians suggest that when we say that Halime was Abkhaz, it means Georgian-abkhaz, not Ubykh-abkhaz and definitely not non-native Circassians.

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breadsblogx · 2 years

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hold back the river. (let me look into your eyes)

DARYL X READER

Inspired by this song

—

Summary: You love Daryl Dixon more than anything but there is a strain placed on your relationship after the loss of Rick Grimes. You start to see Daryl less and less as he spends every day at the river searching for his brother, and when he's home you spend every minute afraid that you'll lose him again. Can you work through the issue and bring him home?.

—

You gladly accepted, already feeling the ache in your bones from moving around the metal panels for the walls setting in as you walked back to the trailer that had become your home at Hilltop. It was one of those late Autumn days when the sun was still sitting high in the sky and the air somehow still held onto that Georgian heat. You decided not to waste the day cooped up inside and instead took the book from your bedside table and headed out to settle into your favourite spot for the afternoon.

The first of course was Maggie, the woman seemingly having a talent for knowing the whereabouts of any resident of Hilltop at any time had quickly discovered your hiding spot. The other was Daryl, he was the only one you'd shared the secret with willingly. You'd taken him here with one summer day when he was staying at Hilltop, the two of you wanting some time alone while you were navigating a new relationship.

That day was almost bittersweet to think about now. It might have sounded ridiculous to anybody else but those seemed like simpler times now. Your memories with Daryl, anytime you spent with him were the fondest memories you had but it made your heart ache just that much more when he was away. More recently it was starting to feel like he was away more often than he was with you. It had been almost three weeks since the last time you saw him now.

The news of what happened to Rick Grimes shook each of the communities, everyone's lives having been touched by him in some way but out of everyone you knew, Daryl had been hit the hardest. He lost more than most people could understand that day. You wished there was some way you could undo the last few months, to bring Rick home and bring everything back to normal but more than anything else, you wished you could bring Daryl home to you. He wasn't lost out there or presumed dead, he was alive and safe but simply spending every waking moment he had down by that river searching for his brother. He lost his brother that day but in the process, you were losing the man you loved.

You slowly started to zone back in, your small bit of focus recognising the feeling of the wet nose of an animal sniffing at your hand, begging for attention. You didn't pay much attention to it, acting on instinct as you raised your hand to pet it still trying to focus on your book. It wasn't uncommon for animals to be running loose around Hilltop, most of them having grown used to human attention. It was only when you heard the whining bark for more attention that it finally snapped you out of your daze and your eyes flew to the dog sitting next to you.

"Dog! Oh, good boy!" You grinned the excitement of seeing him taking over as you dropped your book to your lap to give him a proper welcome. You scratched behind his ears as you watched him roll over onto the ground, panting between excited barks. There was this certain spot behind his ear that made Dog completely flop over and he loved when you scratched it, it was something Daryl had taught you early on when Dog had taken a liking to you. That was when the realisation hit you like a train, practically knocking the air from your lungs. If Dog was here then- "Daryl!"

You lept to your feet, not caring where your book landed as it tumbled to the ground. Your mind was too full with one thought and one thought only, Daryl. You didn't waste a second, taking off running as you sprinted towards the gates, Dog close at your heels as he chased after you. It was like your heart jumped into your throat, your pulse hammering in your ears as you finally saw him. He was standing by the gates, his bike propped up next to him as he talked to Maggie and Aaron. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation but you didn't let that stop you, not caring one bit if you were interrupting them as you threw yourself at Daryl. You collided with him hard, burying your face in his chest as your arms went around his neck pulling him down into you.

"Oh, Jesus!" He spluttered out a laugh as he staggered back a couple of steps, just barely managing to balance himself before both of you ended up on the ground with the force of your hug. He swayed you for a moment, his hand coming to the back of your head. "Easy woman! Gonna knock us both on our asses."

"I missed you." You breathed out, finally feeling you could breathe again as you realised this wasn't a dream, Daryl really was standing in front of you safe and alive and most importantly, home. When he was out there, miles away from home contact was hard if not impossible at times and you worried about him every second he was gone. You were afraid if something happened out there you wouldn't know until eventually, it had just been months since he last came home. You couldn't sleep when you didn't know if he was safe.

"Well, we'll leave you two to catch up then." Maggie laughed, seemingly amused at the rare display of such openly public affection from Daryl. She rested her hand on Aaron's shoulder as she started to walk away, urging him to follow her. "It's good to see you home Daryl."

"How'd ya know I was home?" Daryl asked finally pulling away from the hug, one hand staying on your waist while the other reached up to brush a stray hair out of your face. There was a light in his eyes as they glided all over your face like he was trying to memorise every little detail of the way you looked at him, the love written across your features and the softness in your gaze now that you finally had him home. "Wanted to come and surprise ya."

"Dog found me." You smiled watching the way Dog weaved in and out between you and Daryl, his tail wagging with the excitement of finally being home. Now that you could relate to.

"Guess I ain't the only one missin' ya." Daryl was almost bashful at how much he really had missed you out there. He dropped his head down, nudging your shoulder with his forehead as you played with the hairs at the nape of his neck. The rest of the world seemed to fade away from the two of you, you couldn't bring yourself to care about the eyes you sure were on you as you stood out in the open.

