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topazy · 2 years

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Tomorrow’s promise

Pairing: Shane Walsh x reader, Rick Grimes x sister reader

Warnings: swearing, minor violence, cheating

Chapter: 1.02

Shane snapped out of his trance, stepping towards you. He cupped your face gently before looking down at the baby in your arms.

“Lils…” he sighs.

“He’s ours, Shane. He’s our son.”

There was a quiet nervousness among the group, indicating that everyone was still processing what had just happened. Zombies, death,and a new life. You look at Shane to watch your brother trying to calm his son down. Feeling your eyes on her, Lori looks up at you and lets out a sharp intake of breath and claps her hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god,” she says, teary-eyed.

Sensing the change in his mom, Carl turns to see what she was staring at and notices you, “Aunt Lily.”

He runs to you and wraps his arms around your waist and sobs into your stomach. “Hey, munchkin,” you softly say. “I’m so glad you're okay.”

“I thought-I thought you and dad were dead.”

You run your hands through his hair, trying to comfort him while others start to grieve over the loss of their friends and loved ones. While your brother tries to help a blonde woman who keeps waving him off, Lori stays still with the same expression on her face, except this time she’s not looking at you. She’s looking at Shane.

—

Daytime came quickly, and when it did, plans needed to be made. The bodies needed to be dealt with, food rations needed to be sorted, shelters needed to be rebuilt, and an idea of where the group was heading would need to be decided. But after only being in the presence of most of these people for one night, you didn’t say anything; you didn’t want to overstep.

You had offered to help burn the dead, but both Rick and Shane told you to stay inside the RV with Jace. You understood they wanted to keep you safe, but you couldn’t sit and do nothing.

You stepped outside the RV curiously and watched as a man named Morales helped Daryl move the body of someone who’d been killed by a walker the night before towards a pile of bodies.

“What are you guys doing? This is for geeks. Our people go over there,” Glenn says, pointing towards a different spot distressed.

Daryl shrugs him off, “What's the difference? They're all infected.”

“Our people go in that row over there. We don't burn them! We bury them. Understand? Our people go in that row over there.”

Both men seem unconvinced. Glenn doesn't say anything further. He just picks up a shovel and starts to head in the direction he plans on digging.

You notice nobody goes to help him at that moment, and you turn to look at Glenn. “I’ll help you, just give me a moment.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Behind you, the door opens, and Lori steps out behind you with Carl by her side. “Can you watch Jace? I’ll be back shortly.”

“Um, yeah, sure,” she says, uncomfortable. It was confusing to you why your sister-in-law was refusing to make eye contact with you, but you were sure Shane had something to do with it.

You pick up a shovel and follow Glenn until Shane steps in front of you. He wasn’t happy with you because he snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Someone needs to help dig holes for the dead.” His expression shifts from angry to stressed. You’ll know where to find me.”

—

You walk back into camp and throw the shovel down before taking Jace from Lori’s arms. You’d only been apart from him for less than an hour, but it felt like a lifetime. You kissed the side of his head before placing him back into his sling, while listening to the current conversation.

“I say we put a pickaxe in his head and the dead girl's and be done with it,” Daryl says bluntly, looking over at a man named Jim. You weren’t there to hear what had happened, but you assumed Jim had either been bitten or scratched judging by how the others were reacting.

“Is that what you'd want if it were you?” Shane asks.

“Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it.”

An older man named Dale shook his head, “I hate to say it... I never thought I would... But maybe Daryl's right.”

Your brother faces him with a look of disgust on his face and says, “Jim's not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog.”

Dale tries to take back what he was implying, “I'm not suggesting…”

“He's sick. A sick man When we start down that road, where do we draw the line?”

“The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be.”

“He's kinda right,” your brother says, turning to face you with a surprised expression. “Look, I don’t want anyone to die, but death seems like the kindest thing to do. It’s what I’d want if it was me.”

“What if we could get him help? I heard the CDC was working on a cure.”

Shane looks at Rick as if he’s grown a second head, “I heard that too. I heard a lot of things before the world went to hell.”

“What if the C.D.C. is still up and running?”

“Man, that is a stretch right there.”

You elbow Shane lightly, mentally telling him to cut it out. His shortness with Rick was starting to piss you off.

“Why? If there's any government left, any structure at all, they'd protect the C.D.C. at all costs, wouldn't they?” Rick asks. “I think it's our best shot. Shelter, protection…”

Shane lets out a frustrated sigh, “Okay, Rick, you want those things, all right? I do too, okay? If they exist, they're at the army base. Fort Benning.”

“Isn’t that a hundred miles in the opposite direction?”

He nods, “It is. But it's away from the hot zone. Now listen to me. If that place is operational, it'll be heavily armed. We'd be safe there. Jace would be safe there.”

“The military were on the front lines of this thing. They got overrun. We've all seen that. The C.D.C. is our best choice and Jim's only chance,” Rick says, holding Shane’s intense gaze.

“None of this matters right now, not while there’s a more pressing matter that needs to be dealt with first.”

“She’s right,” Daryl says in agreement. “Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem!” Daryl picks up a pickaxe and storms towards Jim.

“That’s not what I meant!”

Rick points his gun at Daryl's head just as he lifts his arm, “We don't kill the living.”

“That's funny coming from a man who just put a gun to my head.”

“We may disagree on some things, but not on this,” Shane says, trying to talk him down. “You put it down. Go on.”

Daryl puts the pickaxe down and storms off, mumbling under his breath, while Ricks helps the dying man stand, “Come with me.”

“Where are you taking me?” Jim asks, confused.

“Somewhere safe,” Rick says, walking Jim towards the RV.

—

You are walking with a bounce in your step, trying to stop Jace from fussing. The quarry wasn’t far from camp, and you insisted on walking ahead of the others, although they were still close enough to be in your line of vision. When you reach the newly dug gravesite, you can hear your brother and Shane talking.

“Say it.”

“Okay. I'm thinking if you'd stayed here, if you'd have looked after your own... Instead, you went off. You took half our manpower with you. I'm thinking maybe our losses wouldn't have been so bad.”

You're left speechless at how harsh Shane’s words are. It wasn’t Rick's fault that the dead attacked late at night when they were unprepared.

“If we hadn't gone off and brought those guns back when we did, I think our losses would have been a lot worse. Maybe the entire camp. Also, I wouldn’t have brought back my sister and your son.”

“That’s not fair. I thought Lily was dead and I had no idea she was pregnant,” Shane says defensively. “This isn’t about them, it’s about you leaving.”

Before they can continue, Daryl pulls up in the truck with the rest of the bodies in the back. He jumps out and immediately starts to moan, “I still think it's a mistake to not burn these bodies. It's what we said we'd do, right? Burn 'em all. Wasn't that the idea?”

“At first,” Shane replies, as his eyes land on you. He was no doubt wondering how much you heard.

You roll your eyes as Daryl continues. “The Chinaman gets all emotional and says it's not the thing to do. Can we just follow him along? These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are.”

“There are no rules.”

“Well, that's a problem,” Lori says, standing beside you. “We haven't had one minute to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do.”

While Andrea says goodbye to her sister, who was killed by a walker the night before, you study everyone else’s faces. You tilt your head and look at Lori. Following her line of sight, you see Shane watching as he scratches at his chin nervously.

Shane meets your gaze and you instantly know the secret he’s been trying to hide by the guilt written on his face.

You feel your knees starting to go weak.

As your stomach drops, you take a deep breath and quietly excuse yourself and walk back to camp, pushing back tears. You weren’t going to let either of them see you cry.

—

You sit by the window in the RV while you finish feeding Jace, watching the others walk back into camp with a grim expression on their faces. Jim was sleeping in the back, occasionally talking to himself, but you were alone except for him.You allowed yourself to briefly cry, but you pulled yourself together. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. You needed to be strong for Jace, plus you didn’t know anything for certain, despite what your gut feeling was telling you.

You freeze when you notice Shane joining Lori at the doorway, while your brother is walking in their direction.

“I guess I'll just add it to the list of habits that I'm breaking whether I like it or not.”

“What habits?” Your brother asks

“Just his need for a plan,” you say, opening the door, giving all three of them a fright. “So what is it? Are we leaving or staying?”

Rick gently runs his fingers over Jace’s head, “We can't stay here, it’s not safe.”

“I was just telling Shane I think we should trust your gut,” Lori states.

You scoff at her words, earning a fearful look from your fiancé and a confused one from Rick.

Shane sighs, “Let's go do our sweep.”

“We need to talk before you leave,” you tell Rick, motioning for Shane to follow.

—

Shane follows you toward the edge of camp, which looks over a small field. You let out a deep breath, and turned to face him, and when you did, he immediately started to apologise.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he pleads, trying to reach for you, but is cut off when you shove him in the chest.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You hiss. “How could you do this to me?”

He flinched.

“You fucked her right?”

He gives you a pained look. His voice sounds weak as he says, “You have no idea how much I regret what happened.”

“Regret it? This isn’t some random girl at a bar you’ve slept with; it's your best friend's wife. My sister-in-law. Your family.”

“I know…”

“If me and Rick never came back, would you still be sleeping together?”

“No,” he answers quickly. “God no. It was a mistake. If I could do anything to change things, I would, but I can’t. We all make mistakes.”

You shake your head and wipe your fallen tears away, knowing that nothing he said could fix this. “I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of and I’ve put you through a lot these past few years, but I’ve never once looked at a man.”

You groan into your hands, trying to take a moment to think. Sensing movement around you, you look down to see Shane crouching on the ground with his head in his hands, looking like a broken man. He looks up at you with tears in his eyes, “baby, Lily, please tell me how to fix this. All I want is to keep you, Jace, and Carl safe.”

You chew on your bottom lip trying to hold a sob back. You believe what he’s saying. You don’t doubt that he’d do anything to protect you, but why he would is a different thing. “Do you still love me?”

He looks hurt by the question, “How can you even ask that?”

“Because you had sex with someone else, how could I not?” your voice crackles. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Shane stands and cups your face so you are looking directly at him. “I love you. I’m in love with you. If I wasn't, I wouldn’t have stayed with you when you needed help, or spent every goddamn minute since the world went to hell grieving for you. I dragged all those people to Atlanta because I wanted to look for you, but when I heard the city was gone, I gave up. I assumed the worst, and for that I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything. But the moment you walked into camp with Jace, nothing else mattered.” He kisses the back of your hand. “Can you forgive me?”

You blink away the fresh tears that are building up. With your vision becoming more clear, you can see the look of concern in his eyes as you struggle to find your voice again. He sighs, “If you keep doing that, your lip is going to bleed.”

You stop chewing on your lip and faintly taste blood. You can see your words are swaying heavily on him. “I will talk to Lori when I stop wanting to scratch her eyes out, but in the meantime, Rick can’t know. This would break him.” You gulp down, “I can try.”

A hopeful smile spreads across his face, “you will?”

“I will, but…” His face falls flat again. “You need to swear to me nothing else is going on between you and Lori, and you will always put Jace first.”

“I swear it on my life.”

—

When you walk back into the main camp area, you notice everyone standing in a group, “What’s going on?”

“I think they are waiting to find out what the plan is,” Shane answers quietly. “What do you want to do? We could always stay behind, just the three of us. We’d make it on our own.”

“I’m not leaving my brother.”

“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees with you and clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “I've been, uh, I've been thinking about Rick's plan. Look, there are no signs ofThere are no guarantees either way. I'll be the first one to admit that. I've known this man for a long time. I trust his instincts. I say the most important thing here is that we need to stay together. So those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning.”

Rick looks at him surprised. “Okay?”

As they continued talking, you tried to study Shane’s body language. He still radiated confidence, but that might have come from his years as a cop. You were taken aback by his suggestion that you could go it alone; the idea was insane. You’d never make it longer than a week, and you’d never leave without your family.

—

“Why can’t I ride with you and Shane?” Carl asks with a pout. He was bored listening to them talk about the logistics of things, but you knew Lori and Rick would be hurt if they knew he’d asked.

You ran your fingers through Carl's thick brown hair and sighed; you hated disappointing him. You knelt down so you were the same height, “because your dad needs someone to cheer him up, and you're the only one who can do it.”

He gently stroked Jace’s cheek, then went back to his mom.

Moments later, you got in the car with Shane, who drove off without saying a word. His mood had dramatically dropped since Morales and his wife, Miranda, decided to stay behind because they wanted to go and find their family.

You noticed your brother had left a note for the man who saved him, Morgan, on the side of one of the cars. You hoped Morgan and his son would be able to find your group soon.

“Why didn’t you want the kid to drive with us?” Shane asked, breaking the silence.

“He should be with his parents,” you answer while gazing out the window. “Besides, Carl would hate being stuck in when Jace wakes up. He’d get irritated by the crying.”

“The little man doesn’t cry much, which is lucky.”

“Yeah…”, spin back and look behind you, noticing the RV pulling over to stop. “Something is wrong.”

Shane abruptly stopped, “Stay in here with Jace.”

—

You waited inside the car with Jace, cooing softly as you fed him. Your eyes were occasionally scanning the area to make sure the dead weren’t lurking nearby. You just hoped the group made it to the CDC without any more hiccups, aside from the RV breaking down.

A few more moments passed by, and Shake rejoined you in the car with a devastated look on his face.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Jim... He’s asked us to leave him behind. So we did. Me and Rick just left him beside a tree for him to die alone.”

You squeezed his hand, “If it’s what Jim wanted, there was nothing else you could do.”

—

“Holy shit,” you say as you step out of the car and immediately zip up your jacket over your head to protect Jace from the bugs.

The outside of the CDC was nothing but a large graveyard covered with hundreds of rotting bodies and swarms of flies.

Shane placed his hand on your back and spoke quietly while he addressed the group. “All right, everybody. Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let's go. Okay, keep moving. Stay together.”

Somehow you all manage to make it to the building without waking the dead, but it’s all for naught as when you reach the building it’s locked up with metal shutters that won’t budge. Both you and Rick attempt to open it, but nothing happens.

“Nothing?” Shane pounds on the door.

You go to tell him to stop being so loud, but it’s too late.

“Walkers!” Daryl calls out before shooting one directly in the head with an arrow.

You reach for the knife on your belt, but your sudden moments frighten Jace, who’s strapped to your chest, causing him to let out a small whine.

Shit.

Daryl glared at your brother, “You led us into a graveyard!”

“He made a call.”

“It was the wrong damn call!” He snaps back.

You storm towards him, “Just shut up. You hear? Shut up. Shut up! Rick, this is a dead end. What do we do now? This place is going to be crawling with walkers soon.”

“She's right,” Lori says in agreement. “We can't be here this close to the city after dark.”

Noticing a walker coming up behind Glenn, you run for it and stab your knife into its skull. Glenn looks at you wide-eyed, “Thanks man.”

“We gotta go! Everyone back to their vehicles, they can at least give us shelter for now!”

While everyone started running towards the vehicles, you noticed not everyone was there. You look back towards the building to see Shane trying to talk to Rick, who was still trying to get inside. “Man, just listen to me. Look around this place. It's dead, okay? It's dead. You need to let it go, Rick.”

“I know you're in there. I know you can hear me.”

Rick continues to bang on the shutters, so you run back to him and help Shane pull him back. “We need to go now! The dead are coming!”

Rick ignores you and starts to beg while looking up at a security camera. “Please, we're desperate. Please help us. We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left.”

Shane wraps his arm around you, brother, and manages to pull him back, “Come on, buddy, let's go. Let's go.”

“Please help us. You're killing us! You're killing us! You're killing us!”

Suddenly, one of the shudders opens, revealing a bright light leading into a hallway. Rick was right; someone was inside the CDC.

#the walking dead #shane walsh x you #shane walsh x reader #rick grimes x reader #Rick grimes x sister reader #Shane Walsh #fear the walking dead fandom #fear the walking dead fanfict #tomorrow’s promise #twd fanfiction

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streets-in-paradise · 1 year

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Can I have some fluffy Paris x reader where he kisses her scars she got from a near death experience?

Hi!!

Absolutely :)

Warnings: A bit of dramatic angst in the beggining.

A Thousand Times - Paris x (Fem) Reader

The battle unleashed with the death of King Menelaus left as result an encouraging victory for the trojans. Greeks were hit hard with the loss of two of their main heroes, their core motivations affected after losing the excuse that brought them to foreign shores. The outcome was good for the locals, but they did get some scares regarding the possibilities of losing some of their most remarkable warlords. Hector faced lethal danger fighting Ajax, the best opponent he had encountered in the battlefield in the absence of Achilles. Witnessing that with horror made you rush into his defense, but the luck of the fight was against you. To that greek you were only an obstacle in his way to glory, what he would have obtained by killing Hector. The interruption angered him and his brute strength was hard to contain, your brother in law got you out barely alive.

Behind the city walls nobody was rushing to tell your husband what happened. Paris had his own wound needing attention and Helen was stitching his leg while trying to comfort him about the shame that fleeing away from battle in front of everybody caused him. He was scared of facing you, right hand of Hector in the army, as the coward he turned out to be. If he would have let you fight against the spartan king, the war would be over. Paris wanted to do it for you, to assume all guilt for bringing Helen to Troy so you wouldn’t have to be the one fighting. He wanted you to watch him fight and feel proud of his courage for challenging a great warrior. The pathetic spectacle he gave was the opposite of all his intentions, he gave the enemies more motives for mockery. Whenever a greek would make fun of you for being married to him, they would be in the right.