"Speaking of, how do you feel about another trip? I've got a dinner invite for tonight and I know some other people who will be very excited to see you." You turned your face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The rough stubble on his cheek burned against your skin, the hairs that much longer and untamed after being in the woods for so long. Daryl caught your jaw in his hand letting his thumb brush against your cheek and then, gently tilted your face up so he could pull you into a proper kiss. It was a soft kiss, slow and deep as you both savoured the feeling trying to make up for the lost time.

"Haven't had a proper meal in awhile, I'm starvin'. Who's cookin'?" He asked pulling away from the kiss with a grin.

~~~

The unseasonably warm day proved to be perfect for a trip on Daryl's motorbike, the sun filtering through the trees along the road to Alexandria. It was a quiet journey, both of you simply enjoying each other's company on the open road. Your arms were wrapped tightly around Daryl's waist, your hands pressed against his stomach while your head rested against his back. You let your eyes close enjoying the feeling of the wind in your hair and Daryl in your arms, you refused to let go of him for a second longer than you had to now that he was home.

As sped down the road towards the gates to Alexandria Rosita spotted you approaching and signalled for the gate to be opened for you. You nodded back at her as she waved, Daryl not stopping at the gates and instead heading straight to your house to park his bike outside.

The old townhouse in Alexandria was the first place Daryl had ever lived with you, at the time it was more of a shared house with a few of the other residents of Alexandria but as time went on and the other communities were discovered more people moved outwards. It was your home now, something that belongs to just the two of you but you couldn't bring yourself to stay there alone anymore. Something about the cold walls and empty bed made you miss him that much more when he was gone.

You left the bike parked on the street just outside, deciding to instead walk the few houses down to dinner. As you drew closer you could hear the growing sounds of children playing, laughter filling the street the way it did in the old world, the way it was always supposed. Alexandria had finally become the safe place for families that you'd always dreamed it would be, it made you hopeful for the future. As you rounded the corner onto the next street the sound of playing turned to an excited high pitched giggle.

"Uncle Daryl!"Little Judith Grimes had grown so much since you first joined the group back in the prison and she was shaping up to have the same strong personality as her dad and brother. Daryl had helped look after her ever since she was a baby and you knew she miss Daryl almost as much as you did while he was away. For the second time that day, Daryl braced himself as he caught a running hug from Judith, swinging her up into the air with ease.

"Hiya Jude. How's my favourite lil' ass kicker?" Daryl smiled messing up her hair as she made a fuss in his arms. She squealed loudly enough to catch Michonne's attention as Daryl tiled hr backwards, hanging her almost entirely upside down in his arms. Michonne waved at you from the porch as she started to make her way towards you. Daryl let Judith down when he saw her, something about his expression becoming more serious as Judith ran over to you.

You knelt down and tried to keep up as Judith burst into an excited rant about everything that had been happening while you were at Hilltop but part of your mind was distracted. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Daryl and Michonne walking a few steps away, talking in hushed voices but just loud enough for you to make out the words as they spoke.

You understood the serious look that had settled over Daryl's features now, he was updating her. About what he'd found, what he hadn't found and more importantly if they thought finding Rick's body was still a possibility. You tried to keep your excited expression steady for Judith but you could feel your sink as you heard Daryl's final words to her.

I ain't done yet, imma keep lookin' for him.

It wasn't over, it never was with him. You'd finally got him back but now who knew for how long. His determination was one of the things that made you fall in love with him but sometimes, that stubbornness exhausted you. You were tired, tired of the worry and the lonely nights and you just wanted him with you. You tried your best to push the thought to the back of your mind, to let yourself enjoy the time you had together now as Judith led you inside by the hand to show you a project she was helping RJ with for his homeschooling.

You spent hours at their house, chatting as you caught each other up about everything and anything. How the kids were, the way the communities were running now, your jobs, everything you could think of. Daryl spent most of the night sitting on the couch with, his arm wrapped around your shoulder when he wasn't playing with the kids. You watched how at ease he was with them and it gave you hope that maybe someday you could have that. The security of a family, kids of your own that would adore Daryl just as much as they did.

You were starting to wonder if Michonne's cooking really had become that much better than yours or if it was simply the good company that made everything that much better but either way it was the best dinner you'd had in a long time. It was late by the time you were done, everyone had completely cleared their plates and the kids were getting tired, drawing closer to their bedtime. You volunteered to help clear the table with Daryl while Michonne put Judith and RJ to bed.

"Should go home after this," Daryl said leaning over to brush your hair out of your face as he dropped the last of the plates into the sink. You leaned against the counter looking up at him with that gentle gaze he still wasn't sure he deserved. "You look tired and I ain't slept on a proper mattress in too long."

Home, sometimes after everything you'd been through together it was still strange to go home to your own house together. You nodded your agreement and said your goodbyes when Michonne came back downstairs. She hugged you one last time before you headed out into the night, walking back home with Daryl's hand held securely in yours. Daryl was right you were tired, damn near exhausted by the excitement of the day when you reached home. You kicked off your shoes at the door and headed straight upstairs to your bedroom.

Daryl stayed downstairs a little longer, unpacking the last of his things from his bike before he turned in for the night. You changed out of your clothes, putting on your favourite cotton shorts and tank top combo for bed. You'd brought it everywhere with you for years now, from the prison to here. The fabric wore away in places over time but they were still comfortable. By the time Daryl joined you, you had crawled into bed and were curled up on your side already starting to struggle to hold your eyes open.

He stripped out of his dirty clothes throwing them in the wash basket as he was left in just his faded grey boxers. He pulled back the sheet and slid in behind you, his arms immediately encasing you as he pulled you back into his chest. His skin was warm against yours, always seeming to radiate heat no matter the weather. His fingertips traced featherlight shapes across your arm, the feeling tickling your skin as he rested his chin against your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the exposed skin there.

"I really am glad you're home." You whispered, your voice slurred from the call of sleep. You turned your head to meet his eyes as you spoke, watching the way they softened when he looked at you. "I missed you so much. Missed this, us."

"I know sweetheart." He sighed, his tone almost sad as he pressed a kiss against your lips, gently nudging your nose with his when he pulled away. There was something in his expression that told you he knew you wouldn't like what he said next. "I miss ya too when I'm got there, but I gotta keep lookin', I gotta know for sure. Ya know that."

"I wish you didn't." Part of your desire to keep him here was selfish, you knew that. You were protecting your own feelings, protecting yourself from losing another person while you knew Daryl had lost his oldest friend that day. You wished he could see that while the people you'd lost were worth fighting for, his life here was worth staying for too. He fell quiet after that, knowing deep down you were right but he didn't know how to give up on something he'd dedicated himself to. Not long after that, you drifted off to sleep, finally feeling safe enough to get a good rest with Daryl's warmth wrapped around you.

~~~

There was a cold chill in the air the next morning, and you were woken by the goosebumps rising on your skin. You pulled the duvet tighter around your body not wanting to let any of the cold in and shifted backwards trying to find the warmth of Daryl's chest to gain more heat. It was only then that you noticed the emptiness of the bed next to you, just a mess of sheets where Daryl had been lying. You slowly opened your eyes, blinking harshly against the morning light as you moved up against the pillows.

Daryl was sitting on the end of the bed, already fully dressed with his back to you as he did up his boots, seeming unaware that you were now awake behind him. You could feel that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that made you feel sick as you knew what was to come next, some kind of explanation that he wouldn't be gone as long this time with promises to see you soon as he kissed you goodbye. It was always the same.

"Don't go." Your voice was quiet just barely above a whisper, still heavy with sleep and partially with the weight of the conversation you were expecting. Daryl turned to look at you when he heard you whisper, his hand coming to rest on your leg over the duvet as he gave you a reassuring look.

"I ain't goin' nowhere right now sweetheart. Just told Michonne I'd drop by, wanna talk about something she didn't wanna bring up at dinner with the kids around and all." He explained reaching for your hand before leaning down to brush his lips across your knuckles, his thumb tracing the same path afterwards. You wanted to believe that's all it really was, a conversation but you'd heard them yesterday. Whether Daryl would admit it right now or not, you knew the truth. You were going to lose him again.

"I heard you talking yesterday when I was with Judith. I know you didn't think I could hear but I could." You stumbled over your explanation as your bottom lip started to quiver as you spoke. You tried to bite back your emotions and the tears that were starting to prick at the corners of your eyes. You were afraid if you started to cry you wouldn't stop and you'd never get to say what you wanted to. "You're going back out there, aren't you?"

"There's a place, further down the river. We think maybe-" Daryl's gaze fell to your hand, not able to meet your eyes as his voice dropped in volume. He wanted to be honest, to tell you the truth about just how much area was still unsearched out there but he knew it wasn't what you wanted to hear. Not what you needed. "I gotta know Y/N. If he's out there, I gotta know."

"What about me?" You couldn't hold it back anymore and the damn broke, hot tears suddenly streaming down your face as you spoke. You hated that you couldn't be strong about this anymore. The last thing you ever wanted was to make Daryl feel bad but you needed to get these feelings out or you were afraid you might drown in them.

"What about me Daryl? I can't sleep when you're out there. I spend every night lying awake, terrified that the next search party we send down to that damn river will be for your body when there's someday when you just don't come home. I understand what you've lost, I know what Rick meant to you, what his family still means to you but I'm right here. And I don't know how much more of this fear I can take."

You choked back a sob as your hand slipped from Daryl's coming to instead to wrap around your own torso as you pulled your knees tight against your chest. Through the blurred vision of your tears, you could see the look that settled over Daryl's face as he finally realised how his being away affected you. There was a hurt in his eyes you'd never seen before and it broke your heart as he struggled for a response, not wanting to interrupt your own emotions.

"I love you so much. Why can't that be enough? Why can't we be enough?

"I never meant to - goddammit I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He caught your face in his hands, steading you as he wiped away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. His own voice shook with unshed tears and anger at himself as he watched you like this. How had he never noticed how badly this was affecting you before? Was he really that blind to the way he made you feel?

You crawled across the bed and collapsed into his lap, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as he held you closer to him. His hand ran over your hair as you cried, trying anything he could to soothe you. "Hush sweetheart don't cry. 's alright."

Daryl held you in his arms while you cried, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt but he didn't care. All he wanted was for you to feel better. One hand continued the rhythmic stroking of your hair that was slowly starting calm you while the other traced up and down your back. You couldn't handle the thought of losing this, of losing him, the one person in this world who still understood you completely. You didn't think you could survive it.