All of that stopped mattering to him as soon as Andromache told him of the critical state in which you arrived back to the city. He limpied his way to the halls of the royal healers with unthinkable desperation. With his disheveled hair and tearful eyes, Paris didn’t look any different from the many grieving trojan women

“ The one who did this will be burning in the pyre tonight.” Hector informed him. “ I took care of that, brother. She took the risk to save my life and I repaid her.”

Paris glanced at him for a brief instant, showing to have barely heard a calming statement that wasn’t calming him at all.

“ Forgive me, dear.” He told his sister in law, then hugged her. “ … for making you live fearing what fate is making me face now.”

She didn’t speak, but remained receptive for the instant the contact lasted.

“ Why did you save me so I would watch the love of my life die??! “ He reproached in between sobbing. “ She is dying, Hector! It should have been me, if you would have let me die the war would be over.”

“ The battle would have started anyways. “ His brother corrected. “ Agammenon doesn’t care about the suffering woman that we are sheltering thanks to both of you. He wants to destroy us because we are the last obstacle for his empire in development.”

He gently grabbed his face in order to force eye contact, an emphasizing act for what he was about to say.

“ Paris, your death would have changed nothing. It would have only brought me more sorrow. Stop thinking of that, I don’t regret what I did. How can I ever regret saving you? You are my brother and I love you. If Menelaus didn’t see it coming, that’s perhaps because his brother wouldn’t have crossed the line of personal convenience or risked his honor for him.”

“ Live for her.” Andromache added just as her husband was releasing the weeping man. “ There is still hope, she is strong. I followed the combat from the wall, she endured it with dignity and i sincerely doubt her strengths had run out there.”

Hector allowed Paris to collapse against him, shredding his tears while he held him.

“ The best healers in the kingdom are working on her, she can still see another day.”

Paris was too worried to care for any logic.

“ I don’t know if I will without her.”

Time proved his family right and seeing you survive was like watching the sun shine again. From the very first moment he saw your eyes open Paris took Andromache’s advice a little too far. He was living for you, filling you with attentions that were making you feel even luckier to be alive. It also made you feel a bit guilty because he was neglecting his own wound to take care of you just because you got it worse, but there was another issue you were more reluctant to admit regarding the situation.

Your preference would have been finishing the recovery on the houses of healing so you could be back with him once restored. Your wounds also affected your appearance and you were ashamed of returning to your husband in such state.

“ I’m sorry that you have to see me like this.” You admitted to him at some point when you couldn’t avoid the topic anymore. You were feeling better and the vanity of princess was temporarily outshining your pride of warrior. “ I trusted on speed beating strength, but things got wrong. It happens sometimes, fighting is about skill but also luck. That wasn’t my time, the gods wanted Hector to have the glory and I got the bruises. “

It was expected that your opponent would try to leave ugly scars as soon as he realized you were a woman. Attacking your beauty was assumed a good chance to generate a distraction and the greek you fought was so strong that some of the worse bruises he left on you were made with his bare hands.

“ Your time to shine will come, my love.” Paris comforted you immediately. “ All i care now is that you are safe.”

“ At least when it comes I will no longer be the pretty girl of the battlefield. “ You joked lightly. “ The greeks will start respecting me now that these new scars have strippen the last hints of femininity from my looks. “

Right as you finished delivering that sentence, your glance got fixated in the wonderful perfection of his face. He smiled for you and you couldn’t resist it.

“ Look at you, fighting hasn’t changed you at all. “ You sweetly complimented him. “ It’s as if you were coming back from dancing and you were resting a tired leg. Your flawless skin barely got caressed by the bronze, my dearest. You are still as beautiful as you always have been. “

In another moment he would have simply agreed to your comment, but not that time. With the presence of Helen and the way people talked about her, it was only natural that you would be more worried than usual about your looks. Even after what you went through, once your mind would begin to run cold away from the imminent danger, minor worries like that one could be coming to you.

“ The traces of bronze will never disturb your beauty.” He praised you, carefully getting closer to you. “ You are as stunning as the first time I saw you. The wounds will heal and you will feel it in yourself again soon.”

“ Scars will remain.” You immediately recalled. “ The punches will go, sure, but what about the rest? Your wife, your princess, now looks like a rebellious slave girl that got the punishment of her life. “

“ More like the hero that almost dies trying to save my brother.” He corrected you once more. “ I’m proud of you, it’s me who failed you. Let me make it right.”

He helped you lay down in bed and began to inspect your bruises with unique care. The most prominent was on your neck, the hands of your attacker were engraved on your delicate skin. Paris was never a spiteful person, but he was very glad that the one marking you like that died by the blade of Hector if it couldn’t be by yours. The attempt of strangulation must have been brutal to leave those traces. Your husband tentatively approached the injured area, barely breathing close to see if the action would cause you pain.

Once he noticed it didn't, he pressed one first and very gentle kiss.

“ Is this good? “ He purred against your skin, right before kissing you again. “ My princess, I would worship your body a thousand times before letting you fall into those harmful misconceptions.”

The comment was followed by a trail of kisses he softly led through that sensitive corner of your body, replacing the traces of pain left by the greek with a path of love created by him.

“ I love you.” You purred back in delight. “ A thousand times, one for each greek ship on our shores.”

He chuckled against you and briefly raised his head to stare deeply into your eyes.

“ Then I may need to fill you with a thousand kisses. You will not find enough space in this glorious skin of yours for all this love I have for you. “

#troy 2004 #paris of troy #orlando bloom #paris x reader #orlando bloom x reader #troy #troy fanfiction

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cloudberry-sims · 2 years

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A Decade Through Time: The Alderberg Legacy: Year 1592

The plague event is happening this year , let’s see if I’m as lucky as I was during the 1563 plague event…

From the Beginning I Currently

News spread like wildfire, that the llama plague had finally arrived and was spreading across Outland...

Nobody knew how or when - some blamed the miasma , other the rats that came from boats that anchored by the harbor, some believing it was the wrath of the watcher.

To William Alderberg, it didn’t matter why it happened just that it was affecting his family.

Two of his children , Noah and Olive , had caught the deadly sickness and he feared the worse. When they started to show signs he quickly removed them from the main house to the loft of the old barn. He stayed by them..

Little Olive showed the worst signs and was the first to go. It broke his heart hearing her plead for him to make the pain go away in her fevery state. She was only 7 years old.

Next came 9 year old Noah , whom died in whiles asleep on his cot. William hoped that Noah's death was at least merciful.

Then , it was William left alone in the barn, but he would quickly follow his two children as the plague ate him away... He was 34 years old , leaving his remaining children orphaned...

But it was not only the Alderbergs who was the victims of the plague.

At the Kellogg farm the almost adolescent Esther was stored away in the pig house as she slowly past away.

Her father was devastated over the loss of his oldest child, Anne was too as she had helped raise the girl since she was 2 years old.

Her sisters all mourned her death , even Mary cried genuine tears of sorrow.

The plague had many more victims , but the last one on the grim reapers list was the town baker, Thomas Mildmay.

His death was quick , yet so , so painful , both for him and for his family.

Audrey wept and wept , her mother-in-law Christina whom was also weeping tried to comfort her. They both lamented at the loss of Thomas and for little Geoffrey , who will never get to know the wonderful sweet man that was his father...

Every family who had lost a close one in the llama plague mourned in their own way...

3 months after her beloved husband’s death in the hands of the llama plague along side her brother , nieces and nephew , Audrey thanked the watcher for the mercy of sparing her only living son - Geoffrey.

To hold him in her arms was her greatest comfort in the darkest of times. Her little Geoff looked so much like his father that it brought Audrey to tears , not out of sadness but joy to have a piece of him still with her. Her darling son whom she vowed to always put first , forever and always.

With the Alderbergs , young Philip was absolutely devastated over losing his twin sister , more then losing his father or brother. Something had clearly snapped in him.

He was no longer the good little boy he once was , and nothing his grandmother told him would bring him back.

The family was so busy with Philip that they didn’t notice another one who was grieving badly, perhaps because they were hiding it.

Ursula would sneak inside the wardrobe in the girls room when the need to cry was to high or her head filled with possible what ifs and maybes.

About her , about her friend Esther. Her mixed feelings. The news of the almost 13 year old girl that Ursula had so desperately tried to befriend's death made her 10 year old heart break , yet she didn’t know why. She mourned her uncle and cousins death, she truly did, but why did Esther’s death so hurt more? Why did the watcher's dices decided so cruelly to take her only friend outside of her family away from her? It wasn't fair , not fair at all!

But life had to continue and move forward , even if all of them rather went back in time.

Joan was now the head of household as the primary caretaker of her grandchildren until Griffyn’s 21 birthday.

Even though Joan was a loving grandmother , she was a opportunist and a perfectionist- now that she was fully in control of her grandchildren lives she wanted them to have the best life according to herself, which didn’t sit well with the older children, especially not Griffyn.

The 15 year old didn’t like that his gran got angry if he stayed up working on his fathers unfinished commissions or went out hunting without asking her first , as his father had been okay with it.

He didn't like it either that she started to talk about arranging a suitable betrothed for him with Uncle Nicolas through letters.

But he sadly couldn't do much but to ask for them to wait a few more years , hoping by delaying it far enough until his 21st birthday. He used Little Phil as an excuse , that they should focus on him and his well being instead.

Seems like my theory is correct: The more sims you have the more sims will die.

Honestly I’m devastated that Noah and Olive died , I love William but if it had just been him I would have been okay with it! Olive was my baby girl and Noah was the only kid in the whole brood with brown eyes and I adored him 😭

Joan was scheduled to die this year , but now with William gone I decided to reroll a d20 to see how many more extra years she will haven and she rolled 10 , so she will be around for Griffyn’s 25 birthday. let’s say Joan is around 60ish.

I can see Joan being very loving yet opportunistic , she might play matchmaker and arrange all her grand-kids marriages. She might even poll strings with Arthur or Nicholas to find suitable partners for her grandchildren , even if its probably not something William nor Rebecca would have wanted for their kids.

Thomas’s death made me sad for Audrey and baby Geoffrey , the poor baby won’t get to know his father. I rolled to see if Audrey would get remarried and she will not. So Geoffrey is staying her only child forever.

Esther dying was the less heartbreaking one since she was a story plot character for Anne’s remarriage and would potentially be used for another story line. I was sad for Ursula’s sake since they were friends and could potentially had ended up as something more.

Little Geoffrey almost died too , since he rolled a 18 (I’m following the old death stats for the 1500s and 18 was a bad number , but not anymore in the new states) and I was like: NOPE , NOPE NOPE ! And when I’m against a death I toss a coin , if it lands on heads the sims dies and if it lands on tails the sims is fine, and it landed on tails.

So far I have only done it with Catherine Wardeby since she aged up without me , since when William almost died as a baby I didn’t have that system.

Why I have the old states is simple: I enjoy them more. They keep me on my toes and its exciting. Childhood was not a bed of roses , it was hard hence why I prefer the older death rolls. I might change it if it becomes too much once we are in simerica , but its still 28 years away.

The old states: VS : The new states ,

Pregnancy: 1,10

Babies 1, 5,10,15,20

Toddlers: 4, 8, 12, 16, 18/ 7, 14, 19

Child: 3,9,15,17,19/ 2, 4, 6

Teen: 7,13

Young Adult: 3,18

Adult pt 1: <7

Adult pt 2: <8

Elder: Either <11 or end of life roll.

I will do the end of life roll instead of a elder roll since it’s a lot easier to keep track on. I just hope that Eleanor and Anne lives long enough to meet their grandchildren , something nobody in this family has been able to except for the in-laws. Mary just got to know August before she died and I hope Anne and Eleanor will be luckier then that.I wanna see them as cute grandmas , especially now that William will never meet his grandchildren or be a grandpa 😢

Eleanor might meet her first grandchild before having her adult pt 2 death roll, since Abel is both aging up , marrying and have his baby try on the second day of 1593 and Eleanor is roll is on the last day of 1593 so it’s a hit or miss.

Anne and Catherine share a birthday so it’s unknown if she will get to meet her first grandchild.

Surprisingly if Griffyn lives to young adulthood Joan will possible meet her great-grandchildren by Griffyn and perhaps even Margery and Ursula too , which is insane to me. And I have decided to roll marriage for Ursula , but when it comes to baby roll she will not roll a d10 like the rest but a d4 since she is not a Alderberg technically.

What I mean by that is that she’s no ties to Mary , her children with her two husbands and we are following her descendants. If Ursula was adopted then she would be linked to Mary , but she is not. She is linked to Rebecca’s family.

#TW death #tw: child death #decades challenge #Morbid's decades challenge #A decaded through time #ultimate decades challenge #The Alderberg family #ts3 #ts3 legacy #the sims 3 #the sims 3 legacy

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haikyuu-sins · 2 years

Note

Hi, I have a request if it’s ok.

My dad died 2 days ago and I’m all over the place. The last time I saw him it was when he dropped me off for college a month ago and I can’t believe that would be the last time we would see each other. Could I have Killer, Law and Sanji with an f s/o in the same situation. If you don’t want to do it or this made you uncomfortable I’m sorry and have a nice day 🤗

Oh gosh sweetie, words cannot even express how so incredibly sorry I am to hear about your loss. If you want to talk about it then feel free to message me. I can’t promise that I’ll have the right words to say but if you just need to vent about it and need someone to listen to what you have to say, my PM’s are open. This goes for everyone! I’m not that great at responding to things but I’ll try my best to, especially if it’s a situation like this. It’s going to be difficult and it won’t be a walk in the park, but grieve. Let it out. It’ll help, don’t bottle it up and grieve by yourself if you can. Be around the people you love because they’ll help you get through it. Just take it one day at a time, or even just an hour at a time. Take as long as you need to be okay, no one will blame you for it. Know that I love you and I’m sending all my thoughts and well wishes towards you and your family in this time. Be strong! ❤️

I thought headcanons might be better for this as I didn’t want to trigger anything while writing any scenes out so I hope that’s okay!

Warnings: Mentions of death, spoilers for Sanji’s past

Killer

Killer is very perceptive, the helmet that he wears really lets him examine people for as long as he wants without noticing. So when they end up visiting your hometown when they needed to stock up on supplies (you made sure to tell Kid you’d have his head on a platter if he hurt anyone in town), he notices how somber you look after coming back from the visit with your family.

He waits patiently for you to come up to him and talk first because he doesn’t want to feel like he’s forcing something out of you. But that doesn’t mean he won’t stay by your side. Since he knows something is wrong, he’ll go as far as to tell Kid to shove off if he asks him to do anything. Of course Kid is gonna get pissed off, but right now, you’re more important- especially after you tell him what happened.

When you tell him about the conversation you had with your mom about your father passing away while you were out at sea, he pulled you in closer to his body to comfort you.

He’s a man of few words so he chooses them wisely-or doesn’t even say anything at all. But he would absolutely tell you that you aren’t to blame if you felt guilty for it. There was no way you could know that was the last time you were going to see your father. You sent him letters to let him know how you were doing and what you and the crew were up to (minus the violence) so you had still spoken him.

Killer lets you grieve and if you even need someone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, he leaves whatever he’s doing, because the last thing he wants you to feel is alone. He’ll try to help you relax and stay calm, even though he knows it’s hard and it might not help, he makes the effort.

Law

He knows parental death all too well. With his traumatic background and watching his parents get killed right in front of his eyes, he knows exactly what you’re going through. I would say he’s actually the best person to go to in this situation.

He didn’t exactly get to mourn his parents or even his sister because he was fighting to survive, so he’s more than okay with you coming to him in a time like this.

Just like Killer, he might wait for you to talk to him about it first, he wants you to grieve at your own pace and doesn’t want to pressure you into talking to him about it if you aren’t comfortable or ready yet. The last thing he wants to do is make you uncomfortable.

So when you come into his office and you’re crying while you’re trying to tell him what happened, he’ll make out some of the words like “dad” and “gone” which he’ll put together and know that you mean you’re dad passed away. He’s up and out of his chair in an instant and now you’re crying into his chest.

He doesn’t say anything, he knows it’s hard and it might be that nothing he says will make you feel better, so he just lets you let it out. He’s caressing the back of your head and sighing quietly-not out of annoyance, but out of sympathy. The man didn’t get to say goodbye either and that’s what you had been saying to him as your sobs got louder.

Law knows the feeling of being alone so again, like Killer, he doesn’t want you to feel like that when you’re this upset.

If you tell him that you should have done something, like gone to see him one more time, he immediately shoots it down. “Don’t think like that. Don’t make yourself feel more guilty for something that was out of your control.”

Law would bring you back into his room and put you on the bed, the two of you holding each other while you grieve. He doesn’t leave your side even for a second. He wants you to feel safe and protected because he knows just how vulnerable you are. Expect lots of soft kisses on the top of your head while he strokes your hair.

Sanji

Sanji also knows the death of a parent all too well. But unlike the other two, Sanji would most likely ask what was wrong and why you seemed so upset. He just loves you too much to watch you suffer and if he can help you by asking what’s happened, then he will.

When you tell him what happened and you start to cry, he goes quiet, and his shoulders droop. Almost like he’s giving your father a moment of silence. He knows that now isn’t the time to be how he normally is around you-loud, carefree and doting. Of course he’ll still dote, but this time, it’s more nurturing and much less of his goofy doting. He knows it’s time to be serious.

He’ll hold you in such a loving embrace that you’ll forget everything around you except for you and Sanji. He doesn’t mind in the slightest that you’re crying into his shirt, it’s the last thing on his mind. He hates that there’s nothing he can do to stop it though. Sanji hates seeing you cry, but he knows that this can’t be helped. You’ve just lost your father and he was the same way when he lost his mother.