"I had no idea how much this was hurtin' ya," Daryl whispered softly, kissing the top of your head as your breathing finally started to slow back down to normal. He rested his forehead against the top of your head as he continued to hold you. "Never meant to hurt ya like this, ya know I never would."

"Just please don't leave this time?" You asked weakly, your voice still shaking as you tried to speak, your words muffled by Daryl's skin. Your tears had slowed but not stopped completely.

"I ain't ever leavin' ya alone again," Daryl promised pulling you into a tight hug.

#twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead x reader #walking dead #twd spoilers #Spotify

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viscountessevie · 15 days

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Unladylike Rules of Attraction [ARC Review]

Release Date: 23rd May 2024

Overall Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐️

Spice Level: 🌶🌶🌶

Content Warning: Attempted Sexual Assault, Racism/Xenaphobia, Minor Misogyny

Unladylike Rules of Attraction is the highly anticipated sequel to Amita Murray's debut Historical Romance series, The Marleigh Sisters. This second novel centres upon the dazzling sitar player and royal court singer, Miss Anya Marleigh.

She meets her match in Lord Damian Ashton at a family game of Pall Mall at the Budleigh Estate. Anya and Damian find themselves linked together when Damian is named as the executor of an inheritance left to Anya.

***

As someone who read the first novel of the series exactly a year ago, I knew exactly what I was coming into with an Amita Murray novel. Ms Murray loves her murder mystery plots. From what I gleaned from Unladylike Lessons in Love, the romance comes secondary. I was well prepared for that and I think maybe some new readers were not. As a blanket disclaimer to new readers and the publishing marketing team, I would like everyone to know that this series is not quite like Bridgerton. In fact, it feels like an antidote to Bridgerton.

While Bridgerton has been heralded as the baseline of diversity in the HR genre, Amita Murray actually takes the care and consideration to write actual people of colour into her books grounded in realism. I especially love and relate to the fact that all the Marleigh sisters are Indian just like me. While some aspects of the books are unflinchingly harsh (see trigger warnings above), that was the reality for people of colour in Georgian/Regency/Victorian England back in the day.

With Unladylike Rules of Attraction, it feels like Amita Murray has finally found a good balance between her thrilling plots and the romance. I definitely enjoyed the chemistry and sex scenes between Anya and Damian in this book more than the previous installment. That being said, I do wish the scenes themselves had lasted longer than most men do 😂. The ideas and acts for the various scenes were inspired but felt as though they were not tapped into their full sexy potential.

On the flip side, I really did like the romantic progression of the two. I think some of the most beautiful lines came from both Anya and Damian when they were being introspective about their lives and each other. Amita perfectly laid out their flaws and where those traits came into conflict. I do love a great grovelling montage from anyone in HR and this book definitely delivered in that respect. I also loved how seamlessly the romantic arc of this book intertwined with the main plot. I really appreciated that it was given focus once most of the loose ends of the book was tied up!

Speaking of the main plot, I loved this particular one very much. Just like Unladylike Lessons, Amita knows how to write a great mystery plot with an inciting event to rival any HR Act 3, high stakes, and a high speed plan that will take place over a week.

The plot was not only well written but the writing of this book was extremely compact - the book was very well structured. It also took me for a joyride. With twists and turns I did not expect them to go the way they did. Yet in true Amita Murray fashion, she did lay some hints early enough for sharp eyed readers to catch. I think this is one of the few books I've read where the inciting incident AND the HR Act 3 both were stressful. They both had me gasping loudly in the best way. While the resolution of the plot may seem controversial to some, I think it was very rooted in realism which honoured the characters and world building.

Of course, it wouldn't be an excellent book without a wonderful set of secondary characters! I admire how she knows how to write a supporting cast that props up their leads well. I adored how Trixie and Jeremy supported their respective leads and how some characters connected back to the first book! I loved how the really lovely callbacks stood well on their own if you hadn't read the first book.

As always, not only are the supportive characters written great, her villains are written all too well in the most horrifying ways. I think what makes them so terrible is that they feel real. We have all met people like this in person. Our very existence of being different threatens them so they do everything in their power to make you feel small. I will always appreciate how Amita holds up a mirror not just to society back then but how people like these villains still exist in this day and age.

The parallels at times really catch me off guard and have me very emotional. It is a very real part of our lives as readers of colour and I like how Amita has all her readers confront with the fact. Some of us don’t get to close the book and move on with our lives from the conflicts present in the book.

Last and certainly not least, I sang all the praises for the last book as well: I absolutely adore that their fractured sisterhood is the thread of this series. It’s such a compelling part of the books. In this novel, the sister scenes really shone on their own alongside the already intriguing story. The mystery of their origins keeps unravelling in the best way and I cannot to read more!

My only complaint for this book would be the fact that I wanted it to be longer overall! Just so the romance could have been explored even more in depth. A few extra scenes here and there to fully illustrate their connection. I could sense and feel it by Act 2, more specific scenes of connections would have made this book stellar! And of course, I would never complain about more descriptive sex scenes 😂.

Overall, this is the best book of the series to date (and I love Lila dearly!). It is for anyone looking for a more realistic look into the historical side of historical romance novels! If you’re into that, murder mysteries and compelling characters and themes, this book is for us. Happy Reading everyone and I can’t wait for this book to be in everyone’s hands!

Thank you to HarperCollins UK, HarperFiction and NetGalley for an advanced copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.

#NetGalley #Unladylike Rules of Attraction #Amita Murray #The Marleigh Sisters #ARC Review #Historical Romance #Historical Fiction #HarperCollins UK #HarperFiction #HR Blogging

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hannahssimblr · 6 months

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Chapter Two

On the first freezing day of Autumn, I zip my coat all the way up to the top and shiver as I exit the apartment building, a huge, converted Georgian house that opens onto Fitzwilliam Square. My hands are stiff as I try to wrangle my bicycle loose from the iron railings out front, my condensed breath floating over my face to warm up my nose and cheeks. I swear under my breath as the key gets stuck, again, and then stand there jangling it madly for a minute before it releases and the heavy chain pools onto the concrete at my feet.

I’ve learned quickly that the trick to owning a bicycle in Dublin city is to get the cheapest bike you can find and then make it look even cheaper. Shane and I spent an evening destroying it in the bin yard a couple of weeks ago, stamping the pedals until pieces broke off, using spray paint in lurid colours to obscure the brand name and shiny red coat on the metal work. We wound duct tape around the saddle and the handlebars, which doubled as an anti-theft method, happily enough. It was a cathartic experience. Claire had come along with a sticker book and helpfully dotted the body with flowers and hearts and rainbows too, insisting that all thieves are men, and none of them will want a girl’s bike. I then went to the nearest bike shop and bought two locks, the most hard wearing and expensive ones they had, because nobody is going to pick two massive locks for the pathetic reward of a dinged up bicycle covered in stickers.

“It’s a rite of passage to have a bike stolen in the first month.” Shane had said with some sympathy after I cried at the college gates having discovered my brand new bike gone, only an easily sawed through lock pathetically coiled around the stand left as any evidence that it existed. “Sure, bits off my bike get robbed all the time. I had to cycle home from town without a saddle the other week. We’ll get you another one, I know a guy who deals them out of his ma’s garage.”

“Isn’t that kind of like contributing to the negative cycle?” I whimpered. “I bet all those bikes are stolen too.”

“Yeah probably, but, ah, sure. They’re only sixty quid.”

That’s how I ended up with this ‘new’ bike, and luckily, nobody has stolen its saddle yet. We made sure that it’d be so inconvenient that even the most hard-up, desperate thief wouldn’t come near any part of it, but as a payoff it’s so uncomfortable. It squeaks, the back brake doesn’t work and sometimes when I go too fast I feel as though I’m going to slide off it and bash my most private areas onto the crossbar, but it gets me where I need to go. In the cold, early morning in the mist and smell of turf I throw my leg over it and manoeuvre it out onto the road, my bag and drawing tube strapped across me, and zip up towards Baggot Street, then skirt around Stephen’s Green, the new, cold wind throwing icy daggers at my face as I weave in and out of traffic, eluding busses and taxis and pedestrians who keep crossing the road before it’s their turn. Rust coloured leaves drop onto the pavement before my wheels as I pass the flats along Kevin Street, children in tiny uniforms walking to school hand in hand with their parents.

“Use your arms!” A taxi driver screams at me as I swerve to the right ahead of him, and I ignore him, already used to men screaming at me on these streets, whether it’s because they think I’m cycling them wrong or because they have an opinion about my body that they’d like to share.

Dublin isn’t awful, but it’s harsh in ways I’m still unused to. When I visited it I saw it as more beautiful than it really is, but back then I only saw the shops, the parks, the huge Georgian houses, and now I see the back alleys too and the places that don’t feel all that wonderful. I’ve seen the yellow pallor of the people at the back of the bus, the men in alleyways who dare you to look in and see them so they can shout at you for doing it, women climbing into sleeping bags in the sheltered doorways of department stores for the night, battered paper cups set out hopefully in front of them as they curl up to sleep on the cold pavement.

I get shouted at a lot here too. By bus drivers, for not knowing how to use my Leap card properly, and by the people on said busses for standing or sitting in the wrong places, by taxi men for crossing the road at the wrong time, by screechy women in windows for throwing my chewing gum in the wrong bins. I apologise a lot more than I ever have now, which is really saying something.

I swerve down a bumpy, cobblestone side street and through the gates of NCAD, taking the time to chain my bike onto the same rack where its predecessor was nicked from, giving the locks a hard, intentional look as if I could intimidate them into staying put. Then I hurry inside and up the stairs, the central heating blasting over me so intensely that by the time I stumble into the studio I feel like a piece of ham wrapped in cling film. I drop my bag and drawing tube onto the floorboards by one of the drawing tables and start ripping my outerwear off in a frenzy.

Prev // Next

#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

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bethanydelleman · 2 years

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So I was reading The Younger Sister, a The Watson’s continuation by Jane Austen’s niece, Catherine Hubback. And let me say up front, it was really good, she wrote some great dialogue and while it went a little off the rails in Volume II, I was really happy with Volume III, anyway...