Sanji takes you back to either his or your room regardless if there’s anyone around at the time and he absolutely kicks anyone out that’s in there because he knows you probably just want to have some privacy.

“Shh~ Everything will be okay. Just let it out.” He’s stroking your hair and saying things in your ear quietly, like how it’s going to be hard, but he knows that you can get through it, you’re strong, and brave. But he gets it if you don’t want him to talk and just be there with you. He’ll tell you that he’s here for you and that he loves you with all his heart.

If you end up falling asleep while crying, he’ll gently lay your head on the pillow and go to the kitchen to make you something for when you wake up. It’ll be your favorite and he’ll add a nice cup of hot tea to drink as well. He knows that it’ll take time to process and heal from, but if this little thing he does for you puts even the smallest of smiles on your face, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

#one piece #one piece headcanons #killer x reader #one piece killer x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #trafalgar law headcanons #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji headcanons #one piece sanji #one piece trafalgar law #one piece imagine #one piece x reader

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jovialyouthmusic · 4 years

Text

Past Times

John ponders on the loss of his first wife. Elizabeth spends some time with her prospective mother in law, and all await the arrival of more guests.

Word Count 3417

A/N Just a short word on breakfast and the Scottish setting. I was expecting that something like a very meaty ‘Full Scottish’ would be on the menu in such a refined household, but in Regency times bread and cakes were served, along with tea and drinking chocolate. I took the liberty of adding oat cakes as a reference to the Scottish setting. I haven’t made any attempt on the Scots dialect or accent, feeling that the upper echelons of society would have very refined accents, as Edinburgh people do to this day.

10 Settling in

John watched as Lizzy left the drawing room with her chaperone. Once he was alone, he found himself conflicted. He was captivated by his fiancée, but talking of his dear departed wife stirred up old memories and feelings he thought he had put aside. The day had been long and full of joy, but he knew he would not sleep as deeply as he might otherwise. He called Scott to fetch him the brandy bottle, and poured himself a measure, dismissing him for the night after praising his work and asking him to pass that praise on to the rest of the staff.

Outside the sun was setting on the long summer day, and he thought better of taking a stroll. Instead he took his glass to the library and stood at the window as the light faded. It looked out in the same direction as his fiancée’s, and he wondered if she too looked out over the garden, or whether she had laid her head on the snowy pillow of her lonely bed, as he would soon. Had he tried to move on from grieving for Georgiana too soon? Had he laid her ghost to rest or would she forever haunt him? He shook his head pensively, gazing down at his glass to find it empty. He decided that more alcohol was not the answer, and he should attempt to sleep. On the morrow his good friend Tom and his wife would arrive, and introductions would be made, and all would acquaint themselves and hopefully settle into a lively but harmonious party. After that there would be various dinners and balls and other amusements – some held at Laxton, and others at neighbouring estates.

Leaving his glass on the desk, he left the room and ascended the great staircase, turning right to his chambers where Lizzy would have turned left. He paused for a moment before continuing, and once in his room, disrobed and slipped between the bedsheets. He lay on his back staring at the canopy of the hangings, expecting to be awake for some time, but sleep came swiftly.

He dreamed of Georgie, barefoot and running over the sands of Portobello, wind in her hair and a soft smile on her face. He walked along the margin of the sea, the waves trickling cold water over his bare toes. She came to him, and caught at his arm, walking beside him. He did not break his stride, for her hand had little weight and no warmth.

‘You are sad, beloved’ she said quietly.

‘I thought we had a lifetime together, my darling Georgie’ he replied ‘but you are gone, and just a dream’

‘My memory will always be with you’ she replied ‘but you are free to love another. I am just a shadow, a thought. Your new love is warm and real’ The featherlight weight of her arm fell away from his, and he stopped walking to look at her. She was carrying a sleeping infant in her arms. ‘I have our sweet babe with me. I am so sorry you never met him’ she said sorrowfully ‘But you have a chance to have another – and more’

‘I have your blessing?’ he asked

‘Of course, pining for me will only make you unhappy. Let go, and think of me tending our child, You are free to love your new sweetheart.’

‘I will remember you – on the day of your death each year’

‘If you wish. I would prefer it be the day of my birth, but it is your decision’ He smiled sadly

‘I can remember you both on the day of your passing’ he replied

‘Then let it be so. Farewell John, do not weep. Take comfort in your new love, for I am sure she will understand’

John sat upright in bed, the echo of Georgie’s word in his ears. He longed to go to Elizabeth and tell her how much he loved her, but propriety dictated when and where they might meet. On the morrow he thought he would have little chance to be alone with her, so he lay back and thought of ways to tell her of his feelings.

-------

Elizabeth woke to an odd noise. She was sure she could hear someone outside her door – a soft scuffle as if of stockinged feet was followed by a quiet rustling sound, and she opened her eyes sleepily to see a piece of paper had been pushed under her door. Looking at the light starting to creep around the margin of the heavy curtains, she surmised that her maid, Jane, would be there soon and would discover the note.

She felt a thrill of excitement, sure that it was a love token from her beloved. She got up, wrapping her dressing gown around her shoulders to retrieve the note and took it back to bed with her.

My dearest Elizabeth

In case you were in any doubt, please be assured that you have made me a very happy man. My love for you is genuine and enduring, and I cannot wait to make you my wife. The days to come will be busy and challenging and we may not get a lot of time to ourselves, but I am certain that all who meet you will see what a wonderful and accomplished young woman you are. I feel myself privileged to know your true nature, and hope that I can prove myself worthy of your esteem. I shall leave a token of my love where you may find it every day of our engagement – look tonight in your bedchamber and know that you will be in my thoughts as I lay my head on my pillow and close my eyes, hoping to dream of you.

Your truest love

John

She sighed with happiness, holding the letter to her bosom, and fancied she heard more footsteps in the corridor. Swiftly she lay down and pulled the covers over her, hiding the letter under her nightgown as a soft knock announced Jane’s arrival with warm water and towel for her to wash herself with. Entering, the maid moved swiftly to the nightstand, placing the jug safely there before opening the curtains with a cheery greeting.

‘Good morning Miss Elizabeth, the weather is fine. Master John’s housekeeper bids me ask if you slept well and if there is anything she may do to make you more comfortable’ Elizabeth sat up, stretching and blinking in the light that flooded the room.

‘I slept very well, and I can think of nothing I need’ she replied ‘The room is most agreeable.’ Jane’s eyes widened

‘Why Miss – you still wear your wrap – were you cold? I will ask for more blankets’ She blushed and thought quickly.

‘I rose in the night to answer a call of nature – I must have forgotten to remove it. Please do not trouble the housekeeper, the night was warm enough’ she replied, hating to tell a falsehood, but wanting to conceal her letter. She had indeed risen to pass water in the night and return the chamber pot to its place of concealment.

‘Let me see to that right away, Miss’ Jane replied, and went to reach under the bed. ‘If you have no pressing need for it’ she added hastily.

‘Not at the moment, Jane’ she replied, and took the maid’s absence as an opportunity to hide her letter away in her trunk, concealing it in a box of letters that she took with her everywhere. She poured the warm water into the basin on the nightstand and washed herself, and when Jane returned, Elizabeth told her what outfit her mother had thought suitable for the day. She laid it out, and went to fetch Amelia so the sisters could dress together.

Some little time later, the two of them descended to the dining room for breakfast, to find John already there, and Morag sitting eating at the table. He bowed to them both, then went swiftly to Elizabeth’s side to kiss her cheek.

‘Good morning Amelia – my dear Lizzie.’ He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Mother is taking breakfast in her room this morning, and asks that you attend her when convenient.’

‘Oh!’ Elizabeth said in surprise ‘It would be my pleasure. As soon as I have eaten, I will do so. Where does she wish to see me?’

‘I suggest you take a short turn around the garden with me to settle your digestion before you go to her’ John replied ‘We can send a servant to discover the place you are to go to, for I know not what her wishes are’ At this moment, Sir James and his wife entered the room. Amelia was already helping herself to oat cakes, butter and preserves, and stopped to greet them before taking her plate to sit at the table next to Morag.

‘Sir James, Lady Charlotte’ John said ‘I hope you found your room comfortable’

‘We did, thankyou’ her mother replied ‘Though I had almost forgotten how quiet it is in the country. We have been in the town for quite some time, and there is always noise from carriages and tradespeople’

‘I know just what you mean – excepting the Cockerel’s call in the morning’ John smiled ‘You should be grateful that father could never abide peacocks, for they make the most unearthly sounds you could imagine’

‘Oh, the Beaumonts have those’ Amelia interjected ‘You would think someone was being murdered. The first time I heard one my blood ran cold, even though I was warned’ Lady Margaret shivered

‘Indeed, it is fortunate’ she replied

‘Please help yourself to food’ John said ‘If there is anything else you wish for, please ask and I’ll send word to the kitchen’

The sideboard was laden with various cakes and breads, and a servant entered the room with fresh toast, having been told that all had assembled to eat. There was yellow butter from the farm and a selection of preserves. To drink there was not only tea, but chocolate, and the family set to doing it justice. Before long Elizabeth had finished, and turned to her mother.

‘Mother, Lady Margaret wishes me to attend her this morning, but I shall take a turn around the garden first’

‘I have proposed a walk for the digestion’ John said ‘Remember, my friend Tom and his wife shall arrive today, but I think they will not arrive before luncheon. You are free to accompany us, or visit any part of the estate that you wish.’

‘Tell my John, is there a newspaper to be had?’ Sir John asked ‘If there is, I shall take it to the study, or select a book to read from the library’

‘May I take a look at the library too?’ Amelia asked

‘The paper should have been delivered already’ John replied, and summoned Scott to check ‘And of course you may take a book, Miss Amelia. You must, as I said before, treat this place as your home.’ Lady Charlotte said that she and Morag would go and look in the greenhouses and the flower garden, leaving the lovers some little time alone before Elizabeth attended John’s mother, and she sent Jane to fetch a shawl against the cool of the morning air.

The betrothed couple strolled amongst the flower beds close to the house. Elizabeth took John’s arm.

‘What might your mother want with me?’ she asked ‘Do you think I am properly dressed?’

‘I am sure she just wants to get to know you’ John smiled ‘Do not be afraid, I believe she already likes you – who could not? As to your dress, as a man I only understand that you look beautiful. The niceties and details of dress do not make a lot of sense to me’

‘Can we be observed from the house?’ she asked in a low tone as they carried on along the gravel path. John smiled.

‘If you wish for a private spot, there is an arbour but a few steps away where prying eyes will not see’ he replied ‘Though we should not linger too long.’

‘Will it afford us time for a kiss?’ she asked ‘I am hungry for your lips’ John chuckled

‘What have I awoken in you, Lizzy? I suggested this walk to calm you before you went to see Mother’

‘I will be calm afterwards, I promise. I declare that otherwise I will only be counting the moments until our lips meet again, and will be distracted’

‘Very well Lizzy, you have convinced me that it is necessary’

‘Necessary?’ she asked ‘Do you not feel the same need? It is not necessary, but essential’

‘I crave to be alone with you constantly, my dear’ he affirmed ‘But I must needs be cautious that we are not imprudent. One of us must be on their guard’ By this time they had come to a niche in the yew hedge, where the foliage had been trained to form a shelter for two persons. They stepped inside out of view of the house and he drew her to him. No sooner had he done so than she had eagerly lifted her face to his, and their lips met in a sweet lingering kiss. Reluctantly he drew away after a few moments.

I fear that is enough for now, Lizzy’ he said ‘Let us walk for a little longer, then I will send someone to tell mother you are ready’ Elizabeth sighed

‘Very well. I shall do my best to please her’

‘I do not think you will have to try hard’ John kissed her hand, and they started out along the path again.

------

It so occurred that Lady Margaret had not yet dressed for the day, and asked Elizabeth to go to her bedchamber. John took her to the threshold, where she knocked and waited to be admitted. Lady Margaret’s maid opened the door, and John blew her a silent kiss before she entered. The Duchess was sitting in bed, still attired in a nightgown and mob cap.

‘Miss Elizabeth, thankyou for indulging me’ she said. Her face was pale and she looked weary. ‘I fear I may not join your family before dinner time. I am fatigued, and company is wearisome.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that, your grace’ Elizabeth replied ‘Would your doctor not give you a tonic? Mother sometimes takes one when she is indisposed’

‘I fear my affliction is of the nerves, not of the body, my dear girl. However, I wanted to get to know the girl who has brought the spark back into John’s eye’ She beckoned ‘Come, sit and talk to me’ Elizabeth drew near, and perched at the foot of the bed. There was a silence, and she wondered what they might talk of.

‘It is a pity you are unwell. The morning is fine and clear. John took me for a walk in the garden. I like the grounds of the house very much’ Lady Margaret smiled wanly.

‘It is a lot to manage, but the secret is to have good staff, and to treat them well. John’s father and I made sure that we knew every one of the servants and their family circumstances. I hope you will follow that example, and take an interest in their wellbeing. It will serve you well’ She smiled ‘There, I have told you the secret of our success already, and you have been here but a few minutes.’

‘I will be sure to follow your advice, Lady Margaret. You are too generous’

‘I hear that you were engaged to be married before you met John’ the duchess went on. Elizabeth fought to keep her composure, but the other woman laughed softly ‘The path to true love is not an easy one. As you know, John is a widower. His wife was a sweet girl, not well born, but he was determined to take her to him. We indulged him, and sometimes I wish I had not, to save him the sorrow he has borne’

‘I do wonder what she was like, and whether I can serve in her stead’ Elizabeth confessed.

‘My son does not give his heart easily, so I think you need not fear, my dear. I am pleased he has chosen someone so refined and well bred’ She coughed weakly and waved her hand to the dresser beside the bed. ‘My throat is dry - would you pass me a glass of water, my dear? If you wish for any refreshments I can send Betsy to the kitchen’

‘Thankyou Lady Margaret, I am not hungry, but I will take some water.’ She moved to pour two glasses and handed one to her. She sat forward to drink

‘If you could rearrange my pillows – and bring over the shawl you see on the back of the screens’ she asked, and Elizabeth did so, shaking the pillows out and placing them back behind the older woman. She took the shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders and sat back with a sigh ‘Thankyou, that is much more comfortable.’

‘Are you often indisposed?’ Elizabeth asked with concern ‘I hope you have a doctor with a good reputation’

‘Doctor Foster is a dear friend as well as an excellent physician. He covers the whole of the estate, and I have great faith in his skills.’ She settled further into the pillows ‘The death of my husband has affected me much’ She fixed Elizabeth with her gaze. ‘Such is the price of finding your soulmate’ she cautioned her ‘Sometimes I wish I were with my dear Walter’

‘Please Lady Margaret, do not say such things’ Elizabeth pleaded ‘You have much still to live for. Why, I would be devastated if you were not there when John and I are joined as man and wife’ She moved closer, and took her hand ‘You have much still to teach me, and I am sure you have many stories to share of family life’ The older woman smiled.

‘Thankyou my dear. Of course you will in time have children to carry on the family name, and I wish very much to be here to see that. If you are lucky, there is much joy to be had in married life, and I hope I have brought John up to be kind and considerate at the very least’

‘Indeed, he makes me feel very special. I rejected the suit of another when I learned that he had little respect for my sex, and less regard for intelligence.’

‘So that is the reason you broke off your engagement? I was told that the young man in question gambled heavily’ Elizabeth blushed, realising she had perhaps revealed too much to her prospective mother in law.

‘My father discovered that after I had raised my objections. I think I had a lucky escape’

‘You may be sure that John has no love of gambling or drinking heavily. His father often pointed out the dangers of such vices’ She sighed ‘I have kept you away from John, and soon you will have the responsibility of greeting visitors. You may go, my dear’

‘That is very generous of you’ Elizabeth paused at a thought that came to her ‘Lady Margaret, do you read much?’ she asked

‘I do, it is one of my pleasures’

‘Would you permit me to read to you? It might lift your spirits. Perhaps sitting outside in the fresh air would also improve your health.’

‘Bless you my dear, you will soon be too busy to indulge me, but perhaps Miss Amelia might be prevailed upon to read to me?’

‘I am sure she would be happy to do so. I will ask her straight away’

‘She need not come until after lunch, but only if she can be spared. I will take a nap now, for I slept little, and your visit has been most refreshing.’

‘I will be sure to ask one of the servants to check on you after we have eaten. I hope soon that you will feel well enough to socialise with your new guests’ Lady Margaret reached out and took Elizabeth’s hand with both of hers.

‘Thankyou so much for indulging me, Elizabeth. You will make a good Mistress for Laxton estate, I am sure of that now’ Elizabeth dropped a curtsey and left the room to go and find Amelia and tell her of her plans for her sister.

@sirbeepsalot @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @dcbbw @rainbowsinthestorm @katedrakeohd @trappedinfandoms @kingliam2019 @nomadics-stuff @texaskitten30 @princess-geek @fluffyfirewhiskey @kimmiedoo5

#Past times #Elizabeth and John #Elizabeth Dalgeish #Captain Lykel #Captain John Lykel #regency drama #regency scotland

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romeulusroy · 4 years

Text

Novelty Pt. Two (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Tommy, Shelby family mention

Word Count: 1,606

Requested: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @parochialism

Inspired By: @parochialism

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt

A/N: First, if you're going to give anyone credit for the plot, we should all thank @parochialism :) Thank you my love!!! Your idea was so lovely and I felt so stuck about what to write, your reply was so incredibly helpful and I couldn't have written part two without you!!! Second, I really like writing parts to fics! I'm not sure I'd be able to write more than just two parts, but I thought the same when it came to this! Third, this is the longest thing I've ever written and idk, I'm really proud!!! I'm proud of how it turned out! I haven't been able to say that in a while, but I think I needed a lil break from mini-fics to get back into the swing of writing. Feedback is always appreciated my loves! 💜💖💜

~ FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. ~

PART ONE.