The author stops the action during the very first ball (which is a rewritten part of the original novel fragment) and gives this mini rant:

There must certainly be some connexion between the style of dress and the style of dancing prevalent in any particular generation. The stiff ruffs, the awful long waists and formal boddices of Elizabeth's reign [1558-1603] were quite in keeping with a stately pavan; the loose attire and complete undress adopted by the courtly beauties of Charles the Second may be considered characteristic of the elegant but licentious style pervading their dances [1660-85]. The minuet matched well with the buckram, and rich brocade, and high head-dress which marked the era of the earlier Georges [1714- 1830]; whilst powder and hoops of course disappeared under the influence of the merry country-dance and cotillion. Perhaps at the present time the dresses, like the dances, partake more of the character of the latter Stuarts—graceful and bewitching; the habiliments full and flowing, the steps vivacious but tending to giddiness, with a near approximation to romping, and a great risk of inducing a faux-pas, or even a serious fall.

The author COULD NOT HELP HERSELF. She really REALLY needed to let us know that these Georgian people were dressing and dancing wrong and probably looked like harlots. Now this novel was written in 1850, when women dressed like this:

And The Younger Sister is probably set during the Regency when people dressed like this:

Which is clearly wrong and terrible. But she referenced the reigns of Elizabeth I and Charles II, so let me explore some more fashion history...

So 1580, Elizabeth’s reign is “good”...

And here is the reign of Charles II, which is “bad”...

Huh. Well I guess showing some neckline and natural hair is just wrong? I’m not totally sure, but I do love that we now know exactly which eras the Mrs. Hubback thought were too loose and undressed.

If there is a fashion historian out there, please help me understand what’s so terrible with these eras that made the narrator slip into exposition. (She does it once more to mourn that Georgians don’t have phrenology yet, which just made me laugh out loud)

#the younger sister #christine hubback #jane austen #the watsons #fashion history break #there were some parts I genuinely loved in this novel #it's a decent completion #JAFF #what is so loose about the 1670s #someone please enlighten me

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thefleetsfinest · 8 months

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✧˖° → Verse Timeline

♡ ✧˖° → You’ll be my sunny day & I’ll be your shade tree ♡ ✧˖° → Single Ship Verse with @oceansfirst

★ → June 7, 2223: Leonard Horatio McCoy was born to Dr. David McCoy and Mrs. Eleanora McCoy

★ → August 2230: Seven year old Leonard falls out of a tree and breaks his arm, which was splintered and later repaired by his father.

★ → August 2237: Started High School at the age of fourteen.

★ → May 9, 2240: Met Jocelyn Darnell when she pulled him into a dance at a high school party.

★ → September 2241: Started undergrad at University of Mississippi, while still keeping his relationship with Jocelyn.

★ → May 2245: Graduated Undergrad.

★ → September: 2245: Started Medical School at University of Mississippi

★ → April 2249: Jocelyn became pregnant.

★ → May 2249: Graduated from Medical School.

★ → March 25, 2250: Joanna McCoy was born.

★ → June 15, 2250: Leonard and Jocelyn got married in a small ceremony.

★ → October 10, 2252: Leonard’s father, David McCoy passes away.

★ → November 2253: Jocelyn filed for divorce.

★ → February 2255: The divorce finalized giving Jocelyn their Georgian home, and primary custody of Joanna. Though Leonard was awarded visitation rights.

★ → May 2255: Leonard enrolls in Starfleet and meets Jim Kirk on the shuttle at the shipyard. ★ → Leonard meets Clint, Nyota, Carol, & Peter during his years in the academy and becomes quick and close friends with all of them. ★ → Carol and Clint in particular become like siblings to him and he is very protective of them. ★ → By his third year in the academy after many wild and sometimes stupidly reckless nights, and a certain incident that will not be talked about, Clint and Leonard agree to go sober together. ★ → It's one hell of a struggle at first, but eventually the two manage to make it stick. Leonard with his once daily drink allowed in order to help cope with his phobia, and Clint who can't even have a drop.

★ → Year 2258: Leonard became Chief Medical Officer on the Enterprise when his superior died during Nero’s Attack. ★ → Following the death of Nero, Jim was made Captain. ★ → In needing to make sure they have a fully staffed ship, Dr. Linda Carter was transferred to the enterprise, and they hit it off right away.

★ → Year 2259: The Enterprise is sent to apprehend the fugitive Khan. ★ → Leonard relapses after Kirk’s almost death and Linda is the one to find him, and she helps him get back on his feet. ★ → It is during this that he realizes just how much he has fallen for Linda over the last year. ★ → Before they leave for their five year mission Leonard takes some time off and invites Clint, Linda, and Peter to the farm for a couple of weeks so he can get some Jojo time in and and to introduce his family to Linda.

★ → Year 2260: The Enterprise begins their five year mission into unknown parts of space.

★ → Year 2261: Linda gets critically injured while on a mission, and it's after she is on the mend he realizes just how much he loves her and finally confesses his feelings, and the two start officially dating.

★ → Year 2263: He talks Donna into bringing Jojo out to Yorktown so he can spend more time with her. (He had plans to talk to her about a few important things like her thoughts on Linda and a possible proposal.) ★ → Once arriving at Yorktown he barely gets an hour of family time in before the ship and it's crew is ordered out on a mission in which the ship ends up crashing after being attacked, though despite all odds What was left of the crew managed to get off the planet and stop the attack on Yorktown. ★ → Leonard puts engagement thoughts on howls giving it a few months after the hell that is loosing their ship, and going home to talk and make amends with Jocelyn. ★ → While Leonard is visiting home Jojo managed to convince her mom and dad to let her go up into space on the enterprise so she can be with her dad when it’s done being built. ( She attends school with any other kids whose parents are also crew members abroad the enterprise.) ★ → Leonard proposes a month before they got back up on the new ship. Somewhere important to them because he is sappy.

★ → Year 2264: They get married, with all their friends and family there to witness it. (Jim is the officiant because he is Jim.) ★ → At an Undetermined time after Linda and Leonard have a baby boy together.

#oceansfirst #♡ ✧˖° → You’ll be my sunny day & I’ll be your shade tree [ Linda || Oceansfirst ]#✧˖° → I told you people I don't need a doctor dammit - I AM a doctor![ Headcanon ]

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suugrbunz · 6 months

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Where Eagles Soar — Chapter One / Masterlist

Tsglist — @vintagelavenderskies

Warnings— None, enjoy. :)

The heat of a Georgian summer day engulfed Sam as he stepped off the bus. Not much harsher than the summers in Arizona, but the humidity in Georgia hung more noticeably in the air. Raising his gaze from his boots, his eyes scanned the camp. In time, Camp Toccoa would become a familiar landscape, but for now, it appeared as a patchwork of unfamiliar tents and buildings. Rightfully, he assumed his temporary home would be one of the wooden buildings. It took Sam some odd amount of self-discipline to hold in the sigh that threatened to pass by his lips. Around him, he could hear the chatter of countless men. Though not a single conversation had been intelligible.

“Newly enlisted,” a booming voice broke through the crowd, “follow me!”

Without a second thought, groups of men diverged from the line coming out of the bus. They formed their own new line as they followed the source of the loud voice. The source proudly marched the men toward what Sam assumed to be the entrance of the main building. Its doors were propped open; they must've had other bus loads come through. Again, Sam looked around himself, mentally counting the others. Twenty. Such a low number. He expected far more men.

We must look like cattle. silently observed Sam. Surely, he'd include a joke about cattle in a letter to Lana. His humor would exhibit he's in good spirits, well, good as they can be.

“Go inside this building and line up shoulder to shoulder.” shouted the man, pausing in front of the opened entrance.

The column of men continued into the main building. There, they stood shoulder by shoulder, as commanded, awaiting whatever was next. Inside the building was piercingly silent, a welcome calm from the environment outside. Suddenly, a man in uniform marched into the room. From the stripes Sam saw, the man was a Colonel.

“I am Colonel Sink, commander of the 506th… Today, you will be issued your new uniforms, dog tags, and other essential items to begin your training as a member of the parachute infantry.”

After the swift introduction to the camp and the parachute infantry regiment, Sam found himself assigned to a company and directed to the clerk’s office. There, he gathered all the items listed by Colonel Sink. Now, in front of a mirror in a bathroom he had managed to locate, Sam donned the uniform as instructed, with his dog tags loosely hanging around his neck. The transformation was evident—his appearance no longer bore any resemblance to the person he was just a couple of weeks ago. A sigh escaped his lips as he retrieved a pocket-sized journal from his civilian trousers. Hurriedly, he sought a new hiding spot for it, knowing that its outline might be visible. Considering the chaos surrounding Sam, the odds of someone noticing the journal seemed minimal. So it didn't weigh heavily upon his mind. With a gentle brush of his hands, he adjusted the fabric of his ODs and gave himself a final once over.

If Lana was standing nearby, she'd compliment me, she always does. Thought Sam, a subtle smile forming.

Within seconds, he'd left the bathroom, returning to the sweltering weather that had awaited him. The young man rolled his shoulders as he walked down the pathway in search of the barracks. The pathway had been muddy; a rainstorm must've passed through the camp not too long before his arrival. Sam's eyes studied the buildings; they looked similar to buildings he'd see at camping grounds. The rather luxurious lifestyle of the army had already charmed Sam.

Easy company, Second Battalion. Where in this camp is Easy company? silently questioned Sam.

With each building he passed by, he looked at the sign posted in front of them, hoping he'd find the right building. Sooner or later, he'd find the tent, though he hoped it'd be sooner rather than later. In front of a tent, he read a sign with the letter ‘E’ posted on it. That must've been it. His pace picked up as he ushered himself over to the barracks. In a matter of seconds, he jogged up the stairs and entered the building.

Inside the building was nothing to write home about; uncomfortable beds on either side of the pathway, footlockers, petit shelves on the walls behind the beds, and unfamiliar faces. Some of the unidentified men lounged on their beds, engrossed in contraband magazines. Others engaged in conversation, but their focus shifted to the doorway as Sam entered. A hush had filled the room, creating a suffocatingly awkward air. Sam began to squint, questioning the suddenly quiet nature of the room.

“So which of these beds are vacant?” asked Sam, breaking the awkward hush.

“The bed beside me is vacant.” suggested another individual.

“Thanks.” mumbled Sam, walking over to the bed.

“What’s your name?” asked the man, trying to continue to figure out who Sam was.

“Sam Spottedbird.”

Behind his newly assigned bed was a shelf; it didn't have room for much of anything. With a simple glance around the room, he took note of what was placed on the shelf. Some men had placed a pocket-sized Bible on the shelf, beside their helmets. Below the shelf, people had used the supplied hangers for their uniforms. Like the rest, Sam placed his newly assigned helmet on the shelf and began to hang his uniforms.

“I’m Joe Liebgott, where are you from, Spottedbird?”