A curse, the greatest loss of them all, to see young love die.

He could have burned them, used them as an ash tray, put his cigarettes out on them one by one until it held the whole pack. He could have thrown them away, tearing them apart, shredded to pieces. But he didn't. Instead the divorce papers sat there, lifeless, collecting dust in the corner of his desk. Other papers, books, things of more importance stacked on top. Neglected, just like your marriage. Didn't matter, not really, it sent the same message all the same, no use in trying. No one could divorce a Shelby. Tommy never would have agreed despite the lack of love he felt for you, and no lawyer dare let you set foot through their doors with a last name that dangerous. If you'd known all those years ago this is where you'd be, sitting, waiting for him to react through the thin walls of the office, bracing for the worst, you never would have said yes on those fucking tracks.

He knew how you felt regardless of those papers. It was clear the space between you was growing, opening a pit you wished, you hoped, you'd fall into one day. Two lives lived separate, coming together only when neccesary. Grew up, apart, wanting different things. A man of power, he cared more about the toy soldiers he sent out, doing his dirty work for him, than the spouse he left at home each night, rotting alone in the bed they used to share. Greedy, angry, hungry. This was his life, his business, you were nothing more than a tiny, mangled piece of the puzzle. Meant to speak when spoken to, appear on his arm with a smile and only good things to say, put on a good act when there were eyes watching. When there weren't, he didn't give your actions much thought. You weren't even sure you existed out of his line of sight.

You came to family meetings. Not to nod and smile, the family knew just how you felt about one another, but because you had every right to be there, same as the rest. Your feelings for Thomas didn't bleed out towards the rest. Greeting Pol, Arthur, John, Michael, even Finn with a kiss on the cheek, a kind word, a lighthearted quip towards their brother or cousin. Sweet as ever, complimenting you quietly. You were their small reminder of the world before the war. A lifelong friend before an in-law. Someone to cherish, to protect. Regardless of what your husband felt for you, they still loved you. You sat with them instead, an us vs. them. None of you afraid to call him out, to stare in those deep blues and question him, his authority. He needed that, to be knocked down, challenged, learn that the world would not bow or smile per his beck and call.

You didn't work for him, or any of them. This wasn't your place. He wanted to be the provider, for you to wait long hours for him and him only, but you wanted your own freedom, your own worth. Found a shop. Used your maiden name. They all knew, but no one dare say a thing. Hired you on the spot, your boys visiting often per his request. Checking up, making sure you behaved. It wasn't much, but it was yours, and that was enough. Quiet, without him. A place of escape, to fill your own time with. No guns, no bodies, it was safe here. He knew his place, not to set foot. You had your own territory. This was yours. Untouchable, sacred. Tommy still knew his place sometimes.

You thought about leaving, disappearing, packing your bags, showing him you meant what you said. And you had, a few times, caught yourself on a train ride to nowhere, but you always came back, wasting the day, frustrated with yourself. You weren't only leaving him. They were your family, too. Your nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters, your friends, people you cared for and who cared for you. It was your home, too. The same place you grew up, a place you never really wanted to stay too far from. It was yours, not just his. He'd find you unpacking, shoving the suitcase in the closet, knowing what you did today, why his men couldn't find you working. There were a lot of things you gave up becoming a Shelby, a lot, but your home would not be one of them.

No one defied him the way you could. There was an art to it all, a dance. Though he wanted to be the one in power, you always lead. Slamming a bowl in the sink, a drawer shut, a door or simply stomping your foot. A reminder that you made noise, that you were to be heard. Rage pickled under your skin, burning your eyes, sharpening your words. Nothing touched him. He was just as ruthless, uncaring, slicing you to shreds with the things he said. You knew one another better than you knew yourselves. All his soft spots, weaknesses, fears, they sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to pull the trigger. Broken bits strewn across the floor, neither of you picking it up. It was no shock to the rest of the world that the Shelby's were unhappy. The way the help spoke, you weren't surprised. Left to pick up the pieces, the two of you unable to look at one another, word spread quick.

There were others. Other bodies he spent the night with, other smiles he charmed, buying drinks for, other hands he kissed. It was easy for him to find a companion. Strangers threw themselves at him, falling for the same eyes you did. Those lipstick stains were not your shade, nor were the scratches on his back by your nails. He gave up hiding it, and you gave up caring. You stopped looking for one another for that kind of comfort. He wasn't the only guilty one. Trips to London, where no one had to know who you are, where no one needed to. Dressed up just for them, needy for attention, a touch, to be wanted. No feelings, no names, no strings, just mindless, naked fun. You never let yourself get too close, too attached. They'd face a fate worse than death. The animosity meant you and them were safe. He never asked where you were, what you were up to, as long as you were home by Sunday.

Sometimes, though, those stars would shine through when he looked at you, the barriers crumbling, the walls falling. He'd carry to the car, bring you home when you drank too much at the bar. Tuck you in under the covers and apologize softly, sorry for the man he's become, sorry for the life you live, sorry you're stuck with him, this new him. After particularly bad fights he'd sigh, convinced you were asleep, apologizing for the things he said, wishing he'd been able to take them back. He apologized a lot when he thought no one was listening, when he could drop this angry facade, revealing just how tired he truly was. Laying beside you, over the blankets, his tie loose, jacket long gone, he'd apologize for all the things wrong in the world, wrong in the marriage. Apologize for taking your youth, stealing so many years from you, for never giving you the family you always wanted, the husband you always wanted, the one he promised to be in a past life. Sorry for this, and that, and everything else. . . .

It didn't fix anything, it didn't make you love him the way you used to, it didn't make him the man he used to be. There were still fights, nights you spent floors away from one another, in beds that weren't your own, in booths trying to drink your problems into oblivion when you hated the very sight of him. It didn't prevent you from staying with Esme and John, taking the couch at Pols, even disappearing back home with your side when that house felt too haunted. It didn't fix a goddamn thing, and it never could, but it humanized him, a corpse he'd been carrying around since he stepped off that train.

It wasn't hate. You never hated him as a person. You hated the words he said, and the things he did, but there would always be peaks and hints of the boy you first fell for. You were mourning in your own ways, bitter, crying for a loss no one else could see or feel. For the people you always pictured yourselves being, the houses you'd have, the life you'd live, the children you always wanted to have. Never would you raise on this environment, not now. Mourning your lost youth, your own broken heart. It was a marriage of grief, a graveyard of wedding vows, made up of dead promises. This was never like anything the two of you expected, and that was something to grieve for. It wasn't easy watching happy engagements turn into a lifetime of unconditional love. It wasn't fair. Faces younger than your own had been still happy to this day, their hair white,terth gone. Til death would they part, you guessed. . . .

When your request was denied by the very man who promised to do whatever it was to make you happy was the day you realized, no matter what you did in this lifetime, your own grave would still have the name Shelby carved into it.

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elesianne · 4 years

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A Lord of the Rings fanfic for @tolkiengenweek – Family, platonic relationships

Summary: Queen Lothíriel's cousin and lady-in-waiting Sírdhem receives sad news from Gondor, and Lothíriel realises how important they have become to each other.

Wordcount: ~2,800 words; Rating: General audiences

Some keywords: friendship, hurt/comfort, hopeful ending, Fourth Age

A/N: Sírdhem is an OC, Lothíriel's younger cousin, whom I created for the sequel to my Lothíriel/Éomer fics. That sequel is not yet in posting shape but all you need to know about Sírdhem to read this fic is in this fic.

Warnings: Discussion about the death of a character (offscreen OC). And while this fic is not about pregnancy or childbirth, there are mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, including one where a character briefly describes some negative sides of giving birth.

AO3 link

Sister of my heart

It is not an uncommon occurrence for a messenger to arrive from Gondor and ask to be brought to the queen rather than the king, and Lothíriel always receives them eagerly. So does Sírdhem, her cousin who came to Rohan with her to be one of her ladies-in-waiting.

This time it is Sírdhem who rises and takes the letters from deeply-bowing young man for standing up has become arduous for Lothíriel of late. This afternoon it is particularly difficult because her older child sits on the floor clinging to her leg and her younger one naps in her lap.

Sírdhem beckons over a serving girl to take the messenger to the kitchens for a hearty meal.

'I was told to wait for a reply, my lady', he says, hesitating in front of Lothíriel. He is a new one.

'Messengers from Gondor are always told to wait', she says. 'Go and eat. You will be sent for when you are needed. If that is not until tomorrow, Sírdhem will make sure you are found lodgings for the night.'

Sírdhem nods at the messenger. It is one of her usual duties.

With another deep bow, the young man departs with the serving girl towards the kitchens.

Sírdhem hands Lothíriel four letters sealed with bright blue wax and one with black, and sits down to read her own letter.

'I see that my family have been prolific letter-writers this month', Lothíriel says as she eyes the letters. Her ladies laugh. Over the four years Lothíriel has been in Rohan, they have had to listen to many complaints about Lothíriel's brothers not writing enough.

Lothíriel opens the letter with her sister-in-law's handwriting first. She wants to know how her niece and nephews have recovered from their spring colds.

Very well, it seems, based on how much the trouble their mother writes they have got into since then, Lothíriel reads with a smile.

She raises her head when she hears a sob.

Sírdhem has the hand not clutching her letter in front of her mouth, and tears in her eyes.

'What is it, Sírdhem?' Lothíriel drops her own letter to the floor, hands her sleeping two-year-old to Cuthfleda and tries to peel Elfwine from her leg. It is difficult with her large belly in the way. 'Darling, let go. Mama needs to speak to Sírdhem.'

'No', says Elfwine. He has not been having a good day.

Estrun hurries over and lifts Elfwine into her strong arms, promising him a spoonful of jam with his evening meal if he behaves and lets his mother go without a fuss.

Lothíriel would voice her disagreement with such a child-raising method but she needs to get to Sírdhem. Using the armrests of her chair for support, she gets herself to her feet and takes a few waddling steps that take her to her cousin.

She doesn't repeat her question. It is clear enough that something is badly wrong in Anfalas, in Sírdhem's home. Lothíriel touches her arm and says gently, 'Come. Let us leave the hall.'

Sírdhem nods, and keeps her usually proud head bowed.

There are some downsides to spending their afternoon hours in the main room of the mead-hall. A total lack of privacy is one of them.

Leaning on each other, Lothíriel and Sírdhem make their way to Lothíriel's sitting room.

There, with a numb voice and a grey face, Sírdhem says, 'Belegon is dead.'

Belegon was Sírdhem's older brother, the only one of her brothers that survived the war. 'I am sorry', says Lothíriel, swallowing tears herself at once, taking Sírdhem's hand. 'So very sorry.' There is little else she can say.

'I hoped so –' Sírdhem swallows loudly, too. 'He was just beginning to sound more like himself in his letters, after years of him being almost a stranger since he rode home from Minas Tirith. I hoped so that he would…' And she begins to cry, hard enough that her whole body shakes, loud enough that Lothíriel's heart aches for her.

'Oh, my dear.' Lothíriel holds her, sniffling through her own tears as she pets Sírdhem's hair. 'I am so sorry', she whispers. 'I am sorry you lost him, too. I am sorry you weren't there.'

Lothíriel pulls her close and holds Sírdhem as she mourns another loss.

When Sírdhem's desperate sobs fade to calmer ones, perhaps only because of exhaustion, Lothíriel makes her sit and fetches her wine from the table in the corner of the room. Gondorian women need wine for fortification in moments like this, Lothíriel believes, even if those Gondorian women have been living in Rohan for four years.

When she returns to Sírdhem she finds her with the letter still in her hands, crumpled and tear-stained.

'He died in a hunting accident', Sírdhem says after emptying the cup of wine very fast. Her brows draw to an angry frown even as tears continue falling down her face. 'For all that he had seen of death, for how little was left of our family, for how young his children are – I would have thought he'd have taken more care. He should have taken more care!'

Lothíriel listens quietly. She has seen enough loss, if not experienced much of it herself, to know that anger is often a part of it for those who are left behind.

When Sírdhem falls to silence suddenly, Lothíriel says, 'You can leave tomorrow if you wish. Éomer will give you a guard of good men and swift horses, and I will send word to Minas Tirith by messenger who will arrive before you so there will be a ship ready in Harlond to take you to the coast and to Anfalas as fast as is possible.'

'What does that matter? What does it matter if I even go home?' Sírdhem rises and paces the room. 'No matter how swift the horses and ships, I won't be there in any meaningful time. They will have buried him already in the time it took for this letter to reach me. It is summer –' her words fall to sobs as she mentions the horrible, undignified reality of death.

'You can comfort your sister-in-law', says Lothíriel for lack of anything better to say, though she knows that Sírdhem and her sister-in-law are not close at all. 'You can visit Belegon's grave.'

'Indeed, his grave.' Sírdhem turns suddenly to Lothíriel, her skirts swishing around her legs. They are of finest red wool and embroidered by Sírdhem's own masterful hand. 'I have never been so glad that I came here as I am now, Lothíriel. I doubted my decision then, since I did not even know you well before we came here, but I am glad now that I chose Rohan. There is nothing left for me in Anfalas, nothing but graves to weep and rage upon. My parents, all of my brothers. All of the family I grew up with is gone.'

'I am sorry', Lothíriel says again, helplessly.

'I suppose I should go. I suppose I want to visit those graves though I hate them, too. And to not go would seem terribly hard-hearted of me.' Sírdhem comes and sits down in the chair next to Lothíriel's.

'If I go, I won't be here for your baby's birth', she says to Lothíriel, her voice no less fierce yet. 'And your mother won't be here either. It's too late, most likely, to ask her to come.'

Lothíriel suppresses a sigh. Her mother has been unwell, her father told her in his last letter, still not quite recovered from the illness she had late in winter that made her cough violently for weeks. So Lothíriel had written her and told her that she didn't need to travel to Rohan to support Lothíriel when she gives birth. It is her third time after all, she wrote, and she would have her ladies with her who have become close friends to her, Sírdhem especially.

Lothíriel says to Sírdhem, 'I will not lie to you and say that I won't miss you when I'm scared and in pain and cursing myself that I agreed to this northern horse-lord's proposal that took me so far away from my family.

'But I will be all right. We have been here so long now, you and I, that we have people here who… well, they are not family, but they care about us and we care about them. I will have Bledwyn and Cuthfleda, who have both have several children and know how it is, and Estrun and Godliss, and Guthild too, and the wise midwife who has safely got me through two births already.'

She takes Sírdhem's hand. 'Go home to Anfalas, dear, grieve and pay your respects. Take as much time as you need, and spend a few days in Dol Amroth on your way back. Rest a little for the rest of the long journey, and get all the gossip that you can from our aunt and from my sister-in-law.'

Sírdhem's mouth tugs into a smile, though her reddened eyes stay serious. 'I will find out for you whether that rumour about Amrothos courting your father's steward's daughter is true.'

She squeezes Lothíriel's hand for a moment. 'I will go write a reply to my sister-in-law, tell her that I am coming.'

'And I to the dockmaster in Harlond.' Lothíriel begins the process of standing up, and Sírdhem hurries to help her. 'Thank you. Sírdhem dear… there will be easier times for you', Lothíriel tells her. 'You have been given more than your fair share of sorrow, but you will bear it all and it will pass, and there will be new summers.'

She stands there for a moment looking at Sírdhem, her younger cousin who came with her to Rohan at only seventeen years old, still grieving for her mother whom she had lost not so long ago. And now she grieves for a family member again; but in between, she has found her own place in the court in Meduseld, and become Lothíriel's best friend.

Lothíriel is very proud of her, of the tall, smart young woman she has become. Her heart aches and rebels for all the grief that Sírdhem has had to bear.

'I will pray for a safe journey for you', Lothíriel says, finding herself close to tears again. 'Good waves for sailing, but no storm.'

Sírdhem embraces her. 'And I will pray for a safe delivery for you.' She sighs, a trembling sound. 'I will miss you too.'

Many weeks of autumn have passed by the time Sírdhem returns. Lothíriel hurries out of the hall when she is told that she is coming, and they meet on the wide steps before Meduseld.

Sírdhem's skirts are spattered with mud and her long braid, Rohirrim-like but for its dark colour, is windswept. Despite the weather and the long journey her eyes brighten when she sees Lothíriel.

'My lady!' she calls with a wide smile, her mischievousness more unburdened than it was before her journey to say goodbye.

They embrace, and Sírdhem remembers to be gentle without Lothíriel reminding her that it has been only three weeks since she gave birth.

'You could have stayed home longer', she says. 'I would not have minded.'

'I am home now, Lothíriel', Sírdhem says. 'I visited all their graves, and did not say anything mean to my sister-in-law who was as unpleasant to me as ever, and I am home now and I do not think I will go back to Anfalas any time soon.'

Lothíriel smiles, though she does not know if it is the right thing to do. 'I am glad you are home. We all missed you. Elfwine asked every day if you were coming back soon.'

Sírdhem laughs and grimaces. 'I missed him too. And your new child – I cannot wait to see him. I heard in Minas Tirith that it is another boy. Is he well, and you?'

'He is very well – my biggest baby so far, with an appetite to match his size – and I am getting there. I'll take you to see him.'