“I split my time between the Navajo rez in Arizona and Santa Fe, New Mexico.”

Before Joe could reply to Sam, a new voice interrupted their conversation. The man wore a lopsided smirk as he began to tease;

“Spottedbird, wouldn't a spotted bird be a peacock?”

“And what's your name?”

“Bill Guarnere,” he answered.

“Sounds like an STD, I'll be praying for your health.”

“Fuck you!” jeered Bill, his smirk had disappeared.

“You wish you could, I don't want your STD,” quipped Sam, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked towards Bill.

Bill rolled his eyes, redirecting his attention to the man he had been conversing with. He had grown a bit annoyed by his discussion with Sam. Sam, in turn, fell silent as he continued to unpack the rest of the items issued by the army. Everything would eventually find its place in his footlocker, including the pocket-sized journal he hoped to conceal among the items. After closing the footlocker, he quickly moved to his bed and settled down, noting the firmness of the mattress, only slightly more stiff than the one he had back home. Perhaps he would manage to sleep in such conditions; growing up in poverty left no room for being picky about beds. Sam seemed lost in thought, the world around him fading away. Nights in Arizona were often restless, with the heat making the bed uncomfortable. During those nights, he would lie in bed, gazing at the ceiling as the cries of coyotes filled the air.

“I’m Ed Tipper, think most people call me Tipper,” a new voice broke through his thoughts, the vivid memory suddenly dulled. The man stood in front of Sam, his hand extended towards him.

“Nice to meet you,” replied Sam, firmly shaking Tipper's hand.

Tipper then sat down on Joe’s bed without asking if it was okay, perhaps assuming Joe would be fine with it, as they were close enough. Joe’s eyebrows had risen at Tipper’s behavior but soon returned to their normal position.

“So, what’s home like for you?” asked Tipper.

“Hot like this place, not as humid but like any other home. I love home, but there are new places to be. People to protect,” said Sam.

“Right.” Tipper nodded to himself, noting Sam's avoidance of answering the question.

“Been to college?” asked Joe.

“Not yet, I just finished high school this year.” admitted Sam.

“You’re a kid, explains the baby face.” observed Joe, turning his attention to Tipper.

“You’re only eighteen?” asked Tipper, though he already assumed the answer would be yes.

“Yeah, um, I assume you guys are older?” questioned Sam.

“Yeah, something like that.” answered Joe.

“Joe, you're nearly thirty, old man.” said Tipper.

“Damn, you are old.” joked Sam, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I’m not that old.” huffed Joe, rolling his eyes at the younger duo.

“Tipper, how old are you?”

“Nearly twenty-one.” answered Tipper.

That was about the age Sam had assumed most recruits were around. Young fighting for the old. That is what modern wars have dwindled themselves down to. Some old man decides to be a fascist, starting wars he won't partake in. Instead, the young men of the country will be indoctrinated and forced to murder someone they don't know the name of. Someone that could've been their friend, if the dice of life had rolled in a different manner.

“You got a girl?” asked Joe.

“Me?” questioned Sam.

“Yeah, Spottedbird, you.” confirmed Tipper, holding back his laughter at Sam's awkwardness.

“Yeah, I wouldn't say she's a girl… She's a woman. I have a woman in my life.” corrected Sam.

“I wouldn't call someone eighteen a woman, she's still young.” argued Joe.

“She’ll always be a woman to me.” stated Sam, his opinion unwavering.

Joe’s eyes rolled, there isn't anything worse than an overly affectionate couple. Without fail, their mushy words make on-lookers wince.

“Yeah yeah, so what’s she like?” questioned Joe.

“Simply put, she's the only lover I'll need within this lifetime. I'm going to marry her the moment this war ends.”

Another schmaltzy statement. Thought Joe, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. If he keeps rolling them, they'll roll from their sockets and out the barrack. Maybe they'd roll back to San Francisco.

“How romantic,” Joe’s lips pursed, the older man suddenly cracked a joke, “I hope you two break up.”

“Old and bitter.” scoffed Sam.

“You get used to it.” said Tipper.

“You know what he won't get used to?” questioned Joe, his gaze landing on Tipper.

“Hm?” hummed Tipper.

Sam's eyebrows knit together, his eyes filling with confusion. Though, no words escaped his throat, nor did a hum. Instead, he remained silent, awaiting Joe to answer his own question..

“Sobel.”

“No one will.” agreed Tipper.

“Exactly.” stated Joe, a grin had begun to pull at his lips.

Sam cocked an eyebrow, curious as to who Sobel was. From such a brief banter, he could only assume Sobel was an unequivocally obnoxious man. In some way, it was entertaining to hear their chatter about Sobel. “Who is Sobel?”

“Who’s Sobel?”repeated a new voice, the man taking a seat on Sam's bed.

Sam's stare turned sour at the sight of a stranger invading his space. He didn't know the man, yet he sat at the foot of Sam's bed. The man wore a mischievous grin as he continued, “Sobel is a beacon of love and hope for all paratroopers. Surely, you'll find motherly love in his eyes.”

“Yeah, Muck, if your mother hated you.” huffed Joe.

“Still motherly love.” replied Muck.

#band of brothers #hbo war #easy company #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers fic #band of brothers oc #꒰ 🪶 : where eagles soar ꒱#꒰ 🪶 : sam spottedbird ꒱

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