Taking Sírdhem's hand, Lothíriel leads her into the hall and to her group of ladies who have lain aside their work since it is almost time for the midday-meal. They rise to greet Sírdhem, and Bledwyn who is holding Lothíriel and Éomer's as-yet unnamed third child brings him to meet Sírdhem.

There are embraces and smiles and questions all around, and Godliss makes a sweet fuss about Sírdhem, having food and warm drink brought to her at once and a blanket for her lap after travelling on a windy autumn day.

Cuthfleda tells her about the progress they made on the tapestry of the battle on Pelennor fields, Sírdhem's favourite project.

'And you promise that you have not ruined my tapestry while I was gone, Ríel?' Sírdhem teases.

Lothíriel laughs, no offended at this old joke, and relieved at Sírdhem's levity. 'Indeed I have not! Cuthfleda has kept a close eye on me. She knows as well as you my lack of skill compared to you two.'

The six of them, Lothíriel and her ladies, sit close to each other and talk over each other and the short time until the meal passes fast. As they eat they continue sharing news, gossip and progress on various work, and because she insists Sírdhem gets to hold the baby even though it makes eating difficult.

Lothíriel notices Éomer stride into the hall and exchanges smiles with him, but he notices how lively and focused on each other she and her ladies are. He nods and goes to spend the mealtime with his men instead of with Lothíriel as he often does.

After the meal Sírdhem goes to her room to change out of her travel-worn clothes and unpack, and Lothíriel goes with her.

As she sorts through her things and hands to Tuilindien gifts from Dol Amroth, Sírdhem says, 'The way home felt longer than the journey to Anfalas. I am happy that I went, but happier to be back. And I don't intend to go back to southern Gondor, unless it is with you.'

She smiles at Lothíriel, then, playful again despite the pale tiredness that has crept on her face. 'So you and Éomer must begin doing something about what I've been promised all this time – finding me a husband among the Rohirrim. So I can stay.'

'You don't need to marry a man of Rohan to stay in Rohan!' Lothíriel exclaim, adding, 'Do you not know how dear you are to me? You have become my dearest friend; I realised it more than ever while you ever gone. You are my cousin only in blood, but the sister of my heart. I would happily keep you by my side for the rest of my life, even if we do not find you a husband that pleases you.'

Sírdhem embraces her warmly. 'I have no sister but you either, sister of my choice', she says, concealing a sniffle in her elbow as she turns to set a few more trinkets on the table next to Lothíriel. Then she says, changing her tone, 'So is pleasing me the main criterion for the man who would marry me? I thought that he had to be a man of good birth and good station, and one that Éomer trusts and wants to bring close to him or keep close.'

'Those are all important criteria but not as important as you wanting to marry him. There does not need to be great love already, I believe both from what I have been told and from my own experience, but you must want to be his wife or there is little chance of happiness for either of you.'

'Well, then. We shall see what options you have to present for me.'

'Not quite yet', Lothíriel says. 'There is no need yet for anyone to plan for your marriage unless you want to.'

'Not quite yet', Sírdhem echoes. She sits next to Lothíriel and leans her head on her shoulder. They are almost of a height, Sírdhem a little taller now.

They sit in silence for a while, golden rays of the afternoon sun reaching into the room, limning the wooden walls with a lighter, warmer gleam.

'I will always be grateful that you came here with me.' Lothíriel touches the skirt of her dress. 'Even though it means wearing wool dresses even in the summer.'

'That is indeed a great drawback.' Sírdhem chuckles. 'But I have become adept at making and embroidering them, too, as adept as I was with silk.'

'Indeed you have learned many things here, as have I.'

'I am glad that I came', Sírdhem says. 'This is a land of new beginnings for me, and I am beginning another one now.'

'May it be a happy one', Lothíriel replies. 'I trust that it will be.'

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you thought of this fic :)

#only six days late...#well this is my humble offering anyway #tolkien fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #lothíriel #sírdhem #my fics #elesianne's fics #sister of my heart

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hunnybadgerv · 4 years

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Rest in Pieces | Far Cry 5 | Leah Rook

Summary: Funerals are never easy, but they can be defining.

a/n: Wrote this to get an idea of who Leah was prior to her decision to become a deputy. I wondered what could have derailed her from her chosen course in law. And I realized she’s a country girl at heart who held onto a big little dream until she was the only one left at home to take care of her folks and the land she grew up on.

AO3 Link

Rest in Pieces

A biting winter wind howled down the mountains into the Holland Valley. Leah stood on the back porch and watched the flurries dance in the air obscuring her view of the vast landscape that surrounded the Rook family farm. This land had been in her father’s family for four generations, and from the sound of the wind the whole valley was mourning the loss of Paul Rook almost as powerfully as his daughter.

Pulling the neck of her coat more closed, she stared out into the field of white only broken here and there by the dark outstretched limbs of evergreens. One good thing about the cold, she couldn’t cry. It was like the tears froze before they could even get to the surface. That didn’t take away the pain at all. No, the sucking maw deep in her chest gaped like a black hole that threatened to swallow her up wholly and utterly.

A wailing from the house pulled Leah’s attention back to the present. Her mother was taking it bad.

“Mama?” she called, walking back inside and sealing the door behind her.

Another pained sob echoed through the house, pulling Leah up the stairs to her parents’ room. She’d almost never been in that space, though over the last few days she’d crossed that threshold several times a day.

“Mama?” she said more softly, trying to make even her voice comforting as she crouched on the floor next to her mother and draped her arms around the woman, who seemed to have collapsed under the weight of her own grief.

Ruthie Rook had always been the strongest person Leah knew. This crumpled form draped in black wool bore so little resemblance to the woman she remembered when she was growing up. Though the rough hand that grabbed hers, that was familiar. The whole family worked the land, and her mother had been no exception. In fact, she probably worked harder than everyone else considering she had to cook for everyone, clean, and keep up with four kids beyond the work on the farm.

She held her mother tightly, rocking her until the sobbing calmed a bit. Hearing the door slam downstairs, made her mother startle.

“Who?” she managed to ask before her voice gave out.

“It’s just the boys.”

Her mother relaxed against Leah.

“Ma, Sissy!” The full baritone voice that carried up the stairs belonged to her oldest brother Josiah. Leah hated when he called her that, but he always did, even more so whenever she asked him not to do it. She’d figured out to stop asking by middle school.

“Up here,” Leah replied. Judging by the resounding sound of boots on the stairs, he wasn’t alone. She shifted and tried to get her mother to her feet, but it proved futile.

“What happened?” Josiah shouted when he rushed into the room.

“She’s grieving,” the youngest Rook child replied like the answer should be obvious, even to her brawny brother.

Uriah leaned against the door jamb, trying to stay out of the line of fire like always. While Noah walked over and offered his sister a hand up. Josiah was broad and muscular like their father had been in his youth; he easily hauled their mother to her feet as she clung to him.

“I got you, Ma,” he told her, ignoring Leah completely.

Noah leaned closer to her as Josiah escorted Mother to the hall. “You doing all right?” he whispered.

“Could be better,” she admitted.

The youngest brother, Uriah remained silent and took up the rear as they all moved down the hall. The car Josiah hired for the family waited in the drive, the heat from the tailpipe billowed into the cold air like smoke from a fire. Leah stopped at the door and grabbed her mother’s coat, draping it over her shoulders. Both she and Josiah helped her into the warm garment; he swatted his sister’s hands away and buttoned it up himself.

Leah just let out a long breath and waited for her brothers to leave. She locked the door, making her pace slow enough to earn Josiah’s annoyance yet again. “Sissy, get a move on. We can’t chance being late.”

Her green eyes rolled as the tumbler of the lock slid closed. Even today, he couldn’t let up for just one damn minute, she thought. She climbed into the vehicle and sat between Noah and Uriah; the former draped his arm over her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. It was just like when they were kids. Uriah hung back and tried to go unnoticed; Noah played the calming influence and comforted the younger ones when Josiah was on a tear. It was almost a blessing when their oldest brother got a football scholarship to Ole Miss. After that, they only had to deal with his brand of prideful teasing and irritation during the summer, on holidays, and for special occasions. It was almost bearable.

Honestly, Leah didn’t know if she could take it today. She sank against Noah, trying not to let her own grief overwhelm her. She missed her father more than she could ever explain. She’d always been Daddy’s Little Girl; he’d taught her to hunt and shoot, encouraged her big dreams of going to law school, and was certain she’d be the District Attorney of Hope County, which had been her meager little dream.

The drive would not take long. Thirty minutes or so with the weather, if her guess were correct. She laid her head on Noah’s shoulder, remembering the last few weeks; most of which were spent in the University Hospital in Missoula. The man in that faded in that hospital bed had borne so little resemblance to the one that held her on his shoulders on parade days when she was a child.

Watching the landscape pass by through the windows, Leah realized that she hadn’t been home in too long, she had missed all the signs. The man who laid in that bed with barely the strength to get to his feet felt like a stranger at a glance. Only when she studied his face could she find traces of her dad. He’d gotten so gaunt, looked almost skeletal at the end, and she’d overlooked it—been so focused on her own goals, that she hadn’t been there for him when he’d needed her.

Her eyes screwed shut to stem the flow of tears. She had to be strong for her mother; she had to be strong like her brothers. You can do this, she assured herself.

Once they reached the church, Pastor Jerome rushed out to the vehicle and pulled the door open.

“Ruth,” he greeted, holding a hand out to the widow.

Leah ignored the conversation that sparked around her, instead steeling herself for the next hour or so. She just had to make it back home. That’s all. Noah let her walk on her own once they all exited the car. Uriah pulled the wrist of his coat back to check his watch. His sister didn’t know how to read the action, though she never really knew how to decipher Uriah’s behaviors and whims, even as children. Despite being the third child of four, he somehow managed to keep to himself. Though maybe being the youngest brother made him more likely to pull away.

She didn’t realize that she was analyzing her brothers as a coping mechanism, at least not until they reached the front of the church. At the first sight of her father’s profile, all the strength Leah saved up flooded out of her like an ice cube on the pavement in summer. Her knees gave out and she hit the floor with an echoing thud. She gasped fruitlessly but couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

The whole world seemed to collapse in on her all at once. She stared at the runner, her nails digging at the carpet fibers for purchase as she became aware of the weight of Noah’s hand on her back. His voice sounded in her ears, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. And no sound left her.

He was gone, really gone. The man who’d always believed in her was gone. The one person that looked at her like she could do anything. He’d always been there. Loved her when it seemed like no one else could. Held her when she cried. Gave the biggest and tightest hugs. Encouraged her. Believed in her. And now …

“Why?” she finally sobbed in a whisper, when Noah raised her face in his hands.

“Shh.” That was all he said, when he pulled her into a hug, tears glistening in his own eyes. There was comfort in her brother’s embrace—he gave hugs like her daddy, tight and warm and unrestrained. The kind of hug that made you know for certain someone cared. He rocked her gently, well, rocked them would be more accurate. Even Uriah, laid a hand on her shoulder.

Puddled on the floor, Leah blinked past the edge of her brother’s shoulder. She hadn’t cried yet. She’d managed to escape it, until that moment. Seeing her father laid out at the front of the church cemented the whirlwind of the last few weeks.

Before anyone else arrived, Noah got Leah off the floor and into the family pew. Apparently, the ceremony was beautiful, if the condolence cards received afterward were to be believed. And Josiah gave a fitting and respectful eulogy, but that should surprise no one. Leah couldn’t attest to any of it. She stared at the casket the entire time, holding Noah’s hand, as the occasional sniffle shook her entire body. Besides that, it was like time stopped for her, and it did not restart until they reached the house again.

Thankfully, there was no graveside event. The ground was frozen. His casket wouldn’t be interred until the spring thaw.

“What the hell was that?” Josiah growled at her once he had handed mother off to Uriah.

Leah didn’t answer, couldn’t. She watched their mother rise up the stairs and into the house. The door didn’t quite close behind her. Josiah grabbed Leah’s arms and shook her until her head tipped enough to catch the angry look on his face. Still all she could do was blink, but the tears were too hot now, the cold wind couldn’t stop them even as they burned her already red cheeks.

“Back off,” Uriah called from the door. “Let her be.”

“He’s right. We all lost him. And she’s the one that’s been here the whole time. The one who had to put this all together,” Noah argued.

Josiah’s glare softened a shade, and he brought his hand to his sister’s face. She wasn’t sure if she really saw it or if it was an illusion. He’s eyes went glassy for a moment before he blinked it away. Then he pulled her toward him and planted a kiss on her forehead. It only served to shatter her all over again, but this time he caught her up in a big hug, one that held a surprising amount of tenderness.

“Come on, Sissy,” he whispered in her hair. “It will be all right. You’re going to be all right.”

Reassurance from Josiah Rook. In all her wild imaginings, that was not something Leah ever thought she would live to see, let alone experience for herself.

#Far Cry 5 #Deputy Leah Rook #Badger Scribbles #Pre-game nonsense #funeral #Grief #leah rook #family dynamics

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crue-sixx · 5 years

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I’ll Always Be Here For You (Steve Rogers/Captain America Imagine)

Summary: You try to hold it together after the passing of your brother, but it all becomes too much. Steve is there to help.

Warning: Panic attack.

There are major Avengers: Endgame spoilers in this.

You sat on the couch with your niece and sister-in-law, Morgan and Pepper, as the holographic video of your older brother played before you. It was almost as if Tony were really there, but he wasn’t. He was gone and you still couldn’t believe it. You were in shock over the whole thing and in complete denial. He couldn’t be gone. He was Tony Stark...Iron Man. Nothing could defeat Iron Man.

You and Tony had been very close. He had raised you when the untimely passing of your parents occurred. He had always been there for you and made sure that you were well taken care of. You looked up to your older brother so much. You grew up and decided to follow in his foot steps by working for his company then by becoming an Avenger, much to his dismay. He was worried about you and your safety, which caused a bit of a rift between you two. He eventually accepted it, however. You two were an amazing team together. You had your ups and downs, but you were family. He was the only family you had left and he was gone. Morgan and Pepper were your family of course, but you and Tony had been through so much together.

You and the rest of the team had suffered two major losses during this battle. Natasha was the first one to sacrifice herself. It came as a complete shock. You were absolutely devastated. Natasha was your best friend and she was just gone. You didn’t think it could get any worse, but then the battle against Thanos and his minions occurred. Tony was the next one to sacrifice himself.

You held Morgan’s little hand in yours as you all watched Tony. Your fiancée, Steve, was stood right behind you. His hand was on your shoulder and he squeezed it in a comforting manner.

“I love you, 3000,” Tony spoke before he signed off. His Iron Man helmet stopped playing the hologram and you all sat there quietly for a bit.

“I love you, 3000, daddy,” Morgan said, which tore at your heart strings.

You looked down at her as she moved closer into Pepper’s side. Pepper wrapped her arm around her and kissed her head before she looked over at you. You gave her a small smile to try to comfort her. You had been trying to stay strong for Pepper and Morgan. They needed you and you were going to make sure you were strong for them. You’d cried on the battlefield when you watched your brother take his last breath as he looked at you and Pepper. You vowed to stay strong after that.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Pepper asked you and you nodded at her.

You took one of Morgan’s hands as Pepper took her other. Happy handed Pepper the wreath that was made for his memorial, which was why everyone was together. The wreath had his arc reactor on it that Pepper gifted him that read, “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.”

Everyone started gathering outside. You, Morgan, and Pepper all walked out to the ramp of the lake hand-in-hand. Steve stayed close behind you. He had been there for you through the whole thing, never leaving your side. He was worried about you, especially since you didn’t seem to be letting yourself grieve properly. He could tell you were holding it all in and knew how dangerous that could be. He let you do your thing, however, and made sure he was there in case you needed him.

You, Morgan, and Pepper all bent down, placing the wreath into the lake together. You watched it float away as you squeezed Morgan’s hand in yours before she wrapped both of her arms around Pepper. It was like watching that arc reactor float away made it sink in fully. Your brother was gone. He wasn’t there for you to talk to anymore. He wasn’t there to give you advice anymore. He wasn’t there for you to annoy each other. He was really gone.

As some time passed, you felt your chest tightening up as you watched the wreath float in the water. You tried to make the feeling pass, but it only became stronger as if it were damanding to be noticed. You stood from your spot on the ramp and tried to keep your breathing steady.

“I-I’ll be back,” you spoke shakily to Pepper before you quickly turned and started walking away.

You started passing by everyone. Happy watched you walk away with a worried look and Peter Parker looked at you sadly as if he knew what was happening. He also knew that you had been holding in your grief. The boy was close to you and your brother both, but especially to your brother.

You finally made it into the house and ran up the stairs quickly. You made it into the guest room, where you and Steve had been staying, and shut the door behind you before you leaned back against it. You couldn’t hold it back any longer so you let it out. You began sobbing uncontrollably as your chest tightened up. It felt like something heavy was on it and really there was. Your grief was weighing heavily on you and could no longer be ignored. It demanded to be recognized.

You tried breathing as you sobbed, but found it hard to. You knew that you were dealing with a panic attack at this point. It was something that you and your brother both suffered from. You would usually help each other in these situations, but he was no longer there to do that.

There was a knock on the door and you put your hand to your mouth to try to keep your sobs down.

“Y/N,” Steve spoke from behind the door. “Can I come in, doll?”

“Steve,” you sobbed out as you pushed yourself off of the door and opened it.

Steve looked at you and came into the room quickly when he saw the state you were in. He shut the door behind him before he gathered you into his arms and held you against him.

“St-Steve, he’s g-gone,” you sobbed out. “M-my b-brother’s gone!”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed out sadly as he rubbed your back and placed his lips on top of your head.

“I-I can’t br-breathe,” you choked out.

Steve picked you up and carried you over to the bed. He sat down on it and placed you in his lap before he pulled away a bit so that he could look at you. His hands came up and held your face as your own hands held tightly to his wrists.

“Y/N, doll, look at me,” he told you. “Look at me, sweetheart. Just focus those pretty eyes on me.”

You were looking around in a panic, but your eyes eventually landed on his and he nodded.

“That’s good,” he said as he wiped away the never ending tears. “Just focus on me, okay?” He moved one of his hands and took one of yours, placing it on his chest where his heart was. “Focus on the beating of my heart and my breathing and try to follow it.”

You felt the beating of his heart beneath your hand, steady and strong. You could also feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he took. He took some deep breaths and let them out slowly to show you how to breathe. You tried to put all of your attention on him. You closed your eyes so you could focus more and began trying to take some calming breaths.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he said, encouraging you. “You’re doing so good. Just keep doing that for me.”

You did as he told you. You matched your breathing with his and found yourself starting to calm down. The tears still came, but the panicky feeling was starting to evaporate from you. It took some time, but you eventually calmed down enough to breathe properly again.

“There you go,” Steve said and squeezed your hand in his before he brought it to his lips and kissed it.

You finally opened your eyes and looked at Steve, who was looking right back at you. He looked worried, but was keeping his cool for you.

“I should’ve been there for him, Steve,” you told him.

“You were there for him, doll.”

“No, I-I mean I should’ve been there to stop him,” you told him. “To save him! I should’ve been the one to use the stones!”

Steve’s face fell at that and he shook his head quickly. “Y/N...no. Don’t say that.”

“It’s true!” You told him. “Tony’s always been there for me and I should’ve been there for him! He finally had everything he wanted and deserved...Pepper and Morgan. They need him. Morgan needs her father and Pepper needs her husband, Steve. It should’ve been me!”

“Y/N, you know good and well that Tony would’ve done everything he could to keep you from sacrificing yourself,” he told you. “You’re his sister and he loved you so much. There’s absolutely nothing you could’ve done to stop him so don’t blame yourself for any of this. He wouldn’t want you to. He did what he did for his family...for you. He was important, but you’re important too. I love you, Y/N, and I need you. Your loved by so many. The world needs Y/N Stark so don’t ever say that it should’ve been you.”

You knew Steve was right about your brother not letting you sacrifice yourself. Tony would’ve chose the same path to keep you all safe. It just hurt you too much. Why did it all have to play out like this? Why did Natasha and Tony have to sacrifice themselves? They didn’t deserve it. You all should be together. They did what they had to to save the world, but they deserved so much better.

Steve kissed your forehead before he pulled you close. You buried your face in his chest as you continued crying. You were probably making a mess of his shirt, but neither of you cared. He rubbed your back as you let it all out, whispering comforting words to you.

“Tony’s not going to be here to watch us get married or to walk me down the aisle,” you said aloud after a while. It hurt to think about, but it weighed heavy on you. “Natasha won’t be here either.”

“He’ll be there, doll,” Steve said and kissed your head. “He may not be there physically, but I know he’ll be there in spirit. He’ll probably be glaring daggers into me because I’m marrying his baby sister. Natasha will be there too.”

You smiled a little at that as you raised up to look at Steve. His eyes were watering as if he were holding back his own tears, but one fell. He wiped your tears away again and pecked your lips before you wiped his tear away in return.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he told you and rest his forehead on yours.

“I love you too, Steve,” you told him. “Thank you for being here for me.”

“I’ll always be here for you, doll,” he told you.

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londoncityroleplay · 4 years

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First Name: Noah

Last Name: Sinclair

Gender/Pro-nouns: Male, He/Him

Date of Birth: September 13, 1981

Place of Birth: Nottingham, England

Current Residence: Hammersmith

Length of Residence: Since January 2018

Occupation: Intelligence Analyst with the Royal Air Force

Faceclaim: Chris Evans

BIOGRAPHY

trigger warnings: bomb explosion, death, miscarriage and divorce.

Born in the household of Philip and Catherine in Nottingham, Noah was the second child out of four to grace the Sinclair family. With a father as a military man and mother as a judge, they mostly grew up in the care of nanny’s and au pairs, learning various skills whilst growing up and enjoying high education at a private school. Philip and Theadora gave their children free rein to do what they wanted to do with their lives, even if they did push them towards the same working area they found themselves in. Being a middle child, Noah was mostly able to go his own way, unlike his older sister Mathilda, who was urged to find herself a career path, and unlike his younger siblings, who had all the attention on her, during her upbringing. Even though he managed to drift in between his siblings, it didn’t mean he remained unnoticed. He had an especially close bond with his father, and saying that the boy idolised his father was an understatement, wanting to become everything his father embodied. He did all he could to make his parents proud, doing his utmost best at school, with the help of his father who supported him with his studies, taught him how to drive, how to shave and everything he could with his only son. Still he challenged himself, learning foreign languages, also with the help of the family’s au pairs, high level calculus and chemistry. Partially thanks to his high IQ of 133 and photographic memory, Noah had no trouble remembering whatever he needed to remember.

For Noah it came as quite a surprise to see his sister enlist to the military, and also worked as an inspiration. Throughout the last two years Noah had been doubting different fields of work, such as law, business and even culinary school. But now with both his father and his older sister in the military, he decided to follow her two years later. With his sister having joined the Royal Air Force, Noah followed suit and the Sinclair siblings were often seen together on base. Noah was specialised in the mechanical and data analysis aspect, whereas his sister was skilled enough to make it as a pilot, thriving under stressful situations. It was thanks to his sister, who invited him to go to a party with her, that he got to meet Natasha. Noah found himself smitten with the woman, spending a lot of time at her side, which only felt more natural as days passed into months. Never having been in a long-term relationship, he experienced a connection to her like he hadn’t experienced with anyone else before. They were complete opposites: He was tamer and more calculated while she was all about taking risks, about seeking adventure. She fit right into the family upon introduction, and the in-laws felt like a natural extension of the family. After a few years of them developing their relationship, they proposed to each other at the same time, when they went to Thailand for vacation. They married in winter, at a beautiful baroque castle venue.

Settling down together, the newly wedded pair was immensely happy, planning of starting a family together, yet a mere two months later, Noah, along with his sister Mathilda were sent to West-Africa, as part of the UK contribution to the Ebola virus epidemic. They had spent an entire year there, with only two more months to go when everything went wrong. While on a traveling convoy, the truck triggered a roadside bomb, incapacitating all uniforms present. When he came to amongst smoke and dirt, Noah among others had to drag their colleagues to safety. Noah made sure that Mathilda was safe first, finding her to be unconscious and bleeding profusely. As they waited for another convoy to make way towards the large presence of smoke, Noah had the gruelling task to keep his sister alive, not being able to focus on anything. Stress and despair got to him the more Mathilda seem to be losing her grasp of reality, until eventually he gazed in familiar yet cold blue hues. He didn’t know much of what happened next. Apparently, he’d been clinging to his sister, stroking through brown hair while rocking back and forth, as if comforting his deceased sibling.

Coming back home to England, he’d simply been a shade of who he was. He dreaded going to his sister’s funeral, not being able to face family and friends, and especially Mathilda’s wife. But he showed up, he grieved, he mourned and picked up the pieces of his life. He asked to be based inland, which was supported by his psychologist and got put in the position of an intelligence analyst. Knowing he had neglected his beautiful wife, Noah turned around the leaf and focused more on his marriage. He was still trying to cope with the loss of his sister, as well as working through it with his family, but his wife was more than understanding. It was a blessing in their life when she fell pregnant. The pregnancy was rough, with Natasha being bedridden for the last two months, but the precaution wasn’t meant to be. Having suffered a miscarriage. It was another heavy blow on the family and one that effectively crushed the marriage between Noah and Natasha, who had to tear down the fully decorated baby room. In his heart, he wanted it to work out, wanted to love her to the end of his days. They tried to solve things between them, even went to marriage counselling, but every fight, every misstep threatened to ruin the friendship between them. Before they let that happen, they decided a divorce was their best option. Noah didn’t have much materialistic demands, except for their small yacht, whom he had named Mathilda upon purchase. And so they separated

Not much later Noah got transferred to London, where he was allowed to dock his yacht at one of the pristine London harbours. Living in a simplistic small home, Noah had a lot of time to figure out his life again, properly mourn the loss of not only his sister, but also of his son and wife. It helped when his parents moved towards London with his mother’s promotion to a London court, always loving time he could spend with his family. He felt like he had his life more in hand, having moved past the tragic happenings in his past but never forgetting them. Including when Natasha crashed her plane and had to be hospitalised, making sure he was there during her recovery. Both were aware their divorce hadn’t been finalised, but they decided to put it on the back burner for now while focusing on recovering. With his new career and new opportunities to get to know people, Noah’s started to live more, and does so in a thriving London.

Penned by Nadine, find them here.

#noah sinclair #chris evans #hammersmith #all #taken male

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hokorii · 6 years

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Tina Goldstein

Buckle up friends and let me write you an essay on why I find Tina Goldstein so endearing. I know some people are not fond of her, and at face value I can perhaps understand why. But I recently re-watched the first movie, and I wanted to touch on two specific pieces of information that we learn about her that really pull at my heartstrings. One of those things has to do with her clothes, odd I know, but stick with me. Also, just to be clear I’m not attempting to change anyone's mind - just sharing my thoughts.

First things first, her background: In the first Fantastic Beasts movie, we’re introduced to Tina - an American Auror who has been demoted for seemingly attacking a no-maj. Early in the movie, during the dinner scene, we learn from Queenie that Tina is the “career girl,” indicating to us that her career is very important to her, as we no doubt discover as the movie progresses. Back to the dinner scene, and more importantly, to the fact that we learn Tina and Queenie are orphans, having lost their parents to Dragon-pox at a young age. This is the most important detail revealed about them because it opens up a world of understanding about these sisters, what their life must have been like growing up, and the adversities they had to overcome. I don’t think I need to go into detail about the devastation and emotional toll caused by losing your parents, especially when you’re a child, I think it’s universally understood. So, just that alone makes you feel for them. Just to think of all of the birthdays they celebrated by themselves, all of the milestones their parents weren’t around to see, all the times they were scared or felt alone in the world and needed the comfort of a caring adult to tell them it would be okay - it is undeniably sad. We also know that Tina is presumed to be the older sister, though I don’t believe we know exactly when Queenie was born, it is implied she is younger, and this is an important piece of information for my personal understanding of Tina. We also don’t really know at what age they were when they lost their parents, but from Tina’s memories in the death chamber, we can see she is young, maybe 8 or 9 - no happy memories are revealed of her and her parents at an age older than that. Obviously, we can’t say for sure they didn’t die while they were teens, but it’s more than likely they died when Tina was in the age range of 9-11, because her happiest memories are from that younger age, and because Queenie says, “when we were kids.”

So, imagine you’re Tina, you’re maybe 10, your parents die, and suddenly you and your sister are all you have in the world. And as the older sister, she likely feels a sense of responsibility to protect and raise her younger sister. Tina grew up the moment her parents passed away. She could no longer be the smiling, care free child we saw in her memory. And, even though she’s grieving the loss of her parents, just like Queenie, she must push her emotions aside, be strong and figure out how to survive, for the both of them. We learn from interviews that Queenie and Tina “raised each other” telling us that they had no family to take them in. Instead, Tina took on the role of her father, and Queenie of her mother. This makes Tina’s quest to become an Auror and make a career for herself all the more important, because she had no choice. It was their only way out of this desperate situation. They could literally only depend on themselves - no one was coming to save them.

When Tina went away to school, she likely took that sense of responsibility with her - keeping her head down. We can tell from Tina’s demeanor that she has some self-esteem issues which probably originated in school. Her focus is entirely on her work, on surviving. It’s also clear that she may not feel as pretty as Queenie, but that she compensates with her work, and in school, likely with her studies. She probably didn’t turn a lot of heads the way her sister did, and that’s integral to her character development. I should be clear, that I don’t think Queenie had the easiest time in school either, because her ability to read minds was probably overwhelming as she was growing up. Not to mention, she can hear every awful thought anyone might have about her, whether it’s guys who only see her as a conquest, or girls who are jealous of her appearance - and that has to change you as a person. But I would imagine Queenie was quite popular in school nonetheless. When Tina, Newt and Jacob are walking up the stairs to her apartment she tells her landlord that she’s, “always alone.” I can’t imagine that she was much different as a teen, then she is now as an adult. Tina is more serious than her sister, she is hyper-focused on her job, and having friends, let alone a boyfriend, isn’t something she even allows herself to indulge in. I’m also not saying that Tina isn’t pretty, she’s beautiful, but her looks are not highlighted - the way she feels on the inside is.

Now, let’s get to the piece of information that really hit me about Tina. Tina’s outfits throughout the movie are clearly not flattering. Her coats are over-sized, her pants are somewhat ill fitting, and her shoes appear to be men’s - this is intentional. In an interview with Katherine Waterston, we find out that Tina’s work clothes are comprised of pieces she pulled from her parent’s wardrobes. Think about that for a second, I’ll wait...

Still nothing? Let me break it down: This young girl, recently graduated, has, after years of struggle, hard work and fierce determination, overcome the odds and landed her dream job as an Auror. She’s elated, but then she realizes she’ll need something more professional to wear to work and she pauses. Having very little in the way of money, and having grown out of most of her adolescent clothes, she realizes she has to use what she already has to cobble together an outfit deemed appropriate for the job and the office. So, she hesitantly pulls out the chest they keep their parents things in, the only things they have to remember them by, dusts it off and opens it. I would imagine just this act is very painful for her. The memory of her parents comes flooding back, as she runs her hands over the fabric, carefully handling each piece. This should be a time of celebration because her parents would be so proud of what she’s accomplished, but they’re not there to calm her nerves or to give her customary words of encouragement on her first day. Instead, she pulls out her father’s shoes, and his pants (because she’s as tall as he was) and her mother’s blouse and she and Queenie work to make them fit. However, they’re not as good at sewing yet, so what we see Tina wearing is the best they could do. When she goes to work for the first time, maybe she’s a little embarrassed because everyone around her has newer, more tailored clothes. They look more professional. But, she doesn’t let it bother her because she feels as sense of security having a piece of them with her. Heartbreaking. This sweet little girl is reminded of her loss at every turn, but she still pushes forward because that’s the only thing she knows to do, and she doesn’t want to let them, or Queenie down. She’s proud of what she’s accomplished, but she doesn’t flaunt it. It’s Queenie, always supportive of her sister, who beams about her and her career to Jacob and Newt - not Tina. Tina is shy and reserved outside of her work. How can you not want to hug her after hearing all that? Just the image of young Tina pulling herself together to try and make the best of what she has of her parent’s things is burned into my brain.

So, when she loses that job it is all the more devastating. Especially because she loses it trying to protect someone who couldn’t protect themselves. I would imagine she saw a lot of herself or perhaps Queenie in Credence, both being orphans. She wanted to protect him, but for all her efforts she lost the one thing she had worked so hard for. So, when she sees a man, Newt, whom by the way Katherine confirms Tina was already attracted to in the bank, flagrantly breaking a handful of laws, she pushes aside any feelings of attraction she might have, and does what she believes is the right thing. She may have been demoted, and she’s under no obligation to care at this point, but she can’t turn her sense of right and wrong off. Once again, she cannot allow herself the indulgence.

Fast-forward through their adventure, to the death chamber. A horrific experience for both Newt and Tina. (Sidebar - how twisted this method of killing is, sheesh.) Here Tina unintentionally reveals (or is forced to) more about herself than she has to anyone else other than Queenie, via her memories. This is a traumatic, but bonding experience. Those memories give Newt a deeper understanding of her and when he saves her in that death chamber it is likely the first time in her life that someone has come to her rescue since her parents died. That is huge. They spend the rest of the movie working together, and at the end they’re both reluctant to part because they’ve found someone who, for once, really “sees” them. Tina is, for the first time, hopeful that perhaps she can allow herself the indulgence. That perhaps she can be wanted, and that someone could return her affections.

That is why, for me, it will be all the sweeter when they realize that their feelings for each other are reciprocated. Here are two people who haven’t had the easiest time in life, finding each other, and falling for each other despite what others see as flaws. Newt will be just as thunderstruck that she loves him, as she will be that he loves her. It’s also understandable that once Tina allows herself to feel for Newt, it is all the more hurtful when there is a miscommunication and she thinks she may have been mistaken in CoG. But, I am confident they’ll work through it, and I’m so excited to watch them grow closer. I can’t think of two more deserving characters to find their soulmate in each other.

Did you get to the end? High-five!

#tina goldstein #Newtina #newt scamander #porpentina scamander #porpentina goldstein #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts and the crimes of grindelwald #fbawtft #essay

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years

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EL AMOR TODO LO PUEDE Chapter 18: Being There

Chapters 1-10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17

There was only a text. Two words. But it was all she needed to know.

Peter: He died.

Laura: On my way.

And then, being Peter, he texted:

Peter: I’m OK

She took a second to roll her eyes at that.

Laura: Still on my way.

That one didn’t even get a response.

Laura was grateful Peter had shared his father’s illness with her at all. He was private as hell; guarded even with her sometimes. But somebody had to support him as he walked through the emotional minefield he’d been in for weeks now, and she was honored he’d chosen her. Even after all they’d been through, Peter still knew he could count on Laura any time, for anything. The thought made her tear up a little.

As she sat in the back of the cab on her way to the hotel, Laura thought about a lot of things. She thought about whether she was going to sleep with Peter. Hard no. She’d be an emotional mess in ten seconds, and she wasn’t about to mess with his head that way, either, especially now. Given their history, it was a miracle they’d managed to figure out a friendship.

She thought about what she could say to him. Nothing that would make any difference to the shitstorm in his heart. Peter both loved and hated his father, and now he would be grieving both the man he’d been and the man Peter had needed him to be. All Laura could do is tell him, as many times as he needed to hear it, that he wasn’t alone and that he’d be OK.

And then she thought about Ben Stone himself. Laura had her own complicated relationship with Peter’s father. “Mr. Stone,” never “Ben,” even though he had been fairly kind and welcoming to her during most of her relationship with his son. She had tried hard, and succeeded in bonding with him a little over their shared Catholicism and, of course, Peter. The only obstacle Laura had run into in those early years was when she tried to express an interest in Peter’s sister, Pam. That effort had run into an absolute brick wall, and had actually cooled him toward her for a while. Apparently, Pam was not something Mr. Stone was willing to share with anyone. He barely discussed her with Peter.

Winning Mr. Stone’s approval had been critical to her. At that point, she had expected him to be her children’s grandfather. He was important. For a while, Mr. Stone had treated her as though she was already his daughter in law. He wasn’t warm or affectionate, but he let her in.

All that was before the drinking. The first time Peter mentioned to his father that Laura had a drinking problem was fairly late in the game. After all, Peter had spent an enormous amount of time and effort lying for her and trying to protect her from the consequences of what she was doing. That confidence between Peter and his father was all it took to end, irrevocably, any kindness or consideration from Mr. Stone to Laura. He didn’t simply stop liking her. He developed an active dislike that caused him to urge Peter, over and over, to dump her and never look back. For Ben Stone, alcoholics were to be hated and shunned, period. Despite her years of sobriety, Mr. Stone’s loathing of Laura persisted until the day he died.

When she landed in New York, Laura checked into her hotel room, dumped her luggage, and texted Peter. He was at the courthouse talking with his father’s friend, District Attorney Jack McCoy. She headed there.

Peter let the door fall closed behind him. He stood just inside, simply looking around the darkened courtroom in the patchy, accidental light that came through the windows. He let it sink in. This room had been a vital part, perhaps the most important part, of Ben Stone’s life. Peter tried to feel his father in the room, but instead felt only the same cold emptiness. It frightened him.

The building was venerable. Solid. The courtroom had a high ceiling and huge windows that rose from waist height nearly up to the ceiling. The walls were decorated with marble and carved paneling, with a seal of the State of New York hung just behind the Judge’s bench. A room meant to impress those who entered with the power of the State. The long pews were solid wood, the kind of thing furniture was never made from anymore, especially in a public building. Peter thought he could catch a faint scent of some sort of polishing wax.

For long moments, Peter stood, imagining the many scenes – glorious, tragic, mind-numbingly mundane – that this room had seen. The thick quiet of the room enveloped him. As he stood unmoving, the stillness began to affect him. He felt as though the room was suspended outside of time, outside of the real world.

Peter’s eyes were eventually drawn, as he knew they would be, just to the right of the gate into the well of the courtroom. There in the gloom, a simple wooden chair sat, neatly pushed under a plain wooden table. It was only natural, since that chair was his own domain as lead prosecutor in his trials. But not in this courtroom. In this courtroom, it had been his father’s domain. Ben’s Stone’s chair, day after day, trial after trial, through most of Peter’s life.

Like a wraith, Peter silently moved down the aisle toward it. He moved as though sleepwalking, unaware of his own body as his thoughts and emotions swirled. Pulling out the creaky wooden chair, Peter took his father’s seat. He sat without moving, only his eyes sweeping gradually across the jury box, the witness stand, the judge’s bench. He told himself he was seeing what his father had seen. Peter tried to imagine his father’s thoughts.

They would have been about evidence. Strategy. Precedent. Never about his son, a little boy desperate to please, and aching with loneliness for a father he barely knew.

It came upon him without warning. Peter was suddenly blasted from within by an overwhelming surge of loneliness and grief. He was six years old again, ten, thirteen… a hurt, confused kid in a baseball uniform, looking for his dad in the stands and knowing he would not be there. Knowing that this room, this chair, were what mattered to his father. Not the kid in the baseball uniform. Not Peter. And now, he never would matter to his father.

The choked sob that tore its way through Peter felt like a wave of molten rock, heavy and scorching. He reached out his hands, laying them flat on the table in front of him for support. More acid cries were wrenched from his throat. He moved to bury his face in his hands, clenching his head as though to keep from flying apart into a million pieces. He struggled to gain control, tears flowing unchecked down his cheeks, his breath ragged.

He thought he heard the softest sniff behind him. He turned quickly, squinting through his tears into the shadowed rear of the courtroom. There, in the back row, leaning forward on the row in front of her, sat Laura, a tear glinting on her cheek in a shaft of light that fell across her from the window.

Peter’s ravaged face was barely visible, but she could see him reach out a hand toward her.

Laura was instantly down the aisle and through the gate. She knelt before Peter, taking him into her arms. Great, wracking sobs broke from him as he buried his head in her shoulder, leaning all his weight on her.

“I’m here,” she crooned, holding him tightly, beginning unconsciously to rock him as he cried. She could feel him tense, fighting to gain control of his grief.

“I’m sorry,” he wept.

“Just let go. I’m here. I promise, I’ve got you,” she soothed. With one hand, she began to stroke his hair.

And he did. Peter was barely aware of the animal groans and muffled wails he uttered as he allowed himself to give full vent to his pain. Laura simply held him, rocking him gently back and forth, murmuring words of love and comfort. Neither felt the passage of time. It may have been a few moments or a few hours that Peter wept bitterly, allowing himself to depend entirely upon Laura as he surrendered fully to his burning, crushing loss.

When he seemed close to being spent, she lifted up from her knees to slip into his lap, never taking her arms from him. She cradled his head to her chest, still purring softly to him. Again and again she stroked and kissed his hair. “I know it hurts. I love you. I’ve got you…”

After a time, Peter quieted, sniffling and occasionally convulsed with the stuttering breaths that follow a hard cry. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said in a small voice.

A long time later, Peter and Laura emerged from the darkened courtroom. Each had both arms wrapped around the other, Laura’s head against Peter’s chest. It made for slightly ungainly progress, but it seemed to be what Peter needed at the moment. They saw no one in the hallway as they made their way to the door.

“Let’s get you to the hotel,” Laura said. “You need to sleep.”

Ben Stone’s funeral was excruciating. It was lovely, and well-attended, but Peter sat like a statue every moment. In a room full of people, he seemed completely alone. He let Laura hold his hand, but otherwise seemed unable to accept any comfort. His responses to condolences from his father’s many friends and colleagues were polite, automatic. Apparently, he had shed all the tears he was going to over his father, which scared Laura.

Laura was surprised to see Lieutenant Benson and Sergeant Tutuola at the church. The greetings were subdued, given the situation, but both had known Ben Stone, and wanted to pay their respects. Peter calmly and courteously accepted their condolences as though they were at a business meeting.

Olivia Benson pulled Laura aside. She looked over at Peter and then back to Laura.

“Are you two…?”

“Friends. Since college. I’m… backup.”

“Got it. Listen, it’s a strange coincidence that you’re here. I was going to get in touch with you. This isn’t the right time or place but, have a cup of coffee with me before you head back?”

Laura was disconcerted. What in the world could Lieutenant Benson want with her? It had been months since the Gentleman Barber case.

“Uh… of course.”

“I’ll text you.”

The coffee shop looked like every other coffee shop in the world. The last thing Laura needed was caffeine, given her level of nerves, so she ordered chamomile tea, the most soothing beverage she indulged in these days. She now knew what Benson wanted, and she didn’t have the first clue how to feel about it. Any of it.

When she’d called Hank Voight on the off chance that he might know what Benson wanted, she’d gotten a surprise. Voight knew all about it. Voight had made it happen.

“I figured she wouldn’t waste the opportunity,” he’d said.

“So you know what she wants?”

“She wants to tell you about your new job.”

“My new…”

“Your new job, Parker. She’s gonna offer you a place at SVU. And you’re gonna take it.”

“Wait, what? Are you firing me?”

“Talk to Benson.”

“Sergeant, this is… a lot. I live in Chicago. I can’t move to New York.”

“Talk to Benson.”

“What are you doing? Is this real?”

“Talk. To. Benson.” Voight had hung up on her.

Olivia Benson bustled in, caught sight of Laura, and gave a casual wave of recognition. Laura was so nervous she thought she might throw up. It appeared to her that the barista set a world record for longest time to put together a cup of tea and, even once Benson sat down, the pleasantries seemed to take forever before she finally got down to business.

“You talk to Voight?” Benson asked.

“I called him last night. I thought maybe he would know what you wanted.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said that you wanted to offer me a job.”

Benson’s laugh wasn’t pleasant. “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way. He called in a favor.”

“So you don’t want to offer me a job.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, either.”

Laura set her cup down on the table. “Lieutenant? This is pretty high stakes for me. With respect, could you just tell me what this is about?”

Benson raised an eyebrow. “Says what she’s thinking. Little bit of a double-edged sword there, but in this situation it’s a good thing. I need my detectives to be straight with me.”

Laura distinctly heard the word “detectives”, but she couldn’t ask about it and hold her breath at the same time.

“SVU needs another detective. Numbers-wise, it should be a woman. Voight heard and called me. He says, and I’m quoting here, ‘You don’t hire Parker, you’re a fucking idiot.’”

Laura was too anxious to smile.

“You should know that I wouldn’t hire someone on Hank Voight’s word alone. I saw what you did on that case we worked in Chicago. I think you have potential. But there’s something else you should know. I’m not Hank Voight. In my unit, we don’t do things the way he does. You work for me, you play by the rules. If that’s a problem for you, this conversation is over.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good. I could give you a month to get out here, but not longer. Let me know.”

Benson held out her hand, and Laura shook it, actually trembling. Holy shit. She was being offered a job working sex crimes in New York. And a promotion to detective. How the hell had that happened?

Peter felt as untethered as he ever had in his life. At his age, he shouldn’t be feeling like an orphan, especially when his old man had never been much of a father. But here he was. He lay on the bed in his hotel room, thinking, while Laura lay on the other side with her head at the foot of the bed, just letting him be.

Jack McCoy had offered Peter a job.

At least half an hour had to have passed since either Peter or Laura had said anything. Out of nowhere, Peter sat up and announced he was hungry.

“In or out?” Laura asked.

“Out. Definitely out.”

They ended up at a steakhouse a few blocks away, for a while just chatting rather than trying to tackle the major decisions they had to make. But it was impossible to avoid the topic for long.

“Adulting blows,” Laura observed.

Peter came as close to smiling as he had in days. “Maybe. But you know what, Sunshine? I’m starting to think I know what to do.”

She waited for him to continue.

“Pam’s here. With Pop gone, I’m all she has. And this job offer, it’s a good one. Maybe this is a sign I’m supposed to come home.”

“Huh. Maybe it is.”

“And maybe it’s a sign you’re supposed to leave home. They’re making you a detective, Sunny. Anyway, you really think Voight’s gonna take ‘no’ for an answer?”

“It didn’t sound like it,” she admitted. “Benson, either.”

He looked her in the eyes. “Let’s move to New York.”

“I’m in,” she said, her voice shaking.

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #chicago pd #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago justice #rafael barba #raul esparza #philip winchester #peter stone

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nobodyzhuman · 4 years

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Don’t Trust Dumbledore ch. 41

Harry,

Please come see me after your last class.

-Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

P.S. I enjoy Ice Mice

Harry tried not to glare at the note. A tiny first year had delivered it to him after Defense before rushing away. He knew that the headmaster was going to question him, again, about what happened. It just pissed him off that the man thought he had any authority to do so. He wasn’t Harry’s parent or guardian, no matter what he claimed, he wasn’t an auror or member of the ministry, Albus Dumbledore had no right to question him. And yet, the man would. Harry sighed. Dumbledore would sit there in his chair, pretending to be Harry’s friend and question Harry about where he had been and what had happened, and Harry got a slight thrill at knowing he was going to lie and fool the old man. But he was still nervous, Dumbledore was smart and powerful, if Harry misspoke or slipped up all Harry’s plans could be ruined. Draco, Remus, Sirius, even Snape and the twins could be in danger.

He took a deep breath, set the parchment on fire and walked towards Remus’s rooms.

The wolf opened the door before he even knocked, smiling, at least he was until he saw Harry’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asked pulling him into the room.

“Dumbledore wants to see me.” Harry flinched at the growl his godfather let out.

“Should I come with you?” Remus asked after a second.

“I don’t know,” Harry said dropping down into a chair. “I don’t like the idea of being alone with him, but wouldn’t it seems strange that I brought you with me? I’ve never had anyone join us before?”

“True, but I’m staying here now. We could easily say I asked you to join me for dinner. That you came to tell me you didn’t know how long you would be, and I insisted on joining you. You were after all just kidnapped and held prisoner for two months, it is believed that I would want to stay close.”

Harry grinned at the wolf, relieved that he wouldn’t have to face the headmaster alone. “Let’s go then shall we?” Remus chuckled and pulled him out of the chair.

Their happy mood faded as they stopped outside the Gargoyle that protected the Headmasters office.

“Ice mice,” Harry told the statue which slowly moved out of their way. He clenched his hands tight, took a breath, and then relaxed, he could do this.

Walking up the stairs, he resisted the urge to turn around and run. That small part of him that he was just starting to understand urged him to go find Draco. But he ignored it and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” the headmaster called.

When he entered the room, he almost rolled his eyes at the sight of the headmaster behind his desk. The old man smiled at him, “Oh, Harry, my boy, come in.” And Harry knew the second the headmaster registered Remus because there was a twitch to the wizard’s mouth before he smiled, “Hello, Remus, I wasn't aware you would be joining us.”

“Well, me and Harry had plans, I’m helping him catch up on his homework, and dinner of course. When he told me you wanted to see him, I figured I would come along and then we could sneak into the kitchens, get a few snacks and head back to my rooms.” Harry had to give it to the wolf, he sounded excited and lighthearted about their failed plans and even though Harry knew it was a lie, he still thought it sounded like the truth.

“I see,” the headmaster said, still smiling, “well then I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to see how Harry was doing? And see if he remembered anything else about what happened?” The headmaster looked at him, and Harry was quick to look away, not wanting to give the man a chance to read his mind. “Maybe offer someone to talk to.” The man added on at the end in a gentle voice and Harry was instantly furious. The man was so full of it.

“Albus, Harry isn’t ready to talk about it,” Remus berated the headmaster, Harry could hear some of the wolf’s anger in his tone, and from the surprised look on Dumbldeors face so did the old man.

“Remus I meant --”

“I know what you meant, headmaster,” Remus cut him off, “everyone is pressing him to talk about it, you, the ministry, his friends, Harry needs time. And I would appreciate it if you would allow him some.” Harry’s mouth fell open. He was not expecting this. He turned to look at his godfather, Remus just gave him a reassuring smile.

He heard Dumbledore cleared his throat and turned to the man. He gritted his teeth and the fake guilty look the man now wore. “ I wasn’t aware,” Dumbledore said softly, “I am sorry Harry. If you would like me to speak to the ministry for you, ask them to back off, I can.”

Seriously?, Harry thought. “No thanks, Sir, Remus has already talked to them.” He smiled openly letting the headmaster see how happy he was about this. He almost laughed when he saw a hint of anger in the headmasters eyes. It was gone quick though.

“Well, my boy, I'm here for you, should you need it.”

Remus put his hand on his shoulder, and that helped him not to snap at the man that he would never need him.

“Thank you,” he said, with difficulty.

“Headmaster,” Remus said, in way of goodbye and he steered Harry out of Dumbledore’s office.

Harry kept his cool until they were back in Remus’s room, then he shrugged off his godfather’s hand.

“I hate him!” He shouted. “He thinks he can just do whatever he wants. That he can control us all like little pawns, he is worse than Voldemort. At least the Dark Lord,” he sneered the man’s name, “is up front about what he wants.” He swung around and looked at Remus, “He ruined my life! And Sirius’s, even yours, for what? Fame? power?” He felt tears build in his eyes as he dropped down on Remus couch. “Why does he hate me?” the last part was mumbled as he lost most of his anger.

Remus Pov

He watched as Harry ranted and felt helpless. He understood his cub’s anger, he understood the desire to scream and yell until he had no voice, he had been tempted many times in the last week or so. Even so, he had no idea how to make that anger go away. At least not instantly.

“Why does he hate me?” Harry whispered after he collapsed onto the couch.

Remus sighed. He sat down next to Harry taking his cub in his arms. “I don’t think it’s hate, I think the headmaster has a plan. Probably one that gives him the most power, and you are as you said a pawn. A piece on his chest board. He has plans for you, for Voldemort, and he doesn’t care about anything but you two doing what he wants. As for me and Padfoot, we were, are in the way.”

He felt Harry relaxing against him. His godson remained quiet, probably thinking over what he said. Remus shifted a little so that he was comfortable and closed his eyes.

He thought back to the conversation he had with the twins, the one right after him and Siri had read James and Lily’s wills. Where they told him about werewolf laws and how it was legal for him to have custody of Harry. As a godfather and one of the people listed in Harry’s parents wills, there was nothing the ministry could have done to stop him from taking Harry. He had been furious. Furious at Dumbledore for the man had lied and manipulated him into not fighting for Harry, and himself because he gave into his own fear and doubt. Fear of Moony and the doubt that he would make a good father to Harry, after all he wasn’t James. He had to leave the room, afraid that he might lose control and hurt the twins due to his anger.

After he calmed down he couldn’t stop thinking about how James and Lily had trusted him to take care of Harry if something happened to them. He had cried at James’s faith in him and then laughed at how Liy had just assumed that no matter what, he would have been there, helping Sirius.

He felt so guilty that he had let Dumbledore manipulate him. He had trusted the man so blindly, that when Dumbledore said there wasn’t a will and that he would be unable to gain custody of Harry, that he believed him, without looking into it. After all he had thought Dumbledore was their friend.

He had believed the lie that with Sirius in Azkaban, Harry’s guardianship fell to Lily’s sister. It even made sense to him, as Petunia was Harry’s closest living relative. Still he had begged to be allowed to see Harry, but he was told that it would be confusing and dangerous. How would Harry’s Aunt and Uncle explain him to Harry, and how guilty would he feel if a supporter of the Dark Lord followed him to Harry?

He had pleaded until he couldn’t take the denials anymore. He was grieving the loss of his friends and pack and having to be told time and time again he wasn’t allowed to see Harry, it was just too much. So, he threw himself crappy jobs all over the country trying to lose himself in exhaustion and distractions.

He would regret that for the rest of his life. But know that he knew the truth, not only that he was able to fight for custody of Harry, but about Sirius lack of trial, he was going to do everything he could to ruin Dumbledore’s plans.

He knew Harry was communicating with Amelia Bones about Sirius trial. How she had gotten the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to go along with their fake kidnapping he didn’t know but he was grateful to the woman. She had already sent Harry several letters about her plans for a private questioning of Sirius. She told Harry that since there had been no trial that she didn’t need to apply for a retrial, in fact all she had to do was question Siri under a truth potion with two witnesses. If Sirius wasn’t guilty she would file the correct paperwork and his name would be cleared, and there would be nothing anyone could do about it.

She did say that Harry’s custody would be a little more difficult. With Dumbledore hiding the Potter’s wills and placing Harry in the custody of his Aunt, Sirius and him would have to be able to prove that went against Lily and James wishes. Which they could do now that they had the wills. Then she warned that Sirius had to prove he was capable of taking care of Harry, she was worried that Dumbledore would use Sirius stay in Azkaban against him. Stating that after 12 years in the prison anyone would be damaged and in need of medical help. The last argument she brought up was uprooting Harry, he had spent the last 15 years with his aunt and uncle, Dumbledore could argue that taking him out of his home now could have a negative effect.

The last point is the only reason Remus knew about Harry’s letter to Amelia. Harry had been so furious when he had read that that his magic had lashed out and destroyed the office he was in. Remus the only one in the house at the time, had ran in the room panicked and terrified that something had happened. Harry had been standing in the middle of the room, magic swirling around him, the letter in his hand.

It had taken him 10 minutes to calm Harry down. When he had asked his cub what happened Harry’s just thrusted the paper at him.

After that Harry and him talked about it and he promised that his cub would not be going back to the Dursleys, even if he had to kidnap him and run off to another country. Harry had laughed and thanked him.

They hadn’t told Padfoot yet, both worried about getting his hopes up.

He knew that soon they wouldn’t have a choice, in her last letter Amelia said she had everything ready, expect the two witnesses, she had asked Harry if he had any recommendations. Harry had replied Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy.

Remus had questioned him about Arthur, after all Molly was stealing from Harry and Arthur loved his wife and supported Dumbledore. Harry had told him, that Arthur’s name never appeared on any of the payouts nor the marriage contract. He said the the elder Weasley believed their father didn’t know what was going on, and that he was willing to give the man a chance. After all, he wouldn’t be able to tell Dumbledore anything until after Sirius was cleared. Remus was impressed when he realized that Harry was testing Arthur. He just hoped the man was as kind and loyal as four of his children.

He sighed, his head starting to hurt from thinking about it all. He almost moved before he realized Harry had fallen asleep against his side. A wave a nostalgia hit him as he remembered Harry in the past cuddled against his side, sound asleep. He smiled and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. A nap sounded wonderful at the moment.

#don't trust dumbledore #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #drarry

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joytoasheshq · 5 years

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below is christine’s sample application for ned stark. applications won’t be posted in full with acceptances. this is to provide another example of what i’m looking for in applications. a big thank you to christine for providing this sample, and making me cry over papa wolf! hope this is helpful and enjoy!!

OOC.

name: Christine

age: 26

pronouns: they/them

timezone: EST

triggers: {omitted}

in the game of thrones you win or you die, would you be open to your character dying?: as much as the idea crushes me, it would feel DISHONEST to say no (and I’d be more than happy to play another character after Ned ofc)

anything else: n/a

IN CHARACTER.

full name: Eddard “Ned” Stark

gender + pronouns: nonbinary, he/him it’s only recent that Ned’s felt comfortable exploring his gender identity and sexuality; raised in a family of cops, there were certain standards of masculinity that were expected of him and he never felt fully comfortable opening that particular box of worms. but within a supporting and loving relationship with a woman he trusts entirely, he’s felt better about exploring that side of himself and admitting that he never fully fit into the boxes he tried to fit into when he was younger.

age & dob: 35, July 21, 1983

faceclaim: Yahya Abdul-Mateen II

personality: + he’s reliable, above all: he can be counted on to do what he says he will do, no matter what it is. it makes him easy to trust, easier to understand. straightforward and loyal to those he’s promised his loyalty to. + a compassionate person, he has an understanding and empathetic soul. always willing to listen, to provide a word of advice. x being honorable is a double-edged sword, a coin with two sides: it endears him to some, makes him valued by those who have reason to value him. but it also makes him easy to manipulate – he is not playing the game that everyone else seems to be playing, which means that more often than not he ends up a pawn. x as a father, a husband, a brother, and a friend, he is protective; he’s lost too many people not to be. he’ll defend those he cares about as far as he needs to in order to keep them safe. - with all that, though, comes a naive optimism that can be dangerous in a world like this. it’s not that he expects anyone to be as honorable as he is, not that he doesn’t understand that people lie, and cheat, and steal, and kill. he knows this better than anyone. but he sees no point in going on if he can’t have some kind of hope, can’t let himself see the best in people. - his morality is inflexible, with no shades of gray: there is what’s right and what is wrong. and he knows the world is not so simple– knows people do wrong things for right reasons and right things for wrong reasons, knows there is always a way to blur the line. but that blurring is a slippery slope, and it’s easier to keep focus on that simple binary of right and wrong and let everything else fall into place around it.

headcanons:

( trigger warnings: pregnancy complications, death )

1. His father is a cop. His father is a cop, and his father’s father is a cop, and his father’s father’s father was a cop before that. He grows up in the shadow of it, never a question in his mind of what he would grow up to become: the men in his family, they protect the city, they always have, and so will he, when he’s old enough. Just like his father. Just like his older brother does, a few years before he can.

High school, college, the police academy. He is a star student. He prides himself on being a just and honorable man, just like his father. Just like Brandon. He models himself after them in every fathomable way. He admires them. His father, chief of police. His brother, charismatic and well-loved and engaged to a woman he so clearly adores. They are his heroes: he lives happily in their shadow, feeling a little like a child among giants, like he’ll always be reaching up to try to be as tall as them, like he’ll always be tripping over the shoes they leave to fill.

When they die– both of them, at once, as if one wasn’t enough to shatter him into pieces, as if one wasn’t enough loss to have him grieving for a lifetime– when they die, trying to subdue the riots, to stop the chaos, he tries to fill their shoes. He becomes a part of things, not just a rookie cop but a voice for the people, or, for Robert maybe, or– god, but he gets lost in it. The violence, the chaos, the city in turmoil. It is impossible to see a clear way out, through the fog and the confusion and the grief.

He’s not proud of it. But at the end of the day, all he’s got is the people he has left – Benjen, Robert, Jon – and a determination to never let it happen again.

2. She’s dying, when he finds her. His sister, little Lyanna. She’s always been little Lyanna but he feels it now more than ever, holding her hand in bed, thin and shaking. Complications with a pregnancy he had no idea existed. Complications that an adequate doctor could have fixed, if they’d gotten there in time, if she’d given birth in a hospital where the doctors would have had files about her history of blood clotting, if someone had been there to catch the signs of a pulmonary embolism, if only, if only, if only. If only she hadn’t felt the need to run away, when a pregnancy test confirmed her fears. If only she had felt like she could tell anyone. But she’s dying, already, and he’s not a doctor; he’s barely even a cop, 23 years old and only six months on the force.

There’s nothing you can do, she says, her voice weak. It’s okay, it’s not your fault. Just– promise me something, please.

And he’d promise her anything, in that moment, his little sister, promise her the entire world and do anything he could to deliver. When the doula hands him her son– premature, too small, tiny hands gripping at nothing, tiny mouth searching blindly in the air for a mother to latch onto– he promises.

He leaves Dorne with the baby in his arms, and when the baby starts to cry, he finds that he is crying, too. Can’t stop himself. He has buried too many people, for his age, and all in a year. A father, a brother, a sister. He knows it isn’t true– knows there’s Benjen, still, knows there’s Robert, knows there’s Jon– but for a moment it feels like his world has shrunk down, and the only things left in it are himself and this baby boy and the snow falling around them.

He is a good man. He will be a good father. He will keep every promise to his sister he ever made. He will keep her child safe, call him his own. Tell whatever story he needs to, so that no one knows what Lyanna didn’t want them to know.

3. Cat is… a revelation. An unexpected surprise. He knew her, of course, before it all. Brandon’s girl. He’d looked forward to calling her a sister-in-law, once. She is bright and she is clever and she is kind and she is too much, for him, too good to be true. He’s… trying, as far as fatherhood goes, but he never meant to be a father at 23, at 24. He’s quit the force, living off the meager inheritance his father left behind until Jon is old enough to go to school, because he can’t bear the though of leaving his son alone, of hiring someone else to watch him, of doing anything that might separate them. Because what if something were to happen? What if he were to lose Jon, too?

He agrees to dinner with Cat because he’s always liked her. He’s never thought of her as anything other than Brandon’s girlfriend, Brandon’s fiancee. Never wanted to: they were so in love. Brandon was so happy. Brandon would have done anything for her. He agrees to dinner with Cat because he needs someone who is sharing in his grief, and because she says she knows a great babysitter who can help out for the night.

He doesn’t mean to fall in love.

But she’s not Brandon’s anything, anymore. But Brandon’s gone. And they get along in so much other than their grief. More than he expects. And dinner one time turns into dinner once a week, turns into nights spent together, turns into moving in… and Catelyn makes him a better man. Makes him a better person. Makes him feel like maybe he can actually do it all.

She’s the one who encourages him to start something new. To build something from the wreckage. And so he starts Stark Security – he’s got the skills he needs, after all, even if he isn’t willing to risk his life anymore. Even if he isn’t willing to risk his family.

And they start a family.

4. Fatherhood suits him, it turns out. First Robb and then Sansa, and then the twins so soon after. And Jon, of course, a few years older than them all, and growing up so well. Just entering his moody pre-teen years. Stark Security means he can sit behind a desk, keep a regular 9-5, pick the kids up from school and be home in time for dinner every night. He takes up cooking, old family recipes. He reads bedtime stories and helps kids out of baths and into fleece footie pajamas. His face is sore from smiling, his voice hoarse from laughing. His chest feels warm, and large, and full, when he hears his childrens’ voices.

The loss still hits him, sometimes, like a wrecking ball. He wants to tell his father about something funny Sansa said. He wants to show Brandon a picture of the twins. He wants big family cookouts on warm June evenings. He wants someone to tell him they’re proud of him.

But there are better things to fill the gaps, better balms to salve the wounds. His kids, they give him purpose, give him a reason to get up in the morning and try to be a better person every single day. And his family gives him something to fight for, something to protect. They make him want to make Westeros a better place again.

INTERVIEW

vi. do you feel fulfilled in life?

“I do. I really do. When I quit being a cop, I thought I might never feel that way again. You know how it is: you grow up around all that, you start to think there’s one right path towards fulfillment or whatever. But my kids– It’s worth everything else I’ve ever lost, just to have them. They make me feel fulfilled every day, even if they’re a handful sometimes.”

vii. have you ever lost someone you loved?

“Yeah,” he says, and it comes out more as an exhale than as a real word, hardly any voice behind it. Just the word is enough that he almost gets lost in it, the memories. Dad and Brandon’s funeral – one funeral, two caskets, and the way the sky opened up as soon as they’d been lowered into the ground like the world knew how impossible it would be to go on without them. Lyanna, and all the secrets she carried with her when she went, all on her own. Sometimes, he remembers it and he thinks for a minute it might break him. It might, except that he’s got people now who will help him keep going.

“Yeah, a couple a’ people. It’s– it sucks, doesn’t it?”

ix. who was your last text to, and what did it say?

“Let’s see,” he says, sliding his phone from his pocket and unlocking it with his thumbprint. Opens texts, scrolling back through one or two unanswered ones to the last one he sent… CATELYN 😍 displayed across the top of the screen, and a few messages in a row below it, hey babe omw home / picking up dinner want me to pick up anything else? / 😉 / maybe–

As he reads the messages that follow, he can feel his cheeks grow warm, blushing slightly. Maybe not the most appropriate series of messages to read out loud… He clears his throat, scrolls back one message father.

“It was to Robert,” he says, before reading it out loud: “The good donut shop or the cheap one?”

EXTRAS (OPTIONAL):

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vikktorvalentina · 5 years

Text

&&. word has it ( viktor valentina ) was just spotted around the city. ( he ) is a ( 35 ) year old affiliated with ( the russian mafia ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( kit harington ). ( he ) has been said to be ( honorable & dedicated ) but also quite ( emotional & overprotective ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( pakhan of the russian mafia ).

( viktor ) would describe ( himself ) as a ( winter ) person and would identify as a ( lawful good ). ( his ) birthday is ( april 13th ), making ( his ) star sign ( aries ) and ( his ) animal sign the ( fox ). ( his ) biggest pet peeve is ( being lied to ), and ( his ) theme song is ( human by rag’n’bone man ). finally, ( his ) primary goal is to ( bring down the Irish and Italian mafias by any means necessary ).

Biography

From the moment Viktor was born, his path had already been laid out well before him. Nikolai Valentina, the pakhan and a terror in the streets of St.Petersburg, had spent the nine long months of his wife’s pregnancy with great anticipation of his heir, and wasted no time in preparing the child to one day lead the Bratva in his footsteps.

For as long as little Viktor could remember, as a small child who immigrated to New York City from Russia, there were only two things of great importance to him: the Bratva and his family. His responsibility to his father, and to the larger mafia meant that there was little space for empathy. Violence on the streets of Little Odessa, and behind the closed doors of the Oceana residences meant that the soft-hearted boy had been stripped of his innocence far sooner than many in his age group. Before he entered into private school, he had learned how to hold a knife to defend himself. By the time he entered middle school, he was comfortable with a gun. Once he left high school, violence and death were things he no longer feared.

But despite Nikolai’s persistent, and largely successful efforts to turn his eldest son into a pakhan as ruthless as he was, deep down Viktor still had a heart and temperament like his mother. He detested ending a life without fair reason, and while he was comfortable with violence, he never actively sought it out for himself. Behind closed doors, where only his siblings and parents resided, Viktor was a kind and gentle man, who much preferred to help others than lord over them like a ruler. He particularly adored his younger siblings, Dimitri and Tatiana, who were raised further away from the ugliness of the Bratva. It was with his family that Viktor was able to carve out a small space in his heart for empathy, just large enough to keep him from feeling like a complete monster when he was out running the mafia with his father.

What he did for the Bratva, he did to protect his family and their way of living. He did it to protect the good people who called Little Odessa home, and he did it on behalf of those too weak to seek out justice for themselves.

As noble as his intentions were, Viktor’s life turned completely upside-down following the death of his father. A warning came to him about an attempt that would be made on Nikolai Valentina’s life, but by the time he had rushed to his father’s side, he was already bleeding out onto the unforgiving streets of New York. Viktor had been there for him in his final moments, unable to do anything but watch as the life left the pakhan at an agonizing pace. The murder, done by the hands of the Italian don Dante Vicario, sent the Russians into an uproar, and Viktor, who had idolized his father for so long, was thrust into Nikolai’s old position without so much as a moment to grieve for the heavy loss to his family. All that pain, confusion and anger swirled inside the eldest Valentina, and as he formally stepped up to lead the Bratva, all Viktor could see was red.

And as though fate had a particularly strong vendetta against Viktor, yet another blow was dealt upon the Valentinas. Young Tatiana, the Russian princess and Viktor’s dearest sister, had been stolen by the Irish mafia in the middle of an ongoing turf war in Coney Island. If Viktor had been furious before, it was nothing in the wake of how he felt upon hearing that his sister had been abducted. Gone was any sense of remorse or hestitation on the pakhan’s part - the Russian’s enemies had brought out the very beast that Nikolai Valentina had been hoping to see for all these years, before the former leader was cold in his grave.

Viktor became a heartless leader, authorizing atrocious crimes against the Irish and Italians in his hatred for them, and pursuing the recovery of his sister like a man possessed. Though his behaviour has thankfully quelled slightly in her eventual return, thanks to the efforts of his top assassins Ronan Ludolf and Celine Dahl, the damage was already done to the young pakhan. With two new blood feuds with the oldest mafias within New York, Viktor is dead set on seeing to their downfall, even if it means stepping aside to let one of the newer arrivals rule the city themselves.

